#and just to be clear i think none of them deserve to be deemed 'guilty'

[international-repeater-station]

one thing i think about is how sunny mustve dealt with his feelings of guilt. he was around 12 when mari died, meaning he was just a kid, and i think, especially at first, he'd have some very, very, very conflicting emotions and thoughts, one of them being the desire to "put the blame" on basil. "he's guilty too." it's irrational, of course, and i think he would understand that, and hate himself for these thoughts even more. sunny's mind would just come up with "excuses" like that to make the crushing feeling of guilt a bit more bearable, "it's all basil's fault we dealt with mari the way we did"

and i found the phrase/lyric "i don't wanna be friends" to be something that kind of captures that childish tone these thoughts of his could have sometimes, i think. not 'childish' as in 'immature', 'childish' as in he was just a goddamn kid when he had to process all of this and so he mightve expressed his feelings using the most simple words and concepts such as these ! just. ough. my poor son.

[colleencrossingg]

The images and videos coming out of Rafah are horrific. Now is not the time for "no words" but I have never in my life seen such destruction and genocidal intent openly displayed while our governments try to convince us that the perpetrators are defending themselves. I was an infant when the Iraq War started, so I never saw the media manipulation or the Bush administration’s tactics firsthand. Studying the Vietnam War under Johnson and Nixon is…I don’t know….it feels different. Everything feels different. It feels like people actually cared, but not for the benefit of the Vietnamese people (many anti-war advocates were, though, I should not discredit them), they cared because they didn’t want to be drafted or they wanted the soldiers home. Those are perfectly valid reasons to protest a war, yes, but Vietnam was the first time we truly saw the civilian impact broadcasted on television. People were completely and utterly horrified, much like they are now. However, the media companies who published such horrific images out of Vietnam are now spreading Israeli propaganda and lying about the civilian impact. Just the other day the Atlantic was justifying the murder of children if they were being used as human shields. It is not alright when innocent children are killed, of course, but why is the murder of "guilty" children justified? Who wields the power to determine if the child is guilty?

Of course, we know that none of the children burnt alive or beheaded in Rafah last night were guilty of any crime other than being born Palestinian in Gaza. This crime was deemed worthy of execution by the terrorist Israeli army. The United States manufactures the bombs that kill them, most European nations turn a blind eye or continue to fund this "army”, the countries that pretend to care are performative at best. Surrounding Arab nations will take in refugees, the existing camps will have to survive with even less resources because UNRWA is underfunded (and probably won’t be renewed in 2026) - and, once again, the hundreds of thousands of Palestinians who were lucky enough to escape being burnt alive, flattened by bulldozers, or left to rot in the rubble of bombed shelters are displaced once again, as Gaza’s population was made up of ~80% of people who were displaced from other parts of Palestine.

Fuck Israel. Fuck the complicit Arab nations. Fuck complicit European countries and politicians. Fuck the corporations profiting off of this or supporting Israel’s terrorist army. And, most importantly, fuck the United States and the Biden administration for their continued, unrelenting support.

May the souls of the dozens of Palestinian lives lost last night rest in peace. I keep thinking, of course, about the video of the beheaded child that has been circulating around. I want to get that image out of my head because that child deserved to be remembered for much more than just their corpse. I cry every time I see the artwork of the children crushed by the rubble when Rafah was under siege a few weeks ago. They deserve to be remembered for anything else but their dead bodies.

I’m sorry that this is coming from an Animal Crossing blog of all places. I just have a lot of anger and expressing it through writing like this helps. I keep a private journal with much more explicit, uncensored thoughts, but I want to make my position absolutely clear. No amount of Palestinian violence will ever justify Israel’s response, which is ALWAYS destruction, murder, and ethnic cleansing.

If you demand sources, I have them, and I’m not a pussy. I’ll send you my published papers and articles.

[crossdressingdeath]

Sorry if this is a point you already discussed but what do you say about jc capturing and torturing demonic cultivators (if stans get past that those are not just rumors) that he is doing this out of the goodness of his heart?

There are exactly zero circumstances where torturing people to death is being done out of the goodness of the torturer's heart. None. Torture is evil. It is that simple.

Even setting aside the fact that there is zero evidence that any of the people JC murdered were actually guilty of any crime (hell, there isn't even any evidence that they were actually demonic cultivators; the only person we can confirm was a demonic cultivator and committed a crime in the years between WWX's death and resurrection is XY, who JC conspicuously did not go after), torture is just... wrong. If JC killed people who had committed crimes it could be seen as justice, since this is a world where crimes often equal death without trial. But that is not what he does; he grabs "demonic cultivators" for reminding him of WWX (who, reminder, JC knows was defending innocent people) and then tortures them to death. He terrorizes his own people by doing this where people coming to him for the help he owes them as a sect leader will see him. We see from his treatment of WWX-in-MXY's-body before he realizes that "MXY" is in fact WWX that he will attempt this with people whose only "crime" (there is zero evidence that demonic cultivation itself is illegal; XY is wanted for mass murder, not demonic cultivation) is defending themselves in a way that does not harm anyone (JL is embarrassed and angry, but not hurt). He is not doing this to "protect the innocent" or "punish evildoers". He is doing this because he wants to hurt people. He blames WWX, a demonic cultivator, for all the shit that happened. (Shit which was caused variably by the Wens or he himself trying to kill innocent people, but never mind that.) Because of that blame he's decided that every demonic cultivator (and also anyone he's decided is a demonic cultivator; once again, remember that we are never given any proof beyond JC's word that the people he kills were all demonic cultivators, and given he's a serial killer claiming WWX is to blame for things that the narrative will in flashbacks later go into his head to prove he knows were not WWX's fault I really don't think his word counts for jack shit), regardless of whether or not they've committed an actual crime, deserves to die in agony. Forget "the goodness of his heart", this is beyond excessive even for vengeance. It would be excessive even if he was only aiming it at people actively responsible for his family's deaths. This goes beyond what WWX does to WC and his people, who were in fact responsible for what WWX wanted revenge over, and I'd argue it's pretty clear that WWX is later horrified at what he did!

The thing that gets me about this argument is... these people are not suggesting that WWX should've slaughtered all the sects in revenge for the Wen remnants' deaths. They aren't saying that JGY was righteous or even justified in having JGS raped to death (which it was not, but that's beside the point). Those two were (or would be, in WWX's case) targeting the person or people actively responsible for their suffering... and yet the people saying JC is in the right never (as far as I've seen) suggest that those two should've done anything like what he did. Hell, they frequently suggest that WWX is evil for doing what he did to WC and co. But JC slaughtering people with zero evidence of any wrongdoing beyond the word of someone we know has actively and knowingly lied about who's to blame for bad things happening in the past is... supposedly good? Just? Even righteous? I'm sorry, no. If JC has any goodness in his heart, it's reserved for people he deems to be "his". But we shouldn't be surprised, really; JC actively screws himself over by betraying WWX out of petty spite. Why wouldn't he go out of his way to torture people to death?

So basically... there is no argument I've seen that I will even consider in favour of JC torturing people to death out of "the goodness of his heart". He is not swiftly killing criminals in justice for crimes committed before they can harm others, he is murdering people. People are never said to have committed a crime, and even if they have the people of Yunmeng clearly think they do not deserve what JC does to them based on their horror. JC is simply a murderer. There's nothing else to it.

[openheart12]

A New Beginning

Summary: Tony and Michelle are once again thrown back into the chaos that is CTU. The same place that tore their family apart, is the same place where they get their second chance at a life.

WC: 4,441

Michelle never thought she would be standing in front of him in the same place that tore them apart, but here they were. She hadn’t seen him in six months and even though this is the hardest thing she’s had to endure, it was better this way. 

Especially since he was the one who asked her to leave. 

Her heart ached at the memory she tried to bury deep within her but it always found a way to bubble up to the surface. 

They locked eyes and she noticed how much different he looked compared to six months ago, hope fluttered in her chest that maybe he finally cleaned himself up. 

If not for her, then for Avery. She deserved to have her father in her life. 

Michelle had found out she was pregnant just less than a year after they had gotten married. Both of them were beyond ecstatic although nervous. 

Tony had ensured that Michelle stayed out of the field and he only went as a last resort. When they found out they were having a baby girl, a mini Michelle, Tony had been adamant on her name much to Michelle’s dismay. 

But when Avery Michelle Almeida made her entrance into the world, during a national security crisis nonetheless, she was deemed perfect and healthy. At six pounds and seven ounces, and nineteen inches long, she already had her parents wrapped around her little finger. 

Michelle recalled the moment, remembering how Chapelle was pissed that he had to come in as their replacements, but neither of them had cared in that moment. She remembered all the congratulations they received from their friends, how happy everyone was for them. 

CTU had played a big part in the course of their relationship. It was where they met, where they shared their first kiss, where he actually ended up proposing, where they had to come in the middle of their honeymoon, and now the place where their baby was born. 

And it was going to be the place where they reunited, unbeknownst to them. 

Almost everyone knew of their history so they were inclined to see how the day would go. The people they worked with before knew about their daughter, but the newest employees had no idea. Most of them knew that this was the first time they’ve seen each other in a while since the divorce. 

Almost all eyes were on them when she made her way through the bullpen and into the center next to Secretary Heller. 

Secretary Heller asked Tony to bring her up to speed and he told her of the events at McLennan-Forrester and Jack and Paul. After he finished, he started to walk away as she called after him. 

“Tony, I need the access codes for CTU and Division.” 

He nodded and handed them to her, their fingers brushed against each other for a brief second. She thanked him and as she turned around to go, he asked her, “what do you want me to do?”

“Division’s sending over a supplemental list of terrorists who supposedly had contacts with Habib Marwan. Check any names that have been flagged by other agencies, including overseas.” 

“Given what’s happening right now, it doesn’t seem like the best use of my time.”

“It has to be done and I’d like you to do it.” She started to walk away when he reached out and gently grabbed her arm. 

“Michelle, Jack and Paul have information that could be vital to ending this crisis. I should be helping us find them, Michelle!”

“The last time I saw you, you couldn’t stay sober long enough to keep a job.” 

“That was six months ago.”

“This is what I need you to do. If you don’t like it, you can resign.” 

He let out a sigh, scratching the side of his cheek. “I’m gonna need a security clearance,” he relented. 

“I’ll make sure you get a level three.” 

“Level three?” He scoffed. “I used to have a six.” 

“Right now, all you need is three,” she turned on her heel and walked into the situation room where a woman was sitting. She was looking through the files in front of her when the woman started speaking to her. 

“Is there a problem with Agent Almeida?” 

“Not at all.”

“It’s just that Secretary Heller is very sensitive to personal conflicts on the job. I know your history. I know that you guys were married and that he sacrificed his career to save your life, but if this is gonna be a problem-”

Who the hell was this woman, parading around like she knew anything about her and Tony’s relationship. “His being here will not affect my work. I won’t let it. Now, if Secretary Heller wants to speak to me about it, I’ll be more than glad to,” she said, signaling the end of this conversation. 

With Sarah gone and Chloe back in play, the two of them found a way to put their personal problems aside and work as a team again. Michelle regretted not listening to Tony’s insight about Jack, knowing that he knew Jack and his tactics better than she did. But she couldn’t tell if she did it out of spite or not and that bothered her because she never let anything interfere with her work. 

She tried apologizing, saying that she valued his input, which she did, but the damage had been done and the worst of it was yet to come. 

Bill Buchanan strode through CTU and Michelle quickly introduced him to everyone else there. Her and Tony were standing close together talking after their failed attempt at capturing Marwan when Bill walked up next to them. 

“Did you secure Marwan yet?” 

“No, he must’ve slipped through the perimeter,” Michele explained. 

“How the hell could you let that happen?” Bill accused, taking Michelle by surprise. 

“It doesn't matter how it happened,” Tony defended. “What matters is that he’s gone and we’re doing everything we can to find him.” He and Michelle might not be together anymore, but he’d be damned if he let anyone talk to her like that, especially since it was a situation out of her control. 

“What exactly are you doing to find him?” Bill asked, turning his attention to Michelle. 

“We widened the perimeter, set up a search grid, state police and LAPD are conducting a sweep,” she answered as they were interrupted. 

A few minutes later, Bill walked up to her, placing his hand on her shoulder. “Listen, um, I’m sorry if I snapped.” 

“It’s okay, we’re all under a lot of pressure.”

“You holding up?” He asked softly. 

“I’m fine,” she smiled, hoping to convince him and herself of that. 

Michelle wasn’t aware that Tony had seen their interaction. Tony knew something had probably transpired between the two and wanted to know the extent of it so he made his way towards Chloe. 

“How long has Buchanan been at Division?” He asked her. 

“Well, it took awhile to fill Chapelle’s position… six months.” 

That’s how long ago she left, he thought. That wasn’t fair and he knew it since he told her to leave. “Where was he before that?” 

“Seattle, I think.”

“Seattle?” 

“Yeah, that’s where Michelle was posted while you were in jail, right?” Chloe asked, piecing it together. She was one of the few who didn’t know what had happened between Michelle and Tony, it wasn’t her business so she stayed out of it. 

“Yeah… thanks.” 

Tony had debated on confronting her about it or not and his curiosity ended up getting the better of him. “Michelle,” he called to get her attention, “when were you planning on telling me?” 

“About what?” 

“About you and Buchanan.” 

She immediately became defensive, already knowing she wasn’t going to like where this conversation was headed. “Never because it’s none of your business.”

“Michelle, before you worked with him at Division, you worked with him at Homeland Security restructuring, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“We were still married then.” 

“Legally… yes.” 

“Did you sleep with him while we were married?” 

She stared at him in disbelief. “No, I didn’t.” 

“But you are now?” 

“Like I said, it’s none of your business. You know, it’s not like I have time to do anything between work and raising my daughter,” she retorted. 

That jab took him by surprise and he hung his head low and walked away. She felt guilty, but he accused her of cheating on him while they were still married. She couldn’t even look at another man, even now, she was still completely and utterly in love with Tony. 

Hours had passed by since their encounter and he wanted to clear the air between them, the tension was at an all time high. 

“Michelle,” he began, “I was out of line a couple hours ago about you and Bill. It’s your life and I’ve got no right to judge you.” 

“I appreciate that,” she said sincerely. 

“And whatever tension there is between us, I would like to apologize for my part in it. I’d like it if we could just let it go so we can do our jobs. Leave the past in the past,” he finished. “And if it would be okay with you, I’d like to be in Avery’s life and I know I don’t deserve it, but she’s all I have left,” he added, sadness lacing his words. 

“That sounds good,” she lied with a smile. “I know Ave would love to see you. She misses her daddy.” I miss him too, she thought to herself. Not to mention that she wasn’t ready to let go of their past just yet, she may never be ready to. 

“We can talk about it later,” he said before going back to work and she did the same thing. 

Both of them seemed to be working together better after their conversation, just like they used to. They became one again, putting their time and effort into the crisis at hand. 

“Anything new?”

“Yeah, White House just authorized adding Iowa army reserve units to the ground search.”

“Have they widened the perimeter?”

“Yeah, they locked down a 60-mile radius around the area where the warhead was stolen, but I’m concerned Marwan’s people might’ve managed to sneak it outside that perimeter.”

“Well, we closed all major roads and air traffic immediately, but there is a chance they got it through.”

“Homeland Security’s faxing over casualty projections based on that possibility,” he said just as the fax started to ring.

“That’s probably them right now.”

“Yeah, I’ll get it.”

Another phone started to ring and she answered it, “CTU.”

“I’m calling for Tony Almeida. Who’s this?”

“This is Michelle Dessler, a colleague of his. May I ask who’s calling?”

“The woman he happens to be living with. Is he there?”

She felt as if she had just gotten kicked in the stomach. “Yeah, hold on. It’s for you,” she said, handing him the phone.

“Who is it?”

“The woman you’re living with.” She answered, hurt was evident in her eyes. 

“Jen,” he answered with a sigh. 

“I’ve been calling everyone we know going crazy looking for you. Then finally I thought maybe Jack Bauer took you back there. God, do you have any idea how worried I’ve been?”

“Yeah, I’m sorry. I should’ve called earlier. I’ve been very busy.”

“Really busy with Michelle Dessler?”

“I’m working, Jen.”

“Oh, for CTU?”

“On a provisional basis, yeah.”

“I thought you hated that place.”

“Things have changed a little.”

“Yeah, I guess they have.”

“Look, Jen, we can talk about this later. Right now, I gotta go. All right?”

“Tony, what’s your ex-wife doing there?”

“Jen, I’m sorry, but I gotta go,” he said before hanging up. He rubbed his face, knowing how big of a jackass he had been earlier. “Michelle, um, I’m sorry you had to find out like that.”

“It’s really none of my business.”

“Yeah, it is,” he countered. She started to walk away and he followed after her. “I should’ve told you I was living with someone else.”

“I don’t wanna talk about this right now.”

“Yeah, well, I do. Listen to me,” he gently grabbed her arm, turned her around, and backed her into the wall. “When you left, everything fell apart. Jen happened to be there for me.”

“You don’t have to make excuses for your relationship.”

“I’m not making excuses. I’m just telling you how it is.”

“Do you love her?” She asked, afraid of his answer.

 He didn’t hesitate before answering. “No.”

“Ms. Dessler, the new protocols from DOD just came in. Should I send them to your screen?” Edgar told him, quite aware that he was interrupting something. 

“Send them to station sixteen,” she answered and with one last look at him, she walked past him. 

She didn’t know how much time had passed since Jen called and she hadn’t talked to Tony since and truth be told, she had been avoiding him to try to sort out her feelings. 

Her phone started to ring and she answered automatically, “Dessler?”

“Hey, Michelle, it’s Allison.”

Allison was Avery’s babysitter and panic immediately started to set in after seeing what time it was. “Is Avery okay?” 

“Yeah, she’s fine. She just misses you and wants to talk to you. I tried to tell her you were at work, but you know how stubborn she is.” 

Michelle smiled for the first real time today, leave it to her daughter to be the reason. “Let me talk to her, I have a few minutes.” 

“Momma?” She heard her daughter's tinge voice say. 

“Hey, sweetheart. What are you still doing up?” 

“I miss you a bunch. When are you coming home?” 

“Not for another couple hours, but what if I told you I have a surprise for you when I get home?” 

“Ooohhh, what is it?” 

“It wouldn’t be a surprise if I told you, now would it?” She laughed at her excitement. “But you have to go to sleep to get it.” 

“Okay, okay. I love you, momma.” 

“I love you too, baby. I’ll see you soon.” She reluctantly hung up. She swore she had to have the easiest five year old who actually listened to her. 

“Everything okay?” She turned around to see Tony’s worried expression. 

“Yeah, everything’s fine. That was Avery.” 

“Is she okay?” He asked as worry started to set in. 

“Yeah, she just wanted to talk.” 

“Leave it to our kid to be awake way past her bedtime,” he joked. 

“I wonder who she gets that from,” she teased back with an easy smile. 

“Hey, my sleeping habits have gotten a lot better,” he defended himself with a laugh. “At least I don’t take up half of the bed when I sleep.” 

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy it, Almeida,” she shot back. They were treading into dangerous territory by bringing up the past but before either of them could say anything, Michelle was called away and she gave him an apologetic smile. 

After the news of the attack on the Chinese Consulate circulated through CTU, it only made finding the warhead a bigger priority and it didn’t help that Cheng Zhi demanded to come to CTU to get some answers. 

Michelle was just getting off the phone when Tony walked into her office. “This situation with the Consulate is dragging us down. We shouldn’t be diverting resources away from finding that warhead.” 

She was amazed at how they were thinking the same thing. “Well, hopefully this is just a formality and we can get rid of him quickly. If we don’t get information from Lee, Audrey’s husband would’ve died for nothing,” she said, leaning against her desk. 

“What is she still doing here?” Tony asked, staring down at her through the glass panel. 

“I think she wants to stay busy so she doesn’t have to think about it,” she answered softly. She was familiar with the concept herself. 

“It’s funny, when I met Audrey this afternoon, it seemed she and Jack were totally together… a few hours later and everything has changed.” Just like it had with them. He turned to look at her before speaking again. “Michelle, I hate being without you,” he said softly. 

“I never wanted it to be this way,” she answered honestly. “And Avery… she deserves to have her dad around.” 

The phone rang telling them that Chang had arrived and just like that, they were back in work mode. 

Later, they were up in her office once again. “Tactical is at Richard’s house, they’re going through his things right now.” 

“What about Jack?” Tony asked. 

“Jack and Curtis are on their way back right now.” 

“Someone has to tell Audrey that Jack is going to be interrogating her brother.” 

“Audrey’s not going to want Jack near her brother,” Tony pointed out. 

“Can’t be helped… I mean if Richard knows something about that missile…” she trailed off. 

“It’s funny, this morning Jack and Audrey were planning their future, now he’s responsible for her husband's death and he may have to torture her brother.” 

“Yet, every move he’s made has been the right one.” She went over and sat down on the couch. 

“Not if he wanted to be with her.” He took a seat beside her. “Look, Michelle, everything that’s happened today, it’s been hard going through it with you again.” 

“It’s been hard for me too.” 

“I look at what this job does to people in our positions and I realize,” he met her eyes, “I want us to be together again, but it’s gotta be away from all this. We shouldn’t have to put our country over our family.” 

Getting back together didn’t come as a surprise to her, she had been expecting it, but leaving the job completely took her off guard. 

“You want us to leave our jobs?” He nodded. “We’ve spent the last twelve years of our lives doing this. Where would we go? What would we do?” 

“I don’t care… Look, people start over every day if it’s important to them and you are important to me and so is Avery. I want my family back, Michelle.” 

“You’re asking me to leave the only thing I’ve ever done?” 

“Yes, I am,” he answered. She turned her head away from him, her thoughts scrambling all over the place.

 He went to walk out her door when she stopped him. “Why did you want me to leave?”

“I thought it was for the best and plus, Ave didn’t need to see me like that. I wasn’t the husband or father that I needed to be and I was humiliated and ashamed of myself. I thought I was helping you and that you would eventually figure out that you deserved so much more than I could offer you. Prison was the worst time of my life and I just, I don’t know, I guess I didn’t want you to be ashamed of me like I was of myself.” 

“Do you ever regret it,” she asked hesitantly. “Saving me, I mean.” 

“Michelle, I never once regretted my decision to save you. If I had to, I would do it again because I love you. If it hadn’t been for you, I never would’ve had the best three years of my life. Our girl wouldn’t be here either if it wasn’t for you.  The only thing I regret is telling you to leave, thinking that it would help both of us when it only made things worse.”

“But look where we are now because of me.”

“Exactly, Michelle, Avery has both of her parents. I’m willing to fix us, if you are. I love you more than my life itself and I love our little girl. Nothing is ever going to change that fact. This job isn’t worth it anymore, it’s not more important than you or Avery.” 

“Okay,” she smiled, tears in her eyes. 

“Okay?” He mirrored her smile. 

“I’m ready to leave here. I’m ready to go with you.”

He swiftly walked over to her and cupped her face in his hands, stroking her cheek with the pad of his thumb. “Are you sure? Because I’m not letting go of you again.” 

“I can’t spend another day without you,” she confirmed and that was all he needed to seal his lips over hers. It had been six months since he saw her, six months since he last touched her and even longer since he last kissed  her. The kiss spoke more than words could ever say. 

After a minute, he pulled back, both of them breathless with huge grins on their faces. Stupid love drunk grins. 

“I love you from now until forever,” he told her. 

“I will love you always,” she choked out. He knew repeating part of their vows would make her emotional, but he wanted her to know that he was serious about trying again. 

This is forever. 

“Come on, let’s get back to work so we can go home.” 

Home. It sounded too good to be true, but nonetheless, she was ready to start fresh. A new beginning was exactly what they needed. 

Hours passed by, Marwan was dead, the missile had been destroyed, and they had just helped Jack fake his death with the help of Chloe and President Palmer. 

Dropping Jack off for the last time was hard for both of them, but Michelle could see the toll it took on Tony. They were friends for years and had come to trust each other like brothers. 

She covered his hand with hers and he intertwined their fingers together. 

“Let’s go home.”

“Let’s go home,” she repeated with a smile. She gave him the directions to her apartment and they arrived twenty minutes later. Looking over at him, she could tell he was nervous. “Come on,” she nudged him slightly. 

The afternoon sun bathed the building in a golden glow with white clouds drifting lazily in the breeze. It was a beautiful day in California. 

They got out of the SUV and Michelle led him up the stairs to her front door. “It’ll be okay,” she reassured him.

The keys turned the lock, a soft click was heard before she opened the door. A woman who Tony didn’t recognize was seated in the kitchen. 

She nodded in acknowledgment before turning her attention to Michelle. 

“Avery’s in her room playing and we did all of her homework, she hasn’t eaten lunch yet because she wanted to wait to eat with you,” she laughed softly. “Are you going to need me tomorrow?” She asked, looking between her and Tony. 

“Probably not, but I’ll give you a call if that changes. We’re supposed to have a couple days off,” Michelle explained. “Thank you, Allison.” They bid their goodbyes and Tony wandered over to the living room, where the pictures of Avery caught his eye. 

“I can’t believe I let things get this bad,” he said, choking back tears. 

“Oh, Tony.” Michelle strided over towards him, wrapping her arms around him as he clung to her. 

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry,” he kept repeating. 

“Shh,” she soothed him gently, rubbing small circles across his back. 

“Momma?” A tiny voice asked and she felt Tony tense in her arms. 

“Hey, sweetheart,” she greeted, turning around to face her daughter. Her little eyes were trained on the person behind her who was now trying to stifle his sobs. 

“Daddy’s home?” She asked, a hint of hope in her voice. 

“Daddy’s home,” Michelle smiled as her eyes filled with tears. 

Avery tentatively walked up behind him and placed her arms around his legs. Tony stood there for a few seconds, soaking in the feeling of being home before squatting down to her level. 

“Hey, pretty lady,” he greeted with a smile, placing a kiss on her cheek. 

“I missed you,” she cried out, throwing her small arms around his neck. 

“I missed you so much.” He told her. 

Michelle watched the two of them, her heart swelling with joy. Her family was together again, her perfect little family. 

“Can we watch The Little Mermaid?” She asked after a few minutes, making her parents laugh. 

“I see not that much has changed,” he teased, referencing Avery’s favorite movie since she was a year old. Avery led Tony over to the couch where they plopped down on it together, her talking animatedly about anything and everything that came to her mind and Tony listened intently. 

These were the moments she missed the most, just the three of them together. She watched them for a few more minutes until she headed towards the kitchen to make some popcorn. 

She didn’t even know Tony was in there until she felt his arms wrap around her and his chin resting on her shoulder. “Are you already tired of me? It’s only been a day, Michelle.” 

“What?”

“You’re making popcorn… ya know, it requires using the microwave, right? Are you trying to kill me already?” He teased her. 

“I think I can handle a microwave.” 

“I don’t know, sweetheart. I recall a time where you almost set our house on fire when you heated up that Chinese food without taking it out the box.” 

“Shut up!” She laughed, turning around in his arms. “I’ve gotten better since then because-” she stopped, her smile faltering. She learned how to cook, to the best of her ability, after leaving Tony so that her and Avery wouldn’t have to survive off of takeout for three meals a day. 

“I know,” was all he said. 

“We have to be able to talk about it instead of just pushing it aside. Not like what we did last time.” 

“And we will, but now, we have a movie to watch. We’ll talk tomorrow, I promise.” 

“Okay,” she relented with an easy smile, her cheeks were starting to hurt from all the smiling she had done within the past couple of hours. 

They heard Avery come back to the living room, calling for Tony and the two of them together grabbed the popcorn and snacks and sat down on the couch with Avery between them. She was dressed in her The Little Mermaid pajamas to match the movie. 

As the movie started, Michelle stole one last glance at them and smiled yet again. This is what their life was going to start looking like from now on once they left CTU, the place where this all became possible, but the same place that could take it all away in a split second.

This was their second chance, their new beginning, and she wasn’t going to waste it. 

[puroalgarete]

TASK 12

The Secret

Emilio walked into the court room, in a train of other young teens in shackles as they filed into a row to stand before a judge that would determine their sentences for crimes they'd committed. His knuckles still bruised and healing, from an altercation he'd had just weeks ago with, Heraldo Ramirez. Also, his reason for being where was, in that paling white and blue striped juvenile jumpsuit.

"Todos pueden tomar asiento ahora (You can all take your seats now)," an elderly male judge called out to them, as he came out and sat down in his seat.

The tone already turned sour when the judge began huffing and puffing and slamming down case papers as he began calling case numbers. Each case, seemed to be automatically deemed guilty without so much of a chance of being heard out. Two and a half hours later, the judge came upon, Emilio's case. He sifted through it, as if it were a menu at a poor restaurant with nothing appealing. There were several heavy sighs, a few tsks-tsks and disapproving head shakes before he finally raised his gaze to look down the row of teens still awaiting their cases.

"¿El número de caso, 0097854, por favor, levántese y diga su nombre y edad, por favor? (Will the case number, 0097854, please stand up and state your name and age, please?)" The judge lowered his reading glasses as he waited for him to stand up to the podium.

Emilio cracked his neck slightly, already annoyed himself, then stood up and slowly walked his way towards the podium. The shackles made it difficult to maneuver, as the chains that tied his hands to his ankles smacked against just legs.

"Soy Emilio Ram-," he said before being cut off by the judge.

"Tu nombre completo (Your full name)," the man's voice already snippy, as he hit at the counter with his hand.

"Perdon (Sorry)," Emilio inhaled deeply, already feeling that anger boiling up again. "Soy Emilio Christian Ramos y tengo dieciséis años, (My name is Emilio Christian Ramos and I'm sixteen years old)."

"¿Dieciséis? Y este es el primero, no ... Veo que ha cometido algunos otros delitos. Pero ninguno para calificar el tiempo real en la detención de menores. ¿Es eso correcto? (Sixteen? And this is your first, no... I see you've had a few other crimes. But none to qualify actual time in juvenile detention. Is that correct?)," the judge peered up at him, as he spread his case out over the counter to no longer have to sift between pages.

"Sí, juez. Eso es correcto (Yes, judge. That's correct)," Emilio replied with a yawn.

The judge became more aggravated, assuming that Emilio had in someway disrespected him by yawning. Only, in actuality, Emilio hadn't slept in his cell; do you issues with several of the other boys trying to stir up drama to pass the time, deciding to choose him as their new play thing to pass the time. Something he didn't take lightly. If there was anything he truly hated, it was people trying to hurt others for no reason. It infuriated him and their actions against him the night before, left him without any sleep and severely agitated.

"Oh lo siento. ¿Te estoy aburriendo? (Oh, I'm sorry. Am I boring you?)" The judge shouted angrily at him, which seemed to wake up a few of the boys seated behind him, that had dozed off through the other cases.

"¿Que? (What?)" Emilio asked confused, unsure of what just happened.

"¿Necesito recordarte que estás aquí por un delito muy grave? En el que un adolescente quedó en estado crítico. Una coma. Con lo que están diciendo los médicos, ya muestra signos de daño cerebral irreversible (Need I remind you, you're here for a very serious crime? In which a teenage boy was left in critical condition. A coma. With what doctors are saying, already shows signs of irreversible brain damage)," the judge hit the counter top extremely hard, as he grew angrier, detailing the case; as if he were speaking of an innocent boy that didn't deserve precisely what he got.

"¿Y que? (And what?)" Emilio laughed, now actually not caring about what the judge was saying.

"¿Crees que esto es gracioso? (Do you think this is funny?)," the judge asked sternly, locking eyes with him.

"Sí, creo que lo es. Creo que es muy divertido (Yeah, I think it is. I think it's really funny)," Emilio laughed as he nodded his head and shrugged his shoulders, as if already bored of the topic.

"¿Perdóneme? Ese adolescente ya no podrá tener una vida, como todos los demás. Se verá obligado a someterse a años de terapia. ¿Eso significa algo para usted? (Excuse me? That teenager will no longer be able to have a life, like everyone else. He will be forced to undergo years of therapy. Does that mean anything to you?)," The judge stood up enraged, his fists pounded hard against the counter, nearly causing papers to fall off and forcing someone who worked there to fix them before they did.

"¿Que vida? Era un pedazo de mierda que consiguió exactamente lo que le esperaba (What life? He was a piece of shit who got exactly what he had coming to him)" Emilio shot back at him. "¡Ese tipo jodió con mi familia! (That guy fucked with my family!)"

"Bajarás la voz- (You will lower your voice)," the judge cut in, his voice rising.

"Aterrorizó a mis abuelos durante semanas! (He terrorized my grandparents for weeks)," he ignored the judge and kept going.

"Dije, baja la voz. (I said, lower your voice!" The judge's voice now booked through the court room, as he stared Emilio down.

"Quemó su panadería. Y ninguno de estos policías hizo una mierda sobre eso, ¿verdad? (Burned down their bakery. And none of these cops did shit about any of that, did they?)" Emilio shouted back at him, his fists in chains, slammed hard against the podium.

"¡Hará lo que le diga en mi sala de audiencias! (You will do as I say in my courtroom!)" the judge slammed his gavel down hard, thinking it would quiet him. Only it made Emilio more angry.

"Amenazó con drogar a mi hermanita y tú estás ahí en tu jodido caballo actuando como si fuera Jesucristo. Puede ahogarse con una jodida polla, me importa un carajo lo que le pase. (He threatened to drug my little sister and you're standing there on you're fuckin' high horse actin' like he was Jesus fucking Christ. He can choke on a fucking dick, I don't give a fuck what happens to him)," Emilio was screaming back at the judge, already having reached his boiling point.

"BASTA! YA BASTA! (Enough! that's enough)," The judge was beyond furious, he slammed his gavel down so hard that it broke in his hand.

"¡Vete a la mierda! (Fuck you!)" Emilio shot back at him, without missing a beat.

"Está acusado de agresión y agresión. Se declaró inocente en su última audiencia. Pero está claro, con su comportamiento aquí hoy, que su enojo es un peligro real para la sociedad y por la presente lo considero culpable de agresión y le ordeno que pase seis meses en el centro de detención de menores. En el cual tendrás que asistir a terapia y terapia de ira para ojala estar rehabilitado para reingresar a la sociedad. Tienes suerte de que no muriera o te juzgarán como adulto, por la gravedad de tu crimen. (You stand charged with assault and battery. You pleaded innocent at your last hearing. But it's clear, with your behavior here today that your anger is a real danger to society and hereby I deem you guilty of assault and order you to spend six months in the juvenile detention center. In which you will have to attend therapy and anger therapy to hopefully be rehabilitated to re-enter society. You're lucky he didn't die or you'd be being tried as an adult, for the severity of your crime)," the judge boomed, as he was handed a new gavel.

"Bueno. ¡Porque me importa un carajo! (Fine. 'Cause I don't give a fuck!)" Emilio snapped back at him, as the judge waved at the guards.

"Sáquenlo de esta sala de audiencias. ¡No toleraré más este comportamiento! (Take him out of this courtroom. I will not stand for this behavior any longer!)" The judge fumed, snapping his fingers at the guards, who hurried over and grabbed Emilio's arms to usher him out.

"¡Puedes joderte a ti mismo, viejo hijo de puta! (You can fuck yourself, you old fuck/son of a bitch!)," Emilio yelled over his shoulder as they forced him out of the room and back down the long white hallway toward the holding cells, where he was to be processed for his transfer.

Surely, it hadn't gone precisely how he'd of wanted, but in reality, he didn't care that Heraldo's life was over. Only that he could no longer mess with his family and that filled him with relief. It was enough having to see his father try to bully them into paying him for protection or to use their bakery for a front for his business. Their neighbors had gotten together to raise enough money for repairs, allowing them to eventually start up again. Those six months, Emilio would have to undergo, would feel like an eternity. Although he felt no guilt towards the state of Heraldo, he began to feel guilt for how it affected Heraldo's family. He couldn't imagine having to look after someone that terrible for the rest of their life and for that, he felt sorry.

[revisionaryhistory]

Three Days ~ 59

~*~Emma~*~

The lake had been fun. It was initially awkward, but after we loaded into the boat and were underway it got better. I snagged a spot up front in the bow. I was joined by three girls, now women, I’d known well in high school. We started by talking about our current lives and by the time we'd found a spot to anchor we were telling old stories and laughing through our memories. Once the four of us had reconnected the others were easy with conversations and groupings overlapping. An hour later it felt like old times. There were lots of pictures taken and we were texting them to each other immediately. I posted some on Instagram and sent some directly to Sebastian. I had no problem posting bikini-clad pictures of me in a group, but solo went only to him. I've never been one for posting me. It's usually an activity with people.

There was a dock near the southeast border of the lake for gassing up and they had a sandwich shop. Sandwich included hot dogs, hamburgers, french fries, and onion rings. We decided to eat at the picnic tables. Stowing food was more to pack up and could stink. We were relaxing and waiting for the last ones to finish when my notification went off. Chris Evans was asking permission to follow my account. Interesting. Approved. Not a minute later so was Chace Crawford. Also approved, but with a snarky DM about his pickup lines. He'd hit on me at Kirk's wedding. Very unsuccessfully.

Emma ~ Tell Chris hi and nice to meet him.

Sebastian ~ We’re not talking about you. Much. Ok, we are. Sebastian ~ We're mostly looking at pictures.

Emma ~ The ones on your phone are much better than IG

Sebastian ~ Chace will be the one to figure that out.

 Chris DM'd me, “Can't wait to meet you in person. Hearing very sweet things.”

I sent back, "A few are true. He exaggerates."

"Yeah, he's got a huge crush on you."

"Nice to know."

We watched sunset out on the water. It was beautiful. The haze and clouds made for muted pinks, purples, blues, and grays. I took a dozen of those hoping to catch the perfect one. I was in a group of people, but the sunset had me feeling lonely. It was fleeting and I was back into the party spirit quickly.

Amy thought it was a good idea to take everyone back to our house for a pool party. I did not agree. Our parents were home babysitting their granddaughter and we were about to invade with a hoard of drunk friends. All of whom were inviting more and asking them to pick up booze. It felt very high school and in need of at least a phone call. However, it was Amy’s idea and no one wanted to hear from me last night. I wouldn’t be calling ahead.

I went inside to go to the bathroom and ran into dad. "What's all that noise we just got Katie in bed?"

"Amy invited some friends back to the pool."

"You’re teenagers again."

"Seems like it."

"Try and keep it down."

"I will tell her." Not my party. Not my crowd control. I did my business and went back outside. Amy was making out with Max in the pool. I tapped on her head, breaking their kiss, "Dad said to keep it down."

They went back to kissing. I'd deemed my message delivered and headed to the bar, putting in the code and retrieving a bottle of tequila. When I stood up, I was surprised to see Kai on the other side of the bar. Kai was the boyfriend who broke up with me after rehab. Kai's hands were shoved in the pockets of his swim shorts. He nodded toward the group, "Amy said you'd be ok with me coming. I wanted to check."

My current plan for Amy’s death was drowning. She was already in the pool after all. I pasted a less than genuine smile on my face, "It's fine, Kai. It was a long time ago. How are you?"

Kai was very southern lawyer attractive. Thinking back, he always had been. "I’m good. I did become a lawyer. Work for a firm here in Alpharetta. I got married three years ago. Her name is Melanie. We're expecting a baby in January."

"Congratulations. That’s wonderful."

He nodded, "Thank you. What are you up to?"

"I teach first grade, love it. I play in a volleyball rec league. My best friend's in a band so I go into the city and visit. My boyfriend lives there too."

Kai laughed, "I might have heard about him."

"I bet. He's a good guy. Lots of fun and good to me.”

"Better than I was, I’m sure."

Ah! This was going to be some sort of apology. I cringed and pulled up my shades for a second, "Well Kai, you did break up will me three days after I got back from rehab. You kinda failed at supportive boyfriend."

"Yeah, I did. Sorry. In hindsight, it was a shitty thing to do. Bad timing and a lie of a reason."

"I knew that."

"Sorry. I’ve always felt guilty."

I smiled, "It was a long time ago, Kai. We've grown up. We're both doing well."

"I wish we could go back to friends again. We were friends since middle school."

I don't think he realized that made it worse. We’d been friends before we were anything else and none of that mattered when he left me. It didn’t matter to me now. “I stopped being angry with you a very, very long time ago, Kai. Forgave you for leaving me when I needed you. But there’s no reason for us to be friends now. I come back a couple of times a year. You and I are strangers now. And while I have forgiven you, I’d never trust you again.” His guilt is not a reason for me to welcome him back into my life.

“Wow.” He looked surprised.

I smiled, “I wish nothing but the best for you.”  I leaned back to see under the bar and brought up a couple of glasses. “Drink to old times?”

He looked surprised again. “Yeah, Em.”

“Good.” I poured the tequila and tapped my glass against his. “To happy memories and years of fun times.”

We both drank and he walked around to my side of the bar. It was my turn to be surprised when he hugged me, “I wish nothing but the best for you too, Emma.”

I patted his back, “Thank you.”

Kai let go and walked back toward the pool.

I tell you what, this has been the strangest visit I’ve ever had and that’s saying a lot. I’m starting to get paranoid about what the next three days are going to bring. I poured another tequila and questioned my decision to not hop back on a plane last night. I could be home in my bed or in the city tucked into Sebastian’s bed waiting for him to get home or out with Eli and Angie. All preferable to this mixed bag of what the fuck.

I hung out for another hour before letting Amy I was heading to bed. Family day was supposed to start at about noon. That gave me time to sleep in a little, go for a run, and shower before arrivals started. Of course, because I had time to sleep in, I woke up at my normal time. I texted Sebastian, saying good morning, and was pleasantly surprised when his face showed up on my phone.

“It’s morning, but good is a stretch.”

He looked a little rough, but still handsome. “Good night with the boys?”

Sebastian nodded then winced, “Very.” He filled me in on his night. There’d been lots of laughs and he gave me back story on any conversations. I liked watching him talk. In his hungover state, he was less animated than usual, but his expressions and eyes still conveyed a range of emotions. I laughed at the late-night stories. My favorite was Chris edging between Chace and Sebastian in the bathroom, sharing a urinal with Seb because he couldn’t wait.

My stories weren’t nearly as funny. It’s possible things got out of hand after I’d gone to bed. I’m sure Amy would fill me in. I told him about the conversation with Kai.

“Ouch, you’re tough.”

I rolled to my side, putting the phone against the pillow, “It’s not my responsibility to ease his guilt.”

“True.”

“If we were going to be around each other my response might have been different, but there’s no reason. Haven’t seen him in twelve years, likely won’t for at least that long. We talked at the party, laughed. We’re just not going to be friends.”

“No, no, I get it.” He was shaking his head. “I think you might still be a little angry.”

I laughed, “Maybe I should have been less direct. I wasn’t expecting to see him. More indifferent than angry.”

“I don’t know if you should have. I just don’t want to be on the receiving end of your directness. The indifferent version.” He smiled with his using my word instead of his “angry”. “You were pretty direct with Drew in the bar too. I like you having a little bite.” He looked like he was thinking and I stayed quiet. “You are incredibly kind until you’re not. I mean, I think you give everyone the benefit of the doubt, but once they cross over the line where you don’t trust them you have no problem putting them in their place. That’s a good thing. Sometimes people don’t deserve the benefit of the doubt.”

“Ed tells me I let people get away with too much.”

“Do you think so?”

“Sometimes. I can give too many chances. It all depends on how much I care about someone and the size of the bad behavior. I think I’m usually direct and kind at the same time, but when I’ve had enough, I’ve had enough.”

“I tend to sugar coat too much. Then get pissy when nothing changes and sometimes it’s because I wasn’t clear.”

Now I had a question. “Are you sugar-coating and think I was mean to Kai?”

“I was imagining being on the receiving end. I wouldn’t have liked it, but, no, I don’t think you were mean.”

“You’d have to fuck up a lot.” Sebastian’s opinion was important. “I’m direct with the good stuff too.”

“I know you are.” His blue eyes lit up with his smile. “I always know where I stand, how you feel.”

Not always. Not right now. “You read me bedtime stories when I’m sad.”

“And you ask me what I need when I’m anxious.”

“Quite the pair.”

“Yes, we are.”

We just looked at each other for a long time. “Your flight is at three.”

“Twelve, moved up to squeeze in a dinner tonight.”

I looked at the time on my phone, “You need to get to the airport.”

“Yeah.” He turned the camera where I could see his bags. “All packed. I’ll call you when I get back to the hotel for our date.”

Our phone sex date. I smiled and kissed my screen, “I’ll talk to you later.”

“Definitely.”

I laid in bed for a few more minutes, just enjoying being happy, before I got up and got dressed to go for a run.  Mom and dad were already downstairs having coffee. I walked around the table, kissing both of their cheeks, “I’m going for a run before everyone gets here.”

Mom nodded over her cup, “How late was everyone here last night?”

I shrugged, “I went to bed about ten. Long day in the sun and then old friends showing up. I was done. Kai showed up. That was less than fun.”

“You left your sister to manage all your friends?”

Notice how they failed to ask how I was after an unexpected visit from my ex-boyfriend. I know I did. I thought about the conversation with Sebastian and what he’d said about some people not deserving the benefit of the doubt. The other night was the first time I’d been so confrontational with my parents in a very long time. Like since I was sixteen right before I moved to Seattle. I took a deep breath and tried to pull in some of the calmness I’d had upstairs in bed. “Guys, we’re almost thirty, not thirteen. Hopefully, we’ve grown out of getting so drunk we knock over patio furniture and throw up in the pool. If not, they are Amy’s problem. They are her friends, not mine. She invited them over. I haven’t seen most of these people for over ten years. And are you telling me in addition to not talking too much about my boyfriend or anything else that makes me happy, I am also expected to babysit my sister?”

“Emma, you’re overreacting.”

Again, with the fucking overreacting. I’m not an overreactor. If anything, I’m an underreactor. I’m positive I’m not overeating here. I guess it’s nice to know it’s not they don’t like Sebastian and don’t want to talk about him. They don’t want to talk about Kai either and I know they liked him. I muttered, “Unbelievable”, as I headed for the front door.

I ran far longer than I'd planned.

It took a long time to calm my mind and get into the zone. What often happens once I let go of my thoughts and get into a rhythm is that the thoughts organize themselves. When I stopped or during cool down I could see things more clearly. What I saw when I slowed my pace to a walk wasn't pretty. It had been my choice to leave rehab when it was no longer good for me. It had been my choice to call Ed to get me away from here when it was no longer good for me. I don't remember my parents favoriting Amy before that summer. Twenty-three days that strengthened me and weakened Amy. Broke my family and gave me a new one.

Choices, even ones that are good for you, have consequences. A tangled web of choices and consequences have led to now. This isn't my home. My parents' focus, as it had been since I went to Seattle or before, was Amy. I didn't agree with how they sheltered her, but I hadn't been here. In their view I was strong, I was fine, and they didn't have to worry about me. I had another family to worry about me. When I thought about it like this, it made sense. I'd left because being here was a threat to me. Now me being here was a threat to Amy. The situation was fucked. We'd all done the best we could. We still were. If what I'd told Sebastian was true, I wouldn't change anything if it meant I didn't know Ed, Jill, Olivia, and Harper. I had to accept the negatives too. I don't know what that means for the future, but as Ed tells me I put up with things too long sometimes.

I arrived back at the house as everyone was finishing breakfast. I'd separated myself from family time by taking a run. Or maybe I'd taken a run because I was separate from my family. I poured a cup of coffee and joined them at the table, helping myself to the container of Greek yogurt and covering it with berries. Blueberries for Sebastian and raspberries for me. That made me smile.

After I showered Amy and I went to pick up my grandparents. Amy told me what happened after I'd gone to bed, including her and Max having sex on the big round double lounger. I told her... nothing. I didn’t tell her about my fights with our parents, I didn’t tell her about the conversation with Kai. I most certainly didn't tell her about my phone sex date later with Sebastian, the early morning just woke up FaceTime, or how he'd read me Winnie the Pooh until I fell asleep. I hated it. I hated how yesterday we were back to talking like sisters and today it was not. Again, my choice, but I knew she’d tell our parents, which under any other circumstance would be fine, but I could not take any more. I could, but I didn’t want to.

The back yard easily held the gathering of aunts, uncles, and cousins. Kids played in the pool while adults talked with glasses of sangria and bottles of beer. The last stragglers were finishing their drinks when Katie crawled into my lap. She wanted me to take her to bed and read her a story. When the book was done, she curled up next to me, looked up, and said, "I love you, Emma."

I kissed her nose, "I love you, too.”

I joined my parents and sister in the family room. Amy explained they hadn't known how long I'd be with Katie and had started a movie without me. I lied and said it was fine, I'd seen it. There couldn't have been much left when “Dancing Queen” started playing from my phone. I stood up, "That’s Sebastian. He's in Canada. I'm going to take it upstairs. See you in the morning."

Mom yelled after me, "We need to leave at nine-thirty."

"OK." I connected the call, "Hey, baby, how was your flight and dinner?"

"Bumpy."

"Which one?"

"Both." His laughter was a balm that smoothed away the roughness of the day. "How was the barbeque and why can't I see you?"

I shut the door behind me and switched the call to video. "I was waiting until I could get you alone."

Sebastian put his arms across his chest, "What kind of a boy do you think I am?"

"A very handsome one." The top three buttons of his white dress shirt were unbuttoned and his tie hung loosely around his neck. "Damn, you look good."

"So do you."

I was in a plain peach t-shirt. He didn't care. To him, I looked good. I went back to his question, "It was fun. Caught up with lots of family. Watched kids in the pool. Mostly sat with my grandparents. Granny was happy to hold my hand and tell me I’m beautiful."

Sebastian's mouth dropped open in a gasp, "I like doing that too." He turned his head to the side looking over my face, "You don't look sad, but you don't look happy either. What's going on with you?"

I looked up for an answer, "I am accepting the reality of the situation. This isn't really home or really my family anymore. Their priority is Amy."

His face fell, "I’m sorry, baby. What can I do? What do you need?"

I smiled a real smile, "Nothing I don't already have." I could see he was struggling to believe me. "Since we were sixteen, they took care of Amy and Ed took care of me. I didn't realize exactly what that meant. Amy is doing better than she ever has. I always thought that when Amy was better." I stopped myself to figure out how I wanted to say this. "It took me coming home while things are good to realize it doesn't matter. Even if she is fine it's all a house of cards. I expected at some time things would be normal, but it won't be. I am changing my expectations."

"How do stop expecting your parents to support you?"

Good question. "You know why Jimmy and I broke up."

"He cheated."

"My parents do not. Amy didn't until Friday."

"Why not?" Sebastian's sadness for me was tinged with anger.

The list of things my parents didn’t know was long. "Just telling them we'd split. I felt like I might drown. The way they wanted to baby and take care of me felt like an anchor around my neck, like I was incapable of surviving a breakup. When I came here for Christmas, they had all these ideas for my life, but they never asked what I wanted. I knew if I told them he'd cheated it would be ten times worse. Does this make any sense?" It wasn't completely clear to me so how could it be to him.

Sebastian rubbed his fingers over his beard, pulling at the grey patch. "I hurt my knee once. They told me to take it easy for twenty-four hours, ice it, stay off it. Then I had exercises and had to move. Walking hurt like hell but it was the best thing if I wanted to heal. Your parents wanted you on bed rest when what you needed was PT. Support to get on your feet. Support should help, not cripple you."

"Exactly!" I smiled and ran my fingers over the video version of his face. "So not having their support isn’t new. I am working on accepting that's not going to change." I watched Sebastian bite his lip and let it slip free. "What's that about?"

"I feel lucky to know you. I'm so fucking proud of you. You don't get stuck in self-pity; you dig yourself out. It's the difference between seeing yourself as a victim or just someone who had something bad happen. They keep Amy stuck and Ed taught you resilience."

My heart stopped and I forgot how to breathe. Not in the good way. In the almost a panic attack way.

"I can do that with work, most things. Relationships." He scrunched up his face and rocked his head from side to side. "I'm learning."

"I'm not always good at it either." Sometimes I needed my ass kicked.

"That’s ok. I'll be here to help. You're still learning too."

I felt a slow smile form across my face and Sebastian raised an eyebrow. "Aren't you supposed to be teaching me something tonight?"

I fought back the laugh at the way he squeezed his eyes shut and scrunched up his face. It took a good ten seconds for him to come back to me. I let go of the lip I was biting, "You ok there?"

"You cause me physical pain." He chuckled and smiled looking at me.

I don't think he minds all that much. "Where's it hurt, baby?" I dropped the tone and volume of my voice.

He made the face again and pointed his finger at me. "Turn off the camera."

My eyes went wide, "Why?"

"The first time I watch you get yourself off is going to be live."

"You have a lot of phone sex rules, Bastian." Still, I switched the phone to voice only. My screen went dark. I pouted. Not that he could see.

"Stop pouting and tell me what you're wearing."

I resisted the urge to tell him if he let me turn the damned camera back on, I'd show him. I didn't need to be taught how to do this. I was confident I could wing it just fine. What I didn’t know was if this was to be purely descriptive, giving each other instructions, or a role-play. It didn't matter. Any would be fun.

"I have on a peach t-shirt. It's not tight, but it fits against my body. Soft. My shorts are white. If you listen close, I bet you can hear me unzip them," I moved my phone lower to make sure he could. I left the phone by my hip, "I'm going to go ahead and take them off. My legs are smooth against my fingers."

"Take off your shirt too. Tell me about your bra and panties." His voice had taken on the timbre it gets when he's turned on.

"Nothing special. No one to see them. Simple white cotton. They do look nice against my tan."

"Next time we're together I’m licking those tan lines."

"Mmm, I'm looking forward to that. Tell me about you."

"Dressed from dinner. Black pants, long sleeve white shirt, black tie. You saw. Tie undone. A couple of buttons open and sleeves rolled up."

"Unbutton them all, but leave your shirt on. I like you undone. What’s going on with your pants?"

"They're tight. I’m not completely hard."

"Take them off. Rub yourself over your boxers. I love feeling you grow in my hand or my mouth. Your skin is so soft."

"Spread your legs. Touch yourself. Over your panties. I want them wet.” I heard a change in his breathing. Subtle. “I’m hard. Had to adjust my boxers. My cock's up toward my stomach where I can rub the underside. Feels good." He let out a little moan and I could easily imagine the little smile on his face.

"Take your cock out. I've got my hand over my pussy. Massaging myself. Warm. Panties are a little damp. I can tell I'm wet though. I can feel it."

"What's it like, Emma?"

"All the blood’s rushed between my legs. There's an ache, a throbbing, almost like I can feel my heart beating. An itch I need to scratch."

"My hand's around my cock. Slow strokes along the whole length. I flip my thumb over the tip every so often." His breath caught. "Hits the spot, you know the one, sends a jolt, like a shock through me. Feels even better when it's your tongue."

"Fuck. Your talking has me squirming. My hand is in my panties. My middle finger sliding from my clit to inside me. So slippery. How tight is your grip?"

"Tight. Not stroking my length anymore. Turned my hand around where my thumbs against the vein. Holding tight above the middle to the edge of the head. Feels good. Thinking about you touching your clit."

"Moving up and down, kind of slow. Tightening my muscles like you're inside me."

Words stopped, but it wasn't quiet.

Our breathing had synced up and there were these little catches, sighs, and soft moans.

"Faster and firmer now."

"Me too. I'm close."

I might not be able to see him, but I knew exactly what he looked like. His face, his body, were starting to tense.

"Feels good. Not as good as you touching me. Not even close."

"If I was there, I'd put my hand over yours. Feel how you like to be touched. So, I can match it. I'd kiss along your neck, taste you. My other hand, my fingers, barely touching your side, over your hip, across your thigh." The last word was interrupted.

" Em... fuck... yes..." Then a few seconds of silence followed by a long sigh.

"Where are you, baby?"

"Unhooked my bra. Nipples so tight."

"Perfect for me to suck on. I'd use my teeth. Run my hand up your inner thigh. Touching close. I can look down and see you touching yourself. God, how much I want to shove your hand away and taste you. Make you come."

"Oh fuck... Bastian." Everything tightened up then let go.

His voice was in my ear, "Turn your camera back on."

When I picked the phone up off my chest his face was already there. I hit the button and saw my face appear in the small rectangle. "Now you want to see me." I stretched with a contented sigh.

"I always want to see you after you come. The way your mouth is open and you lick your lips. Beautiful."

I rolled to my side, "What's an orgasm feel like for you?"

"Tonight. Mmm, for a while it just felt good. Like any touch, nothing special, except the where. Only more. Then it's like a switch. Goes from feels good to oh shit this is amazing. Starts where I’m touching and spreads down to my balls and lower stomach, base of my spine. It's like tightening a spring until it can't anymore and just let’s go."

"Is sex different? The orgasm."

"Oh yeah." His smile and eyes told me he drifted away a little. "I'll tell you all about it next time we have sex." Sebastian raised his eyebrows expectantly.

"Similar. Like you said just feels good. More of a building for me though. Sometimes it's a slow steady increase. Other times like stair steps. I have to remind myself to relax or I clench my butt and thighs too much."

"I've noticed this. You start to rise off the bed and I have to hold you down." He was clearly enjoying the memory. "Does it change how it feels?"

I nodded, "Tightening up takes the focus away. Eventually, everything gets warm, tingly, and tightens up. Finally, it's like a wave breaking on the shore with muscle contractions."

"I feel those."

"I like the resistance of having something to hold onto." His eyes had questions. I had to search for a workable metaphor. "If you're sitting in a chair and lift your foot you can feel your thigh tighten, but if you're on a leg machine with weights you feel that muscle more."

Awareness hit him, "Really?" I nodded again. "I knew you liked, but I like knowing the why." He laughed, "I love these talks."

I joined in his laughter, "It is fun."

"Hang on a sec." He laid his phone next to him and I could hear him moving around.

"What are you doing?"

Sebastian picked his phone back up, "There was a mess to clean up."

It is so sexy that he told me this. The whole conversation is sexy. Lying in bed a thousand miles apart having a casual chat about a not at all casual topic is sexy as fuck.

"What did you use?" I was amused.

He looked at me with disbelief. Not sure if it was the question or that he was going to answer. "My underwear. They were nearby." He stood up and lifted the tie as he walked. "Can I get rid of this now?"

"Do I get to see your bare chest?"

"Do I get... ok well, there we go. Thank you."

I'd shifted my camera lower and flashed him naked breasts before he finished asking. I moved back to my face, "You're welcome."

He held his phone out where I could watch him free his arm and be shirtless. I made an appreciative noise and he asked, "Enjoying yourself?"

"I am." I hadn’t intended to lick my lips. "I'd like to lay by a pool with you. Or a beach."

"Easily arranged." He stretched out on the bed. "What haven't we done that you want to do?"

"In general, or sex."

He shrugged, "Sex is the topic. Tonight anyway."

"I want you to give me a full body massage that veers off track to a happy ending."

"That will be just as much fun for me." His face showed his interest. "I want you to tie me to the bed, blindfold me, and do whatever you want to me."

I sat up enough to take my bra off, giving him another peek "We're going to need a weekend locked in one of our bedrooms."

"My weekend is free. I think I have company coming Thursday."

"My departure time keeps creeping up to get to you sooner.”

He sang, "Oh what a lucky boy."

“Pretty soon I’ll get there before you, waiting on the floor outside your apartment.” I got hit with a memory, "We need to talk about your birthday. What do you want?"

"Well, that depends on how you feel about birthday sex? I like birthday sex. Not a deal-breaker, not my preference, but fun for a change."

He stretched out on the bed and stuck his phone to his leg. I could see chest up. I propped my head upon my hand and adjusted my phone. "I'm speaking from limited experience here." Sebastian tried very hard not to smile. He failed, but he tried. "You're such a man."

He stopped trying, "You're such a woman." His laughter was a wonderful sound.

"Less than good experience the first time because neither of us realized the amount of prep work required." He winced. I shrugged. "Next time I’d researched. I liked it, he didn't. He was too in his head, worried about being dirty. Then there's you. I knew what I was doing more in theory than practice."

"You should feel free to practice on me anytime you want." He cocked his head to the side. "You can come in and brush your teeth while I pee, but that's as far as I want to go there."

"Women have complete conversations while trading places in a bathroom."

"The group bathroom break cracks me up."

"We don't want to stop talking or want to talk about a cute guy in private."

"Mostly the last one." He wasn't wrong. "Oh..." he shook his head and pulled his eyebrows down, "not into period sex. But you've got an IUD. Do you even have a period?"

"Nope, happy side effect." Condoms eliminated the need for the birth control talk. "How do you know I have an IUD? Can you feel the strings?"

"My fingers are up there a lot."

I smirked, "You're dirty."

"About to be dirtier. Turn off your camera."

[cursedwithgloriouspurpose]

I'm not sure who needs to hear this (no one, probably,) and it's possible I'm arguing with something of a strawman, but as I've seen more than a few instances of Gon being maligned as a "boy scout*," recently, I feel the need to throw my own thoughts into the wind.

("*Boy scout" maybe doesn't sound like much of an insult, but I usually see it within a rather condescending context wherein the speaker/writer believes that the accused is a goody-two-shoes who does nothing wrong and serves to highlight how bad everyone else is by comparison.)

Gon is the morally grey, true neutral character we desperately need and none of us deserve.

Throughout HxH people are drawn to Gon because of three major reasons: his unwavering spirit, his kindness, and his near complete lack of judgement for others. Let's be totally honest with ourselves, with rare exception there are very few major characters in the HxH that aren't guilty of something, or who can be honestly deemed "good people" by the usual (tumblr-ite) moral standards.

I'm gonna go ahead an examine a few of the most likely to objectionable ones really quickly, for argument's sake:

Killua is bae, but baby has also literally ripped a man's heart out of his chest with his bare hands. He also makes it clear that it isn't the first time, and it probably won't be the last time. While he's rejected the assassin lifestyle, it's ambiguous as to whether it's because he actually objects to the work itself from a moral standpoint, or simply due to his not caring for the work. However, I personally believe it's more the latter, as his only real statements on the subject were made to remind his father that there's very little difference between the number of people Killua has killed versus the people Alluka has killed.

I'm not sure I need to even explain Kurapika, since many people have decided the boy is on a "descent into madness/darkness" (though I also don't agree with that standpoint, FTR. However, that's a whole other ballpark.) Just for the sake of it, though, Kurapika is the sole survivor of a genocide who has literally tied his own death to his means of overpowering and killing the murderers of his bloodline. His ultimate plan for revenge involves the manipulation of many people, several of whom are close personal friends, and putting bystanders into mortal danger. Though it's very arguable that the deaths which followed were Kurapika's fault, I also would find it dishonest to say he wasn't partially culpable in at least two, if not the mass slaughter that followed.

Leorio's biggest issue (from the 2011 anime, anyway) is that he's kind of a disrespectful creeper to at least one woman, one time. In terms of "sins," it's not really that big, and rather circumstantial at that. But it's still there.

I'm just gonna skip right on over Hisoka and Illumi because, really, do we need to bring that up?

So how about Biscuit? I don't see terribly much recognition of her in the fandom (unsurpring. It's a shonen fandom, so the few dominant female characters are largely overlooked. I'm pretty used to that.) But she one of the show's heros, to the extent that this show *has* heros, so let's open this up. Bisky is loud, vibrant, and almost entirely built of flaws. She's a sixty-year-old woman who has magically transformed her body into a pre-teen girl because she wants so desperately to be dainty and "beautiful," and her introduction to the series is her purposeful, malicious attempt at wedging herself between Gon and Killua to break them up because she thinks it's fun to ruin people's friendships. Yes, she drops this plan almost immediately and instead chooses to take them on as her students after her plan backfires, but that doesn't negate what she'd originally intended. That intention tells us a lot about Bisky as a person, and what it says, I dare say, isn't terribly pretty to most people. Note, it's not all she is, but that darkness is still a part of her. It's the part which lets her abandon Gon and Killua during the Chimera Ant arc, dismissing everything past their training, including Palm's death threats against them, as "not her problem."

Speaking of Palm, here we have a grown ass woman who stalks, threatens, sexually harasses, and attempts to kill a young (12 or 14 year old, depending on how you look at it) boy. She also stalks and sexually harasses a grown man far older than her, so it's not a one-off behaviour or anything. Of course, that isn't all Palm is. She's also intensely brave and dedicated, a tremendously powerful nen-user, and an incredibly compassionate person. Unlike most of the others in her situation, she manages to overcome the brainwashing inherit in her Chimera transformation through sheer willpower alone.

OK, I'm starting to abuse the word "quickly" here, so here's a few more examples whittled down to their bare necessities:

All the Spiders have murdered hundreds of people a piece, at least, without the slightest hint of remorse.

Kite knowingly and purposely takes young children into a ridiculously dangerous situation without much hesitation, telling them point-blank that he won't be responsible for their deaths if they choose to follow him.

Literally every person from the Hunters Association is dripping with toxic masculinity, especially when it comes to advising the boys about anything vaguely emotional.

Ging lives in the Do Not Touch bin because y i k e s.

...

Honestly, I could keep going and I haven't even touched the side characters yet. But I came here today to talk about Gon, so lets talk about Gon.

It feels like a fair amount of people look at the above and decide that Gon is a ~cinnamon roll~ or whatever the fuck the kids are calling that today, but no. Gon is not perfect, or overly kind, or obsessed with doing things the "Right" way--well. Not "Right" in the way I most often hear it talked about. Rather, Gon has a very simple, easy to spot set of moral rules that can be boiled down as thus:

If you want something, fight (work) for it.

Don't be a hypocrite.

When a fight is over, it's over.

Don't fuck over your friends.

Articles 1-3 don't necessarily apply to me.

That's basically it.

Gon's charm lies in the fact that, outside of those rather relaxed rules, he doesn't judge anyone for just about anything (in the rare event he does, he isn't one to hold grudges, either.)

Gon loves Killua with all his heart despite knowing better than most what Killua is capable of. He both fears and likes Hisoka (to a point) despite that whole Thing. His entire issue with Kurapika (if it can be said that he ever had one at all) is that Kurapika tried to keep his friends out of danger by not asking for help when he needed it. I dare say it's heavily implied of the course of the Yorknew Arc that he would get along very well with many of the Spiders if it weren't for their hypocrisy and the things they did to his friend in specific. (Evidenced by the shouting match he has with Nobunaga when he realizes how torn up Nobunaga is over Uvogin's death while simultaneously not seeming to care about all the people Uvogin murdered in the course of his lifetime.)

FFS, the Hunter's Exam is point-blank designed to murder people. Gon has literally never had an issue with that--neither with the test nor the people running and designing it. While he felt mildly conflicted over tricking bee-hat-girl (i can't remember her name rn, sorry) out of her badge in order to win, he came down pretty quickly on the side of "that's just how it is, sorry."

To be completely honest, I felt Gon's entire character was best summarized in the scene at the tail end of the Greed Island arc where he's standing over the defeated Bombers, refusing to allow anyone to kill them because they've been defeated and the fight is over now. I also feel like this is the moment where a lot of people began to latch onto him as being a "goody two-shoes" (sort of like those who lambast Aang from ATLA or, more recently, Ellie from TLOU when they neglected to kill someone the fandom has decided "deserved it.")

But who is Gon to pass such harsh judgement on these men? He's a boy who runs around with murderers. He's someone who has seen terrible people do good things, and good people do terrible things; enough so that it begs the question whether "good" or "bad" ought to be applied to people, who are nothing if not complicated.

His decision not to kill isn't  based on "I won't kill them because I'm better than them." It's   "because they're still people, and therefore they still have good in them, too." It's the same reason he asked Bisky to let that murderer go at the beginning of the same arc, and the reason that Gon was perfectly willing to forgive and forget everything the Chimera Ants had done the minute they stopped attacking and asked for help.

And of course, I can't mention the Chimera Ants without also acknowledging Gon's own brush with his worst side; his own peek into the darkness. Because, just like everyone else, Gon is perfectly capable of being a monster.

So... yeah. As usual, I can't figure out a great way to end this, except by reiterating that, if we were looking at a D7D alignment chart, Gon would be smack in the middle of it for the better part of the series. He doesn't respect the law just because it's the law, and while he doesn't go out of his way to hurt others, he's also not above putting himself or his own friends above others.

Part of what inspired this, I think (because my brain spiraled somewhere in the middle, ngl,) was seeing something harping about moral greys in media which reminded me far too much about gamer bros and how happy they are to crow about certain grim-dark games/media franchises for their supposed "grey morality," but who also cast a stink eye at a character like Gon. Too often, I feel, when we talk about grey morality or neutrality people are left either imagining a character who is woeful and depressed, or else completely lacking in personality. They don't usually imagine a guy like Gon, who is cheerful and bright and sometimes unabashedly naive... but they should. Because Neutral characters don't have to be melancholy or boring. They can be a young boy who does his best to love everyone around them, no matter what their circumstances.

[schraubd]

The Rules of Racial Standing Hit Ayanna Pressley

In the wake of the latest Trump racism scandal, which targeted Rep. Ayanna Pressley alongside Reps. Omar, Ocasio-Cortez, and Tlaib, one particularly depressing thing to witness is the simple rote reflexive declaration that they're antisemitic, anti-Jewish, anti-Israel, and therefore have it coming. To be clear: None of the women deserve to be targeted by racist vitriol. That remains true even granted insensitive things some of these women have said (though even the worst offender -- Rep. Omar with her "hypnotize" quote -- still hasn't done anything approaching singling out prominent women of color and saying they should remove themselves from America). You'd think that go without saying, though it apparently needs to be said and said again to all but four members of the GOP caucus. I suppose also if it went "without saying", we wouldn't have a racist President saying them. Yet there also must be made mention of the particular way this discourse is playing out with respect to Rep. Pressley. Pressley has no history of antisemitism, or anti-Israel advocacy, or anything else. Yet in fulminations about the evils of the "squad", and newly-elected progressive women of color, she's treated as an equally valid target of indiscriminate fulminations about left-wing antisemitism. This is nothing new for Pressley. But, confronted with the evidence that Pressley has never said, done, or implied anything that gives rise to any inference of antisemitic animus whatsoever, those spitting fire at her seem unbowed. They argue that the fact that Pressley is so proximate to Omar, Tlaib, and Ocasio-Cortez means it is incumbent on her to condemn them -- and if she doesn't, she must be endorsing them (it has to be said here that the evidence of antisemitism from AOC is also needle-thin -- from what I can see, it primarily hinges on (a) calling Israel's response to the Gaza protests a "massacre" and (b) a phone call to Jeremy Corbyn). That argument -- that if Pressley is not vocally denouncing alleged antisemitism by other Congresswomen, she must be endorsing the sentiments -- reminded me of one of Derrick Bell's famous "Rules of Racial Standing", which he published in his 1992 book Faces at the Bottom of the Well. The fourth rule ran as follows:

When a black person or group makes a statement or takes an action that the white community or vocal components thereof deem "outrageous," the latter will actively recruit blacks willing to refute the statement or condemn the action. Blacks who respond to this call for condemnation will receive superstanding status. Those blacks who refuse to be recruited will be interpreted as endorsing the statements and action and may suffer political consequences (118).

I referenced this dynamic a bit in this post, but the point is the manner in which Pressley is being treated -- guilty-until-proven-innocent, on the hook to constantly condemn (to our satisfaction) this or that "outrageous" thing said by her fellow congresswomen, despite no evidence that she shares any such problematic views -- is nothing new. It is a phenomenon of long standing, and it is noticed. And let's be clear: this is how Pressley is being treated. She's young(-ish), Black, progressive, and so therefore just defaulted to be a threat. The absence of evidence doesn't deter this assessment in the slightest -- it just causes a slight fallback: now if she isn't spending her days railing against AOC, that counts as evidence of endorsement. Of course, noticing it does little good. Again, it's not like this phenomenon has gone unremarked upon; it's constantly remarked upon and yet repeats itself over and over again. And so Bell's fifth Rule of Racial Standing tells us that while understanding the rules can give one prophetic power of how racism will operate, "[t]he price of this knowledge is the frustration that follows recognition that no amount of public prophecy, no matter its accuracy, can either repeal the Rules of Racial Standing or prevent their operation" (125). via The Debate Link https://ift.tt/2JDnXeB

[bladekindeyewear]

Boots reads Homestuck Epilogue(s) Part 7 - Meat Page 26

==>

Back on to Jade swimming into the singularity or something.  (And trying to stop thinking that maybe Candy ends with a giant polyamorous relationship and/or orgy, because I don’t imagine Rose would have acted so tamely if that’s what she saw.)

Yes, Time is the complement of Space, that was already confirmed in comic if it wasn’t super incredibly obvious all along anyway.

Gah, I’m getting stomach cramps again.

Yeah, too much Space makes Time invisible and vice versa? Or...

Maybe Dave broke her heart a little, and he keeps doing it too, no matter how many different timelines they try out.

D:

God damnit these CRAMPS.  Reading further.

Like a garden, where Jade used to spend so much of her time with her hands in the earth and her head in the clouds, dreaming about flowers that bloomed in six colors and grew when she played them a song. Was that real? It’s hard to tell. But it made her happy, didn’t it?

FUCK are you going to start making me doubt the reality of the liFe we saw her living early in-comic?????  Cut it out, it’s unsettling!

Alright, alt!Callie is taking the reins from Dirk on this narrative he so smugly thought he could completely consume.  That’s good/bad.

slutty adult Jade

FUCKING YIKES!! FUCK YOU DIRK!

FUCK I DIDN’T NEED HER DEATH DESCRIBED IN SUCH DETAIL EITHER.  Also alt!Callie’s really embodying Death here.

==>

Pff.  Calliope’s writing the story now, in a sense, like she always kind of wanted.

Also pff, this version of her doesn’t know how to describe human stuff colorfully.  :)

An adversarial dichotomy between your opposing goals, huh?  This might end up as a “none of us can really write the ending” ending that DOES leave it up in the air for everyone else to decide instead.

Fuck, now you’re having THIS Jade suffer by proxy by experiencing the other Jade’s memories.  This metatextual ascension’s happening to everyone isn’t it.

Yeah, she’s done it before and stuff--

when jade turns to look at roxy, her eyes are completely black.

FUCK.

my presence shall mitigate, if not altogether subdue, the corrosive effect on reality and the will of its occupants by those who would manipulate the way events are telegraphed for their own megalomaniacal objectives.

Well, fuck.  Jade’s been temporarily hijacked for the rest of the story AGAIN, like back in Condesce days, this time as a plot device to keep Dirk from overreaching with his god powers and stepping over everyone’s wills like an Ultimate Riddle style villain.  Dirk, I mean.  Being the villain.  And alt!Callie just doing what she has to to put this back on track.  Man I HATE it when Jade’s will doesn’t get to be on full display.  Her will is awesome.  (Also, alt!Callie just tacitly confirmed that the will of reality’s occupants matters, if that wasn’t obvious already, so ha.)

despite his pretensions to a greater design, the prince of heart cannot be allowed to continue to exert unchecked control over the authoritative recitation of events on this side of my horizon. it cannot be overstated the extent to which he represents a threat to the continued existence of both this world and corporeal life itself.

Yeah, it was indeed looking that way earlier.

Ooh, alt!Callie is really spot-on with her pronoun use.

Alright, Dirk’s voice is shrinking away, and my stomach still feels half-clenched.

Wow, alt!Callie’s really mad at what Dirk’s been doing with this epilogue.

==>

“EPILOGUE FIVE”?????

Did I miss the titles for one, three, and four??? Yeah there were probably there and I just missed them or something.

Pfffff, John looks/smells like shit.  :D

...too fresh??

Fuck you John for thinking Monty Python and the Holy Grail isn’t a masterpiece.  :P

terezi tips her head to one side, with what john personally regards as a cute expression, one he believes is unique to her. whether he’s correct or not, it’s his belief that there is no one else who emotes in this manner. it’s both quizzical and mocking, two descriptors that he considers to be an apt summation of her personality as well.

Niiiiice.  Nice linguistic description of her “>:?” expression.

have no desire to interject thoughts into others’ minds, or to sway intent. nor do i see value in masking the reality of the emotions that i transcribe. this is how he feels. his mind, however, has made a habit of being less clear about his thoughts than i am willing to be.

Oh thank fucking god, I don’t have to question everyone’s thoughts anymore.  Until Dirk comes back or something, I dunno.

Oh my fucking god, alt!Callie, you total voyeuristic nerd.

he fears he is in danger of seeming like the type of creepy human male who is likely to collect large pillows bearing the illustrated images of japanese earth females. to me, this idea means nothing. but it is causing him to sweat.

This is one very relatable snippet of text.

Feed Terezi Feed Terezi Feed Terezi

WHY is the gold tooth poisonous???????  ...Wait, Caliborn affixed it to his mouth intentionally.  He had every right and motive to make it poisonous for no good reason.  Ugh.

Beep beep, let’s find Vriska.

==>

WHAT

WHAT JANE

WHAT THE FLYING FUCK HAVE YOU BEEN DOING

JESUS

Using Trickster Mode as a drug to further one’s political performance.  That’s fucking horrifying.  No wonder it was on the triggers list.

additionally, it prevents one from dwelling on any given personal problems, or the greater implications of any political statements one might make.

Pff, mhmm.

Problematic, huh?  Jane seems like the slightly-old-fashioned sort of person who thinks it’s getting kind of ridiculously silly how much people are caring about stuff being “problematic”.  And yet that stuff DOES matter, and ignoring it DOES hurt people, and she not only isn’t seeing that but is drugging herself to see it LESS with that goddamned lollipop.  Holy shit.

she turns around promptly, her body jolted by the surprise of her sudden reversal. she bends over, cradles the lollipop reverentially, and situates it carefully in a place signifying respect: atop the mantle, after clearing space for it by shoving several brittle, worthless objects to the floor.

PFFF.  Okay, so alt!Callie ISN’T above altering characters slightly from their narrative course when it comes to one of the few things she deems important.  Heh.

Having “his control of a shared vehicle fully suppressed”, huh?  Does alt!Callie only mean the narrative, or maybe Rose too with whatever weird bullshit he did to her?

Uh, “while the seer both diminishes and ascends”???  D:

--Oh, oh shit.  He was planning to NARRATIVE CONTROL Jake into going along with things.  D: D:

Yeah, Jake would want to bang all the aliens, really.

Sendificator rifle, or something like that.  Got it.

==>

How fucking long is this epilogue, anyway?????  I mean, the length is appropriate from an objective point of view, I’m just frustrated because I’m going to have to spend every waking hour liveblog-reading it until I’ve reached the end or I’m likely to fucking explode, and I didn’t want this to be my entire day/weekend/existence again AAGH HOMESTUCK YOU BLACK HOLE

anyway yaay karkat in a suit.

Alluding to assassination attempts?  What, is that red rifle going to try and fulfill that old “through the silver screen and straight into my heart” unused foreshadowing-herring from act six, or five, or whenever it was? Five, I believe.

Pff, super pacs, yeah.  Dave’s nearly as political as me now or something.  Except he actually acts on it here instead of just sitting around talking about it and thinking he’s right all the time, like me.

Wait, JANE ACTUALLY WENT THROUGH with smearing Jake??!???  Holy shit she’s lost touch.

KARKAT: SWEET BRO AND HELLA JEFF IS ABSOLUTELY HORRENDOUS SUBJECT MATTER FOR PRODUCING CAMPAIGN ADS! KARKAT: NOBODY KNOWS WHAT THE FUCK YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT, OR WHAT POINTS YOU’RE TRYING TO MAKE! DAVE: yeah its awesome

Pfffff.

...yeah, Jake isn’t thinking of ANYTHING except Dirk right now, really.

Oh huh, Dirk HAS been as controlling of Jake as he used to be, now that alt!Callie’s pointing it out.  Just with an even more insidious mechanism.

Oh cool, Karkat’s version of the policy pitch!  :D :D :D  Can’t wait can’t wait reading

(dont lie karkat you totally know shes hot)

Pff, stop making it seem obvious that Dirk wanted to assassinate Jake for political purposes.  Heck, even if that WAS his plan it’d just be a temporary death that he’d resurrect from and then they’d try to turn it into... what, some media spin on how Karkat might have been responsible? Or a troll?? That latter part would make things MUCH more xenophobic.  I’m starting to get seriously into the politics of this.

==>

Pff, now ‘rezi’s eating tobacco.

...okay, is Terezi REALLY going to go for a real conversation with just an honest ask for one?  I don’t think so--

--aaand there she goes laughing, as expected.  At least at first.

Yep, Terezi’s wearing the shoes.  Nice date gift.

--And yep, Terezi remembers all that.  She managed to do the nigh-metatextual mind merge with her other selves WITHOUT even needing God-Tier.

Yeah, Vriska always seemed fit to abandon the kismesis you deserved when it suited her, ‘rezi.  :(

JOHN: even worse, i might have tried to fix things MYSELF! TEREZI: OH D34R GOD JOHN: yeah!!!

Yeah I cackled out loud at that.

TEREZI: 34RTH C 1S P3RF3CT 1SNT 1T? TEREZI: BUT NOT FOR YOU TEREZI: YOU DONT *F33L* 1T

john swallows a thick breath. he reminds himself that he never wanted perfection, never asked for it. and yet he feels guilty every day for failing to enjoy it as much as he believes he was supposed to.

Holy shit.  John’s survivor’s guilt from all the doomed timelines he witnessed and escaped is keeping him from feeling their victory has been real, and making his “squandering” of it gut his self-esteem too.  God damnit.

Roxy and John wouldn’t have worked out????? Hey Terezi, quit it! >:[  That’s not fair, just very plausibly and authoritatively dismissing a ship we’d hoped for offscreen like--  Oh, shit, she’s alluding to something that happened in the Candy side I haven’t read isn’t she.  She would DEFINITELY have an idea of what happened on the other side of that Choice Split with her hero role.  Fuck what am I in for

....pfff, that Callie vs Dirk bit.  It’s like revenge against Doc Scratch, which it kind of IS, really.

I didn’t expect this much time to be spent dwelling on really intimate John/Terezi scenes.  It’s really refreshing!  Making this kind of meaningful no matter whether it’s black or inexplicably red they end up with or whatever, and equally meaningful if they don’t end up in any sort of relationship at all, really.

even without the aid of a juju, he is fortunate enough to be blessed with the only true form of divinity. to be released from the prison of nonsensical inhibitions which so often psychologically hobble the more primitive forms of life.

Alt!Callie, are you causing this?  I thought you wanted to be impartial.

Okay, THAT finally brought things suitably closer to the black side of romance like I would have expected.

==>

their finger hovers over dirks number for a moment, but... no. that would not be a good idea. they don’t know why they suddenly think it’s a bad idea. it just is.

Okay, THAT shred of influence is fair.  You DID say you were going to countermand his influence, so yeah.

Good excuse to get narration of her thoughts, if flimsy.  :)

Lord save me from this fake woke nightmare.

Pfffff.  Fuck you, Dirk.  ;)

ROXY: guess ill just open the damn curtains and let some light in here

FUCK you’re going to kill JADE aren’t you???? You’re giving Jade a TEMPORARY DEATH just to deny alt!Callie’s proxy?!?? That’s fucking insidious!  Fuck you, Dirk!!! That one wasn’t a loveable joke this time, that was an ACTUAL fuck you.  This epilogue is really good at making him out to be the villain now that his powers have expanded to the narrative.

Reading reading reading...

...Huh.  Is Roxy talking about coming out as non-binary and getting advice on it?  Hm!

Alright, and she’s defs a little gay for Callie from what she’s saying if it wasn’t clear before.  If “gay” even has any relevance when you’re talking about a pair of non-binary... yeah whatever.  :)

Alright, time to hear Dave talk about it all some more I guess.

--Yep, he’s only mostly gay.  Called it.  There’s a whole spectrum.

...and yeah, I mean... why NOT let it go beyond quadrants with Karkat and never slap an official label on it?  You’re just two people who love each other and want to spend time together in any capacity, be it positive or negative.  It doesn’t have to result in anything formal unless you want it to, much less boning down or something.  Dirk, stop getting creepy with how hard you’re shipping them, that’s the fanbase’s job.

Jade and Roxy are visible from this location, right?  Wasn’t it mentioned that they live in a tower in Carapaceville or whatever?  Has Dirk successfully conned alt!Callie into having her vessel shot through?  Probably.

the ongoing corruption of his cerebrally impaired daughter.

Eewwwwweweewww

Anyway yeah here comes the plot twist or whatever...

Yeah, Callie gets it wrong, and--

......ah, a tranq?  That makes more sense and is more than slightly less evil, if still ultimately evil given his eventual presumed goals or whatever.

DIRK: Like the bitch she is.

FUCK YOU

Oh, Jade’s going to be asleep for the rest of the story?  AGAIN?!????  FUCK YOU SO MUCH, DIRK.

Jesus christ.  How long is this epilogue anyway.

Taken your leave?  From this planet???  What the fuck, are you--

Oh.  Oh shit.

When Dirk ascended into absorbing the memories of all his various split selves, did he get a heaping helping of DOC SCRATCH in there too???  Was Doc Scratch’s ambition actually for POST-victory ascension in this very manner? FUCK.  Either way, him sharing some of those memories puts a pretty unique spin on his descent into goddamn evil, here.

Reading on... oh shit, did Callie write the candy half??

==>

Huh, postcoital; we actually went there.  Cool.

Ah, she gives up on Vriska?  Better find Vriska really fast, then.

Oh, you’re really going? Or, trying, anyway.

==>

Really committed to this whole ascending to literal godhood schtick, aren’t you, Dirk?

(Hm.  Makes me almost think that this situation with Rose is going to end up with someone splitting her essence entirely in two to save her; her raw Seer-ness getting forced into a convenient vessel (cueball, wonk wonk) and herself returning to consciousness a slight bit more mortal than she was before, ie not going completely insane.  Hmm.)

Oh, “Vast Fuck” sorta-maybe-confirmed..??

Stop tacitly insulting Jake as you puppet him, Dirk.  He’s a dumbass but not THAT much of a dumbass.

beta-bitch

FUCK YOU, DIRK.

She loves you, Jake, more than anything, and you toyed with her heart. 

Fuuuuuuck you.

could subsume your entire personality

Shit, he IS trying to pretty much consume them all.  Swallow their individuality and take total control of all their actions.  All Prince of Heart on the whole world.  Dirk you need to fucking DIE.

And to love Dirk is to obey him.

There isn’t a Fuck You large or loud enough to what I feel about the mental violation Dirk is inflicting on Jake right now, and everyone else around him, and I sincerely and selfishly hope this epilogue is almost over because I don’t want too many pages to stand between this one and seeing Dirk fucking PAY.

Jake opens his big, dumb mouth to make the only important contribution to the plot he ever has or ever will make in his whole sad, pointless joke of a life.

FUUUUUUUUUUUUCK YOU

Let’s hope that in your hubris your looking away managed to let him say something different or some such.

==>

You try to remember if you’ve ever been revived by Jane before. You honestly can’t recall. So much shit has happened. Maybe?

Yeah, I don’t recall either really.

The poison needling through you is antithetical to narrative relevance. You’re not dying, John. You’re being erased. Cherubs don’t fuck around. We’ve both been learning that the hard way.

Okay, fuck?  How the hell?  Is this just because Dirk says it is, or???

I guess it’s tragic, though maybe not in the conventional sense. My view is, the real tragedy with you, John, is that you never mattered all that much.

Yeah, Dirk’s first fucking rant when he took over the narrative officially was about John being a you-insert nobody average guy, and the DISDAIN he shows to everything about who John is is pretty goddamn insulting.  He has NO concept of how John managed to bring everyone together or... UGH!

even though you knew both then and now that it was the only choice you possibly could have made.

Dammit, so it probably WASN’T a full timeline-bisecting Mind split.  Just a side branch that wasn’t as likely, because just like with his Denizen, John’s will was tilted toward this part of the choice.  D:

I see how some of this seems to be going, or at least think I do... Dirk thinks that John needs to die heroically “for the good of the story”, and something’s potentially going to come in and say “no”?  That the whole reason they WON was to essentially be free of that cruel logic once and for all, and that Dirk is gonna get one hell of a smackdown for trying futilely to enforce it in their new post-victory domain??

She listens to him bleed while she smells him die.

--That, and fulfilling bits of foreshadowing for shits and giggles.  >:(

Huh, “friable”, didn’t even know that was a word.  Just looked it up; you learn something new every day.

Okay what is Dirk planning with the fucking body.

==>

Jane swept the election, of course. I told you I was going to win. After Jake’s incoherent and scandalous heel-turn at Karkat’s ill-fated rally, no amount of esoteric, three-dimensional jpeg artefacts could have salvaged the Vantas campaign. 

Ah, but is that what REALLY happened, or what you’re saying happened, about to be overwritten?

Mainly that their BFF Jade has been in a coma for an entire month. They’ve been in and out of the hospital handling her affairs. Her next of kin is listed as John Egbert, and no one’s seen him in ages. It’s like he just disappeared suddenly. Like some great hand came out of the sky and crossed his name off the big list of guys we ever need to give a shit about anymore.

F U C K  Y O U

Roxy, after all, and since her big heart-to-heart about the personal politics of queer onion metaphors, and ten stages of galaxy-braining through the many vicissitudes of the phrase “no homo,” Roxy has decided to really step up her gender experimentation. I guess at this point she’s gone beyond Stage Ten. Which I imagine is somewhat like reaching Super Saiyan 2 of gender, and then going even further beyond.

Holy crap, she’s going full Dave Lalonde.  That’s pretty sweet.

...Isn’t Terezi like obviously covered in blood and stuff?

ROXY: they stay home all day with the blinds drawn paintin some weird ass shit on the walls

Oh my fucking GOD real!Callie please save the plot.  Nuke this self-indulgent Dirkshit.

ROXY: like lotsa nasty purple blood and um ROXY: nudity???? TEREZI: >:? ROXY: yeah yikes ROXY: but MOST of it is cute stuff like... various combos of all of us being happy and gettin married and shit ROXY: anyway thats kept callie kinda busy

...This is an allusion to the Candy side I haven’t read, isn’t it?  Maybe THAT’s part of what she supplants this bullshit with.  Or since it mentions “various combinations”, she’s restoring the possibility to everything that the ending was supposed to have?

This is potentially a real fucking indictment of the idea of a narrative-driven ending when what actually mattered was the characters’ escape from said narrative.  :)

ROXY: its like theyre traumatized ROXY: and they think ill drag whatever possessed jade back into our home with me

Okay fuck maybe Callie ISN’T helping.  Maybe she’s just so worried about the alternate history she could have lead that she’s retreating into every Candy-like fanfic she can think of.  :(

What’s with the phone buzz?  The intervention we’ve been hoping for, since Dirk’s making her ignore it?

Oh cool, figures Terezi’s been hearing the narrative all along and just politely not acknowledging the fact that she hears it!  Maybe SHE’LL help unfuck this mess.  (And according to her, Roxy’s gone full “him” too!)

Fuck fuck fuck Terezi don’t listen to him go against his bullshit instead

Where, canon? Is that where you’re planning to escape back to or some such, with yourself as the author? Is that orange Andrew actually you or some BS?

Dammit.

==>

FUCK, “new body”????

The new body I’ve made for her won’t have much use for her usual ensembles. That’s all I was saying.

FUCK FUCK FUCK it IS the cueball isn’t it.  Holy shit.  That’s even worse than a robot.  FZUCZK

Okay calm down.  The Rose part of Rose can be cut away and rescued from this fate somehow, if she isn’t just whole-hog rescued entirely which would also be good.  FUCK DIRK

...look purple? What?

DIRK: What’s happening here is the best thing for everybody.

Yeah, go fuck yourself.  This shit had better be undone soon.

To finally face the truth. If Rose has been spending more time with me than you, if she’s realizing she resonates more with me due to our natural similarities and finds my presence more rewarding than yours, then what does that say about YOU, Kanaya?

PFFFF. YOU’RE GONNA BREAK UP THE PAIRING JUST SO YOU CAN STEAL HER?  HAHAHAHAHAHA NO.

Okay, after THAT page’s last bit of horrid manipulation, this can’t end in any way that doesn’t involve ages of existential and literal torment for Dirk, forever.

==>

Epilogue Seven, huh.  One last thing he wants to take care of before getting out of dodge, huh.  I see Karkat and Dave’s text colors on screen.  Is he going to try to force them to finally bone down or confess?  This would be the perfect place for his plan to get fucking stopped.

Homestuck, stop making my fucking stomach clench so hard.

That’s a hell of a disaster Dirk thought up for these guys on that stage.

Part of this whole shitshow might be to tell us that this ending, this “fanfic” of dubious authenticity of an epilogue that Dirk is giving us is how DIRK believes it would end best for everyone involved, but not how everyone else would, ignoring their wills... while also discarding the idea of the epilogue that any individual reader of Homestuck would want in favor of the possibilities he meant to leave open with the ending.

Alright, here comes Dirk NOT forcing them to bone down but rather trying to persuade-brainwash them into a relationship talk.

DAVE: so what youre saying is you believe in me who believes in you

Dave. Please.

Hey, the Gurren Lagaan reference went WAY too long unsaid.  Even if Andrew literally didn’t know a thing about said anime when he made the character designs.

I look Dave right in his mind’s eye and tell him to cut it the fuck out. He wants it, you want it, so just go for it, my man. It’s now or never.

DAVE: oh DAVE: same

I feel every brain cell in my immortal body begin to perish in real time.

BAAHAHAHAAHHhahahha FUCK YOU Dirk.

I mean, I want Dave and Karkat together as much as the next guy but FUUUUUUUCK YOU DIRK!!! I want everything you ever wanted to go wrong and shit on you.  Their equivocating soft-nearly-mance is strong enough to go even against you, who thinks yourself the narrative fucking Sun.

Oh this is fantastic

I’ve literally been decapitated and that was less unbearable than this.

YES KEEP FALLING APART

You see that twinkle? That’s devotion, you unbelievably dense neutron star of a dumbshit.

Nice callback to... what was it, Dave’s first rant at Tavros to troll him back or whatever?

radially effervescing kaleidoscope of more hot boy peckers than you could ever imagine.

Yep, DEFINITELY a callback to that. I’ll never forget the sick flow of that metaphor.

DAVE: i just keep having thoughts i know id never think

SAVE US DAVE

Dammit, near miss.

The privilege of a Strider Eye Moment is about the most earth-shattering experience a young man will ever have in his life. 

Pfff

DAVE: GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HEAD AND JUST LET ME DO THIS MYSELF!!!

yaaaaaayyy

I mean we didn’t save the whole story yet but at least Dirk got fucked over and we still get Davekat intimacy.

That’s pretty classy actually, not getting into detail and just sounding blown the fuck away by it even though he’s Dirk.  That’s pretty good.

==>

Something about the height of Rose, roughly Rose-shaped, and wrapped in a cloth. I know she’s gonna love it the first time she sees it.

Oh so it IS a robot body.  Well, fuck you a little less than it potentially being the magic cueball, but STILL fuck you.

I may have already mentioned, but I’m a bit too deft at this for my own good. Doing the thing where I tug at the part of someone’s latent thought process that already knows they adore me. That if someone would just pull the stops from their sense of inhibition, they’d realize they would do anything for me.

It’s called killing their soul with your role abilities you ASSHOLE

I hope this crush you filled him with bites you in the fucking ass now that he’s here.

DIRK: I won’t be coming back, Jake.

Oh, so you’re just going to drop the truth on him like that? Let’s see how that works out for you, asshole.

DIRK: Jane needs you now more than ever.

Oh fuck you.  This is “best for everyone”, huh?????

DIRK: You’ll just be, you know. DIRK: Her candy boy? JAKE: CANDY BOY??? DIRK: Yeah. Being on call. DIRK: Serving a multimillion-year term of giving her the right kind of “presidential action” she needs to keep going. To keep her morale up and such. DIRK: To provide her with many heirs. DIRK: Doesn’t that sound cool? JAKE: HEIRS??

Um.  What the fuck?  Is this even Dirk anymore?  It’s not Condesce intervention, I’m not going to try and suspect that just from the callback or anythiiiii-----

Fuck, we DID just get an alive Meenah dropped into a universe somewhere.

Maybe this IS Condesce intervention. Just a different Condesce.  o_O

Two ticks longer than he ever deserved.

Gah???

DIRK: But I’ll never let you break my heart again.

So this was all just revenge for dumping him??????????????

==>

Guh, back to Kanaya-- wait, why does Dirk want Terezi around, anyway?

Jade wakes up and then-- Okay. Okay my eyes flitted down to the green halfway down the page and I saw this phrase before I actually got to it.

JADE: DIRK STRIDER HAS TO BE STOPPED!!!!!!!!!!

Thank FUCK.

Anyway reading the in-between...

The scope of her awareness, she now understands, is truly staggering. Memories are suddenly accessible that are almost impossible to believe. Some of them are unspeakably marvelous to her. Others, deeply disturbing.

FUCKING COOL she got Ultimate-Selved!  Now she knows too much about what’s going on to stop her!  Get fucked, Dirk!!!!

No, more than just disturbing. She lingers in the dark recesses of her consciousness. There were things she saw, things she was told... Her mouth twists into a silent snarl. She’s been angry plenty of times before. But never so angry that she stopped being cute. She’s not cute this time.

YEAAAAAHHH JADE GET ANGRY

This had better not be Dirk intentionally riling her up since he still has control of the narrative though.

Next post.

[iamnotbrianmay]

The A Experience

Hey boys, Im back! So not really a maylor centric chapter but yeh, I love this story so much and I’m so excited cause im getting so close to finishing it! 

the taglist goes as follows: @seven-seas-of-why, @twotitsjohndeacon, @dancindeaky, @gee-uloser, @mozzarellamazzello, @mozzie-s, @deracine-dogma-deux, @shutupanddontjudge, @warping-reality, @demianhill , @zodiacal-dust-and-curls

so, on with the chapter boys. 

One Month After the Incident;

‘3 queens and one (1) old lady’

The Impostor: u said eggs, milk and what else

The Impostor: ?????

Melina: sugar

Melina: really darling, it’s like the fifth time you’ve asked me

Melina: get a grip, taylor

The Impostor: Fuck You

Diqi <3: Bring some cereal too

Maggie: And some chamomile tea, please. -Bri.

The room dissolved into laughter at the thought of Roger reading the message and angrily cursing at Brian for his texting habits. He and John were shaking with laughter while Brian sat, smiling smugly, on the chair closest to the fireplace. A book in his lap and his cellphone in the other.

‘3 queens and one (1) old lady’

The Impostor: Fuck You, too.

Freddie was comfortably nestled in the sofa, a pen in one hand and the other tangled in his boyfriend’s unruly hair, while a cheesy love song streamed out of the old turntable John had managed to fix up. Their single Billie Holiday record had been playing on repeat for the better part of the afternoon, yet none of them seemed to mind.

These were Freddie’s favourite days, when the rain was pitter-pattering lightly against the window panes, the house smelled of the cinnamon rolls which were baking in the oven, and his boyfriend was draped over his lap.

The only thing that was be missing from the happy scene at the moment was their drummer.

Roger had almost instantly fit in perfectly in their small family, a contrast to Brian and Deacy’s calm and a counter balance to Freddie’s much more animated personality. They had found that in the short months that Roger had joined their group they had grown so used to his presence that not having him there was jarring, to say the least. His absence was a tangible thing, yet in this case it was their own fault that he wasn’t there with them.

They had kicked him out the night before, when the small amount of clothes that he had in Brian’s closet had all been deemed dirty, and all of his contact lenses had been used up.

They had told him to go to his flat, get clean clothes, buy new contact lenses, and get some groceries on his way back. It had started to get ridiculous as he stumbled around wearing Freddie’s old Rolling Stones t-shirt, tripping on the hem of Brian’s too-large pyjama pants. Then there was the day he’d tried to justify a Star Wars shirt and Deacy’s old ripped jeans as the wardrobe of a respectable pre-med student. In fact, it was getting so ridiculous that Freddie had seriously considered just asking Roger to move in with them.

Not that it would make much of a difference except that the rent would be split 4 ways instead of 3.

He had been trying to find the right moment to talk about it with the two other occupants of their flat, but always found himself being cut short by Roger’s arrival or his fear of the request being met badly. Which was quite unlikely, given that they had all become quite smitten with the blonde drummer.

A particularly loud clap of thunder was accompanied by a flash of lightning; the lights in the flat flickered slightly and the record skipped a beat or two. It only lasted a moment, then Freddie looked down and resumed running his hands through Deacy’s hair.

John sat up suddenly, closing his book.

“We should ask Roger to come live with us” he said, as if he had read his boyfriends mind.

Freddie smiles and sighed in relief, “Oh, I’m glad we can agree that it’s about time!”

“It’s just ridiculous not to,” John continued, “We like him, he likes us, and selling furniture and splitting expenses could really help towards recording our first album.”

Freddie frowned, “Selling our furniture?”

John nodded, as if it was the most logical thing in the world, “He has furniture, we have furniture too, we could just see which is in a better and sell what we don’t want.”

“That’s brilliant Deaks!” Freddie took the chance to give John a quick peck, “You’re brilliant. What do you think, Maggie?”

Brian made a pained face, “I like the idea, it’s just—”

“Oh, come on!” Freddie interrupted, “It’s not like he doesn’t pretty well live here already!”

“I know, but—!”

“But?” John asked, “He sleeps in your bed every night Brian! It’s not like you have a problem with him being around!”

Brian made a frustrated noise, “Will you just let me finish?!”

That shut them up, and soon they were both expectantly waiting for Brian to explain himself. Freddie felt especially confused, fully knowing that Brian was currently head over heels for Roger, and couldn’t imagine what possible objections he could have to him moving in. Brian muttered something softly and Freddie frowned.

“Speak up, Bri we can’t hear you.”

Brian nervously tucked his hair behind his ear and cleared his throat, “If he moved in we wouldn’t need to share a bed anymore.”

“Oh,” Freddie’s felt his heart melt a little for his awkward friend, “oh, Brian. That is so cute.”

“You’re utterly fucked, mate ” John added.

Brian glared at Deacy, which lost its effect somewhat when combined with the blush spreading across his cheeks. “Like you two are any better!”

‘3 queens and one (1) old lady’

The Impostor: bri there is no chamomile tea! :((

The Impostor: I’ll bring you some other types of tea to make up for it

The Impostor: sorry <3

“I feel like Roger won’t be keen on sleeping alone either,” Freddie commented as Side B of the record came to an end and Deaky got up off of the sofa to change it, “you could always talk to him about it.”

“Freddie.”

“I know, I know, you’re giving him his time, but you also have to think about how it’s hurting you.” There was a beat of silence, before ‘I’ll be Seeing You’ started to play softly, “This waiting is hurting you, too Bri.”

Brian let his eyes drift over to his phone, which was still displaying Roger’s message on the screen. Freddie watched as his friend’s eyes softened and his shoulders dropped; he couldn’t help but feel a little sorry for him, not to mention a little guilty.

He couldn’t imagine what it would be like for Brian, finding someone like Roger, having to pretend for god knows how long, before getting smacked in the face with the reality that they wouldn’t be able to get together because of what Freddie had done.

Yes, he most definitely still felt very guilty for that particular incident.  

The younger man’s eyes drifted from the phone to the single photo that had been left on their wall after Tim’s true nature was revealed. It was a snapshot of the three of them, huddled together in the snow, drinking hot chocolate.

Freddie could still remember that afternoon quite clearly. It was back when they weren’t a group yet, back when Deaky was just his friend, and Brian was just a nerdy guy with a strong personality and flair for the guitar. For a second Freddie wondered what their life would have been like if Roger had been a part of that photo.

Would they have already released an album? Would Brian and Roger be a couple? Would they be rich and famous by then? Or would their band have fallen apart before things even picked up?  

“I can’t do that to him.” He was taken out of his thoughts by Brian’s voice, “I can’t tell him to hurry up because I no longer want to be single. It doesn’t seem fair. Even if it hurts me to know it was so close but seems so far away.”

“Brian—”

“Let him finish, Fred.”

The guitarist shot Deaky a grateful look, “He needs his space, so I will give it to him. He needs time to get his thoughts in order, so I will wait for him. I can do that, I don’t mind. I’ve survived this long haven’t I?”

Freddie could see the reasoning behind his thinking, but couldn’t help but feel a tug in his heartstrings on behalf of his friend. Brian May, his soul brother, his Maggie deserved the world and more. He did not deserve to have to wait for a love that in the end might not come to be.  “Does he knows this?” He asked.

Brian bit his lower lip, then shook his head, “Well, sort of? I told him that I wanted to be his friend and give him time but...” Brian shrugged.

The thought left unfinished, Freddie let it hang in the air until it became clear that Brian wasn’t going to add anything more.

“I think you should tell him.” In the end it wasn’t him who spoke, but Deaky, “Tell him that you are willing to wait for him. Make it clear you aren’t going anywhere if he doesn’t want you to go.”

Brian frowned again, “That’s what I was planning on doing.”

“And what exactly is stopping you?” Deaky pushed.

“I guess..” Brian paused. “I guess I just don’t want to say that and end up pining for someone for years and never getting anything in return.”

That hit Freddie where it hurt, mainly because he knew it was partially their fault that Brian was feeling this way. All of the teasing, in their minds, was always just that, teasing. But on more than one occasion Freddie found had himself wondering if they sometimes took it a little too far.

Clearly they had, far enough for Brian to feel so ashamed about his lack of love life that he had decided to find a fake boyfriend Tinder, of all places.

“Maggie, darling, you have that drummer wrapped around your pinky finger. I’m pretty sure he would wait a thousand years for you, too.” He smiled reassuringly.

Private Chat

The Impostor: freddie

The Impostor: m8

The Impostor: brian likes cheesecake right?

The Impostor: i want to get him something nice

“And if he isn’t willing to wait a thousand years for you, then I guess we’ll just have to kill him,” Deaky said ,with a straight face.

That made Brian laugh, and Freddie took the opportunity to text a quick, ‘yeh’ back to the blonde, before continuing with the conversation at hand. “ I don’t think we have to plan his murder just yet. First you’ll  have to talk to him, invite him to move in, and then declare your undying love for him. If all that doesn’t convince him, then we can start planning his murder.”

Brian laughed again, only this time it sounded more like a nervous kind of laugh, and Freddie just wanted to wrap a blanket around Brian’s shoulders, to keep him safe from all the things that affected his sensitive friend so deeply. Finally, the guitarist turned back towards his friends and smiled softly, “Thanks guys.”

“Don’t thank us yet,” Deaky said, “Thank us on your wedding day!” He winked.

Brian chuckled, “Okay Deaks, I’ll keep that in mind.”

The song changed from Billie Holiday’s soft crooning to a long trumpet solo, before Brian spoke again.

“Do you really think he’d wait for me too?”

There was a soft ding from the kitchen, announcing that the cinnamon rolls were ready to be taken out of the oven, and both Freddie and John ignored it in favour of finish their talk with Brian.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Brian,” John said, he might have been the youngest, but he was often the most sincere, “he’d wait an eternity for you, that ridiculous satsuma boy.”

That seemed to reassure Brian, he seemed to relax somewhat at the mention of the nickname and of the ridiculous story they had crafted for the sake of his grand deception.

“Brian, darling, come take my place. I’ll go make sure the flat doesn’t burn down with the cinnamon buns.”

The younger man did as he was asked, crawling over the sofa to lean against Deaky’s back while Freddie went to the kitchen to take care of the baking. He took meticulous care when it came to baking; carefully spreading the icing on every single treat, and lovingly sprinkling them with what little cinnamon and sugar they had leftover. Once they were done he came back to the living room, only to find that the record had finished and his two boys had fallen asleep.

Smiling fondly at them, he placed the treats on the tea table, and turned the vinyl over yet another time. A lovely melody filled the apartment once again and Freddie couldn’t help but wonder how people could possibly prefer phone speakers to the heavenly sound of a record player. Then soft rattling came from the front door as Roger stepped into the flat. Freddie went over to help Roger with his backpack or the shopping bags, and found that Roger was only carrying only one of them.

“Liz, darling, where are your clean clothes? You did do laundry didn’t you?” He gave Roger the serious eye.

Roger smiled at Freddie shaking his hair lightly to rid himself of the few raindrops that hadn’t soaked through his hair. He left the bags on the kitchen counter and smiled at Freddie as he began undoing his coat, “Of course I did laundry! But don’t worry, I’ll go home tonight. Even I know when I’ve overstayed my welcome, Fred.”

Freddie crossed the few steps in between them in the blink of an eye, and started buttoning up his coat. The younger man just stared at him in bewilderment. “What are you doing?”

“Don’t be daft, dear,” he chided Roger, “I’m buttoning your coat again.”

“What for?” Roger asked, still clearly confused.

Freddie smiled brightly, “‘Because we are going back out to get your clothes, lovie. Why else?”

The smile Roger gave him was enough to make the singers chest fill with warmth. He could only imagine how he’d look once they asked him to move in— Freddie couldn’t wait.

[akl1]

A Knight in bruised armour - Part 1

Summary : Roman returned from question to find none of the sides home, except a certain slimy boi.

TW : Wounds/blood, sympathetic Deceit, swearing

Pairings : Platonic/Romantic Roceit (it can work either way)

Word count : 1,439

Author’s note :

After writing a mountain of angst, I just wanted to write some fluffy snek stuff.

“Hellooooo? Anyone home?” Roman had just returned from beating the pulp out of the dragon witch and many more villains, and he is quite hurt. He had a gash on his left leg, for which he tore down his sleeve so the bleeding would lessen. He was filled with bruises left and right, and some burn marks on top of his shoulders. He hauled himself on the couch, wincing due to his sore muscles and wounds. He decided to try again “Guys? Your brave Prince has returned and is in need of some assistance!”

He waited a few seconds for any response,  then let out a disappointed sigh. He didn't think he had the energy to drag himself upstairs to get to the bathroom for medicine, so he stayed and hoped the others would return soon. His eyelids felt heavy, and he soon dozed off.

After about an hour passed, he was awoken (but still half asleep). He thought he heard some shuffling near him but didn't have to energy to care. Since the topmost staircase creaks quite loudly, he figured out that the person went away from the couch, upstairs, then went down again. By this time he called out the side, suspecting it being Patton.

“Patton? Is that you?” He said, stretching his arms, but then promptly regretting it because it made them more sore.

“Yes, I am Patton.” The voice said. Roman opened his eyes to see- Deceit?

“Wh- You're not Patton! Deceit?! What are you doing here?! Do you want to hurt me?! Get away you danger noodle!” Roman called out, abruptly sitting up.

“Do not calm down. I am here to hurt you.” Deceit calmly said, contracting his words.

“What do you mean you want to hurt me?! I shall valiantly fight you!”

Deceit let out an annoyed sigh, rolling his eyes.

“I do not speak in lies. It is not easier for me to speak that way.” Deceit slowly explained to Roman.

“So, you say the opposite of what you mean?"

“No.” Deceit nodded.

“Okay… But- why are you here in the first place?” Roman asked, taking on the situation.

“You are not hurt, and I don't wish to help you heal.”

Roman paused. “Why do you want to help me?”

Deceit thought in silence for a moment He couldn't just simply admit that he had a soft spot for the Prince. “The others will be back soon. They haven’t gone… somewhere. I know where. Anyway, you're not hurt and that's good. Not every person deserves help.

Roman, surprised at Deceit’s words, looked at him meaningfully. “O-oh. Thank you.” He reluctantly, but genuinely said.

Deceit looked at him with a confused expression, as he had never heard the flamboyant prince say “thank you” but dismissed it and focused on his wounds. He lifted the first aid kit which he brought down from the bathroom, and took out a long bandage from it. Getting a towel, he ran over to the kitchen sink, and dabbed a bit of water onto it. He ran back to Roman, and took his bloodied sleeve off of his leg, revealing his wound. It had started to heal a little, but it was still in need of care. Deceit softly patted the wound, getting small bloodstains on the towel. He didn’t mind, he could wash it out later.

As Deceit was cleaning Roman’s wounds, the creative side pondered. After all, he has been pretty mean with Deceit. But can he be trusted? He does speak in lies after all. But here he is now, disinfecting his gash, and wrapping it up in a soft white bandage.

“Where else do you not have wounds?” Deceit asked, interrupting his train of thought.

“The others aren't too bad, though the dragon witch did blaze my shoulders a bit. If you could find some cream that would soothe the burn, it would help a lot.” Roman’s face showed an awkward, but hopeful smile.

“I won't find something here.” The deceptive side said while rummaging through the first aid kit. He pulled out a small grey tube, and quickly opening it.

“I'm uh… not going to need you to remove your-” Deceit cleared his throat. “-your shirt.”

Roman thought he said saw a ghost of a blush on Deceit’s face, but it soon disappeared. “Of course.” He said, pulling his shirt off, revealing some more scars and some amazing chiselled abs. Deceit caught himself staring and quickly reminded himself of what this stupid Prince had done to him, and that he needed to help him, not fall for him. That would be stupid. Deceit distracted himself by reiterating the conversation he had with Roman, his surprised he was to see him, how he said sorry. He giggled.

“What?”

“Oh, I just didn't remember how you called me a danger noodle” Deceit continued giggling.

Roman let out an awkward chuckle. “Well, I mean, your surprise attack caught me off guard. I didn't have time to come up a good nickname.”

“Suprise attack? I just walked over to you.” Deceit objected.

The Prince cleared his throat, realising his poor wording. “Shut up, Jack the Fibber.” He replied with annoyance. Deceit laughed at the nickname, and continued to apply the cream to Roman’s shoulder. They sat in a contended silence, Deceit just thinking and Roman feeling a little guilty. He thought how badly he treated Deceit in the past, and how now he was on his own accord helping him recover. Could this be another trick? Probably not. He doubted Deceit would go to this extent to mess with him. A few minutes have passed when Roman broken the silence with “I'm sorry” The deceptive side looked up at him in curiosity.

“What didn't you say?” He slowly asked.

“I'm sorry for… for treating you badly in the past. It was unfair of me to judge you. You are after all only doing your job.” Roman admitted. He stared with a hopeful expression at Deceit, maybe he would forgive him. Roman found it strange that the forgiveness of a past foe meant that much to him. He started again. “I know you probably deem me dumb or this whole situation stupid, but I promise-”

“It isn't okay. I didn't get used to it. It doesn't happen all the time. You did it the most, not after Patton. Logan and Virgil don't despise me. You aren't fine.”

Roman found himself looking at Deceit with a sense of admiration, but with uncomfortable guilt. Was he truly an enemy? They have hated him since he first appeared but he really doesn't seem that bad. Princey remembers what Patton had said, that his goal is self-preservation, which is good,but his methods are less than ideal. Deceit snorted.

“Huh? What is it?” Roman inquired, his train of thought broken.

“It- It isn't nothing.” Deceit dismissed, waving his arm.

“Well people don't just laugh at nothing.” Roman huffed.

“Don't mind your own business, flamboyant fuck!” Deceit said, giggling at the absurdity of what he had just said. Roman’s chuckles at Deceit’s insult had turned into boisterous, loud laughter, and the kept on laughing even when it hurt. Unfortunately, they didn't hear the door being unlocked, and three sides entering.

“Roman, we're home!” Patton called, before taking in the scene. Roman and Deceit abruptly stopped laughing, snapping their heads over to meet their sudden visitors.

“Ro? Who's that?” Virgil suspiciously asked. He narrowed his eyes, but before he could say who it was, he was interrupted by Logan.

“Deceit! What the hell are you doing here? What have you done with Roman?” Logan barked, running over to Deceit and grabbing him by the shoulder. Twisting him around, he eyes the deceptive side, searching for some angry emotion, other than… fear? Deceit flinched at the sudden contact.

“I-I was just-”

“What sort of fuckery were you trying to manipulate Roman into?” Virgil hissed.

“Virgil!” Patton gasped, “Don't you dare use that language here.” He started scolding Anxiety.

“Guys…” Roman warned, trying to explain the situation. “He wasn't doing anything wrong-”

“-That's just what you think! He probably made you do something reckless and irresponsible, didn't he?” Logan thundered. “Tell me what you did you good-for-nothing dimwit.”

“Listen, I didn't do nothing. Roman wasn't hurt and I didn't help him.”

“What do you mean Roman wasn't hurt?! He clearly is.” Virgil persisted.

“Guys, will you just listen?!” Roman shouted. “He didn't do any harm to me. He helped me heal my wounds I had gotten from fighting the dreaded dragon witch.”

A chorus of “what?!” followed Roman’s statement.

“Now please, let me explain in detail.”

To be continued-

Taglist :

@temmiecupcake

@deathofafangirl1

@perfidiouspeopleouthere

[scriptureofashes]

(Not) Guilty (Part 1/2)

So by popular demand, here it is, folks. The direct sequel to (Not) Sorry. This will be a two part piece (which will then be later posted in whole in my ao3) and as I tell you in the ao3 version, a winteriron fic.

Enjoy Part 1! (Enjoy about 5000 words written through blood and sweat lmao I need sleep)

Rhodey found him in the shop. Obviously.

“Well, that could’ve gone worse.”

Tony muttered something in return, made unintelligible by the screwdriver in his mouth. He wasn’t in the mood for basic socialization. He never was, frankly.

“Tones.”

Tony kept working.

“Tony.”

“Are the legs acting up again? I’ve been working on something that can recalibrate—”

Rhodey sighed. “Tony, come on—”

“Come on what.”

The sound of the screwdriver slamming on the table echoed, loud and uncomfortable. Tony winced. He didn’t mean to be so dramatic. Well, he didn’t mean to be more dramatic than usual.

“Sorry. I—sorry.”

“What are you even apologizing for?”

Ruining your life? Ruining other people’s lives? Ruining the world as we know it?

“I ate your pancake share. I’d feel guilty, but Bruce’s cooking kind of counteracts any sort of negative emotion. I suspect Strange did something.”

Rhodey’s unimpressed eyebrow was enough to tell his bullshit had been called.

“First, you took my share right out of my hands and ran off with the most maniacal laugh I’ve ever heard from you. Second, you’re not working on anything even remotely related to what you just said, considering the Captain America shield is on full display.”

Tony blinked. Well, I never thought I’d see the day I’d bring this much stupid into my own workshop.

“Tony, what are you doing?”

He sighed. “Nothing. Fri, if you please.”

“Yes, boss.” The hologram immediately changed into Mark XLVII.

“Nothing? That didn’t look like nothing. You’re not giving them upgrades, are you?”

Tony’s silence was answer enough.

“I’m going to beat your ass.”

“That’s not nice.”

“God, Tony,” Rhodey sighed, again. He rounded the table and took the wrench right out of his hold. “Did you simply forget what happened? What Rogers said? What Barton said?”

“Of course I didn’t forget, but whether I like it or not the ‘gang’,” he did the air quotes and everything, “Is back at it again, and it’s my job to provide with what I can.”

“No, it’s not. You’re doing this out of the goodness in your heart, is what you’re doing. Don’t deny it, damn it,” he warned as Tony prepared to argue. “You’ve settled things so that they could return, for duty. For our home. For our world. You’ve signed the pardon, for duty. You’ve put on the suit once more, for duty. But this?”

Rhodey waved the wrench in his face.

“This isn’t an obligation. This is another attempt of yours at an apology, at reconciliation, with you being the one to put aside your pride and dignity, like always.”

“Did you maybe consider I wanted to see whether mine or Shuri’s tech would work best?”

“Right, because you haven’t already had 5-hour long Skype conversations with her and incorporated her methods into yours.”

Guilty.

It was Rhodey’s turn to slam his hand on the table.

“You’re already playing host. You’re already giving up your time, money and space to house them, when the government could’ve perfectly done that themselves without you having yet another mental breakdown over these assholes.”

“To be fair, the government would have given them atrocious installations and—”

“And it would have been well deserved.”

In his experience, Tony knew arguing with Rhodey when he was that riled up would be fruitless, so he said nothing. He hadn’t been about to disagree, per se. It would be a long-overdue lesson in humility. But he just… knew. He knew they would think he was behind the whole ordeal, that he would be the one to demand them placed in heinous lodging out of spite, sneering at him for it behind his back.

As if they don’t do that already.

Still. He wasn’t about to risk getting shot in the knee during the upcoming battle by what they all would claim was an alien, turning a blind eye to Barton’s suddenly emptier quiver.

“Look, Tones.” For a minute, Rhodey didn’t say anything. He had his ‘My best friend is an idiot and I don’t know how to deal with it’ brow on. “I’m not saying they shouldn’t be here. They’re the only ones that can help. But I’ve noticed something. Something that’s been happening since the very beginning of this whole Avengers business.”

“In my defense, I haven’t had much time to go to the dresser and cover them up—”

“It’s not your grey hairs. Though it might be related,” he said. He looked thoughtful, instead of defiant. “You compromise. A lot. You compromise with everyone in all senses of the word, even where the smallest of things is concerned.”

He paused.

“You compromise where you shouldn’t. Maybe it’s time you stopped that.”

“Fri?”

“It’s 3:42 in the am, boss. No one is in the kitchen.”

Tony would have fired a comeback about late night cravings for some leftover chinese, which was a real thing that afflicted everyone, but the relief at finally being able to wander around his own house without imminent risk swallowed it back. Granted, he was popping out because Bruce had apparently stress-baked blueberry muffins and those went divine with coffee, but it counted as leaving the shop.

After 36 hours. He could swear Pepper found a way to project herself into his mind to chide him at the proper occasion. His brain couldn’t sound so properly vexed at himself.

Friday turned on and dimmed the lights for him, despite the clear moonlight seeping through the slim panes of the windows. Tony could hear the clock ticking somewhere as he picked one of the two muffins left, cutting through the silence of the night like a reminder—a reminder of how little time they most likely had.

Thankfully, there was some remaining coffee in the mug, so he went without the usual ruckus of coffee machines (maybe he should give it another tweak). Bruce had probably known he would venture out and went to bed only after leaving him fresh coffee. He’d tried making Tony sleep in the past. He gave up the lost cause.

He knew about the nightmares, now.

“Fri, give me Princess Shuri’s drafts on the shield.”

His own voice made all of his hairs stand on end, even if whispered. He knew it was dangerous to display this in the middle of the kitchen, connected to the common area as it was, but there were details on the wakandan princess’s plans for a new shield that Tony was having a hard time figuring out, and damn him if he wasn’t going to spare every break on them.

Her ideas were complex and far more advanced than anything he’d ever come up with. Shuri worked in ways Tony only ever briefly considered and then dismissed, never quite knowing how to get there. He honestly never thought he’d see the day when someone smarter than him would make it possible, or that they’d be a sixteen-year-old girl. Bright, young minds indeed.

It made his blood rush with excitement. A challenge. Finally.

“Zoom in on—yes, exactly.” He took a bite out of the muffin—delicious, as expected—and gulped down some coffee. “Now, see, I don’t quite understand how she wants to…”

“Boss?”

“Brilliant, maybe too brilliant for me. I can’t—oh. Oh!”

Tony almost spilled coffee everywhere. He was going to mail this kid three dozen boxes of American candy and all the Coachella tickets she wanted.

“Ha, you clever kid, you!”

“Boss.”

Of course! Of freaking course, how did he not—

“Jesus Christ.”

The Winter Soldier blinked.

“No. Just me.”

“Yes, I can see that.”

Though the physical differences are slim to none.

Tony quickly swiped left before Barnes could see anything and backtracked to the sink, hackles raised. He suppressed the impulse to press his hand on his chest out of habit, or to call for a suit and blast himself far, far away from the compound. He remembered seeing a knife among the dishes in the sink, but he wasn’t stupid enough to glance at it.

The soldier remained on the couch, unperturbed. Too far away from the kitchen lights, he was almost a shadow, cloaked in light and dark both. The usual unkempt bird’s nest of a hair was tied up in a bun to keep it from his face, only to accentuate the sharpness of his jawline. He looked every bit a heartless assassin.

Tony scrutinized the area for a tactical retreat without having to turn his back to him. “Lover’s spat?”

Barnes looked like he’d almost frowned.

“What?”

“You and Rogers.” He slowly moved around the island. “Did he kick you out of the bed already?”

“I’m not going to put a knife to your throat, Stark.”

Tony really should have known better. One armed or not, it was the Winter Soldier. The Winter Soldier. Brief flashes of roadways and car crashes played behind his eyes, but Tony locked those images away in less than a split second.

“I distinctly remember the Accords stating you weren’t allowed near anything sharp without supervision until they deemed you able,” Tony stated simply. “So I suspect not.”

There didn’t seem to be a hint of resentment at those words. In fact, Barnes looked almost relieved.

“I don’t blame them.” He paused. Tony thought that was that, then, “Steve and I… we ain’t together.”

“Like I care.”

Even in the dark, Tony saw grey eyes peering at him.

“We aren’t together,” Barnes repeated, as if to make a point Tony was missing. “We never were and we never will be.”

A point Tony was now deliberately missing.

“Spare me your pathetic pining, Kristoff. If you’re looking for a pity party, you’d better look elsewhere.”

A crash—his father’s blood—his mother’s whimpers—a murderer’s cold eyes—

“I remember all of them.”

Tony retreated to the shop before Barnes could say anything.

The liquor stash he’d kept down at the workshop of the Avengers tower had never gained a twin for the new one once the team moved to the compound, thanks to Pepper and Rhodey, but as Tony sat on its couch and watched his former companions patter idly about the common area through his surveillance cameras, he felt that old thirst make its return in full force.

This is what my life has come to. Wary and confined to parts of his own home, reliant on Friday showing him if the coast was clear, lest he came face to face with yet another unpleasant, uncivil confrontation with the people poisoning his life. The people that accepted him with open arms and too wide smiles, only to break him into a thousand pieces.

You’d think he’d have learned his lesson by now.

They tried getting into the workshop. Of course they did. They came, high on entitlement and set on more degrading words with the arrogant and ungrateful Tony Stark. They came, and outside they stayed, in clear anger at being denied access by the smooth voice of a fuming AI.

Rogers was the one hardest to watch. He wouldn’t even come angry—determined, maybe, but never angry. Desperate suited him better, as well as… contrite. He wouldn’t demand, he would beg—in his own Captain America fashion—and he would stare straight at the eye of the beholder, very obviously aware of Tony watching, or at least in hopes of so. He would speak to Friday like he was speaking to Tony, always saying the same thing.

“I just want to talk.”

His face remained ever composed, but there was real pain in those blue eyes every time he was denied access, and Tony really, really didn’t know what to make of that.

They were trying to watch a movie of sorts now, it seemed. Tony once made the mistake of leaving the sound on when checking up on them. He’d pretended not to feel the stabs at his chest upon hearing the things they’d said about him.

“I can’t believe he’s bitter about that, what a selfish—”

“Still arrogant as ever, it seems—”

“He gets pissed when I give him a piece of his medicine, but I’m not allowed to get revenge for my family? He knows nothing of the pain I—”

No sound. Just video. It was safer that way.

“My ears tell me of you forging yet another offering of weapons for the very people who betrayed your trust.”

“Alright, you know what.” Tony took half a moment to bank back the heart attack, wiped down his greasy hands and reached for the drawer on his desk. “Here you go, Rudolph. A shiny bell to match your shiny nose.”

Loki caught the green collar with one hand and one eyebrow raised.

“I do not have a shiny nose.”

Tony quickly disabled Friday’s live display, but Loki wouldn’t be known as the Trickster if he weren’t smart enough to know what he’d been watching. His eyes narrowed.

“You fear them.”

“I don’t fear them.” Not exactly.

Loki contemplated him. It was still odd to see him in Earth clothing, but an all black suit was an unsurprisingly good fit on him. Completely out of place in a mechanic’s haven, but Tony wasn’t one to talk about donning expensive suits just because he could around the house, now was he?

“You do.”

“Was there a point to you coming here?”

“Ah, yes. We’re having one of those ‘movie-marathons’ tonight as you call them, per young Peter’s insistence. Banner even brought some of those dough and cheese based pies.”

Tony blinked. It’s Thursday already?

“There was no pizza in Asgard? No wonder it got blown up by Ghost Rider's evil grandfather.”

Tony went to check on his drafts, disconcerted by the sudden pass of time, but was halted by Loki’s hand on his shoulder. His expression was unreadable. It always was.

“Stop trying to appease them, Stark.”

Then he left without another word.

These damn Asgardians, I swear.

Due to circumstances, his team—minus Romanoff—took their business to the wing set opposite the one now occupied by Cap’s team, where another, slightly smaller common area was built. There was no kitchen or even a dining room, seeing as Tony’s plan had been to spare it for visitors, so it was more of a living room than anything. He certainly didn’t plan on using it, and he certainly didn’t plan on, you know, using it to avoid certain people. In his own property.

Yet if he so much as issued a part of the compound that wasn’t his workshop restricted, he’d be labelled the asshole again and the slowly steadying dynamic would tip again. So, he let things be.

Decorators had settled on a teal theme, turned dark green by the late afternoon sun. Thor was already sprawled out on a couch, his brother comfortable on the armchair beside him. Bruce and Rhodey engaged in casual conversation. Peter, to Tony’s amusement, sat on the Asgardian king’s belly and gobbled down a slice of pizza that looked legitimately bigger than his head.

“Slow it down, pygmy shrew. Leave some for me.”

“Mr. Stark!”

“Man of Iron!”

Thor actually sprung from the couch and to his side, all joy and smiles and paying no mind whatsoever to the kid he’d just sent spiraling over.

“We were beginning to think you would not join us in the merriment!”

“For God’s sake, just say fun, Thor.”

It was… weird, for lack of a better word, to see him short-haired and one-eyed. Sure, Tony had more time to adjust than some, seeing as Thor had gone to him upon hearing about the disbanded Avengers—he somehow remembered how Tony had predicted what was on its way—but he was like a literal reflection on how things had changed.

A literal reflection who hugged his lungs out.

“Okay, okay, let go, let go, let go.” Thor put him down with a godsworn pout. “Happy to see you too, big guy. But I don’t hug, that’s general knowledge.”

From his spot on the floor, Peter saluted. “General Knowledge.”

“You’re grounded.”

The kid had the nerve to cackle. Youths these days, so disrespectful.

“What have you been working on that’s got you so holed up in that lab?” Bruce asked, even if his voice tone implied he knew. And disapproved.

“Nothing too important.”

Bruce looked about ready to rebuffel, but Rhodey cut in. “He’s right, it’s not important. It’s not going for clearance. At all.”

“I think I’ll be the judge of what I do with my inventions.”

“You’re not a weapons manufacturer anymore, Tones. Legally, I could impeach your ass and confiscate whatever war tech you build.”

Tony gaped. “Now see here—”

“Of course I’m not gonna do it. Just know that I can, and I will if I must.”

“If you must? What exactly am I supposed to do here, then?”

Building and fixing things was what he did. If he wasn’t allowed to do that, then there was no purpose to him on the team whatsoever. And if—if—

“You’re supposed to be minding your own damn business, is exactly what. We are not having this argument, Tones,” he perfuncted. “Now sit back and watch Return of the Jedi.”

“Ugh, again?”

Tony woke up on the floor with a horrible back ache, a mouthful of Peter’s hair and a blanket of Avengers. And cold sweat on his temples. He weaseled out of the cocoon and back to work, popped tires and fiery, starry darkness a ghost in his mind.

“Jesus!”

“No, still me.”

Tony watched Barnes eat his cereal in complete disbelief. He had his hair down this time, and was still in dire need of a shave. Seriously, was it in now, for super soldiers to loathe razors?

“How are you doing that? Friday, what gives?”

“I’m sorry boss. He just seems to appear out of nowhere.”

“Out of—” Tony ran a hand down his face. Ex-assassins.

Barnes raised his brow at him, looking entirely unimpressed, as if being incognito had been his intention all along. Tony was reminded of the silent and efficient kill method of the Winter Soldier, the few reports he bothered to read of dead Hydra targets without a clue as to whom or what killed them.

Cold adrenaline burned then. Once is an anomaly, twice is a coincidence…

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Barnes blurted, immediately scrapping every conclusion Tony had drawn in that one half-moment.

Everything about this guy was… disorienting. Barnes stared at his bowl of Lucky Charms almost like he was afraid of looking Tony in the eye, which was ridiculous, really. If anything, Tony should be the one shrinking in on himself—or not, given what he just heard.

“How do you know that?” Tony asked and immediately winced. Shuri had made sure to send a mentally apt Barnes for the new Avengers cause, so there was no trigger-word concern anymore. In theory.

Barnes looked up, and the simple act seemed to bring him pain, clear and sharp in his eyes.

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

Tony didn’t say anything. He didn’t know what the hell he was supposed to say to that.

I assaulted you. I almost killed you. I blasted your damn arm off. And you don’t want to hurt me.

He got his coffee and made to go back to the—

“I’m sorry.”

Tony froze mid-step and didn’t turn around.

“It’s worth nothin’. It won’t bring ‘em back and it doesn’t make up for it, not by a long shot,” and at this Barnes made a sound, that self-deprecating, pathetic laugh Tony was all too familiar with himself, “But know that I’m so, so sorry.”

There was a pause. Tony still didn’t dare glance at him, unwilling to see what expression matched the utter sincerity and regret in that rasp of a voice.

“And I understand why you don’t trust me. So I’ll say it again: I’m not going to hurt you.”

Tony wanted to scream. He wanted to hurl his coffee at the wall, he wanted to shake Barnes until sense came to him, he wanted to cry his stomach sick. A part of him wanted to assure the ex-assassin he couldn’t hurt him even if he tried. The other begged to let him, in hopes he’d succeed.

Tony did neither. He crept back to the shop, ignoring how violently his hands shook.

“You know, when I said ‘don’t make weapons for the Avengers’ and told you to focus on something else, this isn’t what I meant.”

“I’m sure that’s close to what Raza thought when he told me to build the Jericho and I blew up his base instead, but what’re we gonna do?”

Rhodey sighed, then a flashdrive and a huge stack of papers were deposited on the table. A nail rolled across them and onto the floor, but Tony’s attention was drawn to the Russian words peeking at the corner of an age-old folder. Bruce, previously focused on his own side of their current project, looked up in confusion.

“What’s all this?”

“Everything you need to know about Sergeant Barnes and more. From where USSR first took him to and when, to his stay on Wakanda.” Rhodey turned to Tony. “I thought you already went through the reports?”

“That’s right, you thought.”

Tony had been indeed given these same papers, post his disagreement with Cap and said man’s exile, right when he’d wanted absolutely nothing to do with Bucky Barnes. They were sent back in less than a day, spared nothing more at than a disturbed glance.

Now, though… Tony did a mental pause. Now what?

“Should I be concerned? I mean, last time you pulled something unexpected you became Iron Man,” Rhodey said. “And you taking a sudden interest in the man who murdered your parents is unexpected.”

Bruce took the liberty to flicker through the papers, already frowning.

“When said man is a guest in the compound, I’m going to take such an interest.”

Friday displayed the contents of the flashdrive. A myriad of information settled itself on screen, then the face of 1940’s James Buchanan Barnes was staring back at him. The contrast between this roguish man and the broken one Tony had actually met almost made him reel backwards. The eyes were the same, even through outdated, poor quality photos, yet the ghosts that now haunted them were nowhere to be seen.

“He fell off the train in 1945 and was found by the Russians. Not by Hydra, like most people think…”

Bruce kept reading aloud, words Tony’s brain didn’t process as he was too busy assimilating the absolute horror he was shown. He’d suspected some of what he read, but this—

Torture—brainwashing—violent punishment—

“Fuck.”

“Tones?”

Memory wipes—isolation as punishment—starvation as punishment—mind control—

His mind brought him back to Afghanistan before he could even process it, to cold heat of caves and metal and stale water, to—

“Ton—”

There were photos. Visuals to accompany the reports on progress, proof that proper discipline methods were being exercised—so it read. Depictions of red, yellow, black, blue. Bruises. Blood matted skin and hair. Countless lacerations. Protruding bones. Swellings from head traumas.

Utter gore.

“Oh my God.”

There were videos. The one playing was of not many, caught in very, very poor quality, but you could clearly see Barnes and the chair he was strapped to. And the electric flares on his head.

And you could hear the screaming. The screaming.

“Jesus fuck…”

Tony didn’t even admonish Bruce’s swearing. He was too busy throwing up his coffee.

Bruce’s tea was hot on his palms and burned going down his throat. All heads-up displays were disabled, all music muted. His shop was silent but for his bots’ whirrs and the disturbing sound of four human beings breathing.

“I’m sorry.”

Bruce frowned. Tony gestured to the coffee mug Dummy was currently replacing.

“Wasted your coffee.”

He was then on the receiving end of three varying expressions of disbelief. No, two—Rhodey actually looked exasperated instead.

“Tony. You had a completely acceptable reaction to what you just saw.”

“It was damn good coffee, though. I’m—”

“Stop apologizing.”

Tony stared at Strange. The wizard stared back. Didn’t so much as blink, eyes hard to read. Tony opened his mouth—

“Stop apologizing. And drink that.”

Strange then gestured open a portal back to the Sanctum and left with a twirl of that infuriating red cloak.

Tony shot his tea a haughty look. I knew it.

The lockdown mode lasted for five days. Well, the extra lockdown settings did. About five people in the compound had access codes to his shop. For five days, they didn’t.

For five days, Tony was AWOL. For five days, Tony processed what he’d learned. Sat shrouded in nothing but darkness and the cyan blue light of his monitors, Tony watched Bucky Barnes. He watched him do his work out routine. He watched him eat breakfast. He watched him eat lunch. He watched him eat dinner. He watched him skip movie night and go to bed.

For five days, Tony watched him. And he noticed. He noticed that Barnes’ work out routine ended when somebody else joined him. He noticed that Barnes always ate alone. He noticed that Barnes skipped his team’s bonding hour to sit in the gym and stare at nothing. Or the compound garden, or the compound roof, or anywhere that got him alone.

Or anywhere that got him away from his team.

Tony already knew what kind of shitstorm awaited him once he authorized the codes again. Rhodey was probably pissed. Bruce was probably concerned. Peter was probably hurt. Thor was probably sad, and Loki… well, Loki wasn’t probable, but Tony guessed he wasn’t pleased.

He wasn’t referring to the Avengers, no, currently enjoying their own movie night in their own common area, either oblivious or impervious to Tony’s lockdown mode. He could have fucked off to someplace, and they’d still sit and talk and laugh among each other as they watched Pulp Fiction. He could have up and left the planet, and they’d still plot behind his back.

Like they were now.

“Hey, not for nothin’ or nothin’,” Barton said, from his spot sprawled on Romanoff’s legs, “But have you talked to Rhodes yet?”

The question was apparently directed at Rogers, who sighed. Tony was quick to note Barnes next to him, looking for all he cared like he didn’t care to be there at all. He maintained enough proximity to his best friend for no risk of questions asked, yet he was too stiff and too focused on the screen while in fact not paying any attention to the movie. Tony was surprised, trained ex-assassins and ex-militaries as most of them were, at how nobody noticed this.

(Or maybe they did. And chose to ignore it.)

“He says it’s not in his place to give us the access codes. And neither is, uh, acting messenger boy.” Sam let out a cynical laugh. “He says if we want to talk to him, we’ll have to go to him ourselves.”

Barton raised his arms in the air. “He won’t let us talk to him! The stick in his ass got even deeper after what happened in Leipzig.”

“Clint—”

“Look, his fragile little ego got Hulk smashed, and Hulk wasn’t even there. We gotta handle this before shit hits the fan again, Cap.”

“Thor said—”

“I know what Thor said about this Thanos guy. That’s not the shit I was referring to.”

Rogers, for no change whatsoever, looked confused.

“We wounded his pride,” Romanoff clarified. “We wounded his pride, and we don’t know where he is or what he’s up to. He took Ross out of the Accords to be monitored by the Colonel instead, as we know, who won’t tell us if Tony’s even in the premises.”

She pushed Barton off her to sit up and stare straight at the Captain.

“Tony is dangerous and reckless when his pride is on the line, so we have to take control of the situation before it becomes one.”

Almost imperceptibly, Barnes shifted on the couch. Rogers didn’t see.

“What do you mean?”

“She means, maybe he’s finding a way to bench us before the big game,” Barton answered, looking at the ceiling. “Maybe this whole ‘welcome home’ thing is a ruse to keep us in the dark. Maybe we should get back on the run before he gets those arrest warrants ready. Maybe we should be gearing up for another Ultron situation. He’s too arrogant to trust us.”

Barton opened his mouth to continue, but what Tony and the others heard came in a voice that definitely wasn’t his.

“Maybe you’re all too arrogant to be trusted.”

Barnes didn’t even look away from the movie as he said it. Everybody stood stock still. It was like the tide receded at his words, the dead giveaway to an incoming tsunami.

Rogers was the sounding alarm. “What?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Barton asked, too taken aback to look insulted. Romanoff wore the exact same face he did. It was almost comical.

Barnes took his time replying. He was still ‘fixated’ on the movie.

“There ain’t no ‘welcome home’ ruse. Hell, there wasn’t even a ‘welcome home’, for starters, so I don’t know what you’re even on about,” he said, with an honest to God laugh. “And I really don’t know why you expected one.”

“We signed the Accords,” Rogers stated, a perceived cold fact. “We agreed to his terms—”

“No, he agreed to yours, punk.”

“Am I actually listening to this?” Lang asked, effectively voicing Tony’s thoughts.

“Buck, you of all people should know that we can’t trust the—”

“You ain’t above the law, Steve.” Barnes finally tore his eyes from the screen to stare at his best friend’s. His voice was ice. “You ain’t above 192 countries. If you can’t accept limitations, you’re no better than the bad guys.”

Tony’s sharp gasp synched with Team Cap’s.

“You’re defending Stark?” Barton asked, sounding as skeptical as Tony felt. “You, of all people?”

That’s it, no more tea from Strange. He was absolutely not witnessing this.

“Buck.”

“Steve,” Barnes mocked.

Rogers blinked, before his face contorted into something like anger. Tony wasn’t sure.

“Bucky, he tried to kill you!”

“I killed his parents!”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Barton jumped off the couch. “What the fuck?”

“Okay, what?”

The rest of the team, including Maximoff but not Romanoff, reacted like this was big news.

“That wasn’t—!”

“Yes, it was. No, shut the fuck up, Steven Grant Rogers,” Barnes growled, and Tony couldn’t for the life of him believe his eyes and ears. “I killed his parents. I fuckin’ killed his parents, that was me, brainwashed or not. Their death is on my hands and I take full blame and responsibility for what I did.”

“Hold up a sec—” Wilson started, but Barnes wasn’t done.

“But you, Steve, didn’t take no fucking blame or responsibility. You knew it had been me, and you didn’t tell him. You knew it hadn’t been an accident from the start, and you didn’t tell him. Didn’t you say you were friends?”

“Yes, but—”

“Then what the hell, Steve—”

“How was I supposed to tell him?” Rogers finally snapped. “How could I say it? How do you say that to someone? Buck, you’re my friend—”

“So was he, damn it!”

Tony could feel his eyes growing progressively wider.

“You’re my friend, I was protecting you!” There was actual betrayal in Rogers’ face. “If I told him, he would have gone after you!”

“Would he?” Barnes gestured around vaguely. “I’m standin’ right here, in his house, per his invite, and not once has he tried to pick up where we left off.”

“Not yet,” Lang corrected. “He doesn’t because he’s smart enough not to mess with you, seeing as that would mean messing with us.”

And then Barnes’ face, ever so calculatingly blank, stretched in the most scornful smirk Tony had ever seen.

“Oh, he’s smart alright. But that ain’t why. Lord knows he could kick your asses on his own if he needed to. He certainly kicked mine and Steve’s.”

“Okay, what?” Wilson—it had been Wilson—repeated.

“When did this happen?” Maximoff asked, right back to Stark-Hate mode.

Both Rogers and Barnes fell into silence, one out of guilt and one out of sheer anger.

“You didn’t tell them about Siberia.” It wasn’t a question.

“Siberia?”

“Siberia?”

“What happened in Siberia?”

Tony could never be sure watching through video feed as he was, despite the fine quality of his installed surveillance, but the expression Barnes now had struck too close to the one he’d associated with the Winter Soldier.

Rogers did make an effort to explain, surprisingly. “Tony came to us after Leipzig. As a friend. He… he found out the truth. Lashed out, attacked Bucky. I stepped in and it… it just went downhill from there.”

“What do you mean, ‘downhill’?” It was Romanoff who asked, at a loss to make a difference.

Rogers took too long to come up with his response. Barnes beat him to it.

“He tried to kill him.” Perceived cold fact. “He crushed his arc reactor, then left him to die in the cold.”

He was met with silence, underlaid with the movie in the background. Barnes got up.

“I already watched Pulp Fiction last week,” he informed, then promptly left.

In his lab, Tony watched him go. The moment Barnes was out of frame, he turned off all monitors. Left himself in complete darkness.

What. The actual. Fuck.

[missjanjie]

Don’t Feed the Plant (3/4)

Title: Don’t Feed the Plant Summary: A ‘Little Shop of Horrors’ based Phan AU. Phil is a poor orphan working in his adoptive aunt’s run-down flower shop in London. After buying a suspiciously strange plant with a carnivorous appetite, Phil’s life changes overnight, even bringing him closer to crush and coworker, a troubled and near destitute Dan Howell. Soon enough, though, Phil realizes that fame and romance comes with the ultimate price. Chapter: 3 - Suppertime Word Count: ~1.8k Relationship: Dan Howell/Phil Lester, Implied Dan Howell/Male OMC Rating: T Chapter Warnings: Some Gore TW

Read on AO3

Phil never liked going to the dentist as a child and was a bit difficult when it came to his annual checkups. He would dig his heels in and insist to his parents that he would not go – only to be bribed out with sweets.

No amount of sweets, however, could make this dentist appointment less nerve-wracking. The fluorescent lights seemed blindingly brighter than usual, every little noise kept him on edge. His eyes darted from patient to patient – the young mum with her infant in a pram, the teenager texting away, the parents trying to comfort a crying girl – no older than eight – who was about to get braces on. None of them acknowledged his existence, but he could swear they all knew something was off about him, as if they could all see the pistol he had smuggled in his messenger bag.

“Mr. Lester? You can head into room four,” the assistant came out to say.

Clutching his bag close to his side, Phil walked down the hallway until he reached room four, sitting himself down on the exam chair. Time seemed to move even slower while he waited for Robert, and what was probably five to ten minutes felt like hours.

“Well hey there plant boy, fancy seeing you here,” Robert tossed Phil’s chart on to the counter and sat himself on the stool

“You come so highly recommended,” Phil was trying desperately to not let his voice give away how nervous he was, though the dentist hardly seemed to notice, getting back up and thumbing through his papers.

“Haven’t had a checkup in five years huh?” Robert shook his head. “Oh boy I’m gonna have a lot of fun with your mouth,” there was something in his tone that Phil could only identify as evil.

With a shaky hand, Phil started to reach for the gun when his back was turned, apparently looking for something.

“Here’s the good stuff,” he grinned as he picked up a tank of laughing gas, putting the mask to his mouth and inhaling deeply. He let out a cackling laugh when he pulled back, his face crazed.

“I-I thought it was mostly anesthesia these days,” Phil remarked offhandedly, trying to make casual conversation while he calmed himself down. He only had one shot at this, he had to make it count.

Robert chuckled at that. “Oh, this ain’t for you,” he hooked the mask properly on his face, turning the tank on, the gas continuously flowing through the mask. “Calms the nerves, if you know what I mean,” he winked. He moved about without stopping the flow of narcotics, getting the tools he would need to wreak havoc on Phil’s mouth. The tank jostled back and fourth as he walked until a loud clang stopped him in his tracks.

Phil peered over to see the tank and realized the intake valve broke, causing the laughing gas to flow more intensely. He watched Robert frantically struggle with the mask, only to notice it was stuck as well. He watched as his pupils started to dilate and his complexion started to fade to a sickly grey.

“Fuck, this thing’s really jammed up,” Robert was no longer able to hold himself up, slouched on the ground against the wall. He looked at Phil expectantly, waiting for him to get up and help. When it was clear that help would never arrive, he appeared to resign himself to his fate, but quietly asked “What’d I ever do to you?”

“It’s not what you did to me. It’s what you did to him.”

---------

“Just pretend you’re butchering a pig, Phil,” Granted, Phil had never done that either. But it made the task at hand more palatable, he supposed.

With his heavy rubber gloves, thick smock, boots, and mask, he felt like he had an additional barrier between himself and the gruesome task. He steadied his grip on the axe and took swing after swing to the corpse, leaving the remains in easily-consumable chunks for the plant. Once he deemed the task completed, he shoved the body parts back into the black garbage bag that had carried the body and dragged it back upstairs.

Phil had to look away when Daniel II devoured what was once Robert Clarke, DDS. The chomping and crunching and squishing was enough to make his stomach churn. He did his best to quell his unease by reminding himself of all the horrible things that man had done to Dan, and that was just what he had seen and pieced together in the aftermath. It was probably much worse behind closed doors. Dan was safe now, he thought.

“Goodnight, two-ey. Tomorrow is a new day,” he gave the plant a pat before heading back home, having no idea what tomorrow would hold.

---------

Seeing Dan dressed in all black was not an unusual sight, in fact it was a primary staple in his wardrobe. He looked paler than usual, his clothing seemed to drown him as he walked. His eyes were red and watery, and he seemed to tremble a bit as he walked.

“Dan are you okay?” Phil surprised himself with how easily he put on a shocked and concerned voice, but even though he knew what was coming – it had been a week in the making, after all – seeing him distraught cut him like a knife.

“His office was in shambles, they think someone tampered with his nitrous oxide. The officers suspect…f-foul play,” Dan sniffled.

Guilt hit Phil hard, and he opened his mouth to offer his sympathies, but Dan continued talking.

“What kills me is just…I feel responsible for it,” Dan confessed. “Secretly…I’d been wishing for it. I willed it into existence,” he hugged Phil close, crying into his shoulder.

After Dan had composed himself, Phil cupped his face, wiping a tear away with his thumb. “This is not your fault. You have done nothing wrong. I know it feels hard to believe, you’ve been through hell and back with that man. But now you’re free, and I’ll be there for you every step of the way.”

Dan shook his head, standing back upright and starting to pace a bit. “You don’t understand, Phil I haven’t lead a good life. I don’t deserve someone nice and caring like you. I deserved a creep like Robert Clarke, DDS. Do you know where I met him? At a strip club. And not even one of those nice ones with rules and security guards. He pulled me right off the stage, Phil, told me how lucky a gutter rat like me would be to be with him. You can do so much better than me.”

“Hey, hey,” Phil reached out and grabbed Dan’s arm, stopping him in his tracks and pulling him close. “I don’t care about where you’ve come from. That’s not what matters to me. Yes, you’re beautiful, anyone could see that – even him. But you’re a gentle soul and warm, and kind a-and I just…I’ve never met anyone that makes me feel the way you do.”

There was a moment of silence, but it wasn’t a tense one. It was Dan silently trying to grapple with the idea of being loved by someone like Phil, who – as far as he was aware – didn’t have a violent or mean bone in his body. He recalled Max’s less-than-gentle nudging in his direction, and losing Robert helped him come to terms with his true feelings.

“I can’t believe I’ve been so blind, so foolish,” Dan finally said, meeting Phil’s gaze. They shared a long, loving kiss that – at least for a moment – made all their worries and anxiety disappear. They had each other now, bringing something almost like peace to them.

“Let me walk you home,” Phil smiled.

“You say that as if you’re going back to yours,” Dan retorted.

---------

“Looks like you haven’t gotten much sleep.”

Phil had left Dan’s flat early that morning to set up shop and check on Daniel II. Normally, he had a good hour or two before Donna arrived, leaving him startled when he walked in on her already there.

“I uh, had a long night. Was helping Dan with some things.”

“Oh, I’m sure you were ‘helping’ him alright,” Donna retorted, making a jerking-off motion with her hand, causing Phil’s face to turn a bright red. “Was it worth it?” she asked, “I like the kid, don’t get me wrong, but did you really have to off his boyfriend to get in his pants?”

The blood instantly drained from Phil’s face, and it was difficult for him to not look guilty in that moment. He cleared his throat, running his fingers through his hair. “I don’t know what you’re on about, they say Robert’s still missing, they don’t know if he’s dead or not.”

Donna glared at Phil, slamming her hands down on the counter. “I saw you. I saw you chopping up his body like he was a slab of meat!”

Phil swallowed thickly, there was no good explanation for that. “Okay, okay. I chopped him up, but I didn’t kill him!” somehow that sounded worse.

“Lucky for you, I’m going to give you an out,” there was a sudden cold, calloused tone in her voice that left him unnerved. “You’re gonna fake your own death and skip town. Leave everything to me in your will, it’ll be like you never existed,” she didn’t give him a chance to respond, “I’ll go get the forms from my office,” as she went upstairs, he turned to face the plant.

“You know what to do.”

“I can’t.”

“Think about all those offers.”

“But—”

“Your future with Dan. Everything will fall into place when she’s out of the picture.”

Daniel II played dead when Donna returned, save for one of his roots that subtly tapped Phil’s leg.

“You’ll need to take care of the plant,” Phil blurted out. “It’s unique, requires a lot of special care,” he explained.

Donna set the files down on the counter. “Of course,” she walked towards the plant, which opened its’ mouth as she approached. “How do you feed this beast?”

Phil took a few tentative steps behind her. “Well, you just lean in…”

“And?” she asked, leaning forward.

It was a sudden shove, just enough to make her lose her balance and falling into Daniel II’s gaping maw. It snapped shut around her and, like before, Phil had to look away as it devoured its meal. In that same blind rush of adrenaline, he threw out the papers and removed any trace of Donna being in the store that morning. He scrubbed the shop from top to bottom like the crime scene it was.

Finally, it was done, and Phil braced himself against the counter to catch his breath. The reality of his actions was starting to hit him, his eyes widening in horror. However, he didn’t have time to process it, interrupted by a tapping on the door.

“Are you open yet?”

[52murders]

31 - Three Windows

It’s just a story.

Was, anyway. A small item in the court records, Sammy Jacobs, pleading not guilty but then asking for the death sentence. You wanted to know what sort of person did that. You thought there was an article in it, a think piece as it’s known in the biz, perhaps for the Sunday colour supplement. There’s nothing more poignant than Death Row. You knew at least three editors who would buy it sight unseen. Easy money.

You stand behind the curtain, in one of three chambers, waiting for the show to start.

Three chambers. The first for the press, the second for the victim’s family and the third for the defendant’s witnesses. Ordinarily, you would be in the first of those rooms, but Sammy asked you to be here, so you sit in the third, all by yourself, so you can watch him die.

He’s a character. That was your first impression, what with the long whiskers and the stutter and the tourettish conflagrated thoughts. You couldn’t believe your luck as you listened to him talk, grateful that you invested in that handheld recorder, the good one, so you could go back over every um and ah, every chuckle and mutter in pristine digital quality. You wondered if maybe you could use them for a podcast. That seemed to be where things were going these days.

That was the first visit, the first of many. How long did it take, how many visits was it, before you realised Sammy wasn’t a character. He was a person. So obvious, but so often forgotten in our desire to make everything a narrative, with a three act structure, twists and turns, peaks and troughs, all heading to a redemptive climax.

That’s not how it worked, though. Talking to Sammy, you came to believe that he was innocent of the crime for which he had been committed and knew there was no evidence that would clear him. You spoke to lawyers about finding some sort of technicality that might excuse him from death, but they all said that without his consent, they wouldn’t be empowered to act. You asked him, bullied him, begged him, but he wouldn’t listen. Wouldn’t do what you wanted, what you needed, in order to fix this.

And you never understood why. Why would someone ask for death when they knew they hadn’t committed the crime?

Everyone had a theory. Sammy was lying, Sammy was suicidal, Sammy was a martyr, Sammy was flat out dumb. All of them made sense and none of them were the truth and so none of them were what you wanted.

That’s what it was supposed to be about, wasn’t it? The truth. That’s why you became a journalist and that’s why you went to places few others did and looked at things that nobody else wanted to - because that’s where the truth lay. Not in books with gilt-edged pages or in the balance sheets of a company ledger. Not even in the black and white print of the newspaper you work for.

No, the truth lay motionless in a hotel room, like the one they found Caprice Hennessey. Twenty one and already looking older than her years would ever allow, she had been raped and pistol whipped to death. A bad way to go, perhaps almost inevitable if she were a character in a James Ellroy novel, or perhaps something even more lurid that didn’t have any notion of being literature. But she wasn’t a character. She was a person. Was, because people stop being people when they stop breathing. You believe that, even though you perpetuate them through your words. All you’re doing is making ghosts, creating phantoms with the thin images created to a deadline.

Not all ghosts have died, however. As you approach the glass in front of you, looking to the left reveals the reflection of Maurice Patterson, Caprice’s father. He stares out at you and given the translucency of his image, you have to remind yourself that he’s there in the flesh, standing in the chamber next to yours, waiting to see what society has deemed to be justice. You suppose that if you can see him, he can probably see you, but the look in his eyes suggests that what he’s seeing is another place, another time, hopefully far away from here and with some kind of joy associated with it. You assume that he’s thinking about Caprice - Monica, as was, because nobody names their daughter Caprice Hennessey unless they actually want her to be a stripper.

You remember trying to interview him, standing on his porch and trying to tell him that you weren’t like all the others, you wanted to find the truth. He didn’t buy it for one moment, and when he learned that you had talked to Sammy and were trying to fight for his freedom you got a concentrated dose of disgust, the likes of which you had rarely experienced in such unmetered form. His manners didn’t fail, but he told you very clearly that you should leave or he would not be held accountable for his actions. You didn’t have to ask press him any further, nor did you want to, not because of any kind of principles, but because sympathy for him and his dead daughter would cloud your story. Because that’s all it was, then. A story.

If Mr Patterson remembers you or recognises you, he doesn’t show it. You are the least of his concerns at this present time. He’s not a character, either, but for convenience’s sake you’re willing to let him remain as something incidental. Empathy, it turns out, is a finite resource and your stocks are dry, perhaps because there is no-one in your world that replenishes you. If you were a cliche, you would have an ex that you could call, someone that you could tell that they were executing Sammy and despite all that you had been through together, they could say sorry and ask how you are. But there’s no-one.

All this is distraction, though, and idle speculation falls away as the door opens and Sammy is led in by the guards. His eyes scan across the room and I’ve that the glass you assumed was one way is just glass and he can see everyone assembled to watch him die. You said your final goodbyes yesterday, but you wonder what happened between then and now for Sammy to look so different. Perhaps it’s just the light in the room or maybe it’s a night spent knowing that you are definitely going to die tomorrow. You can only imagine what that does to someone. You tell yourself that you’ve been vying with this reality for a long time now, but that’s a lie you tell yourself to turn this into a story and to turn yourself into a character. You don’t know what it’s like to wait to die. At least, no more than any of us do.

You want him to see you, to concentrate on you, but that was never going to happen. Instead, Sammy’s eyes go straight to Mr Patterson, as you suppose they would and maybe should, if Sammy had actually done what he was accused of. The reflection means that you can see both of them at once and you catch a moment where their eyes lock. Mr Patterson then looks at the floor and as far as you know doesn’t look at Sammy again throughout the whole process.

It’s then that Sammy makes eye contact with you. At first he looked in the press box and seems gratified that you are in the box for his witnesses rather than journalists. This is the only thing you could do for him, one last sign that perhaps he wasn’t as alone as he thought and a final confirmation of the fact that you have absolutely no objectivity left when it comes to this case.

Case. There’s another piece of obfuscation for you. Lawyers and luggage makers can talk about cases. Everyone else just sounds like an idiot.

The guards are horrifically well rehearsed as they firmly push Sammy into the chair and fasten the restraints on his arms and legs. You can’t look away as they do this to him, even though the urge is strong. He needs to believe that he is not alone at this moment. You want him to believe it, even though you don’t. No one in the world is more alone than he is at this very moment. You don’t smile, don’t nod, don’t try and assure him that everything will be ok because you’re not in a position to lie to him in these last moments. Truth should be basic courtesy, a fundamental precept for all human interaction, yet it’s the most difficult thing to come by, the most precious resource you know of and the thing you hold most dear. At this moment, though, what you wouldn’t give in order to be able to lie, just with a gesture or a glance. But you don’t, because Sammy is a person and he deserves the best, even when everything is at its worst. So you just look at him, show him that you are here and he is there and even though nothing can change what’s about to happen, you are in some small measure there for him.

As they strap him into the chair, the warden steps forward and begins reading the sentence. It is as you knew, that he has been found guilty of the crime of murder and in accordance with the laws of the state, he shall now be put to death.

“Do you have any last words?”

Sammy takes a breath, looks at Mr Patterson and then right back at the warden.

“I didn’t kill anyone. The only murder I’ve seen is the one happening here today.”

Nobody says anything to this. You glance at the glass to check Mr Patterson’s reaction, but he’s still staring at his feet.

“Y’all are murdering me.”

Whether Sammy had more to say or not, the Warden decides that’s enough and nods to the guards to get on with it. You glance around to see if anyone is actually noting it down, but that question is gone as the rest of the procedure continues. The hood is drawn over Sammy’s head and it’s this, more than anything, that confirms to him the reality of his impending. With the hood on, he is alone in dark, struggling to breathe through the black mask and given only the subtlest of clues as to when his life will be over. He can’t see you, but you don’t look away What would be the point of being here if you did? You’re a witness - his witness - not just to an execution, but also to a crime. It’s your job to record every detail, ever nuance, for the record.

And as you think that, the warden says “Roll on one” and somewhere behind a curtain a switch is thrown.

The lights don’t dim, not like in the movies, but it’s true that you can feel the charge in the air. Sammy tenses against his restraints and shudders with a power greater than any flesh was meant to bear. He spasms and twitches on one unified direction, away from the electrical current which is killing him. There is no refuge, however, so his efforts are for nothing. Whether they are a conscious attempt to escape or a simple bioelectrical reflex is something you’ll wonder about later, but for the moment, all you can do is watch and keep watching as Sammy has the life burned out of him by his government.

For this, Mr Patterson raises his head. No longer staring at his shoes, he makes himself watch Sammy die, because this is the man convicted of killing his daughter and we as a society do this largely for the benefit of Mr Patterson and others like him. You want to know if it makes him feel better and you wonder if, perhaps, that might be some sort of consolation. Maybe in a story it would be, but in the real world, the truth is that nothing brings back a dead child.

You don’t know how long they run current through Sammy’s body. Your initial research says the initial shock is eight seconds, which is supposed to kill the brain almost immediately. then another twenty seconds and then another eight. Thirty six seconds to take a life. It doesn’t hurt, not if it’s done right. You hope it was done right.

The current stops and there is a moment of horrible expectation as the doctor checks Sammy’s pulse. You’ve heard stories about people surviving and the process having to be repeated, but that’s not the case here. The doctor confirms the time of death.

They close the curtain, as if it was the end of a play. No applause, though. Mr Patterson has already turned away, heading straight for the exit. He’s seen what he came here to see and has no reason to linger. If you were here in an official capacity, you might hang around to talk to some other people. The arresting officer is probably here, maybe a lawyer or two. The wardens sometimes like to talk, a fact that you found distasteful even before you had any personal investment and which now seems positively ghoulish. But then, you don’t know what it’s like to be a prison warden and so who are you to judge?

Some sense of duty tells you that you should stick around, but they’re not going to let you see the body (even if you wanted to), so you get out of that small room with its overlooked air. There are gates and turnstiles and buzzers to negotiate, registers to sign and bags to be checked until finally, finally, you get back out into the open air, where you can lean against your car door and just take a moment to process.

There’s a momentary craving for a cigarette, just for something to do, until you remember the small and consistency of ash and it turns your stomach. You don’t want to throw up, not here in the car park, not anywhere on the premises for that matter, and a few gulps of air mean that you’re able to get your gut in check, at least for the time being.

A door opens and closes and another figure emerges from the same door you exited from. As he draws closer, you recognise it as Miller from The Times. He recognises you and comes over to say hello.

“Didn’t see you in there,” he says, as he lights a cigarette. The bastard.

You tell him that you were in the third room and he nods.

“Got close to this one, right?”

Does he know that from personal experience, you wonder, or has he just read other people’s work? You’re not sure you can compare notes at this point, whether from a professional or personal standpoint, so you just nod dumbly.

“Try not to dwell on it too much,” he says. “It’s over now.”

He flicks his cigarette away, all three-quarters of it, and you watch it as it lands five metres away, still burning.

Miller says goodbye and you say the same but don’t look up from his cigarette. If he drove away quickly enough, could you go and pick up the cigarette and take a drag? And if does that, will you? Probably not, but it’s better than looking at Miller or his company car and waving as he pulls out in front of you. It’s better than looking back at the building that Sammy died in and it’s better than looking in the backseat of your Honda, where a bulging cardboard box full of papers contains everything you ever wrote, found or copied about Sammy.

If this was a story, you would take that to the dump, or the recycling centre or to a burning ashcan in your back yard and you would dispose of it all in one symbolic purging. You can see it in your mind’s eye, page after page being subsumed until there was nothing left.

That would be an ending, of sorts.

If this were a story.

[sparemyocs]

The Fade And Fading (Pt 4)

Varric looked between the three advisors, trying not to feel tired. "Look, what do you want to know? I've been friends with blood mages before. If you want me to say that he doesn't know what he's doing, you've got another thing coming."

"That is all we want: your honest opinion. You're very good at giving it." The spymaster nodded to him respectfully, hands clasped behind her back. Lady Nightingale's back was too straight but her clothes swayed with the weight shifting between her legs and of course her hands usually stayed in front of her, not behind. Sides at most. So many tells from the spymaster... Varric wasn't buying it.

"He's a good kid. Maybe even the second best man I've ever met. His chances are already slim for making it out of this without all of us turning on him, I vote we don't. Fact of the matter is, this doesn't change anything. He's been a blood mage this whole time and the Inquisitor would throw his life down for any one of us." Varric grunted, "I'll argue until the druffalo come home if that's what it takes."

Josephine shook her head, writing down what the dwarf had said, "That won't be necessary Varric. ...But we will keep it in mind."

Vivienne put a hand on her hip, "I assume the Commander has already told you my stance on the matter at hand?"

Leliana nodded, "He has, but we were hoping you would elaborate?"

"On what my Lady? He is a maleficar, there's only one or two suitable responses to such a thing."

Josephine didn't write down Vivienne's answer yet, "You don't care to know the details at all?"

"Details have a way of muddying up the facts Ambassador. We know the truth of the matter. Why would Andraste or the Maker purposefully choose someone who uses blood magic moreover? There's no reason to feel any kind of reverence towards him. We have the power in this situation, and common sense says that we must act. How we act is up to you three so long as something is done."

Josephine scowled, but put down Vivienne's answer without any further protest.

Cole arrived just as the three heard the Inquisitor's screaming, looking upwards with all of them. "Pacifying, pretending, pointless pandering. They cannot love me now that they know. These games are painful and I want them to let go."

"What's happening?" Cullen started around the war table, getting a grip on his sword.

"Dorian is refusing to leave. Elvyr'el, eth'el, enemah'sal ebalasha. First he needs to go. But he won't. He isn't afraid of beloved."

Cullen stopped at the door, looking back while his sword was half drawn. "Should he be?"

"...He'd give us anything, but most of all he wishes he could have given us someone else. Sa'lin'on'el."

Cullen grimaced and looked to Leliana instead. When the woman shook her head he'd replace his sword and return to them slowly. "What does he want us to do?"

"...He thinks he wants you to kill him." Cole continued staring up. He was a pulsing, aching hurt right now but helping him was going to be complicated. He always remembered. "But killing him would be wrong. He doesn't deserve it, he only wants to heal and help. We need to heal his hurt." At last, Cole lowered his gaze, looking at them all with his owlish eyes.

"That may be easier said than done Cole," Josephine said quietly.

"Yes."

Solas held his head high as he entered the war room. He'd never really felt any strong need to come in here until now, but he focused on the Inquisitor's advisors rather than taking in his surroundings. "If there is this much fuss about the matter then I presume you are not all of one mind?"

"We don't intend to make any decision without taking the opinions of the Inner Circle into consideration." Leliana leaned forward, placing her hands onto the war table.

"Fair enough. It wouldn't do to find yourselves outnumbered in your quest to destroy him." Solas sneered sourly. "Blood magic is no fouler than any other kind of magic. Our friend has shown himself as being nothing but responsible and kind with his skills and I will defend him if it comes down to it. ...If you make a mistake, do you really wish it to be the one which cannot be remedied?"

Josephine glanced hesitantly between the stoic Cullen and Leliana, but neither of them looked back at her. Wilting, she wrote down the elf's answer, "Thank you Solas... We will be sure to think about that."

The Iron Bull was growling about blood magic under his breath as he came in, quick to look to Leliana. "So, what'd he have to say for himself?"

"He claims to have been taught from childhood by his father. Never summoned any demons, never committed blood sacrifice beyond bleeding his own person."

"Sounds about right. ...Knew he was hiding something but damn. ...Don't like it, but he's a good guy. Helps that he isn't going to be stuffing it down our throats. Too guilty. It matters to him, but I don't think he wants to admit it. Anyway, he's not a danger to anybody.... Okay he is a danger but not to any of us. Long as he doesn't pull any crap, we don't need to do anything. ...And no, this isn't going into any of my reports. Pretty sure they'd lose their shit."

"Thank you Iron Bull," Leliana nodded to him. "Do you want to know anything else?"

"If I can, I think I'd rather hear it from the boss. You get more information that way."

"Fair enough," Leliana looked to the side, watching Josephine write the Qunari's thoughts down.

Blackwall entered looking more dower than usual. "I want to know why."

"He did not learn blood magic of his own volition." Josephine answered, the word 'blood' still heavy and sticky on her tongue, "The Inquisitor was taught it by his father as a tool for healing. He has never killed anyone to perform it and he does not cavort with demons, reportedly."

The bearded man was silent, mouth tensing and untensing as he worked through the information. "Then why are we here? He's a good man no matter what he knows, we already know that."

Cullen sighed, "It is not so simple."

"Isn't it? I recall that he was just as, if not more horrified by what was happening to the Grey Wardens as the rest of us."

"It is blood magic, Blackwall," Leliana scolded. "It is dangerous, and forbidden for good reason."

"He saved a man's life out there. That is more real to me than any of your hollow excuses."

"They are not excuses-!"

"Tell that to Hawke, then we'll talk." His lip curled at the red headed woman, eyes sharp in anger. "Miris knew about this too and she still trusts him. Hawke isn't the first life he's saved."

Leliana's eyes brightened with the remainder of the other elf, "Is that so? What did Miris tell you exactly?"

"It's none of your damned business. I'll send her in after me, if the Lady wants to tell you then she will."

"Send her in then," Leliana instructed, "if you have nothing more to say."

"I don't."

The pale woman held herself tightly as she came in, avoiding the eyes on her by any means besides covering her face. "...You want to know why I trust ara'falon?"

"Yes, please. ...I suppose that as part of the Lavellan, you've known about this for a long time?"

"...How much am I telling? I'm no tale spinner."

"As much as you're comfortable with. ...Or at least what you think is important for us to understand."

"The clan did not trust him at first. He was alin and he did not see us as isa'lethal, but he didn't know what more to do with himself than what he was brought to us for. I stayed away from him. Then he was allowed to help the healer." Miris reached up with eyes still downcast, tugging on one of her wide ears. "Ar'i'var'linem fra'melahn'an. He saved my baby. It didn't end there either: he loved Senna. It was the first time it seemed like he felt a part of us. He was patient and gentle with her like no one else, even though she refused to look at you and was quiet like the nighttime. ...Ir'emem nan'is'i'ebelas ahnsul'or asa'din. Her death destroyed him as much as it did me. His revenge for it changed the clan though. They took it as a... sign that he would protect us by any means necessary. Alin himem'ethelan."

"What did you think about this revenge?" Leliana folded her arms as she asked, wishing the woman would just look at them. It lined up with what Hanhari had said so far, but that didn't mean it was true.

"...I didn't understand why Sennarel deserved to die for a long time. My family was gone all. I was angry with ara'falon. ...I see a little better now. I've forgiven ara'falon mostly, but I still miss my bonded some nights." That was better now too, but that was private. "Hanhari knows his allies." She took her hand off her ear to push at the massive doors keeping her in the war room, getting out as soon as there was space to slip through and running back to the barn outside.

The Seeker was watching her feet at first as she came in, her thoughtful expression turning hard when the door closed and she looked up. "This is a serious matter, and truthfully I am having a difficult time knowing how to approach it."

Josephine sighed sympathetically, "You and I both, but unfortunately it must be addressed."

Cassandra asked for review of what they knew already, listening without interruption. "...His circumstances are not the average, that is for certain. But he does know better now, and it seems that he has crossed the line despite that. I fear most what it might mean for the future. We do not want to appear tolerant of it if this spreads as more than rumor beyond us, but also I wonder what else he might deem as being worth the risk."

"What do you propose Cassandra? The Inquisitor has made it clear he won't fight our decision, but there are others who will. Either way, this could tear the Inquisition apart from the inside." Cullen gestured with one hand to punctuate his concern. The other stayed rested on the hilt of his sword.

"...The Maker did not do this on accident. He is testing us, but I do not know what the right answer is. So much of what was and is taught has been thrown into question lately."

Leliana lowered her eyes, nodding. "I... admit, at times like these I wonder what Justinia would have done. ...I'm inclined to believe that she would have had faith in him, but what if that is just my bias? ...Our path is dark indeed." She closed her eyes for a moment with her head still bowed before straightening up again. "What are you inclined to believe then, at least."

"...For now at least, we are better off simply trying to keep him from using his power. At least until Corypheus has been defeated, word of this cannot leave Skyhold. It is best not even mentioned outside of this room." Cassandra sighed, "We will address later when we get to later."

Dorian closed the door behind him slowly. Tried as he had to fix it, the hair on his left side was a touch flattened and out of place. "Am I the last you've spoken to then?"

"No. Sera has thus far refused us," Leliana corrected with some irritation.

"I suppose I'm not surprised. She's rather frightened of regular magic let alone... this. It's a shame really, they'd made such charming friends." Dorian took a deep breath, "Now then, what decision have you made?"

"We haven't made one yet Dorian." Josephine looked over her notes, "The overall attitude is more accepting than you'd think, but both sides are quite charged."

"Well that's something. ...My proposal is rather simple. We defeat Corypheus, and rather than making him Tranquil I take him. If it's a choice between 'in serious danger' and 'doomed' I'll take the odds where one side isn't zero."

"Take him?" Josephine tilted her head at the man, "Take him where?"

"Why, the one place where blood magic scarcely makes people bat an eye of course. It's horrifically risky and while I don't fancy the idea for a moment it's better than... Just, anything but that."

"Tevinter." Leliana hummed softly, "It is not a bad idea actually. If he is discovered there it would be written off as-"

"As my country continuing to be terrible. Yes yes, covering our reputation is important as well. Maker help us if it turns out he's anything but perfect. He's already an elf after all." Dorian rolled his eyes. "...Are you willing to give us that opportunity then? You could lie to Vivienne and whoever else to keep the peace. I'm sure I could act convincingly depressed too."

Josephine nodded, "I would be willing to try at least. Leliana? Cullen?"

"Yes Josie. If we can't find a better solution, Dorian's does work out quite nicely."

"...I swear, this had better be the last time 'blood magic' gets wrapped up in my life... I'm fine with this plan. He's been as kind to me as anyone else..."

When it became evident that Sera wasn't coming, Leliana went out to the Herald's Rest to look for her. She never had to actually enter the tavern however, spotting the woman fussing on the roof by her silhouette in the window light. Sera was scribbling in a book furiously, swearing profusely when she ripped through one of the pages. She then proceeded to rip it out and shredded it in her hands before trying and failing to chuck the scraps over the lip of the roof.

"Sera, we need to talk to you."

"Piss off!"

Cole pulled up beside the spymaster from the shadows, "Scared, sad, he's so selfish. He was supposed to be a friend. An elf who wasn't better than me and always tried." Cole called up to Sera, "He wants to be someone else like you wish he was someone else!"

"F-off Creepy!" Sera reached inside and grabbed her bow, shooting the hat off the spirit's head. "None of you know shite! Shove off!" A second arrow lodged itself between Leliana's feet.

Cole hurried to get his hat back on before running away.

Leliana folded her arms and tapped one of her feet, "We can decide without you if you'd like."

"Decide what yeah? Just get it over with! The bitch is right okay! Leave me out of this shite!" She crawled back into the tavern through her open window, likely slipping off to hide somewhere more effective. Leliana shook her head slightly. Sera was as slippery as some of her best men when she didn't want to be caught. The information she'd gotten out of her would have to be enough.

Elvyr'el – Simpler eth'el – safer enemah'sal ebalasha – about to repeat [the] grief Sa'lin'on'el – Someone (literally: one blood) better ara'falon – my lifelong friend alin – stranger isa'lethal – his family Ar'i'var'linem fra'melahn'an – I was pregnant at that time Ir'emem nan'is'i'ebelas ahnsul'or asa'din. - He had great violent rage and depression because of her death Alin himem'ethelan – Stranger became protector

[avenger-hawk]

I think Sasuke fans who dislike Itachi do understand him but have different ideas. They see that Itachi doesn't deserve Sasuke's love. They think there're other ways at Itachi's hand to prevent the massacre e.x he could've inform Hirozin about Danzo's plan since he's still want to slove things peacfully through words and has the authority to stop Danzo. Or Itachi could've just told the Uchiha to flee Konoha immediately cuz the government found out about the coup and plan to slain them.

(part 2/3) They say the Uchiha were discuss the coup; it was a possibility not a confirmed fact yet. But Itachi did none of those. They say he /chose/ to carry out the massacre cuz he despise the Uchiha.I donno i don’t want to go into anti Itachi tag again :( sorry for bothering you.

(pro-Itachi, anti-Itachi haters under the cut)

You’re not bothering me, feel free to drop by whenever you want~

What I don’t get is why you go in the anti-Itachi tag if you disagree with them anyway…maybe it’s because you’re uncertain about this subject so you’re trying to understand both parts? if this is the case I hope you’ll find your own opinion soon, even anti-Itachi, if you come to it on your own, free from brainless arguments. If this is not the case I strongly suggest you to use xkit or tumblr savior to blacklist their posts, or to block them. It works wonders for your tumblr experience.

If this sounds kinda jaded it’s not about your ask or because of it, but because of the argument.. every once in a while a new blog comes up with *enlightening and original ideas*, or an older blog rekindles them, which lights the match of the discussion again and the arguments are always the same. The Uchiha massacre is a strong issue on which everyone has a strong opinion so disagreeing is expected. I’ve been dealing with this sort of bullshit arguments since forever, so you’ll understand if I won’t go into this in detail again because I already covered this subject many times (here I posted a compilation of what has been said in the manga, also here, here and here and this is Itachi’s defense tag).

Who wrote that crap is probably a functional illiterate, lacking critical thinking and basic reasoning, not to mention not having read the manga well, thus deeming appropriate to become some fictional sjw police officer to show how smart and analytical they are. Am I too critical towards them? Maybe they really support Sasuke and defend him? Probably. But this doesn’t justify the bullshit arguments. 

-They weren’t just discussing the coup, it was a plan they’d execute soon. In the Itachi Shinden anime it’s better specified how they were ready to strike. In the manga it’s more indirect. It’s said that diplomacy had failed, that Shisui tried and failed too, so Itachi felt like he had no other choice. You need some willing suspension of disbelief here, but also not because Danzo taking Shisui’s eye instead of letting him deal with the clan using it, it’s enough of a proof of his malicious intent and no one doing anything about it it’s enough of a proof of how Itachi was alone. It’s all in the panels, indirectly but it’s there. Now, if someone instead sees the coup only being discussed and all that crap, it’s their problem.

-He could have informed Hiruzen of what? Hiruzen knew about Danzo’s plan! Itachi goes to him before leaving Konoha, to plead to protect SAsuke. Let me repeat this again: The massacre was ordered by Danzo and Hiruzen knew his intention and didn’t stop him. Hiruzen is as guilty as Danzo, even more since he was supposed to protect the whole village, Uchiha included, Itachi included. When he let Danzo carry on with his plan he got his hands dirtier than Danzo and Itachi. So fuck this, really.

-Itachi thought that the Uchiha carrying on the coup would make the village unstable thus easily invaded by enemy countries since at that time coutrnies were all enemies. There is no proof of this, but it’s what Obito says. If they clan were to flee they would have become enemies to the village anyway, they would be weaker against enemies anyway, Sasuke would have had an unstable life and so on. Itachi is said to have gained Hokage-like wisdom and knowledge since he was a child. It’s logical to assume that he knew history and politics going on back then, so he knew exactly what was happening around them and what would have happened in case of a coup.

-Itachi didn’t deserve Sasuke’s love, he was too cruel to him, blah blah blah. I’m so sick and tired of hearing this…it’s subjective how to feel about this.

He acted cruelly, yes, he traumatized Sasuke, he retraumatized him, yes. 

Is it objectively and ethically wrong? Yes. 

Did he have a reason to do so? Agree or not, yes. He had to make Sasuke who adored him, see him as a monster, acting cruelly was the only way. At the inn he tried to ignore him but Sasuke insisted, and since he couldn’t risk to let Sasuke have the least doubt (or Danzo would have targeted him), he “tested his hate” and fueled it, to make sure he would eventually fight him.  

Is it important to the plot? FUCK YES. Not only it’s an extremely intense and fascinating scene, that fleshed out their personalities and developed their relationship, it also allowed the plot to advance, by pushing Sasuke to seek Orochimaru thus become stronger to defeat him, then to kill Orochimaru and form Team Taka, then to kill Itachi with a stronger resolve, as that moment is the one he recalls more often. All the while Naruto trained with Jiraiya while  S*kura with Tsunade, both motivated by bringing Sasuke back. Would this have happened without Itachi’s cruelty? Maybe, or maybe not. Certainly it wouldn’t have such impact. 

Focusing on the single act/event is so pointless to me, because they’re all parts of a bigger scheme. If some were to change, even for the better, other important consequences wouldn’t happen. So discussing about how unjust the massacre is ok, I always say so myself (BUT I BLAME THE REAL CULPRITS) but making it a crusade against Itachi becomes ridiculous, a proof of lack of “willing suspension of disbelief”, of poor understanding of narrative mechanisms (for which evil characters and actions are a mean to make the others shine brighter so Danzo is useful too in this optic) and what’s worse, of the plot itself. 

In case it’s not clear, the massacre is a damn plot device as well, it’s Sasuke’s and Itachi’s damn backstory, it’s what makes them the amazing characters they are, so while discussing what-ifs and alternative AUs is cool, these alternatives all are possible because the massacre happened, otherwise the Uchiha clan would be one of the many Konoha clans and Sasuke and Itachi would be like, say, a cooler version of Hinata and Neji, with angst and a backstory of injustice never solved, because knowing kishimoto and how he bunches every konoha ally into a big blurred group, he’d never focus on them as well as he did with the massacre. 

Deserve it or not, Itachi has Sasuke’s love. Deserve it or not, he has SAsuke’s forgiveness and complete understanding of the situation he was put it. This, to me, counts more than anything. Sasuke, unlike most, understood that Itachi was 13, that he had lost his only friend who could have helped him, that he was scared to death about Sasuke being in danger, that he thought that despite the village’s flaws, it still was a better and safer environment than anything else for his little brother, and that he made sure that the village would keep Sasuke safe by threatening Danzo.

Someone will always disagree with this, and I find useless to discuss with them. They have their opinion, as long as they stay in the anti-tag only it’s fine, I have my own opinion anyway. Which is well thought and not influenced by trends or groups or mob ethics for dummies. Btw my opinion also includes wishing that these opinionated antis got their heads out of their asses every once in a while and realize that this is fictional and fiction is not real and it doesn’t have to be, that if they care about ethics and politics and they want to protest against genocides and oppression, in real life there is a shit-ton of those, and their help is much more needed on these.