#and the right way to fix oppression is not get mad and try and reach across the divide

[problemswithbooks]

Oh hey are you into one piece now :D

Yeah, I'm working my way through it slowly. So far I really like the characters the most. I generally prefer more grounded world building in the stories I read, but when it comes to One Piece I find the over the top and silly stuff more fun because Oda makes it clear from the get go that's the kind of story it is so I was prepared for it going in.

Right now I'm still pretty early on--they just got Chopper (which is about where I stopped reading OP back when I was a kid ironically). I know a lot of what happens later on though because before I even watched the live action and got back into it, I watched video essays on the characters because I love video essays.

I've also been reading parts of the Fishman Island arc because my brain decided Arlong was my new favorite minor villain to love. It's been really hard to read parts of it though because sometimes the way it deals with the topic of oppression when it comes to the Fish-people/merfolk really bugs me and I have to put it down for a while.

But yeah, for now my posts will probably be about One Piece, particularly Arlong and the other fish-men because I find them neat. I still keep up with My Hero, but nothing in it lately has really got me to write about it.

[samdotdocx]

A very long-winded essay about why I love Night in the Woods and The Ramayana makes me Big Mad ft. Lets Talk About Mental Illness™

So I was in this class called 'The Ecology of Language". Excellent class, 10/10 would recommend - and especially relevant in the Indian context in particular, but that's a topic for another day.

One of the things we talked about was the concept of 'relatibality' in media, which, I'm sure we can all agree is a large component of contemporary character or story-line development. Considering the context of modern readers, what that sometimes ends up looking like (in our society that is built on constantly being told we are lacking, and the subsequent need to satisfy manufactured desires), is some wonderfully nuanced characters in stories stories that are three-dimensional, well rounded, and well developed and written. It's pretty great. And sometimes, what that means is that we have excellent characters that don't conform to the standard 'protagonist' stereotype. They might not even be 'good' (this is NOT a villain-apologist post). In fact, they might be complete idiots. They might be the people in stories who make all the wrong choices.

One such relatable character is Mae, and it's because she's an unmitigated train-wreck.

Anyone who knows the game probably knows what I'm talking about when I say the illustration style and character designs are gorgeous. Anyone who's ever dissociated probably knows what I'm talking about when I say that illustration style and character design were excellently used to create the sort of subliminal, surreal state of Mae's mind. And as you play the game, you see how that state of mind plays with the other characters, and - spoiler - it isn't great.

This is the first of the relatable aspects of Mae’s character; there are people around her who love her and are worried about her, but at the same time, are angry and irritated about her behaviour. At what point does it become too much to ask of those around you to forgive all your continuous and repetitive mistakes? Even if you have a good reason for it, mental illness is not an excuse for being exploitative, even if it is unintentional. Mae is not trying to hurt the people around her, but she constantly needs emotional labour from them – it’s exhausting, and people’s patience is going to run out eventually, as is their right.

Another aspect of this behaviour is the lack of reciprocity, an example of this being when Bea’s mother died of cancer – and Mae didn’t even notice.

There are several instances of Mae’s thoughtless behaviour throughout the game; she gets completely wasted and makes a scene at the party, gets jealous of of Greg and Angus because they’re leaving the town without her, and ends up destroying the radiator Bea was supposed to fix, getting her in trouble.

The thing is though, that Mae is given the opportunity to fix her mistakes.

A large part of relatability is the want so see yourself in a character. Mae is relatable to me because there are several circumstances and events in our lives that match up, but more than that; the game is an interactive visualization of her healing process. Her nine steps, if you will. She is given a second chance – and that chance is hard won, particularly in the context of the game.

Mae talks about feeling like she’s falling behind, of knowing that she is, in a way, wasting an opportunity that was a privilege in the first place, especially considering her family’s financial situation – but at the same time, being literally unable to help herself. And the aspects of the gameplay that hint at the supernatural elements of the story possibly being a figment of Mae’s imagination – well. All us depressed losers know what it's like to not be able to trust your own judgement and point of view. She talks about why she dropped out of college, and her description of the dissociation, and the mental and emotional deadening that it causes is spot on and so well represented.

It underscores the point that the logical brain knows that mental illness is an illness like any other – but the emotional brain doesn’t care.

The game does a brilliant job of laying bare the realities of middle class life, and makes painfully clear the fact that, at that level, it doesn’t matter how difficult things are for you. The world isn’t going to wait for you to get back on your feet.

Mae’s mental state and the limitations it imposes on her cultivates a state of extreme frustration. Again, relatable. It’s an understated aspect of illness of any kind; the anger at yourself, and how that anger carries over into a lot of things in your day to day life. After a point, it becomes a habit. Mae does this too; she's belligerent, and instigative, and unrepentant of consequences, because anger blinds you.

It's not how things will always be. I have the privilege of hindsight, so I can say that with authority. But, this isn’t the kind of thing that ever fully leaves you, either. If you break a kneecap, it’s going to bother you for the rest of your life, and similarly, mental illness has a ‘no return, no refund’ policy. So you grow up, and you try to adapt those habits and impulses into a more positive context. Recycling, right? Maybe you set your sights on things that actually deserve your anger, and you go from there. You find people who, for their own reasons, perhaps or perhaps not related to your own, are angry.

And you don’t understand the people who are not.

A large part of the anger and frustration surrounding mental illness is due to the stigma surrounding it. It’s frustrating to be so powerless and dependent, but this is exacerbated by the attitude of ‘it can’t be that bad’, which makes it so difficult to reach out, to be able to say, ‘I need a break’ – and actually get one. This is an attitude that carries over to a lot of other issues as well, and the worst part is – we are surrounded by people who are okay with it, who believe in and support that mentality.

The myth of Sita, for example. She is a strong female figure in Indian mythology, who overcomes her circumstances to live a ‘good’ life, and for all intents and purposes, is a hell of a role model.

But that’s the thing; her life wasn’t good, was it? She was supposed be a goddess reincarnated, she should have been powerful, and respected, but instead she is reduced to ‘wife’ – and everyone today is fine with it.

I respect her immensely for the choices she made; marrying for love was her choice, going into exile with her husband was her choice. She was the paragon of virtue, of 'wifeliness', of kindness – she chose her husband over everyone and everything else, including herself, as was expected of her. But yet – she couldn't win his trust or respect. It should not even have needed to be won.

It’s commendable the way she takes it all in stride, but why did she? She was kidnapped and held captive for years, entirely against her will, and her husband's response to that is to force her to walk through fire to prove her ‘purity’ – and she does it. And she stays with him after, and I cannot understand the depths of her patience and forgiveness, because I would have been livid, and I want her to be so too. I’m furious for her, because Ram was not just her husband, he was also the king, and his later verdict to exile her, alone, while heavily pregnant, his readiness to condemn her based on speculation and public sentiment, was not just a verdict against her, it was against every woman in his kingdom who had ever been victimised.

Sita became a martyr to the modern feminist movement – if she could not be angry on her own behalf, we will do it for her. But at the same time, she is still relatable, because we are held to a slightly lesser degree of the same expectations. There are always going to be aspects of things that you relate to. ‘Big Mood’ culture is a strong indicator of the human ability to empathise, especially with characters that you like, or respect.

Sita’s world, I imagine, was run by the expectations her society and community had of her, and maybe she didn’t even have the liberty to be angry. Who is responsible for portraying her in passive acceptance of her fate? Is that representation reliable? Would the story have been different had it been written by a woman?

I can't remember a time when I was not angry, especially about things like this. I am always ready to fight, and I think the same goes for so many other people today, sometimes to our detriment. I cannot imagine a world where that was not at the very least an option. Not necessarily the best option, - but Sita’s world was very different to ours. Even with centuries between us, we’ve just gotten over angry and depressed women being labelled as ‘hysterical’ and subsequently being locked away. What is it like, to have to be calm and careful in response to being treated like this? This care in response may not be an overt requirement anymore – though the fact remains that society will not take you seriously if you become hysterical - but shouldn't you, at the very least, be able to rely on the support of other people in the same boat?

That is the main difference in these stories, and another main point of relatability to me; Mae, like myself, had a support system. Sita did not. Mae was selfish and demanding in so many ways, and required a lot of time and patience and healing before she was able to give back, but she got there eventually because she was able to put herself first. She fought for herself, and when she couldn’t, she had other people to fight for her. Night in the Woods represents the intersection of oppressed minorities and community with their portrayal of Mae, Greg, and Angus in particular, and the importance of community support – and, the difference between geographical community, and communities formed through camaraderie and actual unity. And so does the Ramayana - except, where was Sita’s community? Where were her sisters, or her parents, when she was abandoned in the woods, and later when she committed suicide? We are well aware, in the modern day, of the state of mind that causes people to kill themselves, and yet that is a part of the story that we never talk about. Where were her people then?

What would have happened if she had been more like Mae, and put herself first instead of bleeding herself dry for people who never respected her, and would never do the same for her?

People relate to personalities. They relate to choices, and circumstances, and habits, and it is neither a good nor a bad thing, to be relatable or not. Sita will be highly relatable to people who, like her, were governed by their circumstances, and were screwed over despite their best efforts. People who felt they couldn’t, or shouldn’t exercise their power and agency. Sita’s death was at odds with her strong personality, and so was her deference to her fate on many occasions, but there are a lot of people out there who will relate to the feeling of simply wanting things to be over. Mae on the other hand; she’s a steamroller, and she doesn’t stop. There’s a reason her character is a cat, and jokingly referred to as feral in the game. She is persistent, she is growing.

[1] In Defence of Kaikeyi and Draupadi: a Note – by Fritz Blackwellhttps://www.jstor.org/stable/23334398?read-now=1&seq=1#page_scan_tab_contents [2] https://www.theatlantic.com/health/archive/2015/10/emergency-room-wait-times-sexism/410515/

[pillage-and-lute]

An Ever Fixed Mark (Part 9)

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, (here) Part 10,

Read it on Ao3 HERE, 

WARNING: Character injury as a major plot point. Lots of mentions of blood.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Roach’s hooves hit the dirt like hammers, scooping up great clods of earth with each beat. Her gait barely registered to Geralt as blood welled up underneath his hand. There was so much, too much. His lap was soaked, it ran over the saddle and down his trousers, staining his boots and roach’s sides. It mixed with the dust on the sides of the road to form horrible rust-colored clots barely visible in the dark.

And Jaskier.

Jaskier was dying, his face white, his eyes rolled back, almost closed. Geralt pressed his hand tighter to the wound on his husband’s thigh and pressed Jaskier to his chest with his other hand. He wasn’t riding with reins, he didn’t need them. Roach sensed his desperation, likely smelling his anguish and fear. He had to trust his horse and Jaskier...Jaskier would have to trust in him. In the distance, the lights of Oxenfurt glittered in the darkness.

------

They had been traveling back to Oxenfurt anyway. The summer was still feverishly hot and travel had been rough. Even with his newfound resolve to do right by his husband, Geralt’s temper had been fraying. He knew he’d been talking less, marinating in the heat and his own sweat. He knew it was annoying Jaskier, who kept trying to make conversation, but Geralt wasn’t well built for heat, and his black armor and clothing cooked him. 

Jaskier had been complaining for days, too. There weren’t many settlements around for him to play in and the fields were too hot, the waterways too muggy, and the forests too oppressive. They slept in the open without a tent to avoid simply cooking in their sleep. 

There had been a moment, though, not so bad as the others. A clearing in a forest, lush, but with plenty of shade, and Jaskier had looked so beautiful. 

Geralt had been remaking some potions, teaching Jaskier the names of some of his less monstrous ingredients, pointing out what was good for salves, what was safe for humans, and so on. 

Jaskier had held up a buttercup, root and all smiling at the little petals. “I knew they were poisonous, of course,” he said, stroking the root with his thumb. “But I never thought they could be useful.”

“Only this,” Geralt said, taking it from him and cutting the roof. “Sagebrush buttercup, the root is still poison, but combined with Moonmoss it’s okay enough for a witcher.”

“Not for humans, though.”

“No, still poison.”

Jaskier had toed off his boots and leaned against Geralt’s shoulder, picking the flower up again, rootless now, and twiddling it in his fingers. “Seems fitting,” he said at last, and put it behind his ear.

Geralt wasn’t great with words and those had been cryptic, but he felt like he was missing something important.

“Hmmm?” he asked. Jaskier was getting really good at understanding him anyway.

“A Jaskier, only okay enough for a witcher,” Jaskier said, smiling a little sadly at Geralt.

There was such an odd tone there, something more there. Like Jaskier truly thought he was only suited to...but down that road madness lay. It also lay in the way sweat made Jaskier’s cheeks shimmer in the dappled sunlight. 

“Why are you Jaskier?” Geralt asked, going back to grinding the roots with the flat of his blade. It could have been phrased better, but Jaskier understood.

“It seems a little silly now, but when I was about ten or so I was rather melodramatic,” Jaskier said, ducking his head. 

“Hmm,” Geralt said. 

“I felt...so alone. There was just no one who seemed like me. Father thought music and poetry and anything except hunting, fistfights, money and war were silly. I annoy people,” he tilted his head back onto Geralt’s shoulder. “I annoyed you at first. Still do sometimes. --It’s okay,” he said, cutting off Geralt before he could hum his dissent. “I seemed to be a burden and a pain to everyone, something fleeting in their lives. I felt like a buttercup, fine to see in passing on the side of a road, but bad in a pasture, poisonous to eat, of no use to anyone and likely to get crushed by a boot.”

“The boot in question being your father?” Geralt said, setting aside his crushed roots and beginning to shred the Moonmoss, horrible, slimy pale stuff, between his fingers.

Jaskier knocked their heads together gently. “Congratulations, Geralt. You navigated an extended metaphor. Anyway, it was a little melodramatic, but so am I, so it stuck, at least in my mind.”

“I think it’s better than Julian,” Geralt said, scooping his moss and root mixture into the boiling pot.

“Me too,” Jaskier said, quietly.

Around them, a light summer rain had started, sprinkles and mist, mostly, but in the deep shade it was almost chilly, even to Geralt. Jaskier picked up his lute and played a pleasant tune for a while, fingers light on the strings. Geralt let his concoction bubble before pouring it into one of his Brimstone Glass vials. He examined the way the light hit the bottle, making slightly more of a show of it so that Jaskier might notice.

Dinner was cold rations, a hot meal being too hot, even in this pleasant respite. They’d picked up dark rye bread in the last town and were eating it with a paste of late-season wild garlic. Jaskier began eating but he shivered and said “Geralt, could you be my hero and pass me the doublet.”

Geralt pretended his whole body didn’t tingle whenever Jaskier called him a hero. He didn’t need to ask which doublet. Jaskier had plenty, but the doublet, that was the basilisk leather. Geralt held it out and took Jaskier’s bread as he slid the doublet on. Passing the bread back to Jaskier when both sleeves were fully on his arms. 

The rain picked up, still pleasant compared to the heat, but Jaskier and Geralt stood, Jaskier holding his bread in his mouth, and packed up those parts of their camp that would suffer from the rain.

“Do you see--” Jaskier asked, just as Geralt handed him his lute oil.

“Is the--” Geralt said, interupted by Jaskier handing him the hoof knife he’d been searching for.

“Do you think--” Jaskier began.

“The horses will be fine, should we--”

“Yeah, keep the tent packed away, the bedrolls--”

“Will be fine if we lay them on grass instead of mud,” Geralt finished. Then he realized how close he was standing to Jaskier.

“Jaskier,” he said, reaching out for the raindrop quivering on his husbands cheek. “I--”

Jaskier fell to the ground with a cry.

There was a crossbow bolt in his leg and already blood was wetting the forest floor. 

The bandits were dead in seconds. They’d likely only seen a well-dressed noble, all alone. They’d never expected something like Geralt. 

Anger and panic and dreadful fear all fought for dominance as Geralt dispatched the luckless thugs. The fear was icy cold in his veins. Whatever evil, dark coldness had first driven humans to create fire filled his blood. 

There was fire as well. Fury and anguish rose in him like great tides of flame. It was like the Trials all over again, he was being burned from the inside out, being remade until something new lived in him.

He stepped over bodies without a second glance, boots leaving bloody prints on the ground, soon to be washed away.

Jaskier was curled by Roach, hands clutching at the wound in his thigh and surrounded by scarlet. 

Geralt left Thunderbolt, Jaskier’s horse, tied in the clearing, Roach never needed tethering and sprang to his command. In his arms, Jaskier bled. They were so close to Oxenfurt.

They had to make it.

------

That had been then. Now, the lights of the city blazed in Geralt’s sight and he cursed himself and everything else. 

Jaskier was cold in his arms.

Before he had twitched or grunted, sometimes, horribly, he’d cried out at being jostled. He was still now, and too cold. His human heart was beating slowly, slower now than Geralt’s. But he had to live. He just had to. Jaskier had to live because...

Because Geralt loved him. Wholeheartedly and without reservation Geralt loved Jaskier, was so in love with him that it had clouded his judgement.

He’d been about to say as much, about to tell Jaskier the truth, when his husband had been struck down.

Geralt loathed Destiny, but he knew too much to deny her existence. This had been a judgement.

Geralt knew what life he led, he knew his Path, had known that humans couldn’t walk it. And he’d brought Jaskier anyway. This was punishment for falling in love and not leaving Jaskier safely in Oxenfurt like he’d planned from the start. 

The basilisk doublet flapped around Jaskier like a shroud. Had Geralt really thought it was enough? A single, simple doublet? Had he intended to fight cold and hunger and sickness with the swords he strapped to his back? Had he planned on fighting Destiny herself to keep Jaskier safe?

If Geralt could have struck Destiny down he would have.

The doublet hadn’t even kept Jaskier safe from the crossbow bolt. It was still embedded in his thigh, a terrible reminded as Geralt staunched the bloodflow. It hadn’t been enough. Geralt might as well have killed Jaskier himself. 

Jaskier’s father would certainly say that he had. Witchers would be hunted. There’d be a war and people would die all because Geralt had fallen in love. He’d been selfish and kept Jaskier at his side, luxuriating in praise and a pair of beautiful eyes. Dreaming that he could have love instead of leaving Jaskier in Oxenfurt where he was safe.

Geralt was taking Jaskier to Oxenfurt now, he only hoped his husband would still be alive when they got there.

Roach’s hooves rang on cobblestone as the first vestiges of the city flew past. Geralt flew into the city, louder than a rumor and faster than a plague. His eyes sought the telltale signs of magic, glowing gold and fighting to see in the darkness and the rain.

His love was going to die. He was so still against Geralt’s chest he was never still. 

Geralt prayed. He hadn’t prayed since the Trials. Even then, that hadn’t really been a prayer, that had just been a scared little boy screaming for somebody, anybody, to make it stop. 

Geralt prayed to every god he could think of. He wracked his brains as Roach ran through the city, trying to remember who was the god of poetry. Jaskier had been magic, a poet who could talk to the dead, such a person couldn’t just die this way. Geralt made an appeal to Justice, who he didn’t believe in.

Jaskier is good. He begged. He deserves to live. 

Take me instead.

Geralt’s eyes, moving in a far different plane than his mind, saw what he’d been looking for. 

Smoke. There. Green smoke, nearly invisible against the darkness and the rain. It curled up from the chimney of a building, poorly built and leaning out into the street but Geralt knew there was magic inside. 

He jumped from Roach, not taking the time to slow her down. His boots skidded on the cobblestones but he ran to the door, shifting Jaskier to one arm and knocking to wake the gods.

“Healer!” he screamed. “We need a healer!” His hand slammed the rusted knocker down like thunder.

“Please!” he was crying without tears, his voice taking a desperate and thin edge. “Please, we need a healer!”

The door was swung open without ceremony and Geralt barged inside. There was a workbench with scrolls across it but Geralt swept them off, laying Jaskier onto the wood like an offering at an altar.

The mage, placed a delicate hand on his chest and pushed him back.

He followed, feeling numb. The addrenaline was fighting his system, the fear of the ride stopped dead because there was nothing more he could do. 

That was the worst part. There was nothing more he could do. Geralt sank against the wall in the corner of the room, his heart racing and his mind achingly blank.

Some small part of him realized that Jaskier’s feet were bare. He’d left his boots back at camp. 

The mage was flowing magic over Jaskier in waves. It gathered in a purple mist over his wound, mixing unpleasantly with the blood.

“Pick up those scrolls,” snapped the mage, who didn’t look at him.

Geralt did, his body moving without input from his battered soul. His fingers smoothed yellowed parchment and curled it back up into neat tubes. 

“He’ll need paying for,” said the mage, hands poised over Jaskier as her magic slithered.

“Name your price.”

“I don’t want coin.”

Geralt gritted his teeth, watching the magic pull the bolt from Jaskier’s thigh. “Name. Your. Price.”

“What if I ask for your name as payment?” the mage said, not looking at him.

“I’ll give it to you.”

“And if I ask for your life?”

“You can have it.”

She hummed. Geralt knew it was a habit of his own but it set his teeth on edge.

“What if I ask for that?” she said.

She was pointing to Jaskier’s mother’s ring, the opal glittering on his finger.

“It’s not mine to barter, but for his life, I’m sure he’d understand,” Geralt said. 

“Luckily for you I’m not interested in trinkets.”

“What do you ask?” Geralt said, fed up with the games. Whatever perfume the mage was wearing was making his head spin too, it was nice, fruity and clean, but too heady for his heightened senses. 

“I want a baby,” the mage said, levelling stunning purple eyes on him.

Geralt’s mind reeled. “I can’t give you one.”

The mage sighed. “I know,” she growled, yanking her magic as it swirled. She snatched up a jar of something dreadful and began to smear it.

“Even if I promise you my first born,” Geralt said. “It’ll never happen.”

“I know that, witcher.” She spat it like a curse, but Geralt got the feeling that her issue was not with his profession. 

“Witchers come by children by the law of surprise,” he said, watching the salve sizzle on Jaskier’s skin and wincing.

“I want my own.”

Geralt scoffed, eyes fixed on Jaskier’s leg as it started to ooze.

The mage whirled to face him, her hand coming up and slapping him before even his witcher reflexes could stop it. 

“Go,” the mage snapped, eyes flashing. “I don’t want your derision.”

“But Jaskier--”

“Won’t be helped by you,” the mage snarled. “Go do something useful and come back when you’re ready to pay up.”

“With a baby?”

“I’ll think on payment,” she said, magic turning Geralt’s feet for him. “Leave.” 

The door slammed behind him. 

Geralt stood on the cobblestones, water soaking through his boots, meeting Roach’s gentle gaze. He stroked her muzzle, feeling the velvet against his palm. 

Jaskier’s feet were still bare, he thought. Mind too tired and broken to even bother with baby-wanting mages. Jaskier’s boots were at camp. 

Geralt rode there and back, before dawn. He’d been able to pack everything up and find stables and lodgings without ever actually thinking of anything except Jaskier.

Jaskier’s cold, bare feet. Jaskier’s closed eyes. Jaskier’s blood all over their campsite and Geralts clothes. Jaskier’s lute, tucked away safely in it’s case an unfamiliar weight on Geralt’s shoulder. 

Jaskier’s eyes as Geralt had almost said I love you.

That thought, as Geralt stood outside the mage’s door again, still bloody and clutching Jaskier’s boots in one hand, finally broke through the haze.

Geral was in love with Jaskier. 

The mage had asked for his life, his name, and he’d agreed without even having to think. 

Geralt didn’t just love that Jaskier was beautiful, or that he adored Geralt. Geralt loved Jaskier, whole and simple. He loved that he slept like an octopus, he loved that he hated mint. He loved that Jaskier loved poetry. He loved him.

It seemed to be carrying over into everything else, and had been for some time without Geralt even realizing it. Geralt loved music now. He loved poetry. He loved sleeping curled besided someone else. He loved buttercups. 

His buttercup was lying somewhere inside the mage’s house, maybe dying. Maybe dead. Because of Geralt. It was Geralt’s fault.

He knocked on the door. 

It opened at the first tap. 

The mage was there, but Jaskier was nowhere to be found. Geralt’s head whipped around, panic rising in his throat.

“Stop,” the mage said calmly. “He’s in bed upstairs.”

“Is he--”

“He may live. He may not. Anything now is up to him.”

“I want to see him.”

“I want payment.”

Geralt growled. “I didn’t bring a baby with me.”

The mage pouted at him infuriatingly, violet eyes laughing. “Obviously not. I considered what you said.”

“What?”

“About the Law of Surprise.”

“You said you wanted a baby of your own.”

The mage sighed. “I want the choice.”

“You don’t get that choice.”

Her gaze narrowed dangerously. “Do you think I don’t know that? I want to be whole.”

“A womb won’t make you whole. It doesn’t make someone a mother either.”

The mage’s eyes flashed and she stepped forward dangerously but Geralt was simply out of emotion.

“My mother gave me up to be made a mutant. She had a womb but what kind of mother does that. His father,” Geralt gestured upstairs to where he assumed Jaskier was. “Gave him up in the hopes he’d be slaughtered. He may be the reason Jaskier was born, but he’s not a father.”

“I want the choice,” the mage said stubbornly.

“You still have the choice to be a mother,” Geralt said. “Some mothers end up with children and don’t get a say in that so go...adopt some kid.”

“Are you making fun of me?”

Geralt scrubbed his hand over his, frankly, filthy face. “I don’t have the energy for that. Look...what’s your name?”

“Yennefer.”

“Yennefer, decide on payment - not a baby- so I can give it to you and see my, my bard.”

“I’m claiming the law of surprise.”

Geralt blinked at her blearily. She was exceptionally beautiful, but she was also in the way of seeing Jaskier. “That’s only if you save my life.”

“Then I’m claiming it from him.” 

Geralt didn’t have it in him to argue. Destiny had heard the claim. Whatever good luck Jaskier saw next was hers. 

Geralt walked slowly up the rickety stairs, heart sitting low and heavy in his stomach. He paused at a door, hearing a heartbeat beyond. It was Jaskiers. It came as a surprise to Geralt that he could recognize it so readily, but he knew it as well as his own.

It was thready and thin right now, though, and Geralt hesitated. Moments of their time flashed before his eyes, meeting Jaskier, how beautiful he’d looked in his wedding attire, him threatening thugs with a fish knife, him talking to the dead. And he lay on the brink of death in the next room. Could Geralt actually bear to see him like that?

Geralt would probably never forgive himself for a lot of things, including bringing Jaskier with him in the first place, but if he left him now...no.

Geralt walked into the room and knelt beside the bed. Watery dawn light filtered through the window, across Jaskier’s pale face. It was much too pale. The past weeks of sunlight and freckles seemed to have been erased from him, making him much more the man Geralt had met at Chateau Lettenhove, and less the man he’d come to love. 

Geralt washed his hands and face in the washbasin in the room. He still felt grimy, even with his hands scrubed raw, but he knelt at the side of the bed and took one lute-calloused hand in both of his. 

Whatever happened next, whichever way Jaskier was tipped on the scales of life and death, Geralt would be with Jaskier when it happened. 

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[zosonils-art]

Rating: General Audiences

Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply

Category: Gen

Relationship: Ferb Fletcher & Phineas Flynn

Characters: Ferb Fletcher, Phineas Flynn, Perry the Platypus (Phineas and Ferb), Linda Flynn-Fletcher

Additional Tags: Autistic Ferb, Autistic Phineas, autistic phineas is more implied and could also be taken as adhd but he has both anyway so, Autistic Meltdown, Autism, Sensory Overload, Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, Illustrations, Canon Continuation, Fix-It of Sorts, i think????? i don't frequent this goddamn website i don't know, Brotherly Love, Crying, some of the crying is me

Summary: A stressful day pushes Ferb past his breaking point, and Phineas feels that he has a responsibility to set things right. Takes place immediately after Ready For The Bettys. Was supposed to be a simple continuation fic but got wildly out of hand. Ph*n*rb shippers fuck off this isn't for you.

---

as you’ve probably figured out if you’re following my main, i recently wrote my first fic since i was about 13! it’s available on ao3 at the link above, but you can also read it on tumblr by clicking the readmore on this post! i put a lot of effort into this and it took a lot of courage to post, so feedback is greatly appreciated!

"Mom! Guess what Ferb did!"

Phineas bursts into the kitchen energetically, still buzzing with adrenaline from the day's adventure. Ferb follows a step or two behind. Linda turns her attention from the freshly baked pie in her hands to her sons, although Phineas is too beside himself with excitement to consider whether or not she's paying attention. "He made a secret tunnel, and a spy headquarters, and a villain's lair, and a hover jet shaped like Perry- tell her, Ferb!"

Ferb doesn't match Phineas' enthusiasm. In fact, at the moment, he's sick to death of it. He prepares to launch into the explanation he's been trying all day to give. "Actually, I-"

"Wait a second," Linda interrupts, eyeing the boys with suspicion. "Why are you two soaking wet?"

The interruption is just too much for Ferb. He doesn't even process the question, just lets out a harsh shout of frustration. Phineas recoils - Ferb almost never shouts. "I give UP!" Ferb yells, his voice shaking on the last syllable, and before either of his surprised family members can respond, he turns around and storms off, his destination betrayed by the distinct clunking rhythm of stairs being stomped on too hard and the sound of a door slamming upstairs.

For a moment, the kitchen is silent. Linda recovers before Phineas does, her eyes narrowing in disapproval. "Young man, that is not how we talk to each other in this house!" she calls, setting the pie tin and her oven mitts down on the kitchen counter and following Ferb's path to his room. Before she can make it to the doorway, though, her progress is halted.

"Mom, wait!" Phineas pleads. He's finally caught onto what's been going on all day, and although he's still only half processed it, he knows he doesn't want Ferb to be in trouble for it. He frantically tugs on Linda's arm to draw her attention. Once he's sure that she's stopped, he withdraws his hand (he's still wet, after all, he doesn't want to make her uncomfortable), but sidesteps around her to put his tiny body firmly between her and the doorway to the living room. "Mom, please don't be mad at Ferb, it- it's not his fault! I'm sure he didn't mean anything by it, he's just..." Phineas' voice trails off briefly, but he forces it back into action, complete with the most serious expression he can manage. "If you're gonna be mad at either of us, it should be me, okay?"

At first, Linda returns Phineas' gaze with suspicion, then her face softens with realisation. She crouches down to her son's eye level, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Phineas, did something else happen today?" she asks, the anger gone from her voice.

Phineas hesitates, dropping eye contact again. He's almost certain about the cause of Ferb's outburst, and he can't help but mentally beat himself up for it to a degree. "Well, Ferb's been trying to tell me something all day, but he kept getting interrupted by our spy mission, and I guess it must have been really frustrating because he hates being interrupted but I didn't realise and-" he pauses to breathe, and shudders as he inhales as if on the verge of tears - "and I should have asked at some point but I just kept getting distracted and I didn't even realise how upset it was making him but-"

"Phineas," Linda says gently, and he gladly accepts the invitation to cut his rambling short. His breathing is shaky, but he doesn't cry just yet, even though his emotional state has nosedived in barely a minute. After giving him a moment to snap back into focus, Linda continues. "Phineas, honey, it sounds like this has just been a misunderstanding. On my end, too," she adds, regretting having snapped at Ferb earlier. Phineas nods with a nondescript mumble of agreement. Although he still obviously isn't looking, Linda gives him a reassuring smile anyway, accompanied by a gentle squeeze of his shoulder. "Thank you for telling the truth, sweetheart," she praises him.

"Mmh," Phineas mumbles, tugging at his shirt collar. He tends to fiddle with his shirt when he's nervous or overexcited. It doesn't hold a candle to bouncing his leg or flapping his hands, as far as stimming goes, but it's a lot easier to do while someone is touching you. "I just should've realised what was up earlier, then he probably wouldn't have freaked out..."

He finally glances up again, and the look his mom is giving him tells him that he should drop the argument, so he stops. Linda ruffles his hair affectionately, leaning forward to reach all the way behind Phineas' oddly-shaped head, and flinches at the unpleasant reminder of how waterlogged he still is. She stands up, flicking her hand dry. "I'm sure he knows you didn't mean to hurt his feelings," she reassures Phineas. "Why don't you dry yourself off and then go talk to him? Which reminds me," Linda motions towards the puddles tracked all over the kitchen floor, "why are you two so wet?"

"Oh, we fell in Isabella's pool," Phineas answers matter-of-factly. He isn't quite back to his usual blindingly sunny disposition, but the panicky tremble in his voice has at least disappeared.

Linda smiles, resisting the urge to roll her eyes. "Well, that I believe," she says. She'd tactfully decided not to comment on whatever that secret spy headquarters spiel was that Phineas had been getting worked up over, but she suspects his latest imaginary game took the boys to Isabella's backyard and ended up having some real-life consequences. "Oh, hi, Perry," she adds, as the platypus in question waddles into the kitchen.

Perry responds with his familiar chatter. Phineas leans down to pet Perry on the head. "At least you've had a stress-free day, huh," he says, then leaves for the bathroom. Perry stares at him blankly.

---

Ferb is having a meltdown.

He knows what this is, of course. He reads every textbook and blog post on the subject he can find, just in case it helps him make some more sense of himself. If he misses one, Phineas will no doubt have found and memorised it himself for the same reason, and will gladly rattle off anything new. Knowing why there's a raging storm beating at the inside of his head, however, is entirely different from quelling it. By the time he reaches his bedroom, he's trembling so violently that he can barely stand. He stumbles to his bed, pushing his hands down into the mattress to keep himself on his feet.

It's like feeling every feeling from every second of the day all in the same moment, and it hurts. So much is happening in his head that he can't even isolate a single thought, let alone process what it means. Is he angry? That'd make sense, sure, but his mental state isn't exactly conducive to deductive reasoning at the moment. Is he sad? Scared? Something else entirely?? He can't tell what emotion or mixture thereof it is, only that it's hurting his head, and he wants to get it out but he doesn't know how. He's struggling to breathe now, his arms shaking with the effort of keeping his body supported, and as he draws in a desperate shuddering breath Ferb feels something wet in his eye and then on his face, and he remembers that his entire body is wet and he hates it. It's cold, and his hair is sticking to his face and uncomfortably close to his eyes, and his clothes cling to his body oppressively and he wants to tear them off and stop feeling everything. Instead of doing that, he forces himself to breathe in again and looks around the room frantically, hoping to find something other than absolutely everything to concentrate on.

His eyes land on Phineas' bed, and although his vision is blurring as the panicky tears pour down his face, he recognises the shape instantly. Is he mad at Phineas? Should he be? He should be, right? If Phineas had just stopped to listen to him for once, he wouldn't be here with the world ending inside his brain. Another violent wave of emotion sends a shock through his whole body, and Ferb is still in no state to identify it, but he gets the message. He doesn't want to be angry. Not at Phineas. In fact, he doesn't want to feel anything he's feeling at the moment. Not the turbulent assault of everything inside his head, not the hammering rhythm of his heart trying to beat its way out of his chest, not every tiny thing that touches his skin or the light from outside that still feels blinding through the curtains or the muffled sounds of conversation downstairs that he doesn't have room in his brain to translate into anything but more noise.

Sensory overload is another term Ferb knows, and it's another one that doesn't really help to know in the moment. The feeling of anxiety that's been growing in his chest since that morning finally becomes too much for his body to handle, and he collapses on his bed, weakly gripping the blanket for support. Burying his face in his covers blocks out most of the sunlight, at least, but it doesn't significantly improve his mood. He shivers, partly from cold thanks to still being uncomfortably wet, partly from the sobs making his whole body convulse. (When did those start? He doesn't remember.) He uses the last of his physical strength to pull himself fully onto his bed and curl into himself, trying desperately to calm himself down.

...

It's not working. Why isn't it working?? It's as if every effort to steady his breathing just makes him cry harder, every attempt at a calming thought being shattered into a thousand anxious ones by the merciless torrent of everything whirling around in his mind. Ferb is suddenly hyper-aware of how empty the room around him is, and it makes him feel helpless. It's the first feeling he's managed to connect a name to with absolute certainty this whole time, and it's terrifying.

If he was making any noise before in his attempts to control his breathing, he's stopped now. No sound escapes him as he lies in place, too preoccupied with the overwhelming barrage of thoughts in his brain to move. More than anything, Ferb wants his brain to just shut off. Everything in his mind blends into a horrible white noise that won't stop, threatening to drown him in static.

Through the raging mental cyclone, he just barely hears the knock at the door.

Phineas waits a moment before entering his room. He wants to make sure Ferb has time to process that he's here. A few seconds pass, then he opens the door slowly so that it doesn't make any sound. A stab of guilt hits him when he sees Ferb curled up on his bed, visibly distressed. He's facing the opposite wall, but the way he shudders as he breathes makes it obvious that he's crying. Phineas feels his heart sink. He'd really hoped it wouldn't be this bad.

"Hey," he says softly. Ferb grips himself tighter. Just a minute ago, Phineas would have been the last person he wanted to see, but now his desperation for comfort outweighs any lingering hints of animosity. He doesn't object to his brother's presence, so Phineas gently closes the door and walks over to his side of the room. He sits on the bed, watching Ferb to see if he reacts negatively to the shift in weight distribution, and tenses up slightly at how damp the blanket is. Of course, Ferb wouldn't have stopped to dry off on his way up here. A closer look confirms that while a lot of the water on his body has run off and soaked into his bed, Ferb is still almost as wet as he was when he arrived home. Phineas frowns - that can't be comfortable, and it's probably making him feel even worse. "Are you okay?" he asks.

Ferb curls into himself even more instead of asking. The question is so frustratingly rhetorical that he almost reconsiders the possibility of being angry, but the idea still scares him, so the feeling passes. Fortunately, Phineas understands the unspoken 'obviously not' with no further input, and continues to talk. "I'm really sorry about today," he begins. "I know you don't like being interrupted, and I should've realised that it was making you feel bad but I just wasn't paying enough attention and- and I'm sorry, because it's kinda my fault you got so upset," he apologises, not realising that he's holding back tears until he stops to breathe. He wills himself not to cry. He's here to try and make Ferb feel better, not guilt him into forgiveness.

It takes a second or two for Ferb to process what Phineas is saying. It's a struggle to drag the words through the confusing whirlwind of everything still rampaging through his head. Eventually, after a great deal of mental effort, he shakes his head in response. Perhaps he was angry before, he still can't tell, but he definitely isn't now. He can't manage anything beyond the simple gesture, but it's not the first time he's been utterly uncommunicative, so Phineas understands the meaning as well as he needs to: it's not your fault.

"Th-thanks," he stutters, although Ferb's acceptance does little to settle the crushing feeling of responsibility. "Next time you can speak I'll let you tell me whatever it is you needed to, okay? I promise." He smiles a little. "No more secret agent business to interrupt you."

The last sentence sure prompts a reaction from Ferb - he rolls over so that his face is entirely buried in the blanket and makes a frustrated noise without opening his mouth, his body shaking with some mixture of anger and physical strain. Phineas inhales sharply and recoils, no more prepared for an audible outburst from Ferb than the first time. "Hey, what's wrong?" he asks, already speed-testing possible answers in his head. "Did you not have fun today? Of- of course you didn't, that's why you're upset, but I thought you did a great job on the spy mission! It was really cool." He's trying to be reassuring, but Ferb just shakes harder, seemingly becoming more aggravated rather than less.

Phineas tilts his head in confusion. "Ferb? Ferb, it's okay, I-I'm sorry. Did... did it not go the way you planned?" he guesses, searching increasingly frantically for any change in Ferb's body language. "Hmm... oh, were you not finished building it yet?" He thinks back to Ferb's numerous attempts at speaking to him throughout the day, hoping that he'll find some clue that makes everything fall into place - and something clicks in his brain. He deflates a little at how painfully obvious the realisation seems in retrospect, with a soft "Oh." Sighing at his own ignorance, he directs his voice to Ferb again as he says, "You didn't actually build all that, did you?"

Ferb sits up slowly and turns to Phineas with his signature deadpan glare, the silent, biting sarcasm undermined significantly by the tears still falling from his eyes. Phineas hums concernedly. "Is that what you were trying to tell me?" he asks. Ferb gets partway through rolling his eyes before giving up and returning to the fetal position.

Phineas sighs sadly. He hates seeing his brother cry. There's nothing he wants to do more than pull him into the tightest hug he can manage, but he knows Ferb won't appreciate being touched in this state, so he opts to fiddle with his shirt again to keep his hands busy. "Who do you think did build that stuff?" he asks. Ferb doesn't care. On any other day, a secret spy lair being hidden under his house would be cause for immeasurable excitement, but after the day's events he's thoroughly sick of thinking about the subject. Phineas picks up on Ferb's antipathy towards the question and, sensing that it might be a sore topic for some time, decides not to bring it up again for a while. He'll satisfy his curiosity sometime when it doesn't come at the expense of Ferb's comfort.

An uncomfortable silence falls over the boys. It's broken when Ferb suddenly sniffles loud enough to make Phineas jump, sits up again, and halfheartedly tries to wipe the tears from his face. "Oh geez, hold on," Phineas says, leaning over to rummage through his short pockets. He eventually pulls out a wad of tissues, somehow unaffected by the earlier impromptu dive into Isabella's pool. He offers them with a gentle "here you go" to Ferb, who takes a few silently and scrubs at his eyes.

While he still doesn't feel good by any stretch of the definition, Ferb at least doesn't feel completely awful anymore. What was once a violent hurricane in his mind has receded enough that he can focus on the world around him without breaking down, at least for the time being, and he's left feeling just drained. He balls up his handful of tissues and tosses them at the bin under his desk. The ball makes it to Phineas' leg before unceremoniously bouncing to a stop. Phineas picks it up and throws it the rest of the way to the trash, standing up to do so.

Rather than sit down again, he kneels down and pulls out one of the drawers conveniently built into the bed. Ferb watches inquisitively, still too out of it to immediately catch onto what's happening. Phineas rummages a little before finally pulling out a pair of pyjamas, suggesting, "You should dry off and change your clothes." He pauses to think. "Can you make it downstairs to the bathroom by yourself?" he asks. At any other time, it would be a silly question, but Ferb is always exhausted after a meltdown. The visible effort it's taking him just to stay upright isn't lost on Phineas. Ferb ponders the question, then gives a tentative nod. He's definitely shaky, but he really wants to change into something dry.

"Great!" Phineas smiles encouragingly. "Should I bring the usual stuff to the living room? Your bed's probably not gonna feel comfortable until it dries out." Ferb glances down at the unmistakable damp silhouette of where he had been lying earlier and nods again, more confidently. He slowly gets to his feet, first pushing against his bed for support, then grasping the hand Phineas offers him. He lets go once he's certain he's regained his balance, and only then does Phineas hand him his pyjamas. "I'll come meet you downstairs, okay?" Phineas says. Then, pulling at the bottom of his shirt, which is still a bit soggy despite his best efforts to towel it off, he adds, "I should probably change into something dry as well."

---

Ferb rubs his eyes as he comes out of the bathroom, his drenched clothes swapped out for his much more comfortable pyjamas. He's stopped crying, it seems, but he's still feeling sensitive enough that the light from outside bothers him. He's relieved to discover that it's much darker in the living room - Phineas must have been here already. The curtains are drawn so that the lamp on the end table is the only light source in the room, softly illuminating its surroundings with a pleasant warm glow. He doesn't have the energy to analyse the entire room, even in these far more bearable conditions, but his attention is drawn to his favourite weighted blanket folded neatly on the couch. He sits down and drags the blanket over him, struggling a bit with the weight, but relaxing once he feels its reassuring pressure on his legs.

It's as he's settling into his position on the couch that Phineas enters with an "Oh, there you are, Ferb!". Perry is firmly but comfortably wedged under one of his arms, like a fuzzy teal football or loaf of bread, and seems altogether unbothered by his position. Ferb gasps quietly at the sight of Perry, his eyes brightening momentarily, and reaches out for him with various soft noises of urgency. Phineas wastes no time in setting Perry down next to Ferb, and the platypus reacts with a gentle, almost soothing chatter. Ferb instinctively mimicks the sound under his breath, and Perry responds with a nearly identical noise. Ferb echoes it again, slightly louder this time, and his face lights up with a weak smile, the first one he's managed all day.

Taking this as a sign of progress, Phineas sighs with relief as he sits on the sofa. He makes sure to maintain a respectful distance from Ferb, who's running a hand through Perry's fur as they echo the same low growling noise back at each other. (It pains Phineas not to join in, but he senses the two have gotten themselves into a groove that would be rude to interrupt.) Ferb's smile fades almost as soon as it appears, but he seems much more relaxed after the change in clothes and scenery. His hair is sticking up in every direction from being towelled dry, and Phineas stifles a laugh at how silly it looks. The back-and-forth chattering eventually dies down, and it's only then that Phineas continues. "Mom's gonna make you some tea, and she says if you aren't feeling better by dinner you can eat in here if you want," he says. Ferb turns to him and raises a thumbs-up briefly before returning his hand and focus to Perry.

Phineas quietly watches his brother for a moment before speaking again. "Do you want me to stay?" he asks. Exactly how sociable Ferb is while he's coming out of a meltdown varies. He almost invariably needs some time on his own to mentally reset, but sometimes it helps if someone he trusts is there to reassure him for a while first. In Phineas' experience, asking is always the best way to tell.

Ferb hesitates for a second, then surprises both of them with his answer, which is to turn and collapse into Phineas' lap with one arm hooked over his legs in a sort of pseudo-hug. Phineas tenses up, not sure how to react. He cautiously puts an arm around Ferb, in a comforting gesture that doesn't fully subject him to the overwhelming sensory experience of a true hug. Ferb doesn't fight it, just repositions himself so that he's lying down with Phineas as a makeshift pillow and sinks further into the gentle embrace. Phineas laughs softly. "Okay, I guess you do."

This is nice, Ferb thinks. Definitely an improvement over violently sobbing alone in his room. Perry must be feeling relaxed too, because he climbs onto Ferb's stomach, circles a few times, lets out one more chatter, then flops down and goes to sleep, purring gently. Phineas giggles at the platypus' behaviour, and Ferb's shoulders shake in silent laughter - his blanket absorbs enough of the sensation that it just tickles. Watching Perry doze off reminds him that he's still exhausted, despite the positive change in environment, and his attempt to stifle a yawn fails. He's still on high alert, and he knows he won't be sleeping for longer than a few minutes until the emotional clutter completely drains from his mind. With that said, both the blanket and Perry weighing down on him make for a pretty cosy combination, and he finds himself fighting to keep his eyes open. Maybe just a moment of rest will be good for him.

Before he knows it, his eyes are closed, and he's powerless to prevent himself from drifting off. Phineas accepts his new career as a pillow without comment, simply adjusting his right hand so that both his arms are positioned protectively around his brother. Being trapped in place for the time being doesn't worry him. Ferb won't mind being stirred awake when their mom arrives with his tea, and until then Phineas can easily occupy himself with thoughts of what to do tomorrow. Besides, he can subject himself to a few minutes of quiet if that's what Ferb needs. What kind of a brother would he be if he couldn't, right?

Ferb half-consciously brings a hand to Phineas' wrist, as if it'll float off if he isn't holding on. He can feel his brain shutting down, and he welcomes the change. The last thing he's aware of before his consciousness finally leaves him in peace for a moment is the sound of Phineas' voice, promising him, "You're gonna be okay."

[rjhpandapaws]

Something Familiar

Chapter 1: Conditional Exchange

Sharing his house with someone else after years of living alone took some getting used to. And while he was a horrible patient, Silas was a great housemate. Daniel didn’t know how much of that came naturally to Silas, and how much of it was his fear of getting kicked out. He’d done enough prying already so he wasn’t all that inclined to ask. That and Silas has only just started talking to him after they had made their contract. The contract was a simple thing; Daniel would provide healing and a place to stay in exchange for magic. The conditions were that Silas remain in an animal form whenever Daniel had company or patients; and Daniel couldn’t alter Silas’s consciousness or state of awareness without explicit permission to do so. It was a small thing and Silas still hadn’t spoken to him anymore than what was strictly necessary for three and a half months. Of course things had come to a head eventually because Daniel had never been one to mind his own business. In a fight that he had ultimately caused, he learned a whole lot more about what Silas had been through than he had ever thought he would be allowed to know. Exactly how many traumatic things their contract had brought back to the fore front of his mind. It had made Daniel feel sick and he had done what he could to make it up to Silas. Which amounted to leaving the house for a little over a week so Silas could have room to breathe.

Understandably, things changed after that. Daniel learned to tread more carefully around Silas and made more of an effort to learn about his situation. It was admittedly something he should have done before they made the contract. It was too late to change anything though, as it had already been drawn up and sealed. They still agreed to new unspoken rules and began to live more like housemates than contracted partners. He spent a lot of time teaching Silas about the things he had missed. Silas taught him long forgotten healing magic and a few secrets that had been lost when the shapeshifter settlements had been destroyed. They used very little magic and almost felt like cheating compared to what he was used to. Daniel was tentative to call them friends, but at the very least they were no longer strangers in the same space. Silas often had horrible nightmares. Daniel was woken up pretty often to his cries of fear or pain, and on some occasions screaming. Though the nights those dreams didn’t wake Silas were the ones that worried him most. In the morning he would find Silas on the balcony watching the sunrise with tea or coffee in his hands, still steaming but long forgotten all the same. Some days he would be crying silently, and some days he would be blank and neutral; but there was always this hollow distance darkening his eyes.

As soon as he woke up Daniel knew he would find Silas on the balcony. The night had been a quiet one with no screaming and no tears. Which meant whatever had chosen to haunt him would be doing so in his waking hours instead. Daniel wished almost desperately that there was something he could do to help, but Silas never answered him when he offered. He would just look at him with that dark oppressive distance in his eyes. So lost to whatever memories that had chosen to torture him that Daniel was unable to reach him. He took his time to get out of bed and ready for the day. Silas wouldn’t be ready to talk for a while, and it didn’t matter when Daniel came up to check on him. Despite knowing that it wouldn’t be eaten until it had long gone cold if at all he still made Silas breakfast. Though he had gained some of it back, Silas was still concerningly underweight. Daniel made his way up to the balcony with the try. There Silas stood. As close to the edge of the balcony as he could get with the railing in his way. There were trying tear tracks on his cheeks and the steam of his coffee was curling away into the morning light. He always used the same mug. A pale nondescript thing that he had found in the back of one of Daniel’s cabinets. The difference today was that the distance in his eyes was somehow darker, and he held the mug in a white knuckle grip.

Whatever was after him this morning had to be particularly painful. As it always did, Daniel’s curiosity weighed heavily on him. He knew better than to ask though. Silas never answered him when he was like this. Which is exactly why Daniel nearly jumped out of his skin when he spoke. “There were three of us you know.” His voice was flat as he spoke. There was no emotion to it, not even pain. His grip tightened on the coffee cup and Daniel feared it might break. Silas didn’t seem to notice, “That made it out. Me and then two of my brothers. I lost them in our mad dash to get out, and now I don’t even know if they are alive.” He blinked and fresh tears rolled down his cheeks, “After everything we had been through I couldn’t be bothered to stay. I ran like a fucking coward and sold myself out in a desperate bid to survive. Some fucking brother I am.” For all his wishing that Silas would speak his mind, Daniel didn’t actually know how to respond now that he knew. Saying that he was sorry felt hollow and fake, and not to mention it was too little way too late. He couldn’t really relate; he and Simon had parted ways amicably. Daniel set the tray down and tried to gather his thoughts. Figure out a way to bring Silas some long overdue comfort. If there was even a way to soothe such deep regret.

He was out of his depth and grasping at straws at this point. “In a few weeks you’ll be healed enough to safely handle mildly strenuous activity. We could go looking for them if you would like.” “Why? So you can add them to your collection?” Came the sharp reply. Angry and emotionless at the same time, “So you can have a complete set of the last shapeshifters known to man?” “No.” Daniel said firmly, “So you can have some damn closure and a place to go once this contract is up. I actually want you to be safe believe it or not.” There was a long rather uncomfortable silence as Silas came back from whatever distant place in his mind that held him. His shoulders slumped as he came into the posture of a man defeated by his own thoughts. He set the mug down on the table beside the tray and Daniel saw the start of a crack. He would have to mend it one of these days so Silas could keep using it. “I’m sorry.” Silas said eventually. “You have been nothing but kind to me, and yet I still fear completely offering you my trust. You may very well be the only human with my best interests at heart and I keep pushing you away.” He finally turned to face Daniel and there was a deep sadness to his eyes, grief hung over him, “I'll think about it but that is asking a lot of faith from me; and for now I think I would rather be alone.”

“I understand.” Daniel kept his voice level though it took him a lot of effort, “I’ll be in the house if you need me.” Silas gave an absent nod and Daniel went back inside. Perhaps he shouldn’t have offered at all. Looking back, it did seem like he had malicious intent in that. He hadn’t meant it that way of course, but all of the humans Silas had ever met had been unspeakably cruel to him. Daniel should have been more careful with his words, or just kept the idea to himself. It was too late now of course, it was out there now and there was no taking it back no matter how badly he wanted to. He set about cleaning the house to keep himself occupied. He wasn’t expecting any patients today, so barring an emergency, all he had to keep his mind busy was cleaning an research. Had he been feeling particularly ambitious, he might have started on a travel plan; but he didn’t want it to seem like he was trying to push Silas toward an answer. He sighed quietly, “Good to know I still have a knack for getting in over my head when it comes to trying to help. Some things never change I suppose.” It was just his nature to be overly concerned for those around him to the point of being an annoyance it seemed.

The afternoon was slowly turning to evening by the time Silas was ready to be around him again. He didn’t say a word though. Just walked into the kitchen and began to clean his dishes. Daniel was at the table going over his medical books and making a list of things he would need to pick up the next time he went into town. He was glad to see Silas had at least eaten something while he battled with his thoughts. Silas seemed a little more composed now at the very least. That made him feel a little better, even if it didn’t shake off his guilt. “I’m sorry Silas.” He eventually said, “For this morning. It was insensitive and out of line.” Silas laughed and the sound was dry and humorless. It was an unpleasant shock to Daniel. He had never heard Silas laugh and this was definitely not the context he had wanted to hear it in. “Was it?” He asked sharply, “Are you rescinding your offer to help me find my only remaining relatives then?” “Well no.” Daniel started. “I just - I wanted you to know that I meant no offense by it. I feel like I’ve messed something up, and I want to know how to fix it.” He sighed quietly, “I hate seeing you so upset.”

Silas deflated some and that same posture of defeat returned, “It’s a matter of learning to trust you. My entire life so far has been spent fearing humans. I just have to keep in mind that you haven’t posed any danger to me yet.” He looked down, “I’m sorry for being so... defensive, I guess would be the word for it.” “You’re alright.” Daniel said gently, “These things take time. Even at that you have a lot of trauma to work through and - “ “Daniel stop.” Silas cut him off, “I need someone to listen to me not psychoanalysis. Believe me, I am well aware of my trauma and the power imbalance of our dynamic. I don’t need a reminder.” “Right.” He replied, “It can be hard to turn my doctor off sometimes.” “I understand. It’s the only way people will acknowledge you so it has become your primary mode of existing.” He said, apparently he was out for Daniel’s soul today, “You’re more than that to me you know. You’re the closest thing I’ve had to a friend actually.” “First of all ow. Secondly, what happened to not psychoanalyzing one another?” He replied with a laugh, “I’m glad you almost think of me as a friend.”

Silas smiled and Daniel was pretty sure it was the first real smile he had ever seen from him. “I figured that you’ve done it to me enough times that I deserved a turn.” “Fair enough.” Daniel began to pick up his books and put them away. His list was as complete as it was going to get until he ran inventory. “How many weeks?” Silas asked after a long stretch of silence, “Until we can leave?” Daniel paused for a moment as he thought about it, “Six if you mind your limitations; eight to twelve if you keep ignoring them.” Silas frowned, “That was a lot more than I was hoping.” “You’ve been stubborn.” He remarked, “Agitating old injuries and coming away from your little excursions with new ones. You need rest.” “Fine.” He said as he looked toward the bookshelf, “I’ll be a better patient from here on out. Six weeks to look for a place to start should be enough.” Daniel smiled, “Of course it will.” Silas nodded his agreement and retreated back into his thoughts. He took traveler’s guides and the few maps Daniel had then settled on his bed to look them over. Daniel started to run inventory of his supplies and started on a list of traveling provisions. They would have to be ready for anything. Daniel had never traveled farther than the town after finding his place here; and the world had changed a lot since Silas had been in it last. They were venturing out into the unknown.

[amythedvdhoarder]

Temperature Control

Pairing: Bucky x reader

For the Flex Your Muscles Writing Challenge set up by @captain-rogers-beard​

15th of June prompt: Humid

Word count: 1.1K

Summary: Temperatures in the compound rise, you need to find some way to cool down.

Warnings: Fluff

Authors notes: GIF not mine. Some more Bucky fluff for you. Slightly cheeky this one. Thanks to everyone reading these entries. Please let me know what you think, feedback is always welcome x

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Upstate New York in the summer was hot. Upstate New York in the summer without air conditioning was unbearable. “FRIDAY, when is the air conditioning going to be fixed?” You crossed your fingers and waiting for the AI to reply. “I’m sorry Agent Y/L/N, I cannot find a problem with your air conditioning.” You groaned, inwardly cursing the AI as you pulled at the material of your t-shirt currently clinging to your damp skin. The air in your room was humid, so much so that you couldn’t take it anymore, you needed to get out of there. After a cold shower, you pulled on your swimsuit and left your room. Stepping out into the corridor a blast of cool air hit you. So why the hell wasn’t your air conditioning working?

You made your way down the corridor, stopping a couple of doors down from yours, and knocked. Nearly the whole team was away, the only two left were you and Bucky. He answered the door quickly, his eyes scanning up and down your body briefly. He had to bite down on his bottom lip to stop him self from audibly growling at the sight of you stood there in your black swimsuit. It wasn’t too revealing but it accentuated your body in all the right places.  Your hair still damp from the shower falling loosely around your shoulders. Bucky couldn’t think of a time where he had been greeted by a better sight. You were oblivious to the effect you were having on him, instead were distracted by what felt like a cool breeze coming from his room. “My air conditionings broken, going to spend the day by the pool. Wanna join me?” Bucky knew it was an innocent invitation on your part, but Bucky couldn’t help but feel a leap of excitement in his stomach.

“Sure, already got my trunks on” Your eyes widened at the coincidence.  He pulled off his t-shirt right there and then and threw it onto his bed. Now it was your turn to hide a reaction. You had seen Bucky shirtless before normally when he was working out with Steve at the other end of the gym and you could steal discrete glances. But now faced with the marble perfection in front you it was difficult to avert your gaze from the muscles in front of you. His trunks were low on his hips and it took all of your will power not to reach out and trace your fingertips over his defined hip bones. He pulled his door shut behind him as he stepped into the corridor. You shook your head slightly trying to shake away the desires and cleared your throat. “Great, let’s go”

All to soon the sun was going down and the day was ending. It had been a day well spent. You and Bucky had laughed, talked about this and that and had various swimming competitions. Bucky had pushed you into the pool the moment you had got there. You had taken your revenge swiftly, accepting his hand out and pulling him in as well.  The day had filled you with hope; you had always been friends with Bucky but you wanted more. You had seen his blue eyes watching you when he didn’t think you were looking. His hands lingered when he had rubbed sun cream onto your back and  on your hips when you were both messing around in the water. Bucky had the same feeling of hope from the way you had swept his wet hair from his face, the way you watched him getting in and out of the pool and the way you had leaned into him when he helped put some sun cream on you.  Neither of you said anything though as you walked back your rooms that night.

As you stepped into your room, the oppressive heat hit you. The air felt still and heavy. After another cold shower, you pulled on a tank top and a pair of shorts, slumped onto your bed and prayed that sleep would take you quickly. But an hour later you felt wide awake, the hot air in the room giving you a headache. You sat up and thought about sleeping in the bath tub, just to feel the cold porcelain against your skin. Another option hit you. Bucky had a cold room, maybe you could sleep on his sofa? You dragged yourself out of bed and padded barefoot along the corridor.

Bucky’s light was still on when he opened the door, he looked a little shocked at your appearance. “Bucky, it’s too hot in my room to sleep. Can I sleep on your sofa? Please?” At that moment you pulled the hair stuck to the back of your neck into a messy bun. Bucky sucked in a breath as your tank top rose up slightly revealing a small section of your stomach. He gulped. “Y/N you can just share the bed. It’s plenty big enough.”  You were exhausted from the heat and couldn’t be bothered to argue. He let you through and you walked straight past him to the bed and climbed in and sighed at the feeling of the cool bedding around you. Bucky slid into the bed beside you and switched off the lamp. You rolled so that your back was to Bucky. “I can feel the heat coming off you from over here doll” You grumbled in response. The bed dipped as Bucky shifted over to you. “You trust me Y/N?” He moved even closer to you, nearly pressed against you now. “Yes Bucky” you replied quietly. Bucky pressed against you. You were about to protest until his metal arm wrapped around your waist and his hand snuck under your top and rested on your stomach. The coldness from the metal sent a shiver through your whole body. You relaxed as the coldness of the metal perfectly balanced with the gentle heat coming off Bucky’s chest. A contented sigh left your lips and you felt the exhaustion getting the better of you.

Bucky listened as your breathing deepened. He grinned to himself. His plan had worked perfectly. Telling FRIDAY to turn off the air conditioning in your room and not to turn it back on was a stroke of genius. Of course, he had only planned on getting you to the spend the day outside with him. This was an unexpected bonus. He was certain of one thing, the moment you woke up he was going to ask you out, then he would fix your air conditioning. Hopefully you wouldn’t be too mad at him.

Taglist is open so let me know if you want in

Taglist: @stargazingfangirl18​, @buckys-plums3​, @silentcoyotesong​

[phantom-curve]

Mads I have to be annoying and send you another one of those prompts 😂 Platonic Alex & Reggie with "liberosis - the desire to care less about things"!

this was not the first prompt you sent in, but I had way too much fun exploring this dynamic and I couldn't resist doing this one before the others! set in the gimme a chance AU, please enjoy this deleted scene that takes place after chapter 4 ft. Alex and Reggie being completely Over It™️

liberosis - the desire to care less about things (Rated T+ for language and some slightly suggestive wording about Luke and Julie's relationship)

“Okay so like, we’re in agreement that this is just a weird thing we’re not gonna talk about, right?”

It was late. Alex had stumbled home from work completely drained and exhausted around 10 pm and Reggie had apparently been waiting up to have this conversation, work clothes still on, fingers restless as they twisted together in front of his body where he sat propped up against the couch, TV turned low and forgotten behind him. For a second, Alex wasn’t exactly sure what Reggie was talking about. And then he remembered it was Sunday. Which meant yesterday had been Saturday. And all of the stupid Luke drama he had been trying to ignore came flooding back.

“No, we’re not gonna talk about it,” Alex said firmly, meeting Reggie’s concerned gaze with a look that he hoped translated into I will literally talk about anything else but this right now. “Total radio silence as far as I’m concerned.”

“Cool, okay. Glad we’re on the same page.”

Reggie’s head dipped and bobbed as he nodded his agreement. Alex let out a sigh of relief as he hunched over to slip his work shoes off and stack them on the rack by the front door. Then, the air seemed to grow thick with some sort of unspoken tension. Alex felt it press against him like an old, uncomfortable sweater, itchy and oppressive against his chest. When he straightened once more, Reggie was waiting to meet his gaze head on. Clearly, they were gonna talk about it.

“I’m not alone in thinking it’s like...kinda weird, right?”

Alex sighed, the action bone deep and heavy in a way that only Luke’s shenanigans could make him feel. Reggie wasn’t wrong. It was kinda weird that Luke had been hiding this whole Julie thing from them. It was kinda weird that Luke had managed to pull it off at all, actually. The boy was not known for his subtlety. He had very clearly struck out with Julie the first time around, and yet somehow, he had managed to draw her back in. Alex could tell by the way Luke had stuttered and stammered over the whole thing the night before that he had been trying to keep it lowkey. As if that boy even knew the meaning of the word. Case in point: he hadn’t been able to play it cool for 5 seconds once she had started ignoring him.

“Yeah, Reg, it’s definitely kinda weird.”

“Oh, good, I’m really glad I’m not the only one who feels that way about it. Ya know, when I first figured it out, I was like, ‘okay maybe it’s just a one-time thing.’ But it’s not a one-time thing. Definitely not. And I just like...don’t understand why he isn’t talking about it? Why is he trying to pretend its no big deal? It’s obviously a big deal.”

Alex desperately wished he could go back in time and take Willie up on his offer to spend the night tonight if only to be able to avoid this uncomfortable word vomit that Reggie didn’t seem capable of stopping. If there was ever a can of worms that didn’t need to be opened, it was this one, focused on Luke’s love life and his interactions with Julie, and what all of that meant in the grand scheme of things. Alex did not have the time or patience to truly get into this right now, he really didn’t. Except Reggie was looking at him so expectantly, as if Alex would reach into his fanny pack and pull out a booklet of answers, and so he also couldn’t just leave the poor guy to obsess alone.

“Okay, so we’re gonna do this, yeah? We’re gonna talk about it? Lemme...lemme just like get some sweats on and make some dinner, okay?”

Reggie let out a deep breath that Alex hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Yeah. Yeah, whatever you need, Lex.”

Alex didn’t dawdle. This was not a conversation that was going to go away or be dismissed. Reggie needed to talk it out, and honestly, now that he thought about it, Alex kind of did, too. And not to someone like Willie who would grin and say, “can’t stop true love hot dog, gotta let them ride that wave and figure out if they’re gonna sink or swim on their own��� and act all blasé about it. He needed to talk about it with someone like Reggie who, just like Alex, was in the unique position of being friends with Flynn and Carrie (which meant knowing just enough about Julie to have an idea of exactly why she would be so appealing to Luke) as well as being one of Luke’s brothers (which meant knowing him better than he knew himself sometimes). Together, they might be able to figure out if the two would be like oil and water or more like fire and gasoline. Reggie was the only person who could have that kind of discussion with him, so yeah, they were doing this.

Alex made quick work of cleaning off in the shower and switching his work clothes for sweatpants and an oversized hoodie. Reggie was still waiting on the couch, staring at the tv but not actually watching whatever was playing out on the 32-inch screen. He had managed to change out of his clothes and into some Star Wars themed pajamas though. Alex skirted around the couch edge so he could press a quick, reassuring hand against Reggie’s scalp as he made his way into the kitchen. Reggie’s eyes moved away from the screen to track his movements. Alex might be the one with anxiety, but Reggie needed more reassurance when it came to things that might end with his family falling apart in one way or another. Alex wasn’t about to let him get so worked up that he convinced himself this would be catalyst that ruined everything.

“Honestly, Reg, what are we even supposed to do here? You know he’s gonna keep seeing her no matter what we say.”

Alex tried to open the conversation gently, eyes fixed on his bowl as it revolved in circles inside the microwave. Reggie didn’t answer at first, not until the beep of Alex’s food being finished rang out in the small apartment. When he did speak, he sounded partly apologetic and partly resigned.

“I don’t know. I know I probably should have said something after last week but...he just seemed so happy. I didn’t wanna mess it up for him. But last night was weird and it didn’t feel good. I’m worried Luke’s on a one-way path to destruction and I don’t know if it’s gonna be because of Julie or because of Flynn.”

Alex tried not to let his face fall into his freshly warmed bowl of pasta as he pulled it from the microwave. He really, really did not want to think about the ways that Flynn would rip Luke to shreds when she found out what had been going on behind her back. He had learned two things about the pint-sized firecracker in the year or so that he had known her: don’t mess with Carrie and don’t mess with Julie. Luke had already kinda fucked up on one of those counts. He wasn’t super thrilled thinking about what her reaction might be when she discovered he had been messing around with the second one, and in a much bigger way, too. He turned to face Reggie, forced himself to soften his own anxiety when he caught sight of the nerves etched out in harsh lines across the bassist’s forehead. Deep breath in, deep breath out just like his therapist had taught him.

“Flynn is gonna react however she’s gonna react. We can’t control that. She’s gonna have Julie’s back no matter what so all we can do is watch out for Luke.”

Reggie was nodding along in agreement, features smoothing out now that there was something of a plan for him to follow. Alex swung himself onto a barstool, bowl in front of him as his mind turned over and over all the millions of ways this thing between Julie and Luke could go south. Reggie moved off of the couch, hesitating for just a moment before he walked over to lean against the island in the kitchen where Alex was doing his best not to spiral.

“I think he likes her. Like...like likes her.”

Reggie’s voice was quiet, like he was sharing some secret he had been sworn to silence over. Alex turned to look at him again, not entirely sure he wanted to believe it.

“Dude, we’re not in middle school. You hook up with people all the time and it never means more than a night of shared passion. Luke can do the same thing.”

The look Reggie leveled his way was nothing short of disbelieving, eyebrows raised so high they had practically disappeared into his hairline. Alex kinda had to hand it to him there. He didn’t really believe Luke actually could pull off a casual relationship, especially not with a girl like Julie who probably set every single one of his musical nerve endings on high alert. Reggie and Luke weren’t the same in that manner. Reggie wanted to give love and receive it in turn without any reservations or worries about the intent behind it. Just two people meeting in a mutually beneficial exchange and then moving on with their lives to find that again with someone else. Luke’s love was deliberate, a commitment. There was no way whatever he was doing was casual.

“Okay, okay. Put the eyebrows away already.”

Reggie’s face relaxed into something less concerned and more exhausted. Alex felt that all the way to the depths of his soul. Generally speaking, Luke was pretty exhausting. And he was even more exhausting when he wasn’t taking care of himself in order to take care of someone else, in this case: Julie. Alex scooped up his bowl of pasta and tucked an arm around Reggie’s shoulders, guiding both of them to the couch. The tv was still playing something Alex couldn’t be bothered to pay attention to, but the low hum of voices in the background made the apartment feel a little less cold and quiet. Alex shoveled a bite of pasta into his mouth, chewing slowly and deliberately before he turned to face Reggie once more.

“Look, we don’t actually have any control over any of this shit. We know how Luke is, and we kinda know what’s up with Julie, but we can’t stop them from interacting or scare them off from each other. As much as it sucks, I think we gotta just ride this one out. And if Luke gets hurt, we’ll be here to patch him up and love him through it.”

Alex blinked in surprise, not actually sure those words had just come out of his mouth. By the way Reggie was studying him, he wasn’t sure the other boy could believe it either. Then, Reggie’s lips curved into a knowing smirk.

“Willie’s been rubbing off on you. All that therapy and go with the flow shit. You’re like a whole new drummer boy.”

Alex guffawed and reached over to shove Reggie playfully, being sure to keep his now empty bowl clear of the scuffle. Reggie ducked around his outstretched arm, sneaking under to poke at Alex’s side in a way that had him twisting and nearly falling off the couch.

“Jeez, Uncle, Uncle! Fuckin hell, man, no need to go straight for the tickle spots.”

Reggie huffed out a laugh, collapsing back into the couch next to Alex. They sat in comfortable silence for a few moments, the only sound the canned laughter and predictable lines of the tv show.

“Hey, Lex?”

Alex hummed and rolled his head to meet Reggie’s eyes.

“Do you ever wish you just like...didn’t care so much about everything?”

Alex’s laugh echoed above the sound of the tv. He leaned into Reggie’s side, letting the familiar comfort wash over him.

“All the time, Reg. Literally, all the fucking time.”

[i-okamie]

How Did I End Up Here ? Ch5

Ch1 // Ch2 // Ch3 // Ch4 //  Ao3

Lena is staring at the door Jess has closed behind her.

For some reason seeing it shut makes uneasiness swell inside of her, slowly constricting her chest. Her breath is not as easy as mere minutes ago and Lena can feel her hands shaking. She knows the feeling is irrational: Jess can still hear her if need be, her security team has been called by now and is standing at the ready, and it is not as if Alex is here to hurt her …

Right?

Lena tries to swallow down her anxiety, feeling it closing her throat ever so slowly.

A few months ago, the two women had grown closer and closer through working on some scientific projects, watching over Supergirl and making sure the missions would go as smoothly as possible, and of course spending time with Kara. They even used to team up every now and again at game nights, spending the whole time boasting while the other tried to minimize the damages the best they could.

It seems like a whole different life, Lena thinks, so much has changed.

Lena had learned all about Kara’s real identity as a super hero, they all had been transported to a new planet after earth-38 had been destroyed, she had developed non-nocere out of a place of hurt and despair, hoping it would fix things.

She had worked with Lex.

Out of all those things, this one makes her feel sick. She had done so willingly, believing everything he had told her, believing that maybe the brother she had known and loved all those years before had come back to her, having her best interests at heart. Someone really cared about her. Of course he knew everything of her deep desire to be accepted, to be truly seen for who she is, he had played that string just right, and Lena had been all too happy to do as she was told.

A puppy eager to please.

The brunette had used that comparison to describe Kara more than once while she had manipulated her, biding her time till she could get her hand on Myriad and set her plan in motion. But had she really faired any better?

Reality had caught up with her, hard and fast. All the warnings from Kara had been true and Lex had once again let her down, once her purpose had been served. And sure, she had helped fighting Leviathan, but she couldn’t erase what she had done during the last months, the superfriends making their distrust clear through all their side glances and the general stiffness while she was at the DEO to help them handling that situation.

And ever since that menace had been dealt with, none of them had reached out to her, wondering how she was doing after all what she had been through. She had hoped against all odds that one of them would ask for news from her, from sheer politeness at worst. But nothing happened. No visit, no phone call, no text. The only one that had cared enough to come to her once things had settled down had been Kara, and of course she had to send her away out stubbornness, holding on her hurt and betrayal like a life line, and using harsh words to make sure the other woman would hurt just like she does.

By the time her blood had cooled down enough for her to think rationally again, it was too late to apologize, the Luthor pride getting in the way, and all Lena had done was pouring herself another drink to try to dull the ache in her chest.

Her wish had been granted. She had not heard from her ever since she had issued her threats. She was on her own all over again, and this time she couldn’t blame anyone but herself.

Agent Danvers has all the reasons to be mad at me, Lena winces internally. To want to see me hurt after what I did to her sister. In her position I would.

Seeing Alex standing here, dressed up as if about to go on an intervention, made Lena reconsider her position. If usually she was the figure of authority in that room, the tables had turned.

Unconsciously the CEO leaned back into her chair, adding some distance between herself and the other woman. Her posture was slowly turning more defensive, despite being all too aware that if the agent had set her mind on hurting her there was very little she could do, especially given her condition lately. Slow reflexes and shaky legs would make it  easier for the special agent.

And wouldn’t she like that? Lena feel a chill running down her spine.

Alex had been the most suspicious from them all, always telling Kara that a Luthor would never change, always keeping an eye on her and quick to paint Lena as the culprit of whatever happened in National city. The short haired woman would surely love to see Lena try to escape her only to trip and fall. Maybe she would catch her, not willing to see the game being over too soon, before backing her against a wall and relishing into finally having a Luthor at her mercy.

Lena could picture it and the thought makes her dizzy, her heart pounding in her chest in a fight or flight reflex.

But for now Alex is just standing in front of her desk, looking at her with a mix of confusion and concern painted on her face. If not for her straight posture and uniform, one could think she is a concerned friend paying Lena a visiting to see what is going on.

Why would Alexandra Danvers of all people be concerned about her? Or is it away to get Lena letting her guard down? To fell safe before pulling the rug from under her feet?

It’s barely 11am, but Lena is still too hungover, and the fear in her chest too oppressive, to give much thought to what is on Alex’s mind. Agents are trained to have a neutral expression at all time. The brunette has only ever seen the other woman wearing that kind of expression when something involving loved ones happened. When Reign had beaten up Supergirl into a coma. When Kara … when Supergirl had been poisoned by kryptonite. Maybe it’s about Kara, maybe there is …

“Lena, did you hear me?” Alex says, raising her voice slightly to catch the CEO’s attention.

“Sorry, what?” Lena jumps in her chair, shaken back into reality by the raised voice. She had completely lost track of what was going on around her.

What a way to prove your not a mess, or completely freaked out at having a DEO agent in the same room as you, Lena thinks bitterly.

Alex sights, stepping forward to get a closer look at her.

“Lena” Alex starts, sounding hesitant “I know we’re not friends and I won’t pretend that we are in good terms at all. But what the hell is happening?”

She leans closer into the CEO’s space, and Lena doesn’t know when she grabbed the armrests of her chair but now she is holding tight on them.

“Take a seat please” she says curtly, with a jerk of her head. “And I don’t know what Kara told but everything is …”

“Please, humor me Luthor” Alex stopes her before sitting down on the edge of her chair, as if ready to pounce on her.

Lena hates how such a detail makes her anxiety swells up even more. Get a grip of yourself, dammit!

“No need to be a genius to see you’re not okay. The dark circles under your eyes, your agar look, your jumpiness and the increase in security … I can put two and two together.” Alex gives a pointed look toward her slowly healing hand, causing the brunette to anxiously rub the scabbing still holding on her palm since she seems unable to let it heal properly and regularly find herself picking at the scabbing. Many blood-stained shirts being the collateral victims of her nerves.

Alex takes Lena’s silence as her cue to keep going.

“Besides, Kara didn’t say anything from the last time she came here. She only came back with the look of a kicked puppy and refused to pipe a word about you.”

This catch Lena’s attention. Kara didn’t talk about what she witnessed? Lena was sure she would have told her sister about she had seen at Lena’s place or at least about their last exchange “… I’m not my brother but it doesn’t mean I don’t know how to keep a kryptonian at bay if need be.” Now that she was thinking about it, not seeing a DEO squad barging in her office should have clued her on the fact that Kara didn’t share about their last exchange.

“And that’s probably the more worrying of all this!” Alex continues “Usually I have to sit through hours of Lena this, Lena has invented that, Lena explained me this, … she is unable to stop talking when it comes to you.”

Lena snorts softly at the agent clear exasperation, happy to see that the blonde woman can get under anyone’s skin.

Though a quiet Kara is a foreign concept to her, given that this woman is able to babble about any topic for hours on end. That’s something Lena had thought endearing about her, listening fondly to her former friend just to see that thousand watts smile she reserved for Lena.

That was before she learnt the truth. The endless rants about food, books or series had turned into endless streams of apology whenever she was next to the CEO, the superhero not noticing how this would only fuel her anger. Lena couldn’t stand watching the blond-haired woman looking at her with her blue eyes full of unshed tears, stammering meaningless apologies to her while she had been the one deciding to lie to Lena for years.

Alex as well. No matter how many times Lena had answered her calls and come rescuing her alien sister, she had never dimmed the brunette worthy of her trust.

Lena rubs her temple, trying to reign on the anger, hurt and anxiety threatening to drown her from the inside. She cannot let Alex throw her off balance, she won’t give her this satisfaction.

The agent stops talking to give her a thoughtful look, as if weighing her options.

“God I understand Kara’s better now … Lena, are you okay? Do you need help?”

What? Lena is struggling to process what the agent is saying.

“Don’t take it the wrong way, but … the DEO trains us to analyze people behavior and you’re looking and acting exactly like a victim in denial, or someone being blackmailed” the agent rushes out, not leaving time for Lena to stop her “Given your family history and reputation and your position as a fortune 500 and young CEO, both are probable options. So what is it?”

[eerythingisshaka]

Ficmas Day #5 “Gift of the Hargreeves”

[Diego Hargreeves x Reader]

Word Count: 1.9k

“Hold on, I have to move a little so I can get it in.” “How far down do you need to be?  I’m ready for it already.” “Don’t go too fast!  If you kill me with that thing, ain’t for sure gonna be no damn Christmas!” “Ok!  Geez, don’t get mad.  I’m afraid you’ll break it while you’re holding it and mad.” As you guide the plug in the shadows into the socket, the multicolored lights wake from their storage slumber for another year of holiday cheer. You crawl out from behind the tree, wiping off your knees as Diego takes your hand to help you up.  As he holds you from behind, you hold hands watching the tree in its glory. “We did that, huh?”  you ask. Diego nods.  “Who knew what an hour’s worth of labor can produce.  You did great, baby.  All that’s missing is presents under the tree!” “Uh!  Remember, we’re not gifting big this year.  $50 max for presents.”  You turn your head back to him to share a couple sweet pecks as his hair starts to fall in the way of your lips. “Pfft!  Diego, I really can’t get used to your hair like that.”  You wipe your lips of the phantom sensation of hair before pulling some lip gloss from your pants pocket to refresh your lips. Diego whips his locs back with the grace of a cover model.  “What’s wrong with it?  I thought you like guys with the man buns and flowing hair and shit?” Adjusting your glasses, you reach for his hair, feeling the texture and moving it around back and forth.  “Sure I like that, but...baby it’s just stiff and dry looking.  I appreciate you trying something different if that makes you happy but whew, we need to come up with a routine.” He swipes your hand away gently, looking offended.  “This is my natural beauty you’re dissing, you know that?” You nod.  “Yes, true.  But even naturals have to get their product usage down for HEALTHY natural hair.  I’m sorry you feel oppressed at the moment.” Diego rolls his eyes sarcastically.  “I feel so seen.  But you can help me with that right?  What products work for me?” You shrug, walking past him to get to a box of white and red garland untangled.  “I may be able to help, but I don’t know anything about your type of hair.  Isn’t some $1 shampoo and conditioner from the grocery store all you need?” Diego takes one garland from you.  “You know I’m already using that stuff, and clearly it isn’t working for either of us.” You sigh looking at him again, feeling somewhat bad for him.  “It’s not like I don’t find you handsome as you are.  You still have that pretty sad boy face that I adore…” “Sad boy?”  he asks as you hold his face playfully in your hands. “Yesh!  My wittle sad puppy wooking for wove!  And honey, that chest, them arms, that stomach…”  you give each part mention a squeeze with a lift of his shirt for a peek of his abs.  Diego pulls his shirt down turning away from you.  “Please, control yourself...but keep going if this is turning into something...” You shrug, balling up the garland and walking up to a step ladder to start lining the decoration.  “I’m just saying, don’t think I have lost any interest.  And if all else fails, what’s a paper bag for?  How does this look over here?  Is it high enough?” As you hold a foot of garland along the wall, studying the placement you hear a tiny whistle followed by an impact.  You almost stumble backward wondering what it was until you look up and find a small shiny tack in the garland, securing it firmly in place. “Whoa!  Fuck, D!  I told you not to do that shit by me!”  you yell, jumping down the ladder, leaving the flaccid hanging garland, pushing Diego as he smiles with a handful of tacks. “I won’t get you!  It’s my thing, remember!  My accuracy is never off!” “And I will accurately beat your ass if you throw tacks or whatever metal bullshit you wanna toss around here.  Now let me place the garland with tape first!  Then you can take those spots after I am safely away.” Later that night, Diego stares at the ceiling watching the credits roll from the Christmas movie you watched together.  You come out of the bathroom feeling disappointed to have missed it. “Damn!  Did they find the daughter in that landfill ever?”  you sit on the end of the bed, reaching for the remote to rewind to the part you missed. Diego crawls out from under his blankets, coming up behind you to lightly bite and kiss your shoulder. You shudder under his touch.  “Please, D!  I wanna see this!” He groans, reaching on either side of your face for your glasses to slide them off.  “Now you can’t…” You snort as he takes the remote out of your hands, tossing it aside.  “I’m not blind now, you know that?” He reaches around your waist to pull you backward, turning you on your back as he looks down at you, looking your body over like he’s famished. “And baby I have never been blind to what you do to me.”  He gobbles up your neck, letting his hands caress parts of you that make you giggle and gasp concurrently. “Wait, wait, I wanna...oh nevermind,”  you say into his mouth as he takes your words and thoughts away in his kiss, running your fingers through his hair and giving it a rough tug.  Diego sits up, smacking your hip to flip you on your stomach when all of a sudden you hear a crunch. “What was that?”   you say, accidentally knocking your back against Diego before he was ready to move that knocks some wind out of him.  As you survey the bed you find your glasses with one arm of it sitting wayward beside the other two-thirds of the frames. “Nooo, seriously?”  you sadly utter as you pick up your broken frames. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry.”  Diego says pitifully, looking at the frames in your hand.   “I had these forever!  They were my favorite too,”  you sit back on the bed groaning in despair. “I can fix them I think.”  Diego takes them for a minute looking them over.  “....or buy you some new ones.  Better ones, since it’s Christmas time.” You shake your head.  “No...at least not yet.  That would be way past the budget we set this year for presents anyway.  I don’t even wanna think about a new pair.  It’s so hard for me to get a good prescription, I swear they switch some shit with my lenses every time.  What I see during the test and whatI get are always different.  These were perfect!” Diego sighs, rubbing your back.  “I f-f-feel bad.  I wasn’t th-thinking.” You look over at him with sympathy, giving his leg a squeeze.  “Don’t get upset, it’s fine.  I can still see and shit just gotta find my older frames now and oh I may have a free repair with my doctor on them.  I’ll call tomorrow.  It’s fine Diego, really.” -- When Christmas morning came, you bundled the blanket under your chin tighter for warmth as the cold winter sun peeked through the window.   “Merry Christmas, love,”  Diego hoarsely whispers in your ear as he caresses his hand up and down your hip, kissing your cheek.   Your mood is lifted with his affection.  “Mm, same to you,” you groggily reach for his head, crawling your nails over the side of his head feeling something is different.  When you look back at him, you see Diego with his short cut again. Your eyes buck as your mouth flies open with surprise.  He smiles as you notice the change. “See?  Just did it myself this morning before you woke up.”  He runs his hand over his head proudly before nuzzling into your neck like an excited pup. You try to track your thoughts.   “Wow!  I just...Wow!  It’s so different, I almost forgot how you look without your hair.”  You hold his face above yours, feeling the freshly cut hair under your palms. Diego gives you one more kiss.  “Merry Christmas!  But this isn’t your gift though, so don’t worry!  Get up so we can start gifting!” You slide out of bed and head to the bathroom to freshen up.  Having brushed your teeth, you reach for the cabinet to pull out a container of contacts, cleaning them in solution before opening your eye to place one. “Hey, did you want some pancakes or...what are you doing?”  Diego asks just as you place a contact in one eye, blinking a couple times before looking at him through the mirror.   “Yeah, I have been testing out these new contacts.  My doctor kind of convinced me to give them a shot, and so far it’s not the worst thing.” “Wh-what about your glasses?” You brush him off.  “I still have them, just not fixed.  Apparently I need a stronger prescription anyway and those were kind of out of style.  And now I have contacts, so... You ok?” Diego stares at you in the mirror a little long with an expression you don’t understand. “Oh, and pancakes are fine, by the way,”  you say as you prepare your other eye. “Ok.”  Diego heads for the kitchen, stopping at the tree to retrieve the little box with your gift, setting it on the kitchen table before getting the ingredients for breakfast together.  Not too long after he has started you come to the kitchen with your present hidden behind you. “Diego, before I give you your gift, I was planning this gift before this morning...obviously.”  You hold out the gold wrapped box to him, which he takes with a gentle smile.   “I’ll take anything you give me, baby.  I know I’ll love it.”  He kisses you quickly before pointing to the small red bowed gift on the table.  “It can’t be worse than mine.  I am willing to bet.” You pick up the box, lifting it’s lid to reveal another box monogrammed with love, your name.  You lift it out to reveal a glasses case with an exact replica of your broken frames inside. Your heart drops instantly.  “Ohh baby!!” Diego shrugs with his hands in his sweats pockets as you wrap your arms around his neck, kissing him generously. “But now you’re a contacts girl, so…” You shake your head, looking at him as you squeeze his face.  “Don’t!  This is amazing, you’re amazing!  And you should really open your gift now.” Diego sighs.  “Ok.  Look I’m glad you love yours but you don’t have to try to make me feel better.” You scoff.  “I promise, this will make you feel better if nothing else.” When he opens the box, he takes a beat to stare at the contents.  As he lifts a shampoo bottle out, followed by a conditioner, then a comb and brush set and gel, he looks at you with the biggest grin. “Baby…”  he says, dripping with enthusiasm. “I was -- I was gonna help to style it and-and make your hair better and healthy, then you go and CUT IT!” He puts down the bottles, running up to snatch you up in a bear hug. “I love you so much.  We are so perfect together,”  Diego says, giving you a deep kiss that would put you both on the naughty list next year.

[chaotic-super]

Alien Detected

“How does it work?” Kara asks.

“It's just a simple skin test.” Lena states proudly, smiling at the blonde reporter she has come to care  for. “Let me show you what a negative response looks like.” With that she places her thumb onto the device and waits a couple of seconds for the flashing green light to appear.

“ See?” Kara nods along to Lena's words nervously. “Great, now you try.”

The blonde stares blankly the CEO for a few seconds, her mouth moving to form words that never make it off of her tongue as she glances down at the device held out to her.

“But won't a device like this-” Kara stumbles over her words. “-doesn't it  go against everything America is supposed to stand for?”

“Such as?” Lena perches on the edge of her desk, device placed delicately on the desk so she is able to cross her arms defensively over her chest.

“Freedom against persecution, oppression. America has always been a country full of immigrants.” Kara chuckles nervously.

“It's also always been a country of humans.”

“It's just – don't you think this device will force aliens back into the very shadows the president is trying to shine a light on?”

“If aliens want to be citizens, that's now their right but if humans want to know which of their fellow citizens aren't actually one of them then that's their right too.” Lena looks into Kara's eyes defensively until Kara backs down from the mini stand-off they seem to be caught in and looks away. “I'm a businesswoman. L-Corp is in the business of making money and this device is gonna make us a fortune but unlike my brother I'm gonna do it for the good of the world.”

Lena smiles wearily at Kara as she finishes her speech, turning to sit down back behind her desk so she has a physical barrier between herself and the reporter to help regain her footing after being challenged in a way that made her feel as though her motivations could possibly ever be anything other than good and pure.  

“So?” She picks up the device and holds it out to Kara, who looks rather shaken.

“I-um. I don't know-” Kara stutters out, trying and failing to come up with a reasonable excuse to not have to touch that damn device that could give away her true heritage. A few more stutters leave her mouth as her mind goes blank of any reasonable excuse she could make so her hand slowly begins to make its way toward the small silver device.

She feels as though she is moving in slow motion as she wills someone to interrupt the moment to get her out of there. Her hand hovers over the sensor for a second and she takes a deep breath before she takes the plunge and presses her thumb gently down.

Lena watches inquisitively as the reporter before her begins to stutter and look around nervously. She understands that she may have made her slightly uncomfortable but nothing that should reduce her to the stumbling mess she has become. She is just about to ask her if she is alright when Kara's hand reaches out to the alien detection device and a thumb is pressing down onto it.

It flashes white three times as it analyses the data before turning red. Lena's eyes flick up to Kara's face as she processes the information but the blonde isn't looking back, she's staring at the device as she pulls her hand away from it slowly.

“You're an alien.” Lena states, standing up from her chair and stepping around the desk to stand before her friend.

“I- yeah.”

The CEO tries her best to catch the reporter's eyes but her gaze is fixed firmly on the ground.

“That's why you don't like my device isn't it? You don't want anyone to find out.”

Kara finally looks up and tentatively meets the emerald gaze of the woman before her. “Nobody can find out Lena, please.” She can feel her eyes well up her lips begin to purse up into a pout as she holds her tears at bay. Alex is going to kill her when she finds out that |Lena knows she isn't human.

Lena frowns as Kara's words. “Of course I'm not going to tell anyone and I'm not judging you Kara. I never would and I would have hoped that you'd know that.”

“I'm sorry Lena, It's not you. I know you wouldn't judge me but this isn't something that I tell people.”

Lena doesn't think that she has ever seen Kara look so small; her head turned down toward the floor, her arms crossed tightly across her body and her eyes flickering around the room, unwilling to hold her gaze for more than a few seconds at a time,

“I'm not mad Kara, I promise.”

“Really?”

“How about we go and sit down and talk about this?” Lena steps closer to the Kara, her heels easily making her just as tall as her. She lifts Kara's chin until their eyes meet. “I just want to understand.”

Kara finds herself nodding before she has even thought about it. She knows hat she should get out of there quick sharp but can't help but feel a weight lifted off of her chest now that Lena somewhat knows her truth. She watches as the CEO makes a quick call to Jess, requesting her to reschedule all of her meetings for the rest of the day before flashing her a small smile and gently taking her hand in her own and directing her towards the white couch on the far side of the room.

Lena doesn't let go of Kara's hand as when they sit, she holds it gently on her lap with both hands. “How about we start with the basics?” She waits for Kara to nod before she continues. “How long have you been on Earth?”

Kara clears her throat. “I've been here since I was thirteen. The Danvers adopted me right away.”

“You took their name then?”

“I did.” Lena waits for her to elaborate but she doesn't but doesn't want to push her too hard either.

“Do you like it here?”

“When I first got here I hated it, I never thought that I would be at home here and I still don't a lot of the time but I've found that it's the people that make me feel at home, not the planet.”

“Does that mean that there are more of your people here?” Lena's eyes brighten at the thought of finding out new information on an entire race.

“No.”

“No-one at all?” Lena's voice is soft, caring.

“No-one I want to talk about.” Kara states softly.

“We don't have to talk about them then. What planet are you from?”

“I-” She stammers. She can't actually tell Lena where she is from, she would know about her identity. “I can't tell you.”

“You can't? Why?” Her brows furrow in confusion.

Kara meets her eyes pleadingly. “I really can't tell you anything like that, I'm sorry.”

“You're acting weird about this, what's stopping you? Is someone threatening you?” Lena takes one of her hands away from Kara's and uses it to push some of her golden locks back behind her ear so she can look into the cerulean eyes more clearly. She can't push the worried frown from her face as she waits for the answer.

“I don't really know how to explain this without telling you a lot of things that I have been sworn to secrecy over by the government.”

“The government knows that you're an alien?” Lena leans back into the couch, still clutching at Kara's hand as she tries to make sense of what little information she I getting from Kara. She finds rest bite from her overworked brain in taking in the face of the reporter; the shape of her face, her beautiful golden hair, her beautiful blue eyes and perfect pink lips, the little scar above her brow that looks almost exactly like the one- “Supergirl?”

Kara flinches and pulls her hand away from Lena's as she stands up, ready to bolt.

“Don't leave Kara, please.” Lena follows Kara as she begins to walk to the door and grasps her arm to stop her. “It's true isn't it?”

Kara doesn't answer, just brings a hand up over her face and lets out a muffled sob.

“Oh, Kara. I'm not going to tell anyone, you're still my friend.” Lena gently turns her around to face her and captures her in a tight hug. “Thank you for all the times you've saved me.”

Kara squeezes Lena back with as much force as she dares to without hurting her. “Nobody is meant to know, it can put you in danger and I don't want you to get hurt.” Kara sobs into Lena's shoulder.

“If I'm going to be in danger then I'm glad I've got you, you've kept me safe since the moment I stepped foot in National City and don't think for a second that I'm going to let you avoid me now that I know, especially now that I'm aware of what is hiding beneath those cardigans.” Lena brings her hands up to Kara's muscles and gives them a strong squeeze making Kara let out a choked giggle and pulls back to look into Lena's eyes.

“I've only ever told one friend who I really am and now he doesn't see me as Kara the same way he used to, he looks at me and sees Supergirl. I don't want that to happen again, Supergirl is what I do but Kara is who I am.” Kara wipes away her tears and looks meaningfully into Lena's eyes.

“I think I understand.”

“Can we start over?”

“Of course.” Lena takes a step back away from Kara and pats the non-existent wrinkles out of her shirt.

Kara takes a deep breath before offering her hand to Lena. “Hi, my name is Kara Zor-El and I'm an alien from Krypton.”

“Well hello there Ms. Zor-El, I'm Lena Luthor and I'm a human from Earth.” They smile at each other broadly, giggling at themselves. “I promise I will always see you Kara, even when other people won't.”

“Thank you, Lena. Really, it means a lot.”

“No, thank you.” Kara tilts her head in confusion in similar fashion to that in which a golden retriever puppy would. “You could have lied about who you are, where you are from, but instead you trusted me with your secret even though we have only been friends for a few short weeks, it's been a long time since anyone has trusted me like this.”

“Well, your device kinda took away a lot of my choice but I do trust you Lena, I understand that you are just trying to escape your brother's legacy and make a name for yourself. I knew it from the second I came in your office with Clark Kent and I haven't stopped believing since. In fact, I probably understand better than anybody what it's like being trapped in the shadows of your family.”

“You truly are one of a kind Kara.” Kara blushes at the compliment, making Lena smile. “Now, how about we pick this conversation up again after we go try than new Italian place down the street? On me of course. I think that it will do us both some good to have a little while to think through everything. ”

“Just when I think that you can't get any more perfect Lena Luthor, you surprise me. Plus, now that you know my secret I don't have to restrain myself during our lunch dates and can eat as much as my heart desires and this one is on me because I can't expect you to pay for how much food I'm about to order, heavy conversions make me hungry.”

“When aren't you hungry darling?”

“When I'm asleep.” Lena's laugh ricochets around the office as she grabs her coat and they make their way out.

[grim-faux]

09_Snare

 First

 A long time ago, he accepted that no matter how hard he tried, how far he wandered, the man in the hat would find him. Not like he was very active in the escape; he wanted to reach the tower and get inside. It was at time convenient to travel near the tall man, the presence as unsettling to him as it was to the other adults that would normally tear after him.

 It was a problem, since he had no idea what should be done once he found Six. If When he found Six – and he would find her – they would have to get away. Again. The idea of reverting back to the running and escape heightened his unease. The man in the hat would find them, just knew where he was. Always knew.

 Six was gone, the man stole her. Why would help, or let him, steal Six back?

 Nothing added up. None of it made sense. It was a trap. But a trap, when already caught? Very confusing, and scary.

 If he knew more of the man, then a better chance for the run and the escape would be his. They could trick the man, they were good at tricks. She was good at leading and finding places, and he was good as bait. They could figure this out.

 When the Thin Man stopped following, Mono let out a little sigh. The oppressive gaze was gone and the static faded from the air. He could focus on finding his way, getting lost and less found. Sometimes, that was the way to find what was missing. Stop looking for it, stop knowing where you were, become lost with it. Find first. Run later.

 Run-run-run-run-run-run-run-run-run-run-run-run-run-run-run-run- run-run-run-run-run.

 The light within the doors crooned a strange melody, a calming and gentle sing. The tail of his coat flashed and frilled as he spun this or that way, dashing to one radiant portal to the next, trying to smell through the strange dust and mist of this place. It was a strange place. The corridors familiar somehow, but not in the way they pretended to be places he knew. It was a different kind of familiar, something he felt should be known but was not easily placed.

 These colors he knew. The walls, too. Sometimes it was hard to walk and push on – his limbs like lead and the air resisted his passage. It was a silent and invisible torrent of a storm rattling against his body, but nothing visible wailed against him. He didn’t think about trying to run away. First Her. First Six.

 A thrashed door greeted him, mocking his approach. The cracks gawked at him, and he swore it sniggered. He took an axe and tore away the illusion.

 Then he found her. And felt this whole trial had been for nothing. Nothing ever went right in the horrible place.

 It was Six, he knew it was her. But she was monstrous and twisted, a horrendous memory gone awry. How could he fix this? Was it possible? It wasn’t possible, his friend was too distorted. There was no way.

 “Sorry,” he murmured, and stroked her arm. He never gave her sorry. Never showed her how it meant.

 The lumbering behemoth didn’t seem to understand. But she did show him the music box. The thing which guided him here, and twittered its lovely sing. Calming and soothing, somehow sad. Like a place that was left behind and forgotten, but a piece of it always remained. Waiting for them.

 Mono curled up by an open suitcase, staring at her as she watched him. The music box chirping endlessly, reminding him where he first found her. What they had to do to escape the place. It was a good memory, but a hard one to return on.

 He broke his friend. He broke her so bad.

 The music box seemed to judge him. Snickered and gargled ugly noises.

 I keep. You leave. She is mine. Mine-mine-mine.

 He took up the axe and crept over to the thing. He managed to get her away from the melodic device, then, with her back turned, like a thief, like the worst kind of monster ever. He brought the axe down.

 And the laughter screeched in his mind.

 The walls distorted and lurched, with each strike of the metal cylinder. It screamed at him. She screamed at him. The walls glared and hissed, eyes glittered within the cracks.

 “I’m sorry!” he howled. The loudest that he ever screamed before, it cut something in his throat. She almost caught him when he hid under a table, snagged the blanket over his back with long disjointed arms. He didn’t stop, he would never stop. Never!

 “SORRY!” With each careening crack, everything became much worse. She became worse.

 But it was hurting this place, too. And that’s what mattered. It hurt the place that stole people. And that’s what he wanted. Hurt it, punish it. Make it regret!

 Give Six B̸̢̧̢̲͉̤̙̻̭͈̤͚͍̭̫̖͇̞̯̦̲̭̜͚̰̜͕̜̦͆̔̅̓̌̚͠͝A̷̩͇͉̿̽̀͌̒̏̌͛̐͊̏̈́̽̓͘̕C̵̡̢̟̪͈͇͎͇̟͉͔̣̖̭̠̜̩͇̬̦̝͕̦̰̓́̅́͌̄̈́̃͂̒̐̉́͋̍̐̇̀̔̀͛̽̅̽̒́̏͠͝͝K̵̡̨̛̤̲̰͉̔̃̇̈͂̊̓̀͠!̸̨̢̮͚̝̳͈͎͚͇͉̗̺͉͗̓̈́̈́͋͛̉̓͋̇͘͝

 Possessed by his rage and terror, he tore through the barrier built to hold him back from his friend. She cowered over the box, hissing, eyes flashing inside the hood of her coat. He wondered if this was right, if he was doing what was good.

 But the place would eat her. There would be nothing left. He wouldn’t let die. It couldn’t end like that.

 He tricked her away. While her back was turned, he brought the axe down.

 Everything was crumbling and warped, the ceiling buckled. Terrible eyes glared, and in there someone, something was laughing.

 She tried to steal the music box away. He brought the axe down one last time, summoning all the strength in his battered body. Everything went black.

 It couldn’t have been long. The place was still coming undone; plaster and cinderblocks erupted off the walls… something gross and oozing spilled forth. Beneath his back the floor twitched and withered. He sat up.

 Across from where he fell. Her! The Six! It was his Six. Normal, small, not horrendous Six. She was standing, all back and put together. His friend!

 He couldn’t help himself. He raised an arm and waved. “OI!”

 She twisted to him. Then, gathered in their surroundings. Eyes everywhere, gleaming, teeth gnashed. The walls would chew them, that much was a promise.

 He swung his arm and struggled to rise – nearly collapsing – the wind knocked from him in that last barrage. His feet couldn’t hold his weight. He gave a sharp whistle, cutting through the grinding bellow of everything around them. There was a path, to the side. He swept his arm out, gesturing, unsure if she saw through the distortions of light. She must’ve, because she zipped by.

 Mono was not far behind. Not too far.

 But the walls rolled and rebelled against the confines of a building, or the mask of a harmless place. Eyes tore out of notches, veiny and bulbous masses bubbled from the ground where his feet should stand. They ran like never before, and Six kept the lead. She guided the way, and if not for the yellow coat she wore, he might’ve become so lost in all the silt and shadows swirling.

 He rolled over another wave of flesh but caught his footing fast and smooth, barely missing a step. The floor around them disintegrated, and the walls crooned with snarling laughter. He nearly went down and off the side, but shoved back up onto his feet and staggered. Breathing coming in ragged spits, his sides thrummed from this abuse – stop-stop! You have to stop this!

 He would collapse in the rain or some grungy bog, but not here! This place was made of death.

 Ahead the path caved and collapsed. He thought for a moment she too, went into the chasm below – the entirety of it so deep, he felt his soul leech off into the infinite darkness. But no! She was there, turning back. Her outline clear and distinct against the sizzling glean of a screen. A television!

 Without a second thought, he leapt from the edge – not judging, not wondering if he could make the jump. His coat and the blanket flared out as he came down, fast! He shoved his arm out.

 Six lurched from the other side, throwing a hand out.

 Gotcha!

 Mono whined in his throat when his arm crashed against the toothy side of the broken platform. But hurt meant he was not dead. He reached for his shoulder and tried not to jostle, she might not have the best grip on the ledge. He looked up and blinked hard at the soot, tightened his grip on her hand to express that appreciation he couldn’t convey.

 And then waited.

 The walls thundered, the place was still collapsing. Whatever blistering radiance which followed them here, gave out and darkened. They had to go. It was time to leave. Mono didn’t respond or say a word, she knew. But maybe, maybe she was hurt too and needed a moment more. He stared up at her, and she gazed back. Or… he presumed she gazed, her hood concealed most of her face.

 Then he was falling.

 It was so effortless, without warning. She inched him up a bit, then… her hand was gone. The tight hold tore out of his grasp. His arm cut along the side of the bridge, and he was plunging unrestrained. Into the dark abyss that growled below.

 No.

 She stood there, observing. Unmoving.

 I’m….

 Was she mad? She was mad. But….

 I’m SORRY!

 Mono reached, tried to stretch his arm higher from the depths curling around his sinking form. As if that would change anything. He coiled his hand into a fist, wanting to feel that warm palm in his. Not the icy air rushing in to rob him of that contact. Stealing him away, from her, and the light. He was falling.

 But WHY?!

 He was falling.

 He was falling.

 She let him fall.

 He was going to die. He was plunging into a deep, dark grave. A living pit, of writhing walls and millions of eyes and teeth. Don’t let me GO!

 His shoulder wrenched within a vice, and he thought for certain he’d collided with the wall or some chunk of cement smashed into his bones. But his plunge ceased, the swiftness of it dragged out of his legs and through his toes. Reflexively he snapped his head up to where she was, but he was so far below, couldn’t see the surface above or if she was there still. He whipped his head around, and kind of wished he was still falling.

 A set of fingers knotted around his shoulder, extending to an arm and to a familiar hat. The shimmer of the static screen glistened across the downcast bill, he couldn’t see the face. This was possibly worst. If he was dead, he couldn’t be hurt. There was no telling what that would do with him. And no one was coming to save him. No one was left who would care.

 The fingers tightened and he cringed, but suddenly he was sailing through open air. His knees barely cleared the rocky surface of the path and he landed poorly, but light swarmed around him. His was basking in the hard silver light of the television screen. What happened? Why was he here? Where was Six?

 Mono pushed himself up off his knees and edged toward the light – a crack formed in the screen, as the wall around it disintegrated. A low, groaning croon worked its way through the surface.

 __

 Too close.

 That had been too close.

 This was all supposed to work out differently, as he recalled. It had been decades, but he knew the events too well. Replayed them near constantly, when he wasn’t wondering of the cruelty of it all. He might know something about what the child was made to endure, or had endured, but not all of it. Unlike the child, no one caught him when he fell. He fought, he retaliated. Enough was ENOUGH. The whole affair exhausted him.

 The Thin Man tried to adjust his posture and ease back. Too close. The boy nearly fell out of sight completely, and that was after he tempered time. He nearly missed, almost couldn’t draw the child back.

 The thundering walls howled at him. Shut up. You’ll have me.

 The small bridge crumbled and he lost his grip, his long legs swung down against the base. Somehow, his arms managed to loop over the surface and keep him from swinging off into the gnashing void. Despite knowing where this would all go, and how this was meant to lay out, he brought his face to the side of his shoulder and just… held on. A little longer. Debris splint and showered his hat, and the ravenous abyss clawed at his feet. It would drag him down and hold him tight. Now that it knew everything. Now that he understood. The last item he wanted to insure, was that the—

 “HEY!”

 He was in the process of turning his head, but the hoot caught him off guard and he all but lost his hold completely. What?

 Ẅ̶̧̨̻͚͇̙͎̥̝͇͈̮͖́H̵̗̟͔͓̑̏̉̈́̀̐́̇͆̀̀̇̑̈̕͘͝Ą̸̦̠̪̣͈͖͍͉̞͐͋͑͋̀̑̎̀̀̀̽̽̐͊͝T̵̨̬͕̱̞̝̰̫̞̰̉̍͆̾̏̀̍̉̀͠?̶̡̛͉̞̺̮͈̩͚̲̙̟͕̬͚͓̗̬́̃͆̆̿͛͗̍̚!̶̙͚̣̬̟̠͙̟̺̮͖̤̹͊͋̕?̵͎͗͆͐́̈͂̄͑̌̒̈́͐͘͠͝!̸̧̧̛̳͍͇̦̙̈́̽̑̂͂̈́̎̇̀̏̄͂͝͝

 Of all the— this child was still there! His escape was evaporating!

 His impulse was wave the foolish boy away, but his arms were occupied. Instead, he hissed, “Go.”

 The boy shook his head, a stalwart silhouette against the grinding screech of static. “Here! Here!”

 The Thin Man lost his hold but managed to snare the remnants of the path with his fingertips. “No! My place here.” It would be fine. He would return to his room. Leave the child to have a few more years or however long in the sun. It was a dangerous and unforgiving world, but living in a trap parading as a cage, deceiving him into believing there was sanctuary… that was more dangerous. He’d learn.

 “Stay with!” the child hailed. He ducked backwards, when a chunk of wall folded down. He glanced back to the screen, the exit, debating. “Here! With!” He tottered to the edge. “Then stay with!” The edge began decaying, and he was forced to retreat a few feet. “HAI!”

 He absolutely cannot believe this idiot, stubborn, dolt. Unbelievable. “You understand nothing!” If they’re both trapped, and… who knows what will happen. A dead end. Retaliation? He was going to ruin everything, without realizing the severity. “You will undo us.”

 Something below snared his ankle and heaved downward. The Thin Man was stretched to the extent of his arms and prepared to let go….

 When the walls ceased to thrum and coil inward. He blinked, baffled by this change. What happened? A low, hissing growl rumbled through the interior encompassing the chamber, but they moved no further. Some of the eyes shut and dissolved, the laughing for a moment ceased entirely – replaced only by that dangerous grating. A promise, that retaliation INDEED would be fast and cruel.

 Stunned, he twisted his head, nearly knocking his hat off. Ah. Ah!?

 The child was bent over the very crest of the bridge, one arm extended while the other pressed at the side of his head. It looked as though the whole event was taking its toll, he was crumpled under the exertion. He recalled one time, long-long ago, poised like that. But it certainly was not hunched over a collapsing wall.

 “Mono! Don’t!” It didn’t appear his words got through, the child warred with an entity he did not grasp. The boy might be less aware of his surroundings by now, and there would be no reasoning. No further warning. Fool!

 He tugged himself up, tearing his leg from whatever undesirable thing was latched on. Kicking his feet into the corrupt wall beneath, the Thin Man hoisted up the inverted wall and clambered awkwardly onto a more stable surface. For a moment longer it would hold. Only a bit longer, if the child could maintain this. Idiot, foolish….

 Once he collected himself and dusted off, he tempered time, stalling out the entire space. Overlapping with the tampering the child willed. When he checked the other side, he was alarmed to find the boy collapsed. Not only collapsed, but aimed to fold over and plunge into the wretched depths he had barely whisked him from.

 Teleport and time tampering was risky one after the other, but all and together? The effects on time would expire out and he wouldn’t have options to mull over. He shifted himself to the opposite side, a shriek of static and pop announced the distortion. That too, would be hard on the smaller one. At this point, it wouldn’t matter what happened if he didn’t resolve to risks. He spared a moment to coalesce himself, steady the static and fibers of the long-limbed shape. Then, whipped back and snagged the child by the coat tail, before he could topple fully over the edge.

 With the manipulator of the chamber incapacitated, the walls erupted with an aggravate shriek. The last of the cement and rebar splint free, and a hundred eyes snapped open, searching. For the first time in what seemed to be his entire existence, this ugly placed sounded… upset.

 The Thin Man cradled the child over his palm and knelt, touching at the screen blazing with white fury. With well-mannered intuition he tuned the transmission, all the while ignoring the swelling mass creeping closer and bubbling around his shoulders. Once satisfied, he forced the child and his shoulder through, then the rest of his lithe form. At his feet, the boiling flesh collided with the transmitter.

 On the other side, a television set burst.

Next

[datawyrms]

The thrilling conclusion. (may not actually be thrilling/a conclusion) Part 1 and 2 respectively. Why was she actually doing this? Standing outside of FentonWorks and it’s eye searing sign in full ghost fighting gear, preparing to knock on the door. It had to be a trap, the ghost kid must have done something to the ghost hunters to make them want to help it. ‘Wanting to talk’, as if. Yet here she was, blundering right into the obvious bear trap anyway. Danny still hadn’t returned to school, even though Sam and Tucker had been acting like they knew where he was, so they had to be in on it too. If Phantom thought he could use her friend against her, he’d have another thing coming. Several very painful things, even. She clenched her fist hard to stop the slight tremor before knocking on the door.

Jack always struck her as more of a brick wall than a man, towering and orange as the door swung open. He looked puzzled for half a second before beaming. “HA! I was right, you did show up! See Mads, she totally did!” He seemed more like an excited puppy than anything, neck craning back to talk to his wife.

“Yes Jack, I see her.” Maddie still had the hood of her suit up, adjusting the goggles as she peered out to their doorstep at the teenage ghost hunter. “You did come to talk, right?”

“Course she did! He’s gotta trust his friends more, like I do!”

Even with her face obscured, Maddie clearly wasn’t a fan of the ‘trusting friends’ line, lips pursed before patting the boisterous man on the back. “How about you go let him know sweetie, while I let her in?”

“Great idea! I’ll even get some discussion fudge!” He zipped away faster than Valerie thought he could manage, the oppressive positivity swept away with him as the blue jumpsuited hunter crossed her arms.

“You don’t have any weapons? We have more than enough ourselves if you’re worried about your safety.”

“I won’t do anything if that ghost doesn’t.” It was hard to keep the disgust out of her voice, watching them act like this. Maddie had always struck her as the more reasonable Fenton, yet she seemed far more worried about some ghost than Jack did, for all his positivity.

“That isn’t what I asked. So I’ll repeat it. Do you have any weapons on you? If you do, just hand them over and then we can talk.”

She was talking like she was more of a threat than that monster in the basement! Whatever that ghost did, it must have been powerful. Maddie Fenton, worried for a ghost she’d gladly spoken about cutting open in the name of science only a month ago. It felt like she’d walked into bizarro world. Maybe if she waited long enough a white rabbit would run by screaming about the time.

“I didn’t bring any weapons. Even though I should have.”

Maddie watched her for a long moment, as if trying to see past the mask and figure out if the red suited ghost hunter was trying to lie. With the smallest sigh, she stepped aside to allow her into the home that doubled as a laboratory. “Follow me. You’ll be perfectly safe.”

She doubted anyone could be perfectly safe in a lab with a portal to another dimension filled with ectoplasmic fiends in it, adding the most dangerous ghost that liked to play ‘innocent’ just made it worse. She wouldn’t be alone down there, judging by the snippets of conversation that were floating up the stairs.

“-not gonna eat that, just take it.”

“Aww, but it’s the good stuff!”

“You need to try-” Jazz stopped speaking at the sound of footsteps on the stairs, turning to glare at the ghost hunter.

Phantom barely even reacted, only the eerie green eyes flicking towards the entrance. Apparently he was too busy sitting comfortably in what looked like a recliner they’d brought down for the ghost to bother with more than that. It just seemed off, having a ghost looking so grounded. “Left it to the last day, huh?” The confident grin didn’t reach his eyes, and even that vanished after a few seconds, like it had been more of a habit than wanting to act like that.

“Only because I know you’re up to something.”

“Yup. That’s me, plotting evil deeds. Maybe next time I won’t get punched through a wall!” He had the energy to roll his eyes, but didn’t cross his arms like she expected him to. “You can go guys, it’s just a chat. Probably.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea-” Maddie’s concern was sickening, watching someone she could respect sometimes just fawning over a playacting ghost.

“I’ll be fine. This is between us.”

“Sure thing! Oh, if you have any symptoms just yell and I’ll be right there kiddo.” The huge man mussed the ghost’s hair, grin wide despite how wrong it looked. “I totally thought of a new approach, so just sit tight!” He was halfway up the stairs by the time he finished talking, not that the distance made him any less audible. Maddie hesitated a moment longer, but followed the loud love of her life.

The only unjumpsuited Fenton seemed to disagree. “I’m not leaving.”

“Yes you are Jazz!”

“I don’t care if she stays, ghost. You can quit stalling.” Valerie interrupted before the two of them could make her wait for ages with some pointless bickering.

Instead the redhead rounded on her. “He has a name. Use it.”

“Jazz, I really don’t care. Just go already.” He looked almost as irritated as she felt . “I just want to get this over with.”

“I don’t trust her not to do something.”

Didn’t trust her? Over the destructive white haired menace? That was just insulting. “You said you’d talk, so start explaining” she did her best to ignore Danny’s sister, it was probably just whatever the ghost was holding over their heads making her act like this.

“Won’t help if you don’t actually listen for a change.” His eyes narrowed, but more at Jazz than Valerie. “You don’t need to hear this Jazz. Okay?”

“If you think I don’t, I definitely do.” She scowled right back, acting as if they were a bratty younger kid than a ghost that could rip her face off. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“Fine! Whatever, be stubborn. Can’t do anything about it.” His eyes seemed to glow more strongly before the ghost slumped back more in the chair. “So what do you think I did then? Since you keep trying to bother my friends.”

“There’s no way you got the Fentons and those two on your side without leverage. Sure, some kids actually buy that hero crap, but the Fentons don’t.” Only having a finger to point at the ghost made her feel unprepared.

The glowing teenager looked bored. “So you think I’m a kidnapper.”

“I know you did something to Danny. The timing matches up too well. So out with it.”

“Or what, you’ll kill me faster?” He seemed to freeze up after the words were out, smacking himself in the face. “Habit. I didn’t do anything, but it’s going to be hard to explain.”

This was such a waste of time. “Because it’s all made up nonsense?”

“It’ll sound like it! But it’s not. I can prove it.” the ghost stopped as if he needed to catch his breath. “At least I think I can. You left this really, really late.”

“You’re getting off track.” Jazz spoke up before Valerie could say something similar but with far less charitable phrasing.

“Right. Just trying to figure out how to say it.” A gloved hand rubbed at his forehead, brow furrowed as the ghost muttered. “You know what ghosts are made of, right?”

“Ectoplasm and bad attitudes. Duh, anyone in Amity could tell you that.” What was this, quiz time? Some sort of ‘How long can I annoy the ghost hunter before she shoots and makes me look good’ plan?

His shoulders barely move, a negative effort shrug. “Close enough.”

“It really isn’t! Ectoplasm might be what a ghost builds their body out of but-”

Phantom cut her off, leaning forward with the air of absolute exhaustion. “Jazz I do not have time to explain the specific inner workings of ghosts to someone who hates me right now!”

“It’ll help with the next bit, but fine. Go ahead and get all confused.” The redhead sat back, arms crossed.

“Thank you.” Green eyes shifted to find Valerie again before the ghost continued. “Thing is, I’m not all ectoplasm.”

“Is that why you’re extra obnoxious? Have some dirt mixed in there?”

The ghost actually laughed. “Probably!” He did hold up a hand while the laugh subsided, apparently having something more to add. “Not all dirt. But you got the important bit. I’m not a proper ghost, exactly.”

“I don’t run some endangered petting zoo, ghost. So why should I care?” Though it did explain the hunter ghost that was always after the obnoxious white haired creep.

“You should care because right now, I’m doing the whole ‘post human consciousness’ thing completely wrong.” He was watching her closely, a strange look on that dead face. Dread, anxiety? It didn’t look right on his face. “In that I’m not post human. Yet.”

Maybe the ghost was just trying to see if he could get a funny reaction. “Sorry Phantom, you look really dead to me.”

“Oh I feel real dead! But nope. Ah- I said I can prove it, don’t start yelling.” he muttered the last bit quickly, eyes flicking away from her obvious disbelieving glare. “Probably. Hurts. Gimme a sec-”

“I just wanted an answer to what you were doing, not this inane story.”

“Inane story very important answering that.” the ghost didn’t seem to even notice he was just dropping words from his sentence, more focused at staring at his own hand.

Jazz got up, hovering over the ghost as if deeply concerned for the absurdity spouting spirit. “I can back you up, you don’t need to prove it.”

“She’ll never believe it without seeing it. Which is why we’re doing this at all. Before I can’t.”

“Mom and Dad are still working on it, they’ll figure out a way to fix it.”

“No they won’t Jazz! I want them to, but they won’t! Not with how they explained it.”

“You’re just letting the worst outcome seem like the most likely one.”

“No, I’m actually understanding what they mean and being realistic!”

Honestly, this entire little exchange felt like something private she’d barged in on. She gave a loud cough, which seemed to startle both of them, heads jerking to look in her direction. They almost looked related, being that in sync.

The psychology lover recovered first. “Urgh. Just say it out loud, you’re obviously struggling.”

Which snapped the ghost boy out of it. “And you’re obviously not helping!”

“So what, you threatened the Fentons with a really bad comedy act?” The ghost winced at the angry rebuke, but she wasn’t done. “I get you being obnoxious, but dragging Jazz into it? You’re pretty sick.”

“He’s Danny.” There was no amusement in her voice, no hint of the concerned smile she kept giving the ectoplasmic pest.

“Jazz!” There was a genuine note of anger, and the temperature seemed to dip as the ghost glared at the one that didn’t want him blasted out of existence.

“I don’t really care what you call him, that doesn’t answer-”

Jazz cut her off, ignoring the cold glare being thrown at her. “It does. Danny isn’t missing, he’s right here.”

“You managed to trick the Fentons into thinking you’re their kid? What did you do to Danny?” Valarie rounded on the ghost, hand reaching for a weapon that wasn’t there.

“Nothing!” His hands were up even as his eyes stayed fixed on the elder Fenton child. “I told you she won’t believe it!”

“Nothing’s happened to Danny. This is him. Only grumpier.”

“You can’t honestly think that thing is your brother!”

“Wow Jazz, you managed to get me called a thing. Great assist, keep it up.” Phantom was muttering, settling back as if he planned to just take a nap. “If you keep this up, maybe she’ll shoot me!”

“You could try standing up for yourself, Danny.”

“Oh no, you dug this hole. You lie in it. I’d say your grave, but I have dibs in that department. Twiceover!”

She was going to punch this ghost. Even if the creature could just phase through it. She wanted to clobber it for whatever THIS was. “So you killed Danny, and took his place. That’s what you’re saying?” At least she had the satisfaction of the ghost looking like it wanted to vanish as she stepped forward.

“Hey, I didn’t say anything. That was Jazz.”

“No! Danny’s always been both. I’ve known for a while, but he had to tell Mom and Dad. That’s why they’re suddenly fine with Phantom.” Jazz insisted, trying to look Valerie in the eye. “He isn’t missing, and hasn’t done anything to us.”

“Danny is not a life ruining monster. I don’t care how convincing that thing seems to you, that ghost is NOT my friend.” Danny was sweet, big hearted and a bit of a shy little dork. Phantom was nothing but a snide, cocky creep that insisted you should just forget anything that made him look like the scummy ghost he was. They were nothing alike.

“And this is why I just wanted to make things quick.” The ghost seemed to fold in on himself, not looking at either of the humans in the room. “You can hate me all you want, just let me explain.”

“There’s nothing to explain! You aren’t Danny.”

“He is. It explains everything. Think about it logically. Danny goes ‘missing’. He tries to fix the problem himself, but he can’t. We convince him he has to tell our parents. He finally does, and even though Danny is still ‘missing’ they stop saying things like a ghost kidnapped him. Because we know where he is.”

“Or he’s still missing and you’ve bought some nonsense story to feel better about it when this ghost probably just tortured him for information.” Jazz didn’t back down from her snappy response, but did seem to be at a loss.

“Hey! I do not do torture. That’s literally everyone who isn’t me.” the ghost sounded offended, shaking his hand as if trying to get it to do something. “Anyway, this is going to suck. I blame you Jazz.”

“Excuse me for thinking friends of yours can be logical with the truth in their faces!”

“Nah. I get to say I told you so for a change.”

Valrie planned to make the two quit their pointless bickering, but words died in her throat as a set of rings appeared near the ghost’s wrist. It wasn’t an attack she’d seen the menace use before and she was already settling into a fighting stance to combat it. Yet it stayed around the ghost, slowly down his arm. It seemed a bit much as a way to take off a ghostly jumpsuit, but she preferred that first thought to how the ghost changed as it swept over his face.

Black hair, blue eyes. Her friend’s face, Danny’s face set in a grimace of pain as the rings snuffed out, a boy that looked pale and sickly while struggling to breathe where the blight of a ghost had been.

“Yup. Sucks. Ow.” Danny wheezed, eyes unfocused even though he knew the two of them were still there.

Jazz was there in seconds. “You need to switch back. Mom said-”

“S-she’s gotta know it isn’t a trick first.” the boy insisted, and his voice was right. It was Danny’s, without the horrid echo or slimy snaps the ghost made.

Yet it had to be a trick. There was no way her friend had been a lie. Just some rotten ghost who’d gotten close to her as some sort of joke. A ghost that had tricked her after making sure she knew he was nothing but a monster in one disguise. “Who are you.” The question was weak.

“Just Danny. Been this way since the accident.” He looked like he was going to say more but was cut off by a coughing fit, flecks of ectoplasm making his pale skin look even closer to dead as it splattered on his hastily raised hand. “That’s new.” His laugh set her teeth on edge.

Her brain wouldn’t work. It was impossible, it couldn’t be true. She didn’t want it to be true. She’d liked him well enough before. This-she wasn’t sure how else she could take this. “So why are you telling me now.”

“I wanted you to know while I could still prove it.”

“Why? Did you think this would help you? Think I might pity you if you look sick?”

“No.” Blue eyes looked away as the rings returned the ghost to the chair. “I told you so you’d leave my friends alone. Since I don’t think I’m going to stop being missing.”

He’d revealed his nasty trick, but wasn’t mocking her about it, or lording over her with it. It didn’t fit. They couldn’t be the same person. You couldn’t be alive and dead at the same time! She wanted to choke him, but also wanted to help. She hated this, she hated him for making this complicated. “Stay missing?” The sickness had to be an act, right? Like how he pretended he was a friend.

“Yeah. I got lucky in the accident. I wasn’t quite a ghost, and not exactly a human.” Phantom wasn’t looking at her as he spoke, apparently preferring to stare at the wall. “It was a balance thing, I guess. I didn’t really notice at first. Like the obvious I did, the whole having ghost powers thing, being able to switch back and forth.” The rambling didn’t stop even as he started scratching at the back of his neck. “I didn’t notice even as a human I needed ectoplasm to keep my heart going, or as a ghost I could use more than just ectoplasm to keep my energy up. I need both halves, I can’t survive without both.” He hesitated again, getting a reassuring hand on the shoulder from Jazz. “Problem is I managed to get that balance screwed up. Ran myself ragged fighting ghosts, didn’t get enough sleep, basically coasted on my ghost half to keep functioning. And I’m a strong ghost now, I guess. Too strong for my weak human body to manage anymore. So I’m basically eating myself alive and falling apart. It’s great. This is when I have a quip about work life balance or something, but I’m too tired to think of one.”

“He wasn’t hiding this out of maliciousness you know. He was afraid.” Jazz was frowning as she watched how the ghost hunter hadn’t really relaxed, still stiff and angry looking. “He couldn’t even make himself tell Mom and Dad until we basically forced him to.”

“She doesn’t care, Jazz.” he grunted, still not looking, “But you know now. So you don’t need to go after anyone to find out what happened. It’s self inflicted.”

It was too much. The whole thing was absurd. What could she even say to something like this? To have the world invert to show ugly stains you didn’t see before? They would need to talk again. About this. About what he actually was, or wasn’t. Now though?

She could only leave without a word.

[erekiosuncreativeideas]

Being Human - Chapter 13

<= Chapter 12

Summary : Snatcher makes up with the kids Also available on AO3 : https://archiveofourown.org/works/24826561/chapters/65582983

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Another chapter, yohoo ! I hope you'll like it ! Thank you for all your lovely comments, you're all so nice !!

The “Oh The Humanity” AU belongs to @doodledrawsthings​ !

Happy reading !

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Chapter 13 - “What’s ‘Corgi Quest’?”

With Cooking Cat to help him to stay stable in the hallway, going back to the spaceship hub was easier. Snatcher didn’t like being reminded of how weak he looked at the moment, but he had managed to push his pride aside, if only for a brief moment. The cat was nice and considerate enough to make no comments about it, which was more than welcome for the former spirit.

It didn’t take them long to leave the first hallway and to cross the machine room. When they reached the second and last hallway before reaching the hub, voices could be heard from the other side of the door, informing them that the little girls were there. Suddenly, Snatcher felt his heart sunk in his chest. God, why was he reacting this way! There was literally nothing to be afraid of! It wasn’t the first time he had angered the brats and it certainly wouldn’t be the la-

Wait. Why was he even worried about that anyway? He was the powerful ghost of Subcon Forest! He had killed so many people and now he was worried about little children being mad at him? Oh please, what a joke. He rolled his eyes at himself, Gods, he was so stupid.

A little pat on his hand cut his thoughts short, catching his attention. Just like before, Cooking Cat was patting him, trying to reassure him, to comfort him. Ugh.

-“It’ll be okay,” she assured with a smile: “I’m sure they forgave you already.”

The former spirit glanced away, both irritated and embarrassed, because heck, he hated being this easy to read. How was she even able to do that? Well, it didn’t matter. What mattered was that it was annoying and that it made Snatcher think about things he’d rather ignore. He let out a long and exhausted sigh, turning to the cat with a scowl on his face:

-“Oh please, I don’t care what they think. They might as well be sulking, it changes absolutely nothing for me,” he groaned, more than exasperated: “All I care about is to be dead again. That’s all.”

The other only nodded her head as an answer. She probably knew it was best not to argue with him on that topic, considering how sensitive it was for the moment. Whatever wanted to say at his words, she kept it for herself, staying silent and motionless instead. She was waiting for him to approach the door for it to open, not rushing him.

Gods. He was so ridiculous.

The former ghost took a deep breath and, ignoring how much his legs felt like cotton, took a few steps towards the door. As soon as it opened, the mechanical sound echoing all around, it was like a weight settled on his stomach, twisting his guts as soon as his eyes spotted the two little girls. They had changed and were now wearing coloured pyjamas, still wearing their signature headgear, weirdly enough. They were sitting in front of the television, watching, no, doing something with it? He wasn’t sure what, he was not very informed regarding new technologies, considering he lived in the same forest for centuries. They were holding weird things in their hands, black devices with coloured buttons on it. Whatever they were doing, they were also bumping each other with their shoulders, loud high-pitched giggles resonating in the room. However, when they heard the door, they both turned around in his direction.

-“Oh, you’re back,” started the hatted brat, her voice almost passive aggressive. Yep, she was mad, just like he had thought. She seemed to make an effort as her younger friend “discretly” nudged her in the back, instructing her to be nice: “You feeling better?” she asked with a more neutral tone.

Did he feel better? He supposed he did, though it was hard to say. His mind was like a cacophony of thoughts, all very, very different from one another. Some part of him did feel better, it was true, while his pride was screaming at how sappy and mushy the whole situation was. It was most likely this part of himself that snapped earlier, or had at least contributed to his meltdown. It really was strange and uncomfortable to say the least.

-“Yeah,” he replied, still with a grumpy expression on his face: “guess so.”

He had been tempted to go with his usual approach, putting a show with the loud persona he had fabricated through the centuries. After all, it had almost completely fused with his, well, original personality, having been kept in a cold cellar for days changing him greatly, just like the after-life did. He was not the nice and compassionate Prince anymore. He was The Snatcher, a powerful soul-stealing ghost that had no remorse over killing people for his own survival and, by now, even for fun. And yet… And yet, sometimes, putting on the mask that had become such a second nature to him became… Difficult. Unnatural.

Right now was one of those times.

For a brief instant, he thought he saw a remorseful look on the hat-wearing child’s expression, though it quickly died down as he glanced away. She looked like she wanted to forgive him, but it was a bit too early for her to completely do so. At least, that’s what Snatcher thought it meant, it wasn’t like he was some kind of social behaviour specialist. If anything, law was his forte, but this? He was just guessing at this point.

His thoughts were cut short as the bow-wearing kid joined the conversation, lifting a plate of grilled cheese sandwich that had been on the ground until now. She was smiling at him, yet it was easy to see she was somewhat trying to hide her unease behind a warm expression:

-“We saved some for you,” she informed him with a gentle voice before cringing a bit as she glanced down at the food: “… Well, it’s cold now, but we can always reheat it later when you want!”

Snatcher frowned, feeling something akin to guilt rise in his chest. It felt wrong, so, so wrong, and he couldn’t help but grit his teeth. He normally didn’t care about being the bad guy, about being unfair or mean, or, well, murderous. Yet, there was something in this very specific situation that gave him an awful feeling of shame, one he really wished he could ignore.

What was happening to him?

-“Yeah, fine,” he simply replied, embarrassment unfortunately clearly audible in his voice as he walked closer, not comfortable enough to say the magic word just yet. It just got stuck in his throat. Thankfully, the kids didn’t mention it. Just as he was about to ask what they were doing with the television and what they were holding in their hands, Cooking Cat’s voiced echoed just behind them:

-“Well,” she started, straightening her chef’s hat with her usual smile: “it’s getting late, I think it’s time for me to go home. I had a lot of fun today, thank you for inviting me!” she said to the kids before turning to him: “I hope you’ll teach me how to tell scary stories soon! But, on a more serious note, I really hope your wish to be a ghost again will come true. I can’t imagine how hard it must be to experience being alive after so much time as a spirit.”

Snatcher glanced away:

-“It’s… Not so great, yeah,” he confirmed with a frown.

Her smile disappeared for a bit, quickly replaced by a serious and compassionate expression:

-“Don’t push yourself too hard,” she advised with a caring tone: “Do what you can and if that doesn’t work out, it’s okay. You’ve been human for a day or two, barely, and I can only guess how much it is to take in. Try being nicer to yourself, it’s fine to fail sometimes.”

The former ghost scoffed at how corny this all was. Oh sure, what a great idea to rest and relax while his crazy ex could wreck havoc in his forest, freezing everything and everyone again! Of course, he’d have the right to, since he could “be nicer to himself” and that it was “fine to fail sometimes”! And if he came back to see the whole forest being covered in ice again, well, “whoopsie daisy!”, right?!

What a joke.

Cooking Cat could obviously tell that Snatcher wasn’t taking her words well, but knew better than to insist. She looked away, a bit embarrassed, though she tried to smile again. She turned to the children, who had watched the scene, silently:

-“Can you teleport me down there?” she gestured to the floor, or what was under it. The planet.

-“Yeah, of course,” replied the hatted girl, moving to the control panel, before waving at her: “See you soon, Cookie!”

The younger kid soon imitated her:

-“See you, take care!”

The cat looked happier from the kids’ kind words and waved back at them. Her eyes then glanced to the former spirit, smiling back at him:

-“Goodbye, Snatcher. I hope I’ll see you soon as well, in your true form this time,”

Snatcher only nodded in response, feeling all the stares being fixed on him once more. He liked attention, sure… But not like this. This one was oppressive, stressful and… In this meat sack of a body, he didn’t feel completely safe. However, Cooking Cat seemed satisfied with his answer, and nodded to the hat-wearing little girl, telling her she was ready for teleportation. Honestly, the man couldn’t help but be impressed at her calm face: his own experience through scientific teleportation was… Not a good one. He had always been fine teleporting magically, but this? This could be labelled as a vomit-inducing machine and he wouldn’t even be surprised.

The cat disappeared in a blink, a blue light quickly engulfing her for a second before it was gone, leaving no trace from her, as if she had never come onto the ship.

Silence fell in the room as the trio was left alone once more. The atmosphere was tense, almost palpable, no one knowing what to say after everything that had happened in only one single day. After all, it was a lot, it made sense that tensions started to appear after a while. Well, perhaps they mostly appeared because of him, but it didn’t matter.

Eventually, after a while, the bow-wearing kid gestured to the television with an awkward smile:

-“Wanna keep on playing Corgi Quest?” she offered, winking at the hatted brat, once more very “discreetly”. But it seemed to work as the other sighed yet shrugged nonetheless, visibly exhausted from the events of the day:

-“Yeah, fine, sounds good to me.”

Snatcher watched them walk to the television and sit on the nearby coloured pillows. Confusion was plastered on his face as he wondered what they could be talking about. ‘Corgi Quest’? What was that? Was it what they were doing before he and Cooking Cat entered the room? Was this a “TV thing” he wasn’t aware about? That could very well be the case, seeing as he only knew what a television was from what he learnt with his ex-contractors.

So, not a lot, considering they didn’t live long enough to explain what it was in further details. Not like he had thought he would need it someday, though…

-“What’s ‘Corgi Quest’?” he questioned, voicing his confusion, glancing at the kids then the television repeatedly, trying to understand.

-“Our favourite video game,” answered the hatted child, picking up one of the device from earlier -what was it?-, pushing some of the buttons and… Controlling what was happening on the screen? What? His brow furrowed even more: how did that work?

-“It sounds pretty simple, but Corgi Quest actually has a deep storyline!” added the younger child, her eyes full of stars: “It’s also very cute, and there’s even a multiplayer mode! Much better than in the last game, Corgi Quest 6. Oh yeah, we’re playing the 7th one, but you don’t need to have played the oth-”

-“Woah, woah, kiddo, stop,” interrupted Snatcher by lifting his hands in the air, already feeling a headache coming up just from hearing about all this stuff he couldn’t understand. What were they even talking about? He took a deep breath and pinched his nose, stopping soon afterwards. Wait, he never did that before, was it because he had a nose now?

-“First, I don’t care about all of that,” he established, though it was a lie: he was curious, at least on the way this was working: “Second, what the heck is a video game?”

This was a simple question, really, one he thought was basic and pretty common… And yet, as soon as the words left his mouth, the two children gasped as if he had insulted their parents in the worst possible ways. Wait, did he ever do that? He didn’t remember. Still, they were staring at him with wide eyes, clearly not believing a single word he had just said. Was it that obvious? If it was, why didn’t he hear about that from his victi- oh wait, right, he usually killed them before they got the chance to talk. Not that he wanted to, life outside of his forest didn’t interest him usually. And it wasn’t like talking with his “brain-dead servants” were entertaining, hearing them scream in pain was though.

His thoughts were cut short as the little girls exclaimed at the same time:

-“You don’t know what a video game is?!”

Snatcher shook his head, warier and warier as seconds passed. This was getting extremely suspicious and he wasn’t sure he wanted to know anymore, given the reactions he got just from not knowing whatever that thing was. In any case, apparently, said thing was pretty famous or at least common now.

The two kids shared a knowing and decided look, as if they telepathically agreed on something.

All of a sudden, Snatcher felt like he should have kept his mouth shut. But he didn’t have the time to think more, as the bow-wearing little girl moved behind him and pushed him more towards the television, while the older kid placed more pillows on the floor for him to sit on.

-“Wait, wait, what-” The former ghost tried to protest, but was interrupted as the brats forced him to sit down, his opinion clearly ignored from now on. Soon, one of the strange-looking device was placed in his hands, and he turned his head to the kids, even more perplexed than before.

-“Okay, so you definitely failed in life just not knowing what a video game was,” informed the hat-wearing child, an exaggerated look of disappointment in her eyes: “Allow us to educate you on that topic.”

-“Trust us,” added the younger one, placing her hand on her chest as if what she was saying was extremely important -when it wasn’t-: “We’re specialists.”

Snatcher’s confusion was now reaching new heights. He had no idea what they were talking about, and he was so bewildered by what was happening that, despite his wish to protest, his voice got stuck in his throat. His brain was trying so very hard to understand what was happening, but soon, the brats sat next to him… And started to explain things and concepts he had no idea existed before.

How did this even happen…? Whatever the answer was… Snatcher knew he was stuck with them until he learnt what those ‘video game’ things were.

This was it. Snatcher was cursed, and he had the feeling this was not going to end soon.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

Well, everything goes well ! Isn't that wonderful ? Truly, it would be such a SHAME if SOMEONE were to ruin that................. Not that it's going to happen or anything !! ... Unless...?

:)c

Anyway, thank you all for your comments, they mean so much to me !

=> Chapter 14

[nicka-nell]

Friend with the enemy - Chapter 2: Smile for me

Chapter 1 - the pretty boy  |     Masterlist     | Chapter 3 - An unfortunate reunion

Chapter: 2/4 | Oikawa x reader Words: 2.563 Warning: fluff, angst

(y/n) = your name | (l/n) = last name | (e/c) = eye colour | (h/c) = hair colour

The next few days are flying by and before you know it’s Monday afternoon. You tell Ushijima that you’re meeting a friend and that he should eat without you tonight. He just crosses his arms and raises an eyebrow. “Just a friend. Sure. Have fun, but don’t be late. After all, tomorrow is a school day, and we have to get up early." he says seriously before he says goodbye to you. Arrived at Aobajohsai, Oikawa is already waiting for you with his hands in his pockets. When he sees you, he waves to you and comes to meet you. “Hello (y/n)-chan, I’m really looking forward to seeing you again." He laughs friendly and scratches his neck. “Hello Tooru, nice to meet you." You answer him briefly but kindly. For a short moment, you both look deep into each other’s eyes and remain silent. You don’t know why, but you’re so nervous all of a sudden, and you feel your heart beating out loud. Oikawas smile is simply seductive. Hold on... (y/n) what do you think right now? You ask yourself and shake your head. “Shall we go?” you ask with a high voice and are surprised by your voice. Nodding, he moves and you follow him. Once at the fair, you’ll see lots of stalls, colorful lights, a lot of people and an incredible amount of smells that drive your hunger. “Mmmh here it smells really good like fresh milk bun." You mumble to yourself. “Huh? Are you hungry? Do you want a milk bun?" He’s looking at you. Hardly noticeable you nod embarrassed and look to the ground. “Come on." now you hear his voice and feel his grip on your arm. He pulls you behind him towards the bun stand and greets the seller, who smiles at you with a strange look. Is that supposed to be seductive or something? It’s disgusting, you think. In Oikawas corner of the eye, he recognizes your slightly disgusted look at the man and the man’s eyes on you don’t escape Oikawa either. “I’d like two milk bins. One with chocolate and the other..." Oikawa pulls you to your waist and makes you look into his eyes. “What do you want, my love?" he asks you with a narrow grin. “A- Also with chocolate." You answer quietly. What in the world has gotten into him? You ask yourself before he lets you go again. “You heard my love. Then two milk buns with chocolate." Demanding he looks at the seller who now fiercely reaches for the chocolate-filled milk buns and holds them against you. Oikawa puts the money on the counter and hands you one of the buns. "Fits like that." he says arrogantly and turns around with you in his arm. “Tooru, what was that all about?" you’re asking all confused as he pretends like nothing happened. “What do you mean? The guy tried to eat you from top to bottom with his eyes. I just wanted to make it clear to him not to look at you. Because you do not belong to him." Now with a serious voice he bites into his bun and looks at you from the corner of his eye. “I don’t belong to you either!" you yell at him. But somehow you thought it was sweet of him. “Yeah, but that’s not what I was saying... I... I'm sorry (y/n). I’ll make it up to you. Come on!” Weeping, he grabs your hand again and pulls you behind him. What’s he up to now? He stops in front of a score and looks around. “What is the best prize you can win here?" Almost energetically he asks the man who works at this stand. “Eh... So the teddy bear here is our biggest and most expensive prize. But for him, you'd have to knock down five times, all ten cans. But you only have two attempts per pyramid." He stutters uncertainly before himself. “Give me the balls!" he calls now still more resolutely and you consider briefly whether you should stop him from his plan, however, notice fast that it would not accomplish anything. With the ball in his hand, he breathes in and out completely concentrated. He’s completely changed from now on. And even before you can pronounce 'Teddy Bear', he has already brought down all five pyramids with only one stroke per pyramid. With big eyes and open mouths, the staff and you stand in front of Oikawa and look at him speechless. “The teddy bear I would like to have." he says surprisingly calmly and the employee hands it over to him without comment. “Do you forgive me, (y/n)?" He looks at you with puppy eyes. How could you say no here? Especially since you weren’t mad at him. Smiling, you take the bear and thank him. You guys keep moving. You with your big bear in your hands and Oikawa with two more milk buns he took. It’s dark by now, but you still have your fun. In front of a Ferris wheel you stop and look at the top cabin. “Do you want to ride the Ferris wheel?" Oikawa looks over to you. Now that you think about it, you’ve never been on a Ferris wheel. “Mhm..." you nod embarrassed and go to the Ferris wheel. Just before you want to climb into an open cabin, the man on the Ferris wheel tells you that you can’t take the bear with you, but he keeps it for you in the small ticket office until you come out. You are now sitting next to each other in a cabin and the rails that are in front of you are automatically folded down. Briefly you twitch together, but are calmed by a warm hand on your shoulder and a quiet smile from Oikawa. “There’s nothing to be afraid of. I'm right here.” He whispers quietly to you and the Ferris wheel moves. Having arrived at the highest point of the Ferris wheel, the Ferris wheel suddenly stops. “T... Tooru?” Panic you look in his direction and grip the rail that is close to your bodies. ’Please remain calm. We’ve got a power outage on the Ferris wheel. Our security staff are on their way to fix the problem. Nothing can happen to you. We apologize for the inconvenience.’ You hear a man talking in a megaphone. “Damn..." Oikawa sighs. “Don’t worry about it. It’ll be all right. Let’s do something nice. Look, there’s a bright star over there. Doesn’t he look beautiful?" he’s trying to calm you down. Still a little anxious you look forward and see a very bright star in the starry sky. “Yes... really nice...” you stutter quietly and try to move as little as possible. Oikawa realizes that you are still afraid and thinks about how he can change that. “Did you know... When I was little, I was very afraid of injections. I started crying three days before. But don���t tell anyone." Embarrassed he looks at you and notices how your facial features relax. Oikawa is really afraid of injections? Such a tall man? You don’t know why, but it makes you feel better that even Tooru Oikawa, who seems perfect in everything, is afraid of something. Without wanting it, you start laughing. You don’t laugh at him. No, it’s a happy laugh, and now Oikawa is looking at you with his eyes wide open. His amazement makes you look at him too. “You... You are really beautiful when you laugh (y/n)” still astonished but also serious he speaks softly and you fall silent. You notice how your cheeks turn red and your heart starts beating wildly. Oikawa doesn’t say anything anymore but just looks at you. With his left hand he approaches your face and caresses your cheeks, then pulls your face a bit up by putting his hand, which was still on your cheek earlier, under your chin and pushing it up. He looks deep into your (e/c) eyes. “I'm sorry. You're also beautiful without a smile on your face (y/n)." He whispers softly and his face comes dangerously close to yours. You can already feel his warm breath on your skin when suddenly the Ferris wheel shakes. You both twitch together and the Ferris wheel starts to move again. Did Oikawa... just wanted to kiss you? You keep quiet until you get down there and the co-worker puts your big teddy bear in your hands again. “It is already late. Should I take you home now?" Oikawa asks you smiling and calm as if nothing had happened. A little confused, you just nod when you two head home. All the way you talk like two old friends, however, you both behave differently than before. Somehow the mood is tense. When you get home, you stand in front of your front door and get your key out. “Thanks for the nice evening Tooru." With a smile you look up to him. “I have to thank you... I had a really nice time with you. I hope we can repeat that soon?" his voice is so soft and calm. Not like your heart. “Yes! Gladly!" You respond too enthusiastically and put your hands in front of your mouth. Giggling, he leans over to you. "Good night (y/n). Sleep well.” he whispers softly and gives you a kiss on the cheek. Without looking at you again, he turns and leaves. Your body feels weird. You feel so weird. You can’t get a clear thought when the door opens behind you. “You’re a little late." You hear Ushijimas voice behind you. You look at your watch to make sure what time it is, when you find out that it’s already past midnight. “I'm so sorry Toshi. I forgot all about the time." You apologize and want to go in with the bear in your hands just as Ushijima takes it away from you. “Take a shower and get ready for your bed. I’ll take the teddy bear to your room." A friendly smile draws his face. “You certainly didn’t get it from your friend?" he says ironically. “Eh... Anyway, I’ll take a shower... See you tomorrow then." you answer embarrassed and disappear quickly in the bathroom. - You spend a lot of time with Oikawa over the next few weeks. You always come very close to each other but you are interrupted again and again by others and again there is a oppressive silence afterwards. Since this constant back and forth becomes too stupid for you, you decide to ask Oikawa if he sees more than just a friend in you. He is somewhat perplexed in front of you and does not know exactly what to say when his cell phone rings. It is his coach who asks him for extra training. He says goodbye to you quickly and tells you that he will call you later and then you can talk.

However, this does not happen. “Pf... what's going on Oikawa... I’m going to knock on your stupid door until you finally open it, you idiot." You murmur grimly to yourself. With rage, you stomp to Oikawas apartment and want to ask him why he’s been ignoring you for two days. But when you arrive in front of his apartment, your anger turns into sadness and disappointment. “Tooru?” you ask unsettled, with a shaky voice as your wide open eyes look at him. You see Oikawa standing before you. However, he is not alone. He’s with a young woman and not just that. They just kissed each other. Frightened to hear your voice, Oikawa turns away from the woman and looks with big eyes in your direction. “(y/n)!” He still calls, but your eyes already begin to become glassy and you start to cry. How could you think Tooru Oikawa had feelings for you? He’s been ignoring you for the last two days. It was a mistake coming here. Did he really just see you as a friend? A buddy? Your legs start to shake and you automatically take a few steps back. Just as you want to turn around to disappear from this place, Oikawa reaches for your wrist. “(y/n) wait!” he calls to you. But you tear yourself away from him and stand with your back turned to him. “Oikawa... You could have just told me you had a girlfriend and you had no feelings for me. But playing with my feelings... is really the last. But maybe it was my own stupidity. After all, you of all people are known as a flirtatious charmer and womanizer. I know we’ll have a few more games against you... But do me a favor, Tooru Oikawa... Leave me alone and don’t say another word. Don't look at me. Don’t talk to me. Don’t write to me and don’t even try to call me or come home to me. And one more thing... I know you wouldn’t do it anyway, but don’t follow me at all." You say quietly but your sad voice is still clear to hear. Yet you move and don’t look backwards anymore. When you get home, you go straight to your room and slam the door behind you. Crying, you sink to the ground and look briefly at the teddy bear that Oikawa gave you. Even faster your tears flow and you pull your legs to your upper body to bury your face in them. **Knock-Knock** you hear someone knocking on your room door, but you ignore the knock. “(y/n)? Are you here? Is everything okay?" you hear Ushijimas worried voice. You don’t answer him. “(y/n)! Is everything all right? If you don’t answer me... then I come in." even more concerned he continues. Again, you don’t answer and soon you notice how your body and door are pushed forward and Ushijima steps into your room. When he sees you sitting on the floor sad, he says nothing. You get up and walk over to your bed, sit down so that Ushijima can’t see your face anymore. But after just a few seconds you feel how two strong arms pulling you towards him, and he holds you tight in his arms. He still says nothing. You notice how you start crying hard again and turn to him to put your head to his chest. Sighing, he squeezes you and begins to make gentle circular movements with his hand on your back. He just lets you cry because he knows exactly what you need right now. You remain in this position for over an hour until you eventually fall asleep so that Ushijima puts you in your bed and covers you. He gives you a kiss on the forehead and looks at you for a moment. “(y/n)... I won’t let that guy who makes you so sad hurt you again.” He whispers softly and carefully closes the door behind him.

[sunnykeysmash]

A look at: AP BIO S3EP6, “That That That”

So this post is going to be sort of an... in-depth analysis for this episode. I hope people enjoy reading this! It’s a long one, so I apologize in advance. I hope it doesn’t feel rambly.

So the episode opens up with the janitor talking with some rats. 

We are treated to a shot from their point of view, as the man talks about the rats’ plead about how they’re “going to change”, and how they say they’re not “going anywhere”. Through this simple quick scene, the episode sets up the entire premise, both on a literal level, with the use of rat poison later on, and on a thematical level, introducing us to what’s going to become, by the end of the episode, Jack’s own point of view. Putting it like this, it’s like already the show is drawing a parallel, making us further empathize with Jack as he slowly starts feeling like a rat stuck in a maze himself.

As we’re introduced to Jack, he talks about preparing a recorded lecture for the University of Wisconsin on trascendentalism. 

Jack feels sure that what he wants is to get away from the school he’s in, that he won’t miss anything. He thinks this job is what he wants.

Now, trascendentalism is a philosophical movement that values the importance of subjective intuition, not reached through logic but through imagination. It preaches that people deep down already know what’s right for them, that the individual’s potential is limitless, and that the ego is not your true self. All themes that are slowly woven into the episode as Jack works through his subconscious while high off rat poison to come to the conclusion that he already knew deep down was right, and that he started feeling right at the start when people started questioning him.

As this process begins, he goes to talk to Lynette, his girlfriend. He brings up said lecture that he’s recording, it almost feels like he’s seeking her reassurance.

After that, we see him in the teacher lounge, kind of minding his business.

The scene starts out with the three teachers talking. In the frame, catching my eye immediately, is that fourth empty chair. It underlines that someone’s missing, someone that could be a part of what’s happening.

Eventually we cut back to Jack being in frame, except not really, because he starts out of focus, in the backgroung, listening in to the three teachers, framed like an outsider. This is to show us how he feels in the environment.

Then, as he enters the conversation, he gets into focus.

And we then cut back to the three of them.

There is a purposeful distance felt between the two parties, and it’s one that Jack is establishing by keeping himself to the side. This calls back to the themes of the episode right before this, Mr. Pistachio. They’re inviting him in, there is a place for him, but he feels like he doesn’t belong, he stays distant.

As the girls start talking to each other again, Jack is once again kept out of focus, but still clearly in the middle of the shot, which tells us we should still be paying attention to him.

And pay attention to the visual hierarchy, as well. With Jack pushed to the background, he appears small in comparison to the other figures who are big and overpowering. The full body shot, as he resists getting closer to them, almost feels revealing. Emotionally, what this communicates to us, to me personally, is a deep sense of vulnerability that Jack is feeling.

As he subconsciously starts to doubt where he truly wants to be, he feels exposed and out of place.

After this scene, Jack goes to talk to Durbin, and this is where we’re introduced to yet another small subplot that serves to reinforce the themes of the main one at hand.

Durbin is presented with an issue. He wants to tell his brother that he loves him, he has struggled with it in the past, and this is the week he is gaining the courage to do it. This plot will ultimately end up reflecting Jack’s own epiphany, but we’ll get there.

So finally, it’s late evening, school’s empty, and Jack has prepared the set up to record the lecture.

Visually we’re introduced to this duality of Jack on the screen of the ipad versus the real Jack trying to give a lecture. The perfect competent appearance that actually masks his doubts and hesitation.

Screens being often used in media to show something perfect, fake and unachievable, and this is no exception.

Jack starts its lecture:

“To achieve its perfect form, a caterpillar must withdraw and complete itself alone, in its cocoon. Likewise, for us to achieve spiritual perfection, in the view of trascendentalists like Henry David Thoreau, it is necessary to retreat from the mindless and negative influences of society.” 

This ends up being exactly what Jack does, as the rat poison induced trip lasts him an entire week, stuck alone in school, with nothing but his delusional and hallucinatory thoughts, he is forced to confront himself in complete solitude to come to the conclusion that was inside him.

He then commits a mistake, right at the end, calling Henry David Thoreau “Justin Thoreau”, the same way Mary, the teacher, did before. In a way, the school and the people in it are rubbing off on him, their presence in his mind manifests through this lapsus, effectively keeping him from completing the lecture correctly. Keeping him here.

He starts stumbling. He starts doubting himself.

“Is that right?”

He asks, the question resonating bigger than just about his current speech, feeling more like about his path in life and his actions.

A shot quickly zooms in on the camera lens, the frantic pace communicating anxiousness, but this shot in particular serves to fully immerse us in Jack’s shoes.

Feeling watched, feeling judged, scrutinized. Having to directly face his shortcomings, unable to blame anyone but himself, and having to ask himself why. The camera almost literally backing us - therefore, Jack - into a corner by coming this uncomfortably close to us.

He attempts to hype himself up and tries again. The whole thing accompanied by a background music that’s basically nothing if not ticking (like a clock) and percussion. It feels quiet and tense.

We then get another shot that’s a clean transition from the screen to the real Jack. In the screen, he appears confident, but as soon as the camera focuses on the real Jack, he loses tracks of what he was saying and once again struggles. Quietly, he turns to look at the background.

He slowly, tentatively reorganizes a single book, then positions himself back, only to turn again towards the bookshelf, still dissatisfied.

Without a single line of dialogue, this shows us precisely what he’s feeling and lets us understand his slow descent into madness. He feels that there’s something wrong, out of place, something that must not be right, but he’s not yet looking at himself to fix this problem, instead he’s looking at his surroundings, trying to gather back the control that he feels he’s rapidly losing by attempting to control what’s around him.

And so he deeply cleans the entire office, reorganizes and color codes the books behind him.

Being introduced to his struggle before the rat poison even starts to affect him lets the transition between reality and hallucination feel seamless, so much so that during a first viewing we start to doubt what’s real and what’s fake, and when.

The overall eerie tone of the episode makes it feel like a take on psychological horror, as the slow loss of control is accentuated by increasingly bizarre events that go completely unquestioned.

Attempt after attempt, we feel as though we are entering a loop with no chance of escaping. Which is exactly what Jack feels.

We then get this.

Jack is fixating on his issue, without much success in resolving it. He’s facing and confronting it over and over. Visually, it’s made bigger than himself by its oppressive presence in the frame.

The only soundtrack accompanying this is a kind of vibration, a deep and hard to hear sound that just looms in the background. This episode in general is very quiet, which helps the atmosphere feel lonely and tense.

He screams, but there’s no one who can hear him. It’s just himself.

He sees this mouse pad and once again the picture visually reinforces this sense of looping, of feeling stuck and trapped in a repeating endless cycle.

He tries to rip it in half. But he can’t.

Just as he can’t overcome what he’s struggling with, his own cycle that he’s stuck in. He wants to break free, but he’s not sure from what. Is his prison this school he says he hates so much, or is his prison his own ego, trapping him into feeling like an outcast, into isolation, into never opening up or being vulnerable. 

This is actually a theme in the entire season, Jack slowly learning to open up and be vulnerable. But this episode in particular feels like a turning point for his character, a moment of realization, of personal intuition. Trascendence. Beyond his limits, beyond his own walls. Through a trascendent experience, the hallucinations.

He falls asleep on the floor, visually representing his rock bottom.

He’s then woken up, there’s faint wind chimes sounds, and he’s surrounded by darkness in a way that feels ethereal. As he exits the room to check the source of the smell that’s almost calling to him, we see nothing but him entering light.

He’s barely visible, surrounded by fog, he can’t see where he’s going very well.

He sees a figure, and asks this:

“Are you in a caterpillar costume?”

When the figure turns to face him, Jack is frightened and runs away.

This immediate association between the very subject he was talking about, and him fleeing in terror, serves to illustrate his true feelings towards what he’s doing by recording this lecture. He’s scared of it, and he’s running away from it.

He wakes up again in the same room as he was before, only this time the light is almost blinding.

Here, Helen appears. This dialogue follows:

Jack: “Jesus, Helen, what are you doing here?” Helen: “Oh, you know I can’t stay away from Whitlock long.”

We quickly find out that this is a dream sequence that Jack is having. Thanks to this knowledge, we know that all the dialogue Jack entertains with the rest of the school workers, all his friends, is nothing more than his internal dialogue manifesting to him through them.

He’s asking himself why he’s at this highschool. The other voice, Helen, replies that it’s because they can’t stay away. They like being here.

But this realization comes with horror and shock to Jack, and so it quickly turns into a graphic, horrid description.

He once again escapes it, going immediately to try recording his lecture again, but Helen bursts into the room kicking the door. All these terrifying thoughts are tormenting him.

He runs away, camera in his hands. Gets interrupted once again.

In this attempt, we are completely unable to see him through the screen because of how out of focus he is to us in there. His attempt at a perfect facade is proving completely infructuous, all we can see is the real Jack, deeply struggling.

He gets interrupted by the three teachers again, and this dialogue happens.

Michelle: “Jack, you’re here! We thought that that video would be done by now.” Jack: “Uh, yeah, unfortunately... it’s not.”

Once again doubt seeps in as he worries about what’s taking him so long, it’s also interesting to notice how the girls use “that that” with no problem whatsoever.

They invite him to join them in playing a game, and he finds himself going along with them at first, before stopping himself, panicked.

Jack: “I don’t have time for your dumb, fun games! I gotta do this video!”

This dialogue sets an intense contrast with the scene with them at the start, in reality.

In that scene, he calls their games “terrible”, then looks at them with fondness.

Here, instead, he’s stressing that he doesn’t have time for it. He wants to participate, as is shown, but he can’t because of his own self imposed obligation.

In other words, this is exposing to him, though still through an horror lense, his realization that he’s gonna miss all these chances to hang out with his friends if he goes through with it.

He keeps running away, and ends up in his class.

His reflection in the screen appears now deeply warped.

The writing on the whiteboard is upside down, something is deeply wrong.

He’s alone, then all of a sudden he’s not, as the camera twists to the side and gets closer.

We are treated to some dutch angles.

He tries again, but the words aren’t even his. He asks if he sounds like Marcus, and the students all nod while creaking sounds can be heard as they do.

Day 2. He’s still eating the same spaghetti as before, and he accidentally gets sauce on his shirt. A stain that just won’t go away. A visible imperfection. He snaps, he covers himself in them, then puts on some makeup powder, helplessly trying to cover it all up. Of course, that does nothing. He’s trying to bury a problem that has become impossible to conceal.

Getting in front of the camera again, he says this:

Jack: “I want this job. I’m so overqualified.”

It’s like he’s trying to convince himself, since he’s not really talking to anyone but a camera lens. Then there’s the part about being overqualified. The thing is, he’s right, and he know he’s right. On a qualification and competence standpoint, he should be able to ace this, no problem. So why is he struggling? Does he want this job?

In comes Durbin.

Durbin: “Jack! ...you’re still here. Working on your video.” Jack: “Yeah uh- but everybody keeps stopping me...” Durbin: “Let’s get you back on the right track. What’s the problem?” Jack: “I got sketty on my shirt...” Durbin: “I’ve got what you need right here. Everything you need is always right in front of you, Jack. Always check the lost and found.”

Lots to unpack here. Everytime Jack encounters someone again, they always comment on how he’s still at school, he hasn’t left. He keeps getting stopped, his subconscious keeps stopping him, since we know this is all a hallucination. He’s going down the wrong path, and Durbin in this situation represents what’s right for Jack, the truth in his subconscious. “Everything you need is in front of you”.

Additionally, the way he explains the problem, speaking like a sad child, makes you feel just how lost he is, just how small he feels. Him feeling small, lost, vulnerable and scared is a huge theme in the entire episode, as you can see.

So he tries again, and this is where we first experience the transition. As Jack is enthusiastic to put on the suit Durbin gives him, we then see that his appearance in the screen is quite different. He looks ridiculous. But in his reality, as his real self, he looks spotless, happy. This is him starting to accept the concept that what he needed was always in front of him. Because whereas the screen just shows us what he wants to present himself as, his facade, the real him shows us his true feelings, how he feels towards this highschool and all his friends and the life he lives here.

By accepting his life as it is, his job at Whitlock, he knows he might end up looking ridiculous and his image may suffer, but inside he feels better, he feels good, happy, realized.

The expression he makes as he sees this suit, is the expression of a man that has found what he was looking for. This is why it emerging from a “lost ad found” box is very significant symbolically.

It’s not just himself that changes inbetween “reality” and “screen”, however, it’s the entire location. His background, everything.

He finally finishes his speech, successfully this time. But Helen comes to take the camera and tripod away.

Jack accuses her of “sabotaging him”, but we as the audience will soon come to realize that he’s sabotaging himself.

He runs after her, and as he does, the lights around him start malfunctioning once again.

He opens a door and sees his mother with a young Durbin. He’s understandably unsettled. His mom having always been something close to his heart, we can even see her as a representation of his most intense emotions and of love. He’s struggling to fully come to terms with admitting that he loves being at this school. 

He gets away, only to come closer once again once he hears more noises. He opens the door.

He gets in, softly asks for his ipad, and as he walks closer we get an overview of what’s happening. Jack, on his desk, being dissected by his students, completely torn open. 

Once again, this visual serves to show Jack’s sense of uncomfortableness with being open and totally vulnerable.

He’s being scrutinized and studied and analyzed all the way to his deepest insides. It’s scary, it’s uncomfortable and it hurts. “I think I found the heart.” “Girl, that’s his bladder.”, he’s being judged mercilessly. That’s how he feels.

“How would we know? We never learned biology.

There’s a sense of guilt for never doing what he should’ve from the very beginning. He regrets not being there for his students, teaching, he’s scared that he’ll never get the chance now that he knows he wants to. This is manifesting though Sarika.

Jack: “I have to go... why are you keeping me from leaving?” Marcus: “We’re not keeping you from anything, Mr Griffin. You’re doing all of this. Your mind has created an entire world of distractions to keep you from doing that video.” Dan: “You know, it’s almost like you don’t want to leave.” Jack: “Yes I do? ...I think I do...”

In this moment, his most open one, he’s finally confronted with his desire to stay.

And this is when he wakes up.

Now back in reality, his appearance in fact resembles the way he looked like in the screen in his mind. So to reiterate, the real him in his mind was simply how he felt, while the screen was the way people see Jack in real life. At this point in the episode, subconsciously, he has come to fully accept it.

He does try to fix up the room, but it’s too much of a mess by now.

We cut to all of his friends discussing together. In comes Helen, with her nose bandage, and she says this.

Helen: “Oh, I’m so glad to see you guys!” Mary: “Helen, what happened?” Helen: “Well, I’m starting to think that the relationship I have with that animal is not what I thought it was.”

This dialogue is meant to reflect Jack’s situation, as do all the subplots in the episode.

The dialogue continues when Helen asks Durbin how it went with his brother.

Helen: “Did you tell your brother that you loved him?” Durbin: “Oh, well, I... kinda sorta chocked on saying that exact phrase, so...” Michelle: “That’s okay Ralph, it’s hard to be vulnerable.” Stef: “Yeah, and you have to respect the fact that he may not be there yet.” Durbin: “Yeah, I just feel kinda bad because a bunch of times he said “I love you” and I said “Yeah, good good good good good”...” Helen: “Well I’m sure he knows how you feel.” Durbin: “Well, at one point he said “Do you love me? Because I can’t tell.” and I said “I don’t know” and I got into a lift and went to the airport, just full choke.”

This all reflects Jack’s own feelings. He’s not quite at a point where he can openly admit to loving his friends and Whitlock, but at the same time this dialogue shows us that they are understanding of it, they know that being vulnerable and open can be very hard, and they’re patient. They do know that Jack loves them.

Enter Dave, in a wheelchair, injured from head to toe.

Dave: “You know who else choked? Maybe the hardest of all?” Everyone: “JACK!!!”

Enters Jack. Everyone cheers his arrival.

Of course, the dialogue just quoted is a joking way to point out how Jack failed in making that recorded lecture.

He shares a cute moment with his girlfriend, and softly says:

Jack: “You were thinking about me...”

It’s like it comes as a surprise to him, that he’s loved, that other people genuinely like him and want him to stay.

He continues.

Jack: “Um, hey, I should talk to you about something. Uh, in fact, I actually have to tell all of you about something important that I realized while you were gone. I realized that-”

He’s interrupted but the janitor which he had previously punched. The guy who was doing the rat disinfestation.

In other words, he chokes, as well.

Mary: “So Jack, what did you learn?” Jack: “Uh... well, I, uh... I invented a new game.”

Instead he chooses to bring that game he hallucinated into reality, making time for it. Being enthusiastic for it.

He enters his classroom.

Jack: “Alright, everybody, shut your precious beautiful mouths. You know after spending an entire week alone in this empty school... I realized that I can’t survive without community. And I came to appreciate... all of you.”

This reflects the trascendalistic philosophical approach of Thoreau, who retreated alone in nature to find true purpose in life.

He goes to write on the whiteboard.

All his previous writing wiped but still visible. He did do all of that, but it’s gone now, it’s no longer present. It’s solved.

Jack: “And I decided that I wanted each of you to finish this year knowing more biology than any student ever has...” Sarika: “Mr Griffin? I know we’ve had our differences in the past...” Jack: “Uh, yeah,  hold that thought, Sarika, because the biggest thing that I learned is that prolonged exposure to rodent killing gas causes hallucinations and irrational ideation. And all these things that I thought I learned? Well... chemically induced illusions... caused by a dying brain”

He draws an X on top of the words “community”, “you” and “biology”.

Jack: But! Now... I got my thinker back in the pink. Everything’s back to normal...” 

He takes out a bunch of spaghetti and a box of rat poison, sprinkles them heavily with it, and takes a bite like it’s the most normal thing.

So what does it mean, is he rejecting all that he learned? No. He’s keeping up his facade, as being vulnerable is hard, but inside he’s embracing what he learned. This is communicated to us through him ingesting the poisoned spaghetti, going back into his mind, accepting the embarassment and weirdness and going back to that scary feeling of vulnerability for more. He might say that it’s all back to normal, but we clearly see it’s not, and we clearly know that he’s glad to be back and stay back, we see it through his actions. 

Ultimately this is a sort of turning point for Jack Griffin, while he might not yet be able to express his feelings, while still going back to a place of denial using the rat poison as the excuse for everything that happened in his brain, this is his first step towards accepting what his subconscious has known all along, his first step to “trascend from a caterpillar into a butterfly”.

This is... trascendentalism, as construed by AP Bio.

[lligkv]

hard to be a person in history

I’ve tried to get into Thomas Mann before. I started The Magic Mountain a couple years ago and found it never really caught my interest. It was fine reading about Hans Castorp and his days in the sanatorium, but about two hundred pages in, I put the book down in favor of another and I never felt compelled to pick it up again. Doctor Faustus also sat around my shelves for a while after I bought my copy at my local Half-Price Books. But now that we’re all in limbo, I decided to give it a try, and to persist.

I got through it slowly. Mann’s signature seems to be these large, dense blocks of text, and these recondite sentence structures—which translator John Woods seems to have replicated nicely. (A representative example: “It is simply that, even from a distance I fix my eye with fear and uneasiness, indeed dread, on certain matters about which I must report from time to time and that I find oppressive long beforehand, but whose weight I seek to distribute by alluding in advance to them in words that, admittedly, only I understand.”) As a reader, I’m not intimidated by either of these things—I typically find them delightful—but they take some care to get through when your mind is brittle as mine is now.

But Faustus is a good book for this historical moment: this coronavirus time, this time when people come armed into government buildings and hoist signs at protests that read “Arbeit Macht Frei”; this time when it feels like everything’s collapsing and you don’t know how to put any of it together again; when you can’t escape the sense you and everyone around you who’s middle-class and quarantined, all milling about in unease, are being tested by history and found wanting. You know it from the way the protagonist, Zeitblom, speaks of the end of “the epoch of bourgeois humanism—the feeling, I say, that its last hour had come, that a mutation of life was about to happen, that the world was trying to enter into a new, still unnamed sign of the zodiac.”

Which is the moment we’re in, of course. The things we know are degenerating. What comes next, it’s too early to say. We might have no choice but to weather the madness we’re in as it comes over us, implacable as a wave. At least Zeitblom, writing after Leverkuhn has died and long enough into World War II that it’s clear Germany is doomed, has the benefit of some hindsight. There’s no way of knowing how long our interregnum will last.

Doctor Faustus is about a composer, Adrian Leverkuhn, who—perhaps under the sway of the devil, perhaps increasingly ill with syphilis; ultimately, probably both—reaches his creative peak and then degenerates. His friend Serenus Zeitblom has resolved, after his death, to write the story of his life. Zeitblom’s love for Leverkuhn is tangled with his love for Germany. And ultimately, the novel is more about Zeitblom’s experience of being German, or Zeitblom’s experience itself, than it is about Leverkuhn’s life. Leverkuhn is hard to get to know, and what you do know of him—his aloofness, his distaste for human contact, his single-minded focus on music to the exclusion of all political or historical consciousness—makes him the proverbial blank screen for the projection of the humanist Zeitblom’s anxieties.

Zeitblom sees in Leverkuhn’s condition a parallel with Germany’s. Both reflect “the influence of the demonic on human life”—for Leverkuhn, the sacrifice of human emotions and intimacy for isolation and eccentric genius, and for Germany a fascism that “enlisted and commanded troops prepared to die in the cause of subjugating the globe.” And so they give the lie to bourgeois humanism, to “values like culture, enlightenment, humanity, and dreams like the improvement of nations through scientific civilization.” In its stead is entrenched “a general indifference to each man’s suffering and perishing that had found its way into people’s hearts.”

It’s a period with clear parallels to ours. Right now, a certain model of liberal individualism is being rejected, or has reached the end of its life. It no longer has the support from society—affordable housing, affordable healthcare, high-enough wages, a welfare system—that it needs to be tenable. And a weird combination of aggressive individualism and collective hysteria takes its place.

Bourgeois humanism isn’t perfect. Its adherent Zeitblom has clear weaknesses: a propensity to lecture; a timidity in the face of his country’s fascism, which he greets with handwringing and paralysis. But I can relate to his sense that individuals in the nations defeated in World War I experienced a “monstrous loss of self-worth.” The same sense of self-worth is lost when you live in a late capitalist time of incredible inequality, atomized hyperindividuality, and real, or even just perceived, scarcity. In such a time, everything costs so much. And you are utterly responsible for all your life’s outcomes, which are so precarious, such that just one misfortune—like the outbreak of a pandemic that costs you your job—could break you. These conditions are acutely corrosive to any sense of yourself as having worth or efficacy.

And I can relate to Zeitblom’s timidity. There’s one moment, in one of the salons he’s frequently part of, when Zeitblom actually manages to express how uncomfortable the growing conservatism and fascism he hears makes him. Perhaps, he tells the other men who’ve been discussing their theories of Christus Imperator Maximus—the energetic being they argue will give German soldiers the strength they need to die in their quest to overtake the world—a contemporary thinker “would not perhaps do better to set truth rather than community as his goal, since indirectly and over time community is better served by truth, even by bitter truth, than by a mode of thinking that claims to serve it at the expense of truth, but in reality…works from within in a most sinister fashion for its destruction.”

It's an argument for truth over comforting, seductive illusion. The others in the salon let his remark hang there. It’s so at odds with the excitement they feel at their consensus that reason is useless in the face of, made utterly outmoded by, “invulnerable belief that [it] could not even touch.” It’s a sign of Zeitblom’s bad taste. (Which also explains why these theories of Christus that Zeitblom hates are allowed to fester, and war allowed to break out--the ideas are only ever a matter of taste for anyone who talks about them in a salon. Or writes about them on a blog.) And immediately Zeitblom understands it would be better for him “to shape my own ideas to confirm to the flow of the discussion and use its framework to envision for myself the world that was coming, that was already covertly in the making—whatever the state of affairs in the pit of my stomach.”

Zeitblom’s consciousness of how Germany will be remembered for its role in World War I and II is striking. He has a sense of himself and his nation as being in a story that’s still unfolding, one German people try to shape—even if the turns it takes are sometimes so powerful that individual authors become unable to exert any influence over them at all. As I was reading Doctor Faustus, I read another piece by Kim Stanley Robinson in the New Yorker in which he describes America’s adherence to the “end of history” narrative—which I define as the belief, obtaining from about the 1990s onward, that American capitalism (based in large part on the operation of the finance industry, the consumer and service economies, and later tech, right-wing in many of its core premises as a result, and devoted to the generation of profit above all) would survive just as it was until the end of time—and the way this narrative keeps us from being conscious of how we, as a collective, will be understood and remembered.

Or maybe this is just how I feel, because I find it so hard to understand who Robinson means by “we” when he writes lines like, “We know we’re entering a new world, a new era. We seem to be learning our way into a new structure of feeling.” I don’t see much of a “we” right now. I don’t think of right-wing protestors massing, armed, on the steps of government buildings or on the railings of legislative buildings as part of any “we” I’m part of. They don’t seem to recognize their duties to others in any way that would make them a true part of a collective. And I don’t think they feel they’re entering a new world or a new structure of feeling; they’re abiding in a version of the old that’s splintering and breaking in ways they can’t see.

America with its confederation of states and its rule by billionaires is too fractious to be a “we.” This country doesn’t have any model of citizenship that could unite us so perfectly that “instantly,” as Robinson puts it, “we’ve changed” with the coming of coronavirus. The input the average person has in America’s political system is just too divorced from the operation of that system. Our leaders make whatever decisions they want to make based on whatever special interests and abstract or minoritarian principles they wish to serve, and the rest of us learn whatever new horror this means for us and accept it.

“The neoliberal structure of feeling totters,” Robinson writes.

What might a post-capitalist response to this crisis include? Maybe rent and debt relief; unemployment aid for all those laid off; government hiring for contact tracing and the manufacture of necessary health equipment; the world’s militaries used to support health care; the rapid construction of hospitals.

But I don’t see much political will for any of that right now. All in all, Robinson’s piece feels less like description than incantation. Robinson is trying as hard to shape the mess that’s happening now into decisions made by a “we” as Zeitblom tries to make Leverkuhn’s life mean something more than what it is--which is a journey from great heights to depths that give the lie to those heights. But there are no clean breaks between capitalism and neoliberalism and what comes next, if anything does. We won’t all stand up and agree things must change and then make them change according to some program we can determine. What will come will come messily, if it comes at all. That’s another lesson of history I’m learning in a new way now.

And all I can think is, it’s hard to be a person in history.