#april be over my mourning is affecting my memory

[hismourningflower]

never opening my mouth again, never blinking nor opening tumblr, i will melt into my bed like a loser and never learn from this experience becuz i’m just that dumb of a bunny that it will reoccur and i will go through the amount of unhealthy embarrassment again

[askthedarksidersfam]

Birthday Bash

So today is my birthday!! And I decided as a fun treat for myself I'd write my apocalypse survivor celebrating! I've always wondered what having a birthday in the post apocalypse would be like! It's all OCs from here!

Word count is over 6K

What was that saying for Spring? “April showers bring May flowers”?

Well, it must be April with all the rain that had been flooding the streets for days on end. Mere hour breaks didn’t lessen the dark clouds overhead, nor the lightning that flashed in the far distance.

Despite the world quite literally ending for humanity, nature did not mourn for their absence. It waited for no one and carried on as it has done for millions of years.

The rain had stopped, been near stagnant for almost three hours, a new record at this point. Thunder rumbled through the air, rattling the shells of demolished buildings and adding to the empty, almost eerie ambience.

But that didn’t stop Grace and her party of four from venturing down the streets. Together, the group of five traversed down dilapidated roads and shorn neighborhoods with Grace, the lone human, at the lead. Prometheus, alongside an ever vigilant Tarya with her swiveling ears and watchful eyes made the rear, with Tarya’s twins, a new family addition, settled comfortably on their mother’s back.

The two were still far too small to be venturing away from their mother, despite Dalva’s, the more adventurous of the two, protests to walk on her own to explore the exciting world around her. Sabodi, the more shyer sister, preferred to keep close to her mother, or Grace, her elder sister.

How Grace had loved the new family additions like true sisters.

Wiping away the slight sheen of sweat beading at her brow, Grace fans herself as the humidity starts to finally affect her. The April season was just as wet and hot as she had remembered it to be in her youth from fleeting, faded memories. But one specific memory belonging to the month of April hadn’t changed in the test of time.

Her own birthday.

At some point of her life in the post apocalypse, Grace hadn’t thought anything of her birthday, finding the need to celebrate or even acknowledge it a waste. It brought no food to any mouths or a modicum of safety to her in those earlier years, so she let it fade away to nothing but a piece of the past.

Not this year however.

This year felt more different. Safer, and with a more full belly, Grace had felt semblances of happiness returning to the more mundane things of her life. With solid walls surrounding her, contact with people (however brief and awkward it gets at times), things had begun to shift. Albeit it took a few years to reach where she is now, Grace took it as it came, and decided to do something different.

After reorienting herself with time again, courtesy of a grownup who kept tabs on the passage of the years, Grace had been able to keep up with the dates. And came to a discovery.

On the day she read the calendar, her birthday was fast approaching. The 19th was not even a week away.

That was five days ago on the 14th.

Today was her birthday.

She had learned after all these years, she would now be twenty.

Twenty…

Two whole decades of living, with over half dedicated to living in the post apocalyptic world. She reached this far. This was further than she ever expected to ever live in all her life, especially in her childhood.

The ability to live this long deserved a reason to celebrate. To truly party.

Which was why all five of them were currently trekking through the streets and deeper into the city’s heart. Towards the shopping district.

Worn down signs and half demolished neon lights dot the streets, some of the more functional lights doggedly spit bursts of electric sparks. Some of the more lucky signs flicker dimly with quick shivers of colorful light before dying just as quickly as it came. Puddles bled with the quick colors, illuminating the dull world to something more vibrant.

Leaping over a great grooves unquestionably in the shape of claw marks on the concrete, Grace pulls the hood of her jacket further over her head. Pellets of rain spat at her in the slowly building drizzle, urging the girl to get a move on lest she like to catch a cold.

Sick on a birthday. How exciting.

The thought however, doesn’t stop Grace from taking the slightest detour to pluck a single shard of concrete from a broken curb. Merely the size of her pointer finger and just as wide. For a second, Grace feels the coarse shard with her fingers, letting the hardness pierce her soft skin.

A curious grumble sounded from Tarya as Grace looked around for a moment before pulling her arm back and swinging it forward in a sharp arc, letting the piece fly from her hand. The piece clatters noisily across the street in a skipping motion for a considerable distance before submerging into a deep pothole with a quiet ‘splash’.

While that accomplished absolutely nothing, it brought a ghost of a smile to her lips.

The simplicity of her little game brought some comfort, bringing a sense of longing for the distant past. How everything was so different back then, when Grace didn’t have to think about when her next meal would be, or whether or not she’d be sleeping for a few measly hours before danger came crawling to her doorstep.

Now with those questions finally being able to be answered with a “yes, food and shelter is available”, Grace allowed herself to indulge on the simpler things.

Then, the quiet of her mind is broken when thunder breaks across the sky, shaking the very air. The whole party jumps at the sound, with Prometheus’ hackles raising and Tarya’s wayward glances to the sky as if expecting a foe to descend from the clouds. The twins yip and chitter nervously, unused to the strange loud sound.

Throwing a glance to the dark clouds illuminated with lightning, Grace picks up her pace, more than willing to get out of the streets. The rain deterred most demons and angels, preferring to take shelter, that didn’t guarantee totally empty streets. Hungry beasts still prowled the city in search of an easy meal. Angelic soldiers would patrol their territories under orders or find some way to a fight on their expeditions, more than bored.

That thought urged the redhead to have a purpose in her stride, carrying herself with a swifter speed than wandering. And with the wind picking up the light rains, Grace needed no more excuses to stay on the empty roads longer than necessary.

But luckily, the brisk pace was beginning to pay off with the silhouette of the mall slowly beginning to loom over the horizon. Surrounded by distant demolished towers and twisting flora life, it beckoned Grace to come closer. Promises of a day full of exploration ahead.

If she tried hard enough, Grace could pretend that she was entering the mall before everyone else early in the morning. That today was simply another day and she was coming to the mall to celebrate her birthday like all other teenagers do, er… did.

The long dulled memories of a normalcy in walking down the great halls of an enormous shopping center begged to be relieved again. For far too long had this luxury been robbed from her, far too young she’d been torn from everything she only began to understand and thrust into a new world she couldn’t navigate.

After all this time relearning and guiding herself to live this hard, brand new life, didn’t she deserve a chance to escape? A few hours of losing herself in the confines of solid walls, pretending nothing beyond the building existed?

No scrambling for survival, no great war between two very real yet mythical races, and no worries about what hides in every shadow. Just bliss.

Breaking from her dead glare into the far distance, Grace eyes one of the grand entrances to the mall. Twisted metal what was probably once depictions of art lay on the ground, stripped of the once bright paint and shorn like weak branches. The spindly end points spread out like spider legs, and are just as wickedly imposing as a Trauma.

Neon signs above the collection of entrance doors wrote out a scrambled ‘welcome in” with several letters either half torn down or missing altogether. The array of sliding glass doors were in mid-motions of opening or closing, probably from the fleeing crowd or scavengers. Several of the doors were shattered open, glass lettering the floor.

The paint was in several degrees of peeling, years of severe wearing revealing the monochrome gray of the building’s foundation. Scorch marks from an unknown source marks the facade’s face a sooty black in a straight streak across the welcome lettering.

A few remnants of corpses lay across the tarmac platform, three winged, armored corpses and two large leathery, hardened cadavers long since picked clean by animals. All seemingly have been caught in the throes of battle of their poses of impalement and severed limbs have anything to say. Even down to the eyes missing, nothing was wasted.

Though the sight has become an all to familiar

occurrence in the apocalypse, Grace couldn’t help but grimace at the sight and stench. Those poor things, she doubts that their end was all but peaceful.

But that wasn’t her concern. She could mope about the fates of angels and demons caught in a fight, but that wouldn’t bring food or shelter to the table. Plus, it isn’t going to suddenly change the other-worldly people’s views on humanity and change them for the better. Such fantasies belonged in book pages where the impossible happened casually and gave everyone a happy ending.

Those thoughts can be kept with a fool.

Breezing by the mangled cadavers, Grace and her entourage round near the mall doorways. Glass crunches underfoot heavy boots as the girl inspects the entrance.

They’re large, meant to accommodate big crowds and large groups to come in and out on the constant. They’re more than big enough to allow Tarya, the biggest of them all, to crawl in with some effort. Not that the GrimHorn could have any problem tearing through the metal framework.

But today, Grace didn’t want a hint of brutality on this day. Or rather, an unnecessary amount.

Green eyes inspect the destroyed doorways and take notice of glass protruding from the frame. Fingers flex around the leather gloves, feeling the hard material as she aligned herself with one of the doors and braced her hands to the frames.

With one great heave, the door’s shifted slightly, after years of being rusted into place they stubbornly held. Giving another rough shove, the doors screamed horribly against the broken frame, but gave a little this time.

More confident, the redhead places her booted foot to the door and times her kick with her shove. Then, the stubborn metal framework finally gives way, sliding completely free from its position and recedes into the wall. Grace yelps as she almost falls from the sudden freeing of the previously unmovable doorway. She barely manages to catch herself on the frame, narrowly avoiding kissing the glass covered rug inside the mall.

Looking back to her entourage who all more than clearly watched her tumble stare at her, sounds of damn near close to laughter escaping from Prometheus and the twins. Tarya‘s head ducks down as if ready to inspect for injuries a grumble coming from her, a burr of concern.

Immediately, Grace gives a thumbs up to the maternal demon and begins to work on the other doors. Pushing and kicking with effort.

Then as the young woman pried open the last pair of dead sliding doors with a horrid screech, bliss awaited dead head.

Taking her first steps inside, Grace is met with the smell of musty air, definitely from years of zero maintenance and holes in the roof allowing weather to stink the place further.

The sight isn’t exactly what she remembered from childhood. Tiled floors coated with layers of grime under open spots in the ceiling, varying pools of dirty water accumulated in the dips of the floor. Graffiti painting the walls of scrawled messages and crude characters. The once vibrant paint jobs of the mall a duller hue, as if the very life had been siphoned away from years of neglect.

The concession stands were in absolute shambles, destroyed and partially picked clean from opportunistic thieves. Whether from when the apocalypse happened or afterwards was a mystery.

But what irked Grace the most, was without a doubt the deafening silence that blanketed the whole place. It felt too wrong, this place was supposed to be crawling with people, boisterous children as the music was barely audible over the chaos. But now? Silence.

However, it is quickly broken as the sounds of groaning metal tears Grace to attention. Whipping her head back to the origin, the culprit Tarya who’s more than trying to squeeze her way through, wings tucked flush to her body as she crawls through. Protesting chirps from the twins fill the air as their mother tries to slither her huge torso past the doors, metal stretching around her frame.

“You can do it.” Grace encouraged, observing her closest thing to a mother try to bully her way past. She was already close to fitting, and the woman has seen her fit in much smaller without trouble. Though, she supposed it was in the case of an emergency that was why Tarya could do such things.

Whether luck from her words or impatience, Tarya in one great shove, breaks free from the confines, tearing the metal with a terrible snap, and Grace immediately covers her sensitive ears. The twins screech noisily as Prometheus snarls, scrambling to get away from Tarya’s stumbling path, the demon trying to catch herself as her daughters crawl across her back, airing their complaints.

They’re heard by their mother, purring apologetically as she shakes her head, ridding herself of the dust that accumulated on her when she broke free. Prometheus harrumphs from his spot, completely unimpressed. Grace merely smirks.

“C’mon, we got a whole day of exploring ahead!” Turning on a heel, Grace begins her march forward, ready for everything this place could offer. Passing by a map posted on a

Broken glass, dirty water pools, graffiti, and half lit stores was what could be seen as far as the eye could go. It was vastly unimpressive but-

Wait…

The lights were on?!

Completely scratch down what Grace thought before as she ran to the shop’s window, a bookstore, staring gape mouthed as she looked at the dim, but very real, lights flickering.

The dying lights, those that remained, cast their pale colors upon the rows of shelves inside. All lined with books. Grace could only gawk.

Well, actually, the simple fact that electricity was still working, in a huge place like this, for some odd years, was more exciting than anything.

So many thoughts raced through her head as she booked it through the shop doors, beelining for the shelf of unclaimed novels. Unworried of the faint, questioning churr from Tarya.

Immediately, Grace’s fingers traced over each and every book, feeling the aged pages, every groove and dip as she perused the titles. Every single one of them she didn’t recognize, which made everything all the more exciting! There were new things to be read, and she was more than eager to learn what stories the pages kept all these years.

There were so many to choose from, where could she even begin?

Begin by shoving the most intriguing ones in her backpack, weathered from time that the soft blue fabric was more of a gray tinted blue. She packed light for this trip, with a few snacks, water, extra carrying pack, a sketchbook and her weaponry which stayed on her at all times.

She bet that within hours the backpacks would be stuffed to the seams. But it would be worth it.

After three rearrangements of five books and a wander around the bookstore, Grace spotted a wagon cart knocked over in the children’s section. She promptly set it upright and dumped her backpack between the seats, lifting the weight off her shoulders. A very convenient solution to her predicament of how many books could she take back to Haven.

The five books turned into sixteen. Different genres from fantasy, horror to non-fiction, thick chapter novels to illustrated pages for efficient gardening. Her muscles shivered excitedly at the prospect of curling up on her bed and reading by starlight. The simple domesticity of the imagery left her wanting for more.

More of the simple pleasures, more of the fun she’d been denied for so many years. A chance to feel what the older survivors reminisced about late into nightfall. Things she didn’t even have a taste for when others seemed to have indulged in the good times. It made Grace wonder how different their lives were.

Talk of classic movies and boomboxes with the latest hits when she knew living on the move and distant screams when the sun went down. Memories of luxurious homes and lavish meals at fancy restaurants where she knew scavenging for scraps.

Grace didn’t envy them, as much as she wanted to. She couldn’t imagine missing a wonderful life she didn’t know. It was pitiful to see them all struggle together, try as they might to cope without those strange luxuries. Maybe these little gifts of books could ease their minds, even if it was temporary. But with this discovery, she can always come back to pick each book off the shelves.

Yeah, that sounds like a good idea…

But for now, she had a birthday to celebrate and a mall to… ahem, shop to her hearts content.

Readjusting the bow on her back as well as her grip on the wagon’s handle, Grace trotted past the doors and to her awaiting entourage. The twins perk up, chirping curiously at the shiny, so to speak, toy their elder sister brought. Tarya tilts her head as well, matching the image of her daughter’s tilted heads as each stands on her shoulders. Prometheus remained stone faced.

“Look what I got!” She doesn’t expect an answer, “I got some paper with words on it!” An oversimplification and terrible joke all in one. She’s sure Prometheus rolled his eyes as he huffs, throwing his head back to emphasize his displeasure.

The twins however seem to disregard the embarrassing attempt at humor, instead both clambering down Tarya to skitter right into the wagon. Dalva, the more adventurous, wastes no time in throwing her whole body inside, landing on the backpack with a pleased chirp.

Sabodi however had a more reserved approach, carefully sniffing the cart’s wheels as her small wings unfurled defensively, ready to take flight at the sign of danger. It was cute since she was too young to fly.

A chuckle spills from Grace’s lips when Sabodi ducks her head down when Dalva pops out from above too quickly, frightening her sister. Sabodi was far too cautious and jumpy for this world. It reminds Grace of her younger self.

“C’mon, it isn’t so bad ‘bodi,” she crouches down to her sister’s level, putting the demon at slight ease. She takes her hands and slides it under the baby’s belly, feeling the warm, soft leathery skin on her fingers. Sabodi whines in gentle protest as she is lifted into Grace’s lap, allowing her a view above the little wagon.

Gently, a small paw is taken between gentle fingers and coaxed to be placed upon the fabric wall. “See?” Grace coos, letting Sabodi get used to the feeling, “there’s nothing to be scared of. It’s only a little pull cart.”

Dalva seems to have picked up on the mood, for she sticks her head out to rub her snout on her sister’s, an encouraging gesture Grace had come to learn over time. Slowly, Sabodi’s big ears prick up with confidence and the weight in Grace’s lap is lifted as the demon carefully slinks in to sit with her sister.

“Perfect! A carriage for two!” She claps her hands together, smiling at the pair of wide, black eyes innocently staring up. Plucking the handle with a delicate finger she turns to the empty walk way ahead and playfully drags her foot on the tile, like she’d seen horses do.

“Where to my ladies? I, your valiant steed shall take you to your hearts desire!” Dalva trills, shifting restlessly in her seat as she picks up on the exciting energy. Grace puts her hand to her pointed ear, listening carefully to the sounds before her head shoots high, ears flickering skyward.

“Aha! I see! My fairest lady wishes to see the finest shops in the kingdom! Of course, right away my fairest of the young maidens!” Grace bends at the hip with a sweep of her arm, mimicking a dramatic bow. Her long braid spills over her shoulder and Dalva takes a swat at the red tuft of hair sticking from the end.

“Onward, I hear you cry,” Grace straightens her back, trotting in place as she looks around the walkways, eyeing the safest routes to run. “Onward we shall go! Your gallant steed will charge forth into the big kingdom and take thee unto your heart’s desires!”

“Charrrrrrrgge!!!” The yell echoes across the whole place as the sound of running footsteps bounced off the walls. Two squeals, both of delight, roared over the sound of blood pumping in Grace’s ears.

Picking up speed, Grace pulls her pointer, middle and ring finger to her palm, leaving the thumb and pinky to stick out. She raises the thumb to her lips and whistles the tune of a trumpet in fanfare, feeling much like a character in a fantasy novel.

It felt freeing.

Then, Grace pulls to a stop, the contents of the store from through the glass catching her eye.

An arcade. The sounds of electronic songs playing their tunes, though some spluttered sour notes. The most enormous of smiles stretches across the girl’s features, eyes gleaming with wonder.

It felt as if all the luck in the universe had condensed into one little spot and transported itself here, waiting patiently for her.

Hesitantly, as if afraid to break the bubble of this neon lit dream, Grace takes soft steps forward, taking in everything. Heavy boots gently padded the carpeted floors of black, shimmering neon paints her body in its bright glow as she took a breath in, intently remembering the scent. Faint musk and mildew.

However, her brain could practically reproduce the savor smells of buttery popcorn, fresh pizza and steamy pretzels. Her stomach moaned at the thought of a soft pretzel.

The place was obviously abandoned in a hurry. Soda cups and trash litters the ground and stains the carpet. Coins scattered the whole place, and well earned prizes lay discarded, forgotten.

The smile fails for a moment, remembering the realness of the world outside these walls.

But she was here to forget those worries, just for a few hours.

“This…” she starts unexpectedly, feeling four pairs of eyes on her, not needing to turn to know Prometheus and Tarya are Perry at her from the door. “This is… was, an arcade. People would come here to play games and party.” She doesn’t stop the drooping of her lips as she lets go of the wagon handle, opting to pick up a pile of dropped quarters.

“You know, I went a few times as a kid to one of these.” Fingers brush off the dust covered quarters, and her heart aches as she reads the date print. 2009.

“I, of course,” she laughs weakly, “had to stick to the claw machines the most. I always spent the most time trying to get a stuffed animal.” Grace’s head tilts back to see her sisters sniffing about curiously, crawling to the noisiest machines and climbing them to investigate. Tarya had squeezed herself inside, surprisingly with room to spare as she navigated to Grace’s side.

“They were always the best part to me, because I always brought home a friend. At least when I won.” She continues, looking at her mother who listens intently. She smiles and lets her gaze search across the plethora of gaming consoles. She even spotted a skating rink. She would definitely be searching for rollerblades later…

Her eyes wander again to lo and behold, the claw game of legend. The organ beneath her breastbone picks up speed, and her muscles quivered at the sight.

It was one of those larger models, meant to hold plenty of little treasures within. And in the colorful blob, Grace could get lost in the fluffy chaos. She readjusts her belt, feeling for the stuffed unicorn tied to the leather, the plush, but worn fabric soothing.

Grace had the white and pink unicorn from childhood. Her young heart won over by those blue bead eyes and heart sewn to the rump with the pink bow to wrap it all together.

It had been the only thing left from her old life. It had lasted so long from tender care and territorial protectiveness. She had done everything she could to keep her unicorn, Amalthea, intact. Even learning to sew to keep the smallest tears from tearing her apart.

“It would never hurt to bring a few… friends over for the others right?” Not a total lie. Grace would feel guilty if she didn’t bring some back as gifts.

“‘Sides, Dalva and Sabodi would like some new toys.” That was true, but the twins had their own collection of toys raided from pet shops.

It didn’t stop her from depositing the quarters into the machine, listening to the music pick up a cheery tune as Grace readied herself. Tarya watched with great interest, ears twitching forward.

Eyes scan across the wide array of plush toys, noting the many bears, cats, dinosaurs and even cartoon characters. Maybe she’d pick up the triceratops, or the rabbit with the oversized ears-

Then, her eyes lock in on the prize that stops every thought. The loudest gasp escapes Grace’s mouth, it startles Tarya who jumps back, surprised.

Laying on top of the pile is a small, but plump, white lamb. Small horns top the fluffy head and a tiny gold bell tied to its neck with light pink string.

The claw is directed to the lamb without Grace even looking away. She keeps her gaze straight on the lamb as the claw descends onto the toy, as if her focus could help the machine.

Metal fingers clamp down across the fat little body, slowly lifting it up above the other toys. As the claw starts to retreat back to the deposit box, it slips free.

“No!” Grace cries out, watching the claw return empty handed. Immediately, the girl sets back to getting the lamb. At the corner of her vision she sees the twins climb onto the nearby machine to observe. Prometheus comes from the right side, sitting with a loud huff, likely bored. But the slight tilt of his head and perked ears say otherwise.

Down the claw goes again, careening towards the toy and once more clamps its spindly fingers across the body. Only to fall out as soon as the claw lifts more than three inches above ground.

Grace growls, frustrated and tries again. And again. And again. Each play was unsuccessful. But she wasn’t ready to give up, instead opting to put the quarters in, ready to give it another try.

“Just give me a moment. It seems the greedy claw dragon doesn’t wish to give up a piece of its hoard.” She jokes, mostly to her sisters who droop when she doesn't acquire her prize. Or perhaps, their prize if she knew anything about them, it was destined to be a shared toy.

Just as she kneels down to put the coins in, the machine gives a horrid screech, rattling violently. On instinct Grace throws herself away from the danger lest she be crushed, her heart pounds wildly beneath her chest. A scream escapes her as she scrambles to the relative safety behind Tarya’s arm who remains otherwise still.

The ear-piercing sound shatters the silence, echoing across the empty room and jarring on sensitive ear drums. Grace covers her ears, watching from under Tarya’s chest for the cause of the mysterious rattling.

She didn’t know what to expect, maybe a stray demon or stumbling Wicked, but what the young woman saw was nothing she had imagined.

Prometheus, the all grumpy and impassive beast, was digging his two forelegs into the machine’s frame. The second pair of front legs held the machine in place as he was in the midst of tearing metal and glass apart.

Then, with an explosive spray of glass, Prometheus tears metal with the ease of ripping tissue paper. Grace retreats behind Tarya’s arm to avoid the flying glass that harmlessly licks the demon’s tough skin.

Slow, Grace peeks her head out as she watches Prometheus stick his huge hand into the broken frame, snuffling the items until he comes to a stop. Picking his head out of the fluff pile, he turns with his prize in hand. The small lamb delicately pinched between cragged teeth.

Gaping, the woman doesn’t move a muscle as she watches, completely awestruck. Prometheus growls at Dalva who stretches herself out to take an exploratory sniff, protective of the toy. Briefly, Grace wonders if he was taking it for himself, and she wouldn’t be truthful to herself if she pretended to be fine about that-

Ding ding!

The muffled jingle of a bell from above her head draws her to look up. Prometheus’ head was lowered to her level, shaking the toy gently as if attempting to toss it. Wait a moment…

Hands carefully pry off big ears, reaching slowly to the doll pinned by big teeth. The demon doesn’t flinch away as her hands experimentally curl around the leg and arm. The moment of truth.

She gives a small pull, and Prometheus promptly lets go without a fight.

Grace cradles the doll in her arms, feeling the almost heavenly soft fabric reverently. “Is it for me?” She whispers, warmth bubbling in her chest.

He doesn’t provide an answer, merely turning his body and walking away.

An absolute and definite yes.

Watching as Prometheus walks away, Grace pulls the lamb closer to her chest and smiles.

Looks like she had more toys to take home. So she immediately set to work. After retrieving the wagon, Grace began picking away at glass and plucking the prizes out from their confines. Bears, dinosaurs, a few cartoon characters and even a few small egg shaped electronics in plastic packaging (a weird place for an item like that) were stacked and stuffed til the wagon was close to bursting.

Satisfied with the haul, Grace returns to her wandering all across the arcade. Occasionally stopping for a quick game to play or a moment to lament over what each and every article of human machinery her sisters would stop to gawk at. They had an absolute blast of a time with the motorcycle game where she sat them on the moving bike.

It wasn’t exactly as thrilling as flying with the roaring wind in her hair and the pumping adrenaline, but it was perfection to her.

However, the looted quarters began to run out and the twins were beginning to grow bored of the place and all its climbable things. So onward they pushed.

The arcade was connected by three main entrances. One by the skating rink, the one she entered and another dead ahead, leading to a large court of sorts, lined with tables and restaurants. Her feet carried her forward as the sight of more unexplored stores just beyond the large plaza.

It’s then Grace finally spots it.

A carousel.

As if possessed, Grace breaks into a run towards the giant structure. A worried cry from her demon caretaker barely heard as she rounds upon the merry go round.

Disbelief fills her, even as her eyes rove over the many horses and animals in several poses of leaping, running, rearing and prancing, as if they’ve been frozen in time. She didn’t fail to notice the stains of blood painting the animals, or the floor. It looked as if a calvary was paused mid-battle, but all the riders were missing.

All but her.

There’s a puff of air that touches her shoulder and she doesn’t turn, knowing who it is.

“This is a carousel.” She looks to the rows of horses, spotting a control panel to the left. She walks to it, ducking under Tarya’s chest, reaching it after hopping a security fence. “What it would do was go around in circles.” She chuckles sheepishly, rubbing her neck nervously, “Kinda silly, I’ll admit, but, I always loved it.”

“It was one of my favorite things from when I was a kid…” she continued, “I loved picking out a horse to ride. And the music.” Eyes scan the controls, then spot the proper buttons to hopefully start the carousel.

“Please, please, please.” She prays, giving each button an experimental push. A shrill ringing goes off and heavy machinery groans to life. Glancing up, Grace feels tears well up in her eyes as she watches a miracle. The carousel sprang to life, light flickering on with golden hues and a tune sang for the first time in years.

Slowly, the carousel picked up speed, urging Grace to leap over the panel and hop on the carousel. Grabbing a pole, the woman looks at the nearest animal: a white unicorn with gold hair, a floral saddle and a peach horn lined with gold.

Normally, she’d opt for a more ferocious beast, like a lion, dog or viscous steed caught in the midst of a buck.

Now? It was the perfect pick.

With one swift motion, Grace throws her leg over the wooden unicorn and settles in, feeling the coolness of the brass pole against her cheek. Affectionately, she pats the head of the animal and revels in the steady rhythm of the bobbing. Up and down. Up and down.

Closing her eyes, Grace lets the darkness give way to distant memories, far and few as they are. The blackness is replaced with one of her child self in a very similar scenario to this one.

Her mother was in the most gracious of moods. She’d opted to take her and her brother to the city. They’d come across an amusement park and ventured in. Although she didn’t remember much, she could vividly recall every detail of the carousel.

The taste of popcorn and cotton candy on her tongue, the smell of a humid day, and oh the colors. Everything was so bright. She remembered how her mother was on the horse to her right.

Her cheek slams into the metal pole, breaking the illusion as the carousel breaks to a sudden halt. The music continued to sing, but the ride had come to a complete stop. Looking to her right, Grace watches Tarya come up to the carousel, ducking her large head so she could eye the girl. She tilts her head questioningly, unsure of the sudden mood shift.

“The ride stopped,” she half whines, “there’s probably not enough power to make the carousel move anymore. Or it’s just too old.” Tarya grumbles, looking at the grand machine whilst Grace keeps her eyes focused on the golden mane of the unicorn she was sitting on.

“Well, that’s okay. I’m just really happy to even find a - WOAH WOAH!”

Grace is jerked back and barely manages to save herself from a fall as the carousel moves forward unexpectedly. Has the power come back on? What was going on?

Turning to the right, Grace’s jaw nearly unhinges at the sight of Tarya’s wings and head pushed to the rooftop and those powerful legs of her digging into the ground, pushing the machine forward. It wasn’t the power at all. Just raw, brute power.

Slowly, a grin worms its way across her face once more.

As Tarya continued to push on, and the music continued to sing, Grace could conclude that this was definitely a great way to celebrate a birthday.

She couldn’t wait to tell Ulthane.

[gilly-bj]

Why the “Eremika kiss” doesn’t affect Rivamika at all

In the new chapter, we saw for the first time something that we didn’t expect to happen in the manga: a kiss, between Mikasa and (dead)Eren, probably not like we all imagined. This kiss hit everyone hard, also the Eremika shippers, who weren’t very happy with the fact that Eren was already dead when Mikasa kissed him. Eremikas unfortunately weren’t the only ones sad, also lots of Rivamikas had this feeling and, I was one of them.

When the chapter came out and I saw Mikasa kissing Eren, I literally crashed (windows.exe stopped working); my whole body stopped working and the only sensible thought I could elaborate was: “Wait, WTF!”. After I scraped together that quantity of calm that could make me, at least, sit down, I started to write posts that I’ve already eliminated, so don’t look for them because I made them disappear, because my opinions changed radically.

Quick note for you guys from your G: in these cases, don’t write immediately what you’re thinking in that exact moment. I was incredibly frustrated, so the posts I wrote were full of complaints. I didn’t analyzed the kiss from other prospectives, because for me it was only the “eremika kiss”. Remember to wait at least the traduction of the chapter, official or not; you’ll have enough time to reflect on it and elaborate opinions lucidly.

Anyway, in this post I’ll talk about three things:

Eremika’s conversation and Mikasa’s dream

The kiss and why it doesn’t affect Rivamika

Final considerations about RM

The subheadings are written in their own special colour, so if you’re not interested in one of them, it will be easier to find the other.

Let’s start!

• Eremika’s conversation and Mikasa’s dream.

Mikasa has an headache and she wake up in her ideal world, where she lives with Eren in a isolated cabin in the woods. This chapter is from Mikasa’s pov, and note that her perfect image of home is again showed, probably for the last time. I think that Mikasa’s feelings for Eren were kinda obvious, apart from the fact that I never liked or supported them, they are here and we can’t do anything against them.

But I’ve never imagined to see that kind of selfish dream from Mikasa; she is the girl who always cares for everyone, the one who is ready to sacrifice herself for the well-being of her friends, the one who loves them and support them independently from the situation. To be honest, it hurts to see that in her dream, Armin isn’t with them; if there wasn’t Levi, my shipper heart would have hurt but I’d understand, they aren’t so close yet, but Armin, they’ve grown together.

But I’m not mad at Mikasa, each of us has a selfish dream deep inside, where we’d rather sacrifice others to save our special person; it doesn’t mean that we don’t love them, it’s just, if we’d have to choose, we’d prefer to keep safe only him or her. Let me explain better my point with an example: imagine a man who lives in a country at war; he has the possibility to save just two people and he has to choose between his wife and daughter or his parents. He would probably save his wife and daughter, but it doesn’t mean that he doesn’t love his parents. Choosing between the people we love is the most painful thing in the world, but sometimes we just have to do it, and in Mikasa’s case, she’d choose Eren.

Anyway, before talking about the conversation, I want to analyze a little detail: during her all dream, Mikasa and Eren are in their teen form, why? Well, my interpretation is that Mikasa is still in love with the old Eren and she can’t understand the new one, indeed, one she said: “I’ll bring the old Eren back”. Even if she doesn’t completely understand him, she still loves him, and that’s why I adore Mikasa.

Anyway, let’s analyze better their conversation:

Eren wakes Mika up and he states their situation in that moment, how they ran away leaving the others to their cruel destiny. Now, do we all agree how that doesn’t fit Eren’s character, at all. His most famous line is “Fight if you want to win”, which it shows how brave he is; if he’d run away with Mikasa, he would act like a coward, and he can’t accept cowardice.

And here, Mikasa’s biggest regret: the answer she gave to Eren; remeber when she said: “If only I gave him another answer”, and in her dream she probably did: thanks to Eren’s words, we can assume that Mikasa told him to run away with her, to leave everything, probably what she wanted to answer in the reality. I interpreted that scene from chapter 123 like a Mikasa who couldn’t answer because taken by surprise, and then came up with a thing she didn’t mean who is still harassing her.

Let’s say that the Eren in the previous panels was Mikasa’s idealized version, but then something changes. Look at Eren’s face:

The marks. And why did they appear casually? Because, this is the true Eren, the one they are going to kill, the one who wanted to give his probably last message to Mikasa, and in fact the most important part of the conversation: “Please...Mikasa, forget about me”. At this point, I really don’t understand what the Eremika shippers found romantic in this chapter, the fact that the last thing Eren said to Mikasa is “forget about me” made things clear enough. We can notice that Eren entered her dream by the falcon here, funny that Mikasa is actually flying on Falco right now.

I really started to appreciate Mikasa and Eren’s relationship thanks to this chapter; even if I wasn’t, and I am not, a big fan of the Eremika ship, thinking about their relationship made me a bit sad. Anyway, I love the fact that Eren wanted to tell this to Mikasa, I think he deeply want her to live a life without him, because he’s already understood that they have different life goals, different way of thinking, different natures.

Before skipping to the next point, I noticed that many Rivamika shippers’ve already talked about the similarity between Eren and Levi in some of the panels, I’m not going to dwell because I‘ll write a different post about it, but I wanted to say that it can’t be just a coincidence, Levi and Eren’s haircuts are very different and there’s no way to confuse them. I don’t know why Isayama did this; maybe it’s a foreshadowing, or maybe he just wanted to trol us (it’s always him), I’ll just wait patiently April to see if my assumptions are right 😌

• The kiss and why it doesn’t affect Rivamika at all

Ah this kiss, this damn kiss. Uff, let me sit down and let’s talk about it.

So, Mikasa decides to kill Eren and she enters his mouth thanks to Levi’s help. The first thing she sees is Eren’s head, and I think we should already stop and analyze better this moment.

Look at his expression: he seems kinda... happy and, maybe also proud. Why? Because Mikasa finally decided to do the right thing, she chose Humanity, she sacrificed him, the person she loves the most, for the others. That’s her development. Even if she’ll never forget him, she chose to be selfless over selfish, and I’m glad she decided to remember Eren; it’s awful to forget to ones we loved in the past, we shouldn’t forget them, after all, they made us feel beautiful things, thanks to them we gained fantastic memories, why should we completely remove them from our life? Feelings can change, they will change, and Mikasa will change her romantic feelings towards Eren, it’s simply natural, but asking her to forget him is cruel; Levi won’t forget his dead friends, Armin won’t forget his grandfather, Eren won’t forget his mum, and it’s beautiful this way.

Now, let’s get into the spicy of this post: the kiss. Let me the transform in a love specialist (I’m nobody XD). I really don’t see anything romantic in it. Really, is probably the most tragic and sad among Eremika’s interactions because it shows how Mikasa’s feelings have never been reciprocated; she already tried to kiss him, in season 2, and he “rejected” her (that wasn’t a explicit reject but, if I’m not wrong, he didn’t try the Coordinate before so he didn’t know if it worked, he preferred to risk his life instead of kissing her. Actually, that’s also Eren’s personality), and now, yeah she managed to kiss him, but he was dead, he couldn’t kiss her back, couldn’t say anything, couldn’t reject her. I think that at this point, Mikasa already knew Eren wasn’t in love with her, she isn’t stupid, and she saw that kiss as a way to set herself free completely, to close a chapter of her life.

Another thing: I really don’t understand how can EM shippers say that Eremika is canon just because they kissed, sorry, Mikasa kissed him?? A simple kiss doesn’t make a couple canon, you have to analyze the feelings behind it. Why many of them can’t simply analyze a bit the story? Just, a bit...

• Final considerations and Rivamika

When I saw many Rivamika shippers being so happy about this chapter I really couldn’t understand, like “why are they happy if Mikasa literally kissed Eren?”. Well, at first I was very confused, the posts I read made me feel relieved, but... I wasn’t 100% convinced yet, because I was listening only to what the others said, I didn’t have my own opinion. I could see only the kiss (as a negative thing), and not all the foreshadowings we got in this chapter.

I have a certain theory but I will write a separated post about it, here, let’s discuss why that kiss isn’t a problem for us RM shippers. So, my biggest fear was that Mikasa’d live her all life mourning Eren and wouldn’t open herself to someone new, not necessarily Levi lying. Anyway, like I said before, please don’t stress yourself with rushed considerations, it’s just useless. I think that the kiss acted like as a springboard for Rivamika; like I said before, I interpreted it as a way to set herself free completely, to not have regrets because obviously, it was a thing that Mika wanted to do. Levi’s extreme care for her in this chapter, his determination when he saw that she ready to do this such painful thing made me... fly. They fought together until the end showing for the last time their chemistry and fantastic dynamic. Their interactions in this chapter were really special and I hope that there’ll be more in the future, maybe not only as a team;)

In conclusion, I loved this chapter so much, I can consider it as my favorite because, it gave me chills, for real.

I’ll start to work on my theory so yeah, this post isn’t ended yet lol. Stay tuned because there, I’ll talk only about RM so it will be... maybe more interesting from a shipper’s view. Tell me what you think about this in the comments 💜!

[prioritysope]

Letters

Reader: Female

Character: Bokuto Koutaro

Rating: Angst

Chapter: 4/13

read chapter one first!

April 4, 2020

Dear y/n:

For two weeks there has been a girl who has been talking to me, I admit that she is cute, but I do not feel ready to be in a relationship. Don't you think it's unfair to try when I haven't gotten over you yet and I'm not going to? I cannot fixate on someone else when I think and dream of you even after your death. I even explained to her that I am still in mourning and I cannot open my heart so lightly hurt because someone shows me understanding and affection.

Y/N...I need you. You do not know how much. You were the only thing that kept me sane, but now only your memory does; although sometimes I have my losses and want to do something crazy. My heart hurts more every day. You were my reason to smile, laugh, simply the reason to be fully happy. I know this was quite short, but I have plans to go out with the boys, since you left us they took the "tradition" of going out every so often to distract me.

With much love, your daddy owl.

[dailyaudiobible]

04/28/2021 DAB Transcript

Judges 8:18-9:21, Luke 23:44-24:12, Psalms 99:1-9, Proverbs 14:9-10

Today is the 28th day of April welcome to the Daily Audio Bible I am Brian still pretty much floating on cloud nine and enjoying that there's a new little princess in our family. So, China and Reagan are doing well and recovering. And sweet little Reagan, she is adjusting to a whole new way of being as she spends her second day, her second day with us outside of the womb. So, thank you for your continued prayers over China and ben and baby Reagan. Those of…of us who have experienced the coming, the arrival of children, then we understand that it's…it's a game changer, right? The page turns so quickly and all the sudden there's a whole new reality before us and it’s such a glorious beautiful, meaningful, purposeful time. And, so, thank you for your prayers over this little family as they begin to make these adjustments. And ss for all of us, we've gathered around this Global Campfire to take the next step forward in the Scriptures. I could just go off on many, many tangents just gushing. My heart is full right now with this arrival, but my heart is also full that we have gathered around this Global Campfire to take the next step forward in the Scriptures. For the last couple of days, we have been reading the story of the judge Gideon from the book of Judges. And we will continue with Gideon's story today from the book of Judges. We’re reading from the Good News Translation this week. Judges 8 verse 18 through nine verse 21.

Commentary:

Okay. So, it's pretty striking, jarring even, the magnitude of what we read in the Bible today. It’s like we’re reading this, and we read it and maybe some of these stories we know, or we’ve heard them many times. And, so, we read them but it's earth-shattering stuff, earthmoving stuff that we read about today. So, in the book of Judges we kinda reached the conclusion of the Gideon story. So, Gideon did lead the people to overcome the Midianites and brought peace to the land and they tried to make him king and he wouldn’t be King. And he was a judge for another 40 years and there was peace and then he dies. And then the level of injustice that follows this is staggering. So, Gideon has 70 sons. So, that's a lot of kids and probably they don't even all know each other but one of his sons, his name’s Abimelech and he's from a concubine that lives in Shechem. So, he would've definitely been considered kind of an outsider in the family, not really a true heir in the family. That’s how his other brothers would've looked at him. But once Gideon is dead he goes to his relatives in Shechem and is like, “do you want Gideon's sons ruling over you or do you want me?” Which…which eventually comes to the execution of the 70 other sons. Very tribal, very violent. I mean we can read it through our modern lenses and see the barbarity of it. And it's no less barbaric in a tribal time, but it is more common to attempt to completely and utterly wipe out your enemies by killing them and killing all of their heirs so that the very memory of them is lost so that somebody somewhere along the line can’t grow up and come kill you. But one of the sons escaped, Jotham, and eventually went up on Mount Gerizim. This is the amount of blessing by the way, the one that Moses spoke about, “go to mount Gerizim and recite the blessings of the covenant on Mount Ebal and recite the curses of the covenant…covenant. There…there like two mountains, to giant hills. I mean they’re mountains in that region, but they're not the kind of mountains we would consider the high mountains of the earth. But they’re two mountains and they sit between…well…Shechem is in the middle of them until this very day. Shechem, biblical Shechem, is called Nablus now but Mount Ebal and Mount Gerizim are still there. So, Jotham confronts and then he runs for his life and as the story kinda draws to a close, we just see that the people after the judge Gideon dies they just go back and just slide away and go back to worshiping the baals, go back to doing what they think is right in their own eyes. This is the time that there in.

If we turn into the gospel of Luke, I mean the level of injustice at the execution of Jesus is like supreme over all because this is humanity putting God to death. I mean I know that's a jarring thing to think about, but that's what's happening. And, so, we see in the Old and the New Testaments supreme, like just how far humanity can go toward the way of injustice. Like, this is the outcome of just how deeply dark people can go. So, in both of those stories we could say like, there’s…these…this is the level of injustice that is hard to even fathom, but in the same reading today Jesus didn't stay dead. He rose from the dead. That's earthmoving stuff. Like, that's…that's what has landed our lives here today to be hearing this. This is the victory over the darkness. Jesus rising from the dead is essentially a rebirth into life. In fact, that’s not like a metaphor that I'm using, this is something that the apostle Paul will say, that Jesus is the first born into a new thing that God is doing upon the earth and Jesus is the first born into that new thing among many brethren to follow, which is us. I mean the resurrection is overwhelming to think about in the Bible, and we can see in the news, like when the new starts to spread among Jesus followers it…it's…it's unsettling, like this is impossible. Even though Jesus said this would happen, this is impossible. And yet, they very soon find out it's very possible and that affects their lives so profoundly that, although nobody wants to die, they have…they have lost…they’ve seen what's going to happen and they don't fear this and they're willing to give their lives for it, which they eventually do. So, as I was saying to us when we entered into like the garden of Gethsemane and the Last Supper and the arrest and we were moving into this territory gospel of Luke, I mentioned like, let's not blow by this. This is…this is that story. This is the story that changes everything. This is the story that has catapulted our lives to this moment. And, so, we certainly blow by the resurrection, we…we want to contemplate that and meditate upon it today and understand the implications of it in our faith today. This changes everything forever. That's not small. That's big.

Prayer:

Jesus, we thank You for Your life and for the example, for Your heart and Your compassion and Your kindness, Your willingness to rescue we who You love, even though we don't deserve Your love, even though we can't earn Your love. Even while we were Your enemies You still came for us. And it's…it’s just that kind of love, that kind of love is what reveals Your kingdom. And we confess that what we want to participate in that. We’re just not capable of that kind of selfless love without Your spirit within. So, come Holy Spirit and lead us on the pathways of love. Love conquers all, even death we are learning. And we learn from song of Solomon that love is stronger than death. And in our reading from the gospel of Luke You were dead and then You were alive. And we are invited into that story. So, come Holy Spirit Awaken us, that this might settle in the profoundness of it we pray. In the name of Jesus, we ask. Amen.

Announcements:

dailyaudiobible.com is home base, it is the website, it’s where you find out what's going on around here.

And…well…what’s going on around you right now is the arrival of a new member of the family a new Daily Audio baby in our family. And, so, we are certainly thrilled and ecstatic about it and just that this is kind of our prayer request right now, is just the adjustment period and settling in and just all of the transition that goes into bringing a baby into the into the world and into a brand-new family. And, so, that's what's going on around here but everything else you can find out at dailyaudiobible.com.

The Community section, as I say often, is where the Prayer Wall lives and that is an always on and never off place to go. If…if you…if you want to pray or if you're in need of prayer, that's…that's the place to go. So, check that out.

If you want to partner with the Daily Audio Bible, if…if the mission here to…to keep reading God's word fresh every day and offering it to anyone who will listen to it, if that has landed in your life and has made a difference than thank you humbly, deeply, truly for your partnership. There is a link on the homepage. If you’re using the app, you can press the Give button in the upper right-hand corner or the mailing address is PO Box 1996 Spring Hill Tennessee 37174.

And, as always, if you have a prayer request or encouragement you can hit the Hotline button in the app, which is the little red button at the top, or you can dial 877-942-4253.

And that's it for today on Brian. I love you and I'll be waiting for you here tomorrow.

Community Prayer and Praise:

This message is for Alivia of New Mexico. I heard you say you wanted to hear from the community regarding how you might consider responding to a marriage proposal from a person you've been with for about three years. You mentioned being confused and having a hard time bringing yourself to break up. I hope you will recognize that confusion is a red flag. The enemy of your soul is the source of your confusion and he's come to steal, kill, and destroy. Being unequally yoked is about two in connection who have separate destinations. One honestly wants to go in one direction and the other honestly wants to go in a different direction. When they are yoked together at best they go in a compromised direction, neither going in the direction they wanted to go. That results in regret and mourning the loss of true life purpose. I encourage you to show your man respect and honor by allowing him to go in the direction of his choice. If he truly loves you, he will want you to live in your calling. I encourage you Alyvia, do not compromise truthfulness. Trust God's perfect plan for your life. His plans are always better than we know, and we will never regret trusting the one true God and savior. There is so much we don't know. Maybe your man will come to accept Jesus as a savior and Lord. Regardless of that, it is best not to foolishly rush in but rather wait on the Lord. God is truly good. Father I pray you give Alivia faith to believe your word and courage to follow your direction trusting your love for her and your most excellent perfect plans for her life in place of any other focus. Thank you for seeing us through Jesus loving us and receiving our prayers. We are your children saved and sanctified through Jesus alone. Amen.

Hello daily audio Bible family from London this is Sarah from London and I'm here with my nephews. What's your name? Malachi. And how old are you? 6 years old. And what's your name? Simeon. And how old are you? 3. Yes. And I’ve…they’ve just listened to Ezekiel on the Daily Audio Bible family and they want to say hello to Ezekiel. Say hello to Ezekiel. Hello Ezekiel. How are you? How are you? And what do you think of the…his reading? It was really good and lovely. Yeah, Malachi really enjoys it…really enjoyed listening to the reading today. And, yeah, so…gonna say bye. Bye. Bye. Bye. I hope you're all doing well Daily Audio Bible family and stay blessed. Take care. Sarah from London.

Hey DABbers, this is Retaining Honor, and I am calling in this morning with prayers for Alavia from New Mexico. And your message just so touched my heart because that is…that is my story, and I am unequally yoked with my husband and it is the number one thing that I pray about because I am now raising our child and I feel like I am alone in my spiritual journey. And dear sister that choice is yours to make. You can have a good life with this man that you have chosen and that you described but if it is anything like my situation your entire life you may feel like you are having to choose between the man that you love and the God that you love and the God that you serve. And I…I have not always put my savior first. And I urge you to look at your eternity and to look at your heavenly Father and to put Him first in your life and to think about, that…that this will impact your future family. So, I am praying for you as you are deliberating on this decision. And I love you sister. And also, so many people prayed this morning for Ramona from California. And Ramona I am a 32-year-old with a 7-year-old son and your testimony, your prayer request so touched my heart that I am praying for you dear sister. I can see my son also telling me that it would be OK and giving that same advice. He and I are so very close. So, sister I am praying for healing for you, and I am believing in healing for you and...

Hi Alana from New Mexico. Hey this is also my first time calling __ and I'm in Germany. So, I understand what you're going through. I also myself just got out from a two-year relationship that was really confusing. And one thing that I will share with you is once you're confused, God is not an author of confusion. Even if you do not have the strength to do it, ask the Holy Spirit for help and trust me He will help you to make the very best decision and as a believer that’s a woman only a man that really loves God can love a believing woman. And, so, you have peace, so you are no longer in a state of confusion where you do not have peace of mind ask the Holy Spirit for help. And I go to God. Father, please help Your daughter make the right decision and help her to see what You are protecting her from and please give her peace of mind that passes all human understanding. I love you all this is also my first-time calling in. I really appreciate this program. You all have a beautiful day. Bye.

Hello everybody. Hey this is Anette Allison from Oklahoma City. It is so good to hear you guys. Let you know surgery on my foot went good. Not sure if I have more surgeries or buy more motorcycles the numbers are quite similar. So, anyways thank you all for…for your many thoughts and prayers from most people and Daysha and Sally. I love you two so much. Thank you. Getting ready to go on the 29th to go pick up my son Alex from Durango Colorado and I'm going to haul him from there to my house. I'm gonna clean up his legal work but he's doing super good, and he saved up all the money I mean in like record time to get all the legal stuff handled and he'll be free and clear real soon and I am so thrilled to have him home here just for even a little while. So, pray that everything goes well, the trip is non- eventful. And we're gonna bring our dog and we had to put a big dog down and it was just rough. So, anyways have a wonderful day everyone. Take care. Bye.

Hello Daily Audio Bible family I am about 3 1/2- or 4-year listener calling in from Chicago and requesting prayer. I…for two things. One, I'm faced with a pretty important and quite honestly really tough career decision and I could just use some prayer for clarity and guidance and…and faith and just again a really clear vision on the path that the…the Lord wants me to go as I make this decision. Secondly, just prayers for my son. He continues…he's 25 and continues grow into adulthood and is also being faced with some pretty important adult decisions and I just pray that he will also seek the guidance and confidence and…and clarity to make the best decisions for now and into his future. I really appreciate it and love you all and love this community. Thank you.

[bellemorte180]

If I Die Before I Wake: Chapter One

Vengeance is defined as punishment or retribution for a wrong committed against another. A single curse could derail and weaken the most powerful being in the world. A single massacre could change the entire world in one go; but it could centuries to execute the perfect vengeance.

A/N: This is an OLD story of mine from like two years ago. I find the writing a bit..rough but I figured, what the hell. Post it anyway. 

Chapter One:

Mystic Falls

April 2010

Damon Salvator strutted across the parking lot of the Mystic Falls high school. Cars were parked in spaces and shouts could be heard echoing from inside the gym. Sports. Even in a town littered with the supernatural, pastimes such as high school sports were still cultivated as a religion. In the century that Damon had been alive, it made him smirk that such things had not changed. However, what has changed was the fact that Katherine fucking Pierce was now locked in the tomb that Damon once sought to free her from.

Irony really could be a bitch.

Damon couldn't lie and say that he wasn't enjoying these turn of events. He despised that bitch. Spending a hundred and forty-six years in love with her just to learn that she wasn't in that tomb at all, really felt like a gut punch. The moment he realized that she was gone and he had been lied to for the entirety of his vampiric existence was hard to swallow. Damon was proud and Katherine wounded that pride, so now she was stuck in that tomb and he had the mind to let her rot down there for the rest of her eternity.

What was it exactly that Anna had said? That Katherine had known exactly where he was the entire time? Did she know that where he was in the fifties? Did she know that he was imprisoned at Whitmore? A wave of fresh hot anger shot through him. If he wouldn't be trapped inside the tomb alongside her, Damon had the mind to spend the rest of the time torturing her just like he had been during those times. He might have forgiven her lies, if she had strolled in and let him out of that cell. Maybe he could have even saved Enzo. Maybe things would have been different.

“I must say, that was really impressive.” Damon paused and turned. A tall woman leaned against a dark Ford Escape with her arms crossed. She had short brown hair that flared out at her chin and light hazel eyes. She wore a reddish brown leather jacket with tight jeans and boots that went up to her knees. Damon couldn't help but admit that she was attractive despite the fact that she was clearly a vampire; and a very old one. Older than him and older than Katherine; so old that Damon didn't even sense her at first. “Imprisoning Katerina Petrova in the tomb.”

“I don't know what your talking about.” If Damon hadn't been on his guard before, he was now. Only few people called Katherine by her given name and those who did, were around when she was first turned. He learned of it briefly when he was human and called her that once-it didn't end well for him. She left him and went straight to his brother's bed. She hated that name and therefore, Damon never called her it again. However, if this vampire would willing call Katherine by her given name, then this vampire was far more dangerous than the one he just imprisoned. “And who are you?”

“Rose-Marie, but my friends call me Rose.”

“Well Rose-”

“We're not friends.” Rose cut him off with a smile. She pushed off the Ford Escape and strolled over to him slowly. Cheers echoed in the background as one of the teams scored something, causing the crowd to go wild. Rose stood in front of him directly and his first thought was to attack; but he knew he couldn't win. Perhaps if Stefan was there, the two of them together could take her down but the closer she got, he could feel the age vibrating off of her. That was the thing with vampires, the young ones could always tell who their elders were. “I'm here to offer a warning. He is coming and it would be best if you stayed out of his way. He may even give you a gold star if you leave the first doppelganger in the tomb.”

Suddenly Damon felt himself panic. Elena. His brother's girl. The girl who he couldn't help but feel something for. She was everything he wished Katherine had been and wanted her to be. However, just like the rotting bitch, Elena preferred his perfect saint of a brother. He wondered if Elena would like Stefan if she knew what he was really like when he lost control. Damon didn't know what answer he wanted because neither would be good for him. Either way, he wanted nothing to happen to her. He wanted Elena alive.

“Who is coming?”

“Klaus.” Rose flashed off before Damon could ask who in the hell was Klaus. He stood there completely frozen, unsure exactly what he should do. All he knew was that he was going to have to discover who Klaus was and what he could possibly want with Katherine; and how that related to Elena.

He didn't hear where Rose flashed off to; not over the screams of the crowd. He didn't see her enter the gym or weave through the crowd and leave at the other side of the building. It wasn't until she reached the town square that she slowed to a human pace. She closed her eyes and came to a standstill. It was on a whim that Trever wanted to come here. She was hesitant because it was Klaus's birth place; but she would never second guess Trever again. After five hundred years of running, it was about to end. Rose reached into her bag, pulled out her cellphone and dialed one of her contacts. Perhaps one day soon she would be able to see her friend again.

*

New Orleans

April 2010

Klaus stood over the balcony watching the endless parade flow past. Some celebration that Klaus didn't care enough to participate in. Once upon a time he relished in the flow and life that always was present in the city; his city. He built this town from the ground up and he built it for her. After shoving the white oak stake into the heart of his father, they were free. They no longer had to run and they decided to settle. She always wanted a home so he built her a city.

She loved Paris; so he ensured that the french were prevalent here. She loved color and life and exotic foods. She loved magic and the raw darkness of it. This was everything she could have ever wanted. Klaus would have laid the world at her feet if she had asked. She never did, only ever wanting him but he always knew that he could never be enough for her. And now he was alone. Living nothing more than a shadow of a life for the last one hundred and forty six years.

Klaus continued to listen to the cheering of the party goers below. He could smell the alcohol and the spices from the creole dishes. This had been his home and now he only came back once a year; except that time in the fifties and sixties where he secluded himself from the world. This was a time that he cherished and would lavish the most important person of his existence with gifts and his affections. An anniversary of when he became hers. Now, he came to mourn her. To allow that hallow hole in his chest to take center. He allowed himself to fully feel it.

He gripped the railing of the balcony that overlooked the street until his knuckles turned white. His eyes closed and he breathed deeply. He let the pain flow through him and he tried to imagine her smile; how she laughed and the very first moment he laid eyes upon her-over a thousand years ago.

That memory burned inside of him.

“This isn't healthy.” Klaus turned and saw the figure of his protégé leaning against the doorway. His arms were crossed and his shoulder rested upon the wood. Normally, vampires congregated to his home for the lavish and fantastic parties he threw. But the supernatural community knew by now that this week, the manor was draped in black and no one was to enter. “The whole of New Orleans knows why you're here. Some of them are afraid that you are going to go off the deep end like you did last year.”

“Marcel, those witches-”

“Did nothing more than simply be witches.” Marcel argued. “They practiced magic. Now, you know I have that rule that witches cannot practice magic without my permission. They did wrong but to massacre their entire coven?”

“It wouldn't be the first time I annihilated an entire coven.”

“I know. I was there in 1914. I helped you and watched you dagger Kol when he was collecting those dark objects.” Marcel replied but shook his head. “Look, you're more than welcome here. You know that. This is your city. You built it and I will keep it standing until you are able to take the keys back. But know this, I don't do it for you Klaus. You are not the only one who misses her.” Klaus flashed to him and gripped his throat.

“Do not for one second compare your pain to mine. She was my reason for breathing. If there wasn't a mere chance that I knew that she could come back to me, I would have ended my life a century ago.” He threw Marcel backwards and the vampire hit the wall. A dent was formed in the brick and the dark vampire looked up at the man who raised him.

“She was my mother. She made me into the man I am today. Don't forget that.” Marcel fired back. Klaus was all but ready to attack him again but his phone buzzed. He saw his sister's name flash on the screen and he scowled. She knew not to call him here. She knew that he was unreachable during this time. He ignored it; but before he could continue his assault on Marcel, she called right back. Klaus felt his temper flare but he pressed the answer button.

“What Freya?” He hissed into the receiver with clenched teeth.

“They found her. Mystic Falls.”

“What?”

“Mystic Falls. I'm in New York. I'll be there tomorrow around mid day.”

“Are you certain?”

“A contact called me. I'm positive. She is there.”

“Who was it?”

“Rose-Marie.”

“I gather she wants her freedom then?”

“And that vampire friend of her's.”

“I see.” If this was real, if this was finally happening, Rose could have whatever she desired. He would gift that pathetic friend of hers an entire country if she wished if it brought her back to him. He had been searching for over a century for this and here it was, all but being handed to him; and so close to their anniversary. “If she is really there, tell Rose-Marie that she is free. Call me when you arrive, I'll be there shortly.”

“Oh and Klaus. Katerina is buried in a tomb beneath the town.” Klaus smiled and ended the calls and Marcel was on him with wide eyes. With his vampire hearing, he heard everything. He was searching Klaus's face for any sign of breaking. Marcel wanted nothing more than to break this curse but he wasn't sure if this would break Klaus. If this didn't work, Marcel wasn't sure if Klaus would keep his humanity on this time. Klaus was dangerous but without his humanity, Marcel wasn't sure if New Orleans, Mystic Falls and the world as a whole would be left standing.

“They found her?”

“Yes.” Klaus wasn't looking at him but Marcel could see the wheels turning in his head. “I'm leaving at first light for Mystic Falls. I'll meet Freya there. Would you make arrangements and bring the coffins?” Marcel nodded. “Leave the daggers in tact if you would. At least for right now.” Marcel nodded but in the back of his mind, he was shocked. He never thought that Klaus would consider ever removing those daggers for all of eternity.

“Well, Rebekah and I are still on the outs so that one is safe and Kol hate me so trust me when I say that one will stay put.” Marcel joked and Klaus smirked at him. It was the first smirk that Marcel has seen since that fateful night. Klaus didn't say anything but instead flashed to the chamber he used when he was in residence. The master suite still remained untouched.

*

Mystic Falls

April 2010

Elena and Bonnie stumbled through the woods towards the old Fell Church. Bonnie trailed behind Elena, not completely sure that this was a wise idea but Elena was determined. She wanted to speak with Katherine and no matter how much Bonnie tried to convince her otherwise, she wouldn't change her mind. Once they reached the edge of the tomb, Elena looked towards Bonnie who nodded and magically maneuvered her into the tomb.

When Elena touched down on the bottom, she put the black duffle back that she had been carrying on the ground and called out for the vampire. Slowly, she could hear something rustling and moving towards her. It sounded like a horror movie and that moment when she felt as though she should run but she stood her ground. Soon enough, the pale and boney figure of Katherine appeared at the entrance of the tomb.

“Hello Elena.” Her voice was raspy and horse. It sounded as though she had not spoken for days. “You come to watch me wither away?” Elena couldn't look away from her. It was as though she was looking into a mirror. They were identical but it was as though she was looking into a mirror and hating what she saw. Looking at Katherine made her feel a sense of self loathing Elena only felt when she thought of her parents. “Stefan know you're here?”

“I brought you some things.”

“You can't bribe me. What is it that you want?” Elena pulled out a blanket and a pillow and tossed them into the tomb. Katherine didn't even look at them but kept her gaze on her doppelganger.

“I want you tell me about Klaus and what he could possibly want with me.” This surprised Katherine and for the first time since entering that tomb, she seemed amused. Elena pulled a thermos out of the black bag and sat it down onto the ground. Katherine could smell the blood but refused to move or break. She would not grovel for a drop of blood. She was Katherine Pierce. She was stronger than that.

“You've been busy.”

“I also brought you this.” It was a thick leather bound book and suddenly Katherine forgot about the thermos sitting on the cave floor. “Its your family history. It says in here that the family line ended with you. Obviously that is not true.”

“You think that if you brought me some family keepsake that I'd open up?” Elena reached down and cracked open the thermos full of blood. Katherine's instinct took over and she lunged forward, only to be stopped by an invisible barrier separating her from Elena. Elena poured a tiny bit of blood into the cup and pushed it towards Katherine, who greedily took the cup and drank.

“More blood? Start talking.”

“You have the Petrova fire.” Elena said nothing. “It is a long story. Klaus and I. Goes all the way back to 1492 in England after I left Bulgaria....or I was thrown out.” Katherine took another sip of blood and Elena tossed her a questioning look. “I had a child out of wedlock. My family, your ancestors disowned me. My baby, my daughter was given away.”

Elena wanted to say that she was sorry but found that she couldn't say anything at all. She didn't want to feel sorry for Katherine. She wasn't willing to show pity for the woman who tormented both Stefan and Damon for almost a century and a half. “I caught the eye of a nobleman named Klaus. I was taken with him at first until I learned what he was and what he wanted from me. Then I ran like hell.”

“What did he want?”

“Klaus is one of the first seven vampires to walk this earth. We are all descended from one of those vampires, but Klaus was more. He had the werewolf gene that was locked away for centuries. The blood of the doppelganger unlocked that curse. He wanted to sacrifice me on an alter to lift his curse.” Elena froze. “So I ran. I killed myself, became a vampire and infuriated him. He then massacred my entire family in revenge.”

“Is that what he wants with me? To drain my blood.”

“No. He killed one of my decedents, another doppelganger, in 1702. The same night she gave birth to her son. Klaus was always one for a backup plan and it was best to keep the Petrova line alive. His wolf side has been unlocked for centuries and then he killed his father shortly after that.” She gave a merciless laugh. In truth, Katherine never cared for her descendants and cared even less for the one standing in front of her. They only made her bitter. It proved that her daughter had a full life that she was never apart of. “He is coming here because another curse haunts him now. He wants back what I took from him.”

“What did you take?” Elena asked in a whisper. Confusion filled her. There was so much she didn't know and so many questions she wished to ask.

“He massacred my entire family because I disobeyed him. He took them from me so I took the one person that meant everything to him.” Katherine smirked and Elena could tell that Katherine thought this was her one greatest achievement. “Did you ever ask yourself why I was in Mystic Falls in 1864? It wasn't because of Damon and Stefan. They were nothing more than a distraction.”

“Katherine, what did you do?”

“I took his wife.”

“What?”

“I took Caroline.”

*

England

April, 1492

The garden only bloomed at night. The flowers that were all closed during the day and it made many of the servants wonder why Lady Caroline wanted the flowers that could only be seen by the moon. It was a request she made of her husband and Klaus was nothing more than obliging to Caroline's whims. Truth was that Caroline cared deeply for those she deemed worthy enough, and Rose was one of her friends that she held close.

Early in their friendship, Rose had stated that she missed seeing the flowers bloom. Since Rose became someone she cared for, but didn't trust enough to give a daylight ring too, she asked Klaus to have an entire garden planted with just flowers that bloomed at night. The two strolled with linked arms as the moon was high in the sky. It was just over a week away before the full moon and Caroline could could stop pretending.

“How long will the doppelganger be your guest?” Rose asked and she could see Caroline scowl. She hated the doppelganger and Rose knew that it wasn't just because of the girl herself. Truthfully, Caroline hadn't actually met her in person yet. She was less than pleased when Klaus suggested that Katerina stay at their home. She was was even less pleased when Klaus told her they shouldn't flaunt their marriage. The row that followed had been one of their worst in the five hundred years they had been married, only surpassed by the fight of epic proportions they had when they turned the very first vampires only a few years after they were turned themselves. There was so much more to the story of the doppelganger and the Mikelsons but Rose knew better than to pry. She adored Caroline. She was giving and bright and had this light that was rare from vampires who were as old as they were. However, that light could go out just as quickly as her husband's temper turned.

“Just another week. Then Klaus will drain her and I will never have to suffer seeing that face again.” Caroline replied as she picked an evening primrose. She turned towards Rose and smiled. She pushed Rose's dark curls behind her ear and placed the yellow flower in her hair. “There, you look beautiful. Now tell me, has Trever professed his undying love for you yet?” Rose laughed. Caroline always tried to convince the two of them that they were made for one another when neither Rose nor Trever saw anything romantic in one another.

“No. Not at all. You know that he is nothing more than a brother to me.” Rose chuckled and Caroline laughed with her. Caroline had this laughed that was musical and Rose couldn't help but feel uplifted when she heard it.

“Of course. Then again he is far to busying bedding the doppelganger.” Rose froze with wide eyes. She wasn't sure if Caroline knew and if Caroline knew then Klaus did as well. “I do hope that his habits won't become a distraction.” Rose nodded negatively. Caroline gave another wide smile. “Good. I would hate for my husband to be forced to end him. If you tried to stop it, Nik would kill you too and I would hate to lose one of my best friends.”

Rose couldn't respond. Laughter could be heard in the gardens. The two turned their heads and saw Katerina running towards them. Her long dark brown curls bounced behind her and she turned her head towards the man who was chasing her. Elijah. Caroline rolled her eyes and looked at the pair. She turned to Rose but muttering.

“Another reason Trever shouldn't become too attached is the fact that Elijah will probably take her to bed before the full moon.” Caroline hissed. The dark haired girl stopped in front of them and Elijah was quickly on her heels. If Katerina was paying attention, she might have noticed that Elijah caught up to her far to quickly for a mere human.

“Hello.” Katerina said as she looked between the two. It was clear that she wasn't sure who they were but intended to find out.

“Katerina, may I introduce my sister, Caroline and her friend, Rose.”

“Oh! I was so hoping to meet you. Is Rebekah with you?” Caroline plastered a fake smile on her lips and her ice blue eyes traveled over the girl. Clearly Elijah has been speaking of the family, which was fine as long as they kept the important parts a secret. Apparently her marriage to Klaus was one of them; much to her distain.

“No. Rebekah is away for the time being.” In a coffin. With a dagger in her chest. Because she sided with Caroline on Klaus's idea of hiding their marriage. While Klaus would never dare dagger Caroline, Rebekah was fair game to him and her displeasing him in such a manner was enough for Klaus to put her to sleep. “But she will be back soon, I am sure.”

“Oh, that is a pity. I was hoping to get to know both of my new sisters.” Katerina smiled at her and it took every ounce of control Caroline had to not rip out her throat. While the doppelganger may not realize how violent Caroline's thoughts were, she could tell that the blonde did not like her very much. Elijah had stated that Caroline and Klaus were close and that she was protective towards him. She could only hope that over time the blonde would grow to accept her as Klaus's wife because it was clear that he was going to offer for her.

“Rose.” Caroline turned. “Would you mind stalling our stroll to another time? I would like some time to get to know Katerina.” Rose nodded and bowed slightly. She turned to walk away at a human speed but Caroline called out to her again. “Do think on what we discussed. It would mean a great deal to me if you do.” Caroline smiled when Rose nodded. She turned back towards Katerina and linked their arms together. “Do not fret Elijah, she will be perfectly safe with me.” Elijah looked at her wearily and turned. He knew that Caroline would not harm her because she was important to Klaus and that was all that mattered to his wife.

The two strolled a little while, admiring the flowers and making small comments about them. Caroline wanted to ensure that Elijah was far enough away that he could not hear them. That last thing she needed was her brother to be gaining too much attachment with the doppelganger, as she was soon to die anyway.

“Tell me Katerina, how are you finding England?”

“Very well. It is much different than Bulgaria certainly but it has its charms.” The girl smiled, trying hard to get the other to like her. Katerina was never a people pleaser but she needed to at least try and form a friendship with her.

“Charms? Like Niklaus?”

“Yes. He is quite charming.” Caroline stopped and rolled her eyes and Katerina stopped, shocked at the reaction. Caroline had enough of her after only a few words. She turned and bent down slightly since she was a bit taller than her. Her eyes dilated and Katerina became entranced.

“What do you really think of Niklaus?”

“He is handsome but he doesn't pay me any mind but everyone says he will make me offer of marriage. It is as though he doesn't notice me or want me at all, only to do what is expected of him. Elijah is much more pleasing.” That made Caroline smile. She wouldn't lie and say that she had some worry over Klaus and the doppelganger. It was clear that Katerina would sleep with anyone that would let her but Klaus was hers. No other woman was to touch him. Ever. There was that small rough patch in France a few hundred years ago but they had grown since then. Yet, she had been worried. While this wasn't Tatia, she looked like her. Klaus had been infatuated with her once, and here she was in the flesh again. The narcotic part of her brain couldn't help but be jealous.

“Anything else?”

“He scares me. I don't know what he would do to me if he found out.”

“Found out what?”

“That I allowed Trever to bed me and that I had a child out of wedlock.” That made Caroline pause.

“A child? Where is it?”

“She was taken from me. My father took her from my arms just has I had given birth to her. I have no idea where she is or whom she was given too. She would be two years old now.” Even in the mist of compulsion, Caroline could tell that she thought of her daughter often. Caroline felt a pang of sympathy in her heart as she thought of the child she never got to know. The one that never even had the chance grow inside of her but that she so desperately wanted to give Klaus.

And then that pang was gone.

“You will go to bed and sleep until the sun comes up. We spent most of the night strolling through the gardens, getting to know one another. You heard me laugh and believe that we have become great friends. You never told me of your daughter or your relationship with Trever.” Katerina repeated her instructions and turned on her heels, making her way back towards the castle. Caroline stood there, watching as Katerina fled back into the castle.

[rosethornewrites]

Fic: leaves eddied over the earth’s scars (fixed)

Relationships: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Jiāng Yànlí & Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn

Characters: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Jiāng Chéng | Jiāng Wǎnyín

Additional Tags: Angst, Grief/Mourning, Trauma, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Regret, Implied/Referenced Character Death

Summary: Lan WangJi wakes to find Wei WuXian quietly grieving his shijie.

Notes: Spectre was supposed to be a one-shot, but guess not. The title is a line from the poem “Try to Praise the Mutilated World,” which is also the series title. Also, I dumbly initially set this in the fall, but Jiang YanLi's birthday is supposedly May 2. So I fixed it and added the symbolism of the magnolia blossom. For those who don't know, in China magnolia blossoms tend to symbolize womanly beauty and gentleness, which suits YanLi. This is the corrected version.

AO3 link

Spectre

---------

Lan WangJi wakes without knowing what has disrupted his sleep. The jingshi is silent, and Wei Ying’s side of the bed is empty and unrumpled. But he has grown used to Wei Ying’s late nights; that alone would not disturb his sleep.

The silver light of a barely-waning moon spills into their home, the door slid open and letting the soft, chill breeze of late April pour in. When Lan WangJi sits up, he can barely see the shadow of Wei Ying’s figure on the porch.

A sense of unease prickles at his skin as moments tick by and there is no movement, and finally Lan WangJi stands, drawing on his outer robe and bringing Wei Ying’s with, padding barefoot to the door.

Wei Ying is curled in on himself, seated at the edge of the porch with his forehead on one knee. In his lap is a rabbit that has of late taken a liking to him, a gentle white doe dappled in brown spots so light they were almost pink. Fallen white petals from the nearby magnolia tree surround him, a few adorning his robes.

The scene would be lovely to behold if not for tears that glimmer on Wei Ying’s face in the moonlight.

Lan WangJi moves to him immediately, stepping over what appears to be an unopened jar of Emperor’s Smile. He drapes the outer robes around his shoulders, then sits behind him and gathers him close, resting his chin on Wei Ying’s shoulder. There is a tension in him, as though he is so taut he might snap.

“Wei Ying, I’m here.”

“Lan Zhan,” he murmurs, shivering as he leans into his embrace. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Lan WangJi wishes he had, wonders if there are other nights that find Wei Ying crying alone. Or, perhaps worse, drinking himself numb. Even if tonight has been the first time, the placement of the moon suggests it is after midnight; he has potentially been out here for hours alone, in quiet pain.

“Tell me?”

He makes it a request, not a demand, something Wei Ying is free to deny if he wishes. Over a minute ticks by in silence, so long he thinks perhaps all he can do was hold him in the moonlight.

But then Wei Ying lets out a long sigh.

“Next week would have been shijie’s birthday.”

Though it’s barely a whisper, Lan WangJi can only describe his tone as lost. He understands; for Wei Ying, it will be the first birthday since her passing.

After Wei Ying’s death every anniversary had felt like a fresh lash against his soul—their meeting, the cold spring cave, the battle against the XuanWu of Slaughter… all through the day he’d plummeted to his death. The first year had been the worst.

Lan WangJi wonders how many anniversaries he has quietly grieved alone like this, hiding his pain. He had faced his grief alone, refusing to impose upon his brother, but he doesn’t want Wei Ying to face this alone.

“Tell me about her?”

He keeps it as a request, willing to simply sit here and hold him if that is what Wei Ying needs.

“Ah, you met her, Lan Zhan.”

Something in the way he says it is hesitant, though, and so Lan WangJi responds gently.

“I do not know her as Wei Ying does.”

He purposefully keeps the phrase in the present tense, for Jiang YanLi lives on in the memories of her brothers. He knows Wei Ying has noticed when his breath hitches and he shifts to the side in Lan WangJi’s arms to lean his head against his chest, gently repositioning the rabbit as he does.

Comparing Wei Ying’s speech to a burst dam, though a common metaphor, is inaccurate; rather, words come slowly, sometimes haltingly.

Lan WangJi learns of Jiang YanLi’s dedication to keeping him safe and happy, how she found him up a tree and coaxed him down and home and filled him with warm soup and love. Of her smiles at his antics, and how he sought to keep her smiling through childish behavior. Of how she tried to shield him from Madam Yu’s rages.

Far more than a sister; he is grieving the loss of a surrogate mother. He knows of Wei Ying’s childhood, of the time spent fighting dogs for food in the streets following the death of his parents before Jiang FengMian had finally found him. Lan WangJi is reminded of his own inconsolable grief at his mother’s death. The similarities are incomplete, but pain is not meant to be compared—only acknowledged and eased.

If only he knew how.

Between the lines he hears another fear: that without  Jiang YanLi the rift between Wei Ying and Jiang WanYin will never mend, that she was what brought them together, that without her any reconciliation is impossible.

Tears have seeped through the layers he is wearing by the time Wei Ying falls quiet, his breath still hitching irregularly.

“It was my fault she was there. If I hadn’t stopped at Koi Tower…”

Lan WangJi knows how these regrets work, having questioned his own actions for years, critiquing everything he could have done differently that might have saved him. After learning from Wen QiongLin of Wei Ying’s secret, the loss of his golden core, he knows just how many mistakes he made.

“She would have sought you regardless,” he says, and knows it to be true. Just as he had come, Jiang YanLi would have out of love.

A tremor runs through Wei Ying, and Lan WangJi brings one hand up to thread through his hair in a comforting motion.

“She wished to protect you.” And she did goes unsaid.

“She shouldn’t have,” is so soft he barely hears it, and he can’t stop himself from clutching Wei Ying tighter against him. The rabbit kicked at them, squirming out from between them to settle on the porch beside them; Lan WangJi barely registers it.

“She sacrificed herself and I just—“

“Wei Ying.” He can’t bear for him to complete that thought. “That was not you. The Book of Turmoil…”

The sob that rips itself from Wei Ying seems to echo in the still air.

“How can you be so sure?”

There is an air of desperation to his voice, and it pains Lan WangJi that Wei Ying has been so wronged, lost so much, been led to doubt even himself.

“Su MinShan played at Nightless City, just as he did at Qiongpi Path.”

A tremor passes through Wei Ying at the mention of that place.

“His target was me,” Lan WangJi whispers. “Your death was his weapon.”

The events at Guanyin Temple had left him with little doubt: Su MinShan had killed Jiang YanLi to break Wei Ying, to leave him susceptible to the music, knowing he would be too strong to succumb without excessive measures. Just as the other cultivators had given into their worst inclinations, their amplified lust for power leading them to fight each other over the remains of the Stygian Tiger Seal, Wei Ying had succumbed to self-loathing so deep it had led him to...

He can’t finish that thought, panic and grief threatening despite the warmth of Wei Ying in his arms.

Lan WangJi suspects Jiang WanYin had been similarly affected, that perhaps some of the rage that the man still holds onto was truly anger at his own actions.

Or perhaps he just hopes this is the case for Wei Ying’s sake.

“That was not you,” he says again.

Wei Ying’s fingers trace one of the discipline scars that peeks above his night robes, as though he recognizes it as a physical symbol of their trauma. Lan WangJi resists the temptation to trace the almost invisible scar at Wei Ying’s throat, trying not to remember his attempt to convince him his life was not worth sealing his spiritual energy. Even so, he can’t quite contain a shudder at the phantom memory.

“Lan Zhan…” His breath is hot against his collarbone. “Does it ever end, Lan Zhan?”

He knows he is speaking of grief, of trauma and regret and guilt. It had for him, but only because Wei Ying had returned, the notes of their song played by a masked man on a mountain thirteen years into his grief bringing tears to his eyes and hope to his soul.

“I did not wish it to,” Lan WangJi admits.

Letting go of it would have felt like letting go of him, and that he couldn’t bear.

Fingers come to rest on his cheek, wiping at moisture he didn’t realize was there.

“Oh, Lan Zhan.”

Wei Ying’s voice is grieved, but the apology is implied rather than spoken. They had promised, after all.

“Together,” Lan WangJi tells him. “We can try together.”

“Together,” Wei Ying echoes, but adds nothing more.

Lan WangJi is not good with words; this conversation has required more of them than he can usually manage. But he knows Wei Ying still needs them, needs reassurance, from the way he is pressed close, pliable, drooping against him, the tension eased somewhat but still present under the surface. It would be easy to let action take over and distract, but that will not heal.

“How do you wish to celebrate Jiang YanLi’s birth?” he finally manages, uncertain of what else to say; he only hopes these words will help, not harm.

Nearly a minute passes in silence, and he wonders if he failed, but then Wei Ying speaks so softly he almost doesn’t understand the words, as though he is speaking to himself.

“I wouldn’t be welcome.”

Lan WangJi has to quash old anger before he can reply.

“I will write to Jiang WanYin. We will go to Yunmeng, if that is your wish.”

Welcome or not, there will be words if Wei Ying is denied, he decides. Perhaps sixteen years’ worth.

Wei Ying doesn’t reply, doesn’t say no, only trembles in his arms, and though he knows it is not, Lan WangJi decides to interpret it as cold, lifts him to his feet and wraps the robe more snugly around him.

He stoops to pick up the rabbit, leaving the untouched jar of Emperor’s Smile to put away in the morning. Wei Ying’s eyes are red-rimmed, his face pale in the moonlight, as pale as he had been at Nightless City. He looks delicate, like he might break. Again.

He looks exhausted.

Lan WangJi hands him the rabbit, then scoops him into his arms, meeting no resistance as he brings him into the jingshi, tucks him into bed, pulling away only to place the rabbit in a small hutch near the bed usually reserved for ill or injured ones.

He isn’t certain whether either of them will truly sleep tonight, but he gathers Wei Ying to him, runs a hand soothingly against his back until his breathing is calm and regular anyway. Even if he isn’t asleep, he is at least no longer so tense it feels he could shatter.

Tomorrow he will make arrangements for Uncle to take over his duties during his absence, will write the letter to Jiang WanYin and send it, will visit XiChen in his seclusion so he won’t worry at his absence and to explain his intentions in Yunmeng, will begin preparations for the journey.

Most important, he will watch Wei Ying, give him what he needs so they can face their pain together.

[shitposting-extraordinaire]

College was a terrible time for me. And Animal Crossing was my savior. Throughout all the turmoil, it gave me this cozy reprieve from the madness.

As with any open-ended game of the sort, I made a project for myself. Making a story town for the dream suite - not a horror town, as many people try, a mystery. And reexploring my town after so long yielded so many details I’d totally forgotten, and some that still rang clear as day. And now that everyone's moved on from New Leaf, I think it would be fun to explore that old story.

So if you’re in for a long story about a forgotten passion project, click read below.

(Dream code is, sadly, now inactive)

For atmosphere, I suggest you listen to the town theme that would have been playing when you visited. The dream-town was accessed at 1am, so this song below would be playing softly over the tragic town of Opalvale. As this was early april, I invite you to imagine the cherry blossom petals that would slowly drift across the whole town.

My town was lovingly landscaped - and coated in flowers. This is what you’d open up to, with the two empty spaces being where the dream suite bed would lie. If you put on the four pieces of clothes provided, you’d get...

...your first hint something was up. Because most of the town was very traditionally pretty. With this being early April, the cherry blossoms would be in full bloom.

And some decidedly not so cute details.

Unsure if dream sutie villagers could tell you what nicknames they called the player, I had all of my villagers call my character “murderer.” But let’s get into the story proper. Not with the main character herself, but the house closest to where you would start. That would be the church.

One of three humans, Joan was the priestess of the village. If spoken to, she’d say, “Stay safe, my child.”

Inside was a traditional church setup, with pipe organs, mannequins as parishoners, and a few side rooms with no relevance to the plot.

But if you creeped behind the pipe organ, you could find a secluded room extremely relevant to the plot.

A memorial of some kind is in session. Black flowers for mourning surrounded by votive candles and offerings. The markings on the wall read “Tu Fui Ego Eris,” a traditional epitath. K.K. Lullaby tinks away on the gramophone, griddled with static reflecting the time passed. And in the middle, in a pure white frame is a photo of the villager Whitney. If you lingered enough, the lullaby would play a series of strange, disorienting triangle waves right at the end.

This would not be Whitney’s last appearance.

If you head up to Joan’s bedroom, there was one more detail - a map on her wall with a red X.

All that remains of this house is a basement room of no import. But related to the memorial room, at the top left corner of the town...

A small graveyard, with four graves, surrounded by fresh flowers. Three graves bear perfect fruit trees, and if you dig into the spot;

A grim detail. If you dig into the spot below the dead tree, where there is no gravestone, however;

A hat that, if worn, is revealed to be just a skull. Whitney’s presumably. But Whitney’s house is gone, she not among the villagers, you cannot investigate her house. But of the remaining two, one house is much closer.

Regina, the blue-haired DJ, and her home is full of details pertaining to Whitney.

The main room is a concert venue, with shirts on display showing various villagers at instruments. The mannequin is clearly Regina, but who are the other five shirts?

Most of the house is simply other rooms in the concert hall.

The basement is especially irrelevant, but looks neat.

The backroom, however;

This appears to be a writing room, with the whiteboard, some instruments around. There are four cushions around the room, meant to resemble documents. A fifth hangs on the wall, with the same pattern as the cushions;

“ＷＨＩＴ． ＰＡＹＯＵＴ“

Five insurance payouts, all in the band room. A band shown to have six members. And if you look at the photo in the memorial chamber, you can see Whitney is wearing a specific shirt that’s on display.

Whitney was on second guitar. Regina got one payout, leaving four to the other band members. To identify them, though, we’ll have to go to the final house.

This is Exie, and if you speak to her, she says in letters affected with accent marks and random capitalization, “I’m nOT aLloWEd tO sPeaK...” This is the village who, if the animals talk, will refer to as “murderer.”

Like her home exterior and outfit, Exie’s foyer is pontzy and extravegant. Exie’s home is the most interesting of the three for many reasons. The backroom is strikingly out of place.

To the right is a bar with melancholy music, to drown her woes.

And to the left, a study. If you rotate the camera, there’s a similar payout on the desk, only this one has been denied - by the killer, not allowed to talk.

Or is she?

The basement is barren, but most of the furniture inside is directly from Whitney’s default house design. Only now, there is money scattered around - wealth from both Whitney and Exie, presumably - as well as swords and skeletal models, foreboding symbols both. The fireplace crackles like static - perhaps it’s simply a memory for Exie? A look into her mind? And in her mind there are three mannequins.

One wears all the same clothes as Exie. One bears a wolf hood, Whitneys shirt, and white pants. Above these two is a scrolling sign with a heart pattern. Past lovers, now forever parter.

Curiously, there’s a third person in the room, wearing two things. A heart shirt - an unrequitted lover? - and an ever foreboding skull hood.

Exie loved Whitney. Someone else loved - Whether they loved Whitney and were furious as her lack of interest, or if they loved Exie and wanted Whitney gone, who can say. But it appears there was a third party in this crime. Despite the public opinion and denied life insurance payout, Exie was innocent. Perhaps the trauma led her to obsess over another - hence the shrine to Kevin - as a coping mechanism?

Upstairs in their twin bedroom is a chorus of singing lullaboids. And as you noticed, there’s tons of villager pictures around the room.

Using these pictures, you can see everyone’s default outfit, and figure out the rest of the band members who got insurance payouts.

Fang the wolf appears to be the vocalist. Klaus the bear was singer and lead guitar. Whitney on second guitar, Benjamin the dog on bass, Freckles the duck on drums, and Regina as a dj. Could one of them be the unrequited lover? A person furious at Whitney who also stood to gain financially?

Much of the town exterior is simply pretty. This extends to a well kept beach, with a curious arrangement of trees.

The same arrangement, in fact, as the map on the wall of the priestess’s room. If you dig in the hidden dig spot, you get;

...A secret of little relevance. Although, this can help in one small way. The graveyard is in the upper left corner of the town, bordering a small patch of land.

Barely a sliver of beach is inaccesable without a wetsuit, and from the cliff face you can see something has been buried. This is the only spot left in the town.

An outfuit, buried so long it’s gone to rot, a skeleton, and an axe. The skull without a body in the graveyard was disposed of here. You have discovered Whitney’s corpse, buried where no one could find it... save the preacher, who seems only tangential to the case.

If you noticed, there are five dig spots, one hidden behind the tree. The final clue, something left by the murderer... perhaps accidentally.

A single pink feather, small enough the killer missed it.

There is only one bird villager. A pink bird, in fact, who was a member of the band. Freckles, the pink bird who lives closest to the cemetary and body dump. The same color as the pink shirt representing the unrequitted lover. Who would have matched perfectly with the bright pink diving suit buried.

What happened exactly is meant to be for the player’s imagination. Freckles is the likeliest killer. But what of Joan? She knew the location of the diving suit buried. Did she simply bury it herself, perhaps at Freckles order? Or was the feather left to incriminate her?

Either way, the picture is far clearer than the simple idea that Exie killed her. Freckles and likely Priestess Joan were in some way involved.

Such is the story of Opalvale. What became of the band and it’s members, who can say. But the player, as the detective, has found the most important clues to the truth. The player can put the story to an end.

I don’t type this all because I’m boasting about a project I did years and years ago. It’s because this is a time capsule for me.

In the midsts of the lowest point of my life, New Leaf gave me sanity. To go back and discover this town was to discover that, at this point in my life, I still had a creative drive drilling away at my mind. Even in the mists of despair, I crafted a surprisingly intricate story in a game that was in no way made to house tales of murder and intrigue.

I share this as a thank you to the me of the past, who felt he had nothing to live for. This is a thank you to the me who found it in his heart to love this silly game and all his villagers, even as he swirled into chaos.

Even now, when I need a background town name in writing, I usually go for Opalvale. Perhaps with New Horizons, I’ll do something similar.

But that night is over. Opalvale will forever be the past. May the future be bright... and similarly decorated with wistful new Animal Crossing memories.

[gentlejack]

were i fit for another world, how gladly would i go there.

I am resolved not to let my life pass without some private memorial that I may hereafter read, perhaps with a smile.

FULL NAME: Anne Lister.

NICKNAME(S): Gentleman Jack / Jack The Lass ( read: “big old homo” ), Fred or Freddy to certain of her lovers.

AGE: 41

SPECIES: Lesbian (a species of its own?).

NATIONALITY: British.

SEXUAL ORIENTATION: See: species. 

OCCUPATION: Landowner, world traveller, womaniser. 

FINANCIAL STANDING: Landed gentry.

FANDOM: Gentleman Jack. 

FACE CLAIM: Suranne Jones.

RELATIONSHIPS

PARENTS: Rebecca Battle & Jeremy Lister. 

SIBLINGS: Marian (younger sister and very much an annoyance in Anne’s eyes); four brothers - one older, three younger (all dead). 

SIGNIFICANT OTHER: Ann Walker (verse dependent). 

CLOSEST FRIENDS: Aunt Anne; Isabella Norcliffe - a former lover.

RIVALS: Society, an assortment of men daring to cross her path on a bad day, her sister (playfully). 

Love scorned to leave the ruin desolate; & Time & he have shaded it so sweetly, my heart still lingers in its old abiding place.

PHYSICAL TRAITS

EYE COLOUR(S): Dark brown.

HAIR COLOUR(S): Dark brown.

HEIGHT: 173 cm.

BODY BUILD: Athletic, strong, tall, upright posture.

NOTABLE PHYSICAL TRAITS: A dashing wardrobe, confident gait, and memorable facial features. 

SMELLS: Earth, fresh air, heavy wool, ink, slight whiff of eau de cologne. 

CLOTHES: Top hats, long skirts, silken cravats, waistcoats, fine button-up shirts, leather boots, billowing greatcoats, gloves. 

BODY LANGUAGE: Proud, active, fearless, energetic; she has brought Efficiently Butch-Stomping Whilst Shouldering Aside An Assortment Of Men to utter perfection. 

It was my journal that frightened people. She had made up her mind not to open her lips before me. 

PHOBIAS AND DISEASES

FEARS: Loneliness. Failure. Conformity. Captivity. Heartbreak. 

MENTAL ISSUES: Obsessive Tendencies. 

PHYSICAL DISORDERS: Endometriosis. 

PERSONALITY

USUAL MOOD/EXPRESSION: Carelessly self-assertive. 

MORAL ALIGNMENT: Lawful Neutral. 

HOGWARTS HOUSE: Ravenclaw. 

FIVE PROMINENT TRAITS: Passion, faith, seduction, knowledge, freedom. 

INTERESTS: Mountaineering, geology, meteorology, history, architecture, botany, neuroscience, classical literature, swordsmanship, medicine, anatomy, languages, politics, palaeontology, travelling, women. 

BAD HABITS: A certain tendency to brush aside the concerns of others; a sharp tongue & scathing sarcasm - she’s quick to say a hurtful thing or two, this one, quite lacking in delicacy or social etiquette. Money has a tendency to run through her fingers rather faster than she expected. Rumour has it she’s an opportunist, but one thing’s for certain: she values logic and strategy over the regard for others and keeps her heart well-shielded beneath an occasional armour of arrogance and grandeur. Beware of her fiery temper … and her whirlwind coach-driving, as it so happens. 

GOOD HABITS: Generosity and an abundance of love to give. Anne is a free spirit, a scientist at heart, very charismatic and in the proud possession of a most winning smile. She values what is hers and remains fiercely protective of her loved ones. Anne is a leader, a care-taker, someone who shoulders pain, responsibility and inconvenience so that others will not have to. She gives as freely and readily as she takes and has a keen, joyful mind.

I love & only love the fairer sex & thus beloved by them in turn, my heart revolts from any other love than theirs.

BIOGRAPHY

Anne is the oldest surviving child of Rebecca Battle and Jeremy Lister. Born in Market Weighton on the 3rd of April in 1791, Anne received a clerical education from a private tutor & reverend. Her exploration of her lesbian tendencies began after the year 1804, when she met her first love at Manor House School in York. To absolutely no one’s surprise, Anne was kicked out of boarding school for her lesbian relationship. She had soon enough begun to make rather a name for herself as an untameable young woman determined to seduce her female companions and break traditional gender roles (and quite a few hearts along the way). Since the academical world was denied to her, she continuously sought out private lessons from leading scientists and teachers. In her adult years, she received a one-on-one education in anatomy and palaeontology on behalf of Georges Cuvier in Paris. 

Anne quickly cultivated a passion for – well, not only lesbianism, but also classical literature, mountaineering, science, and travelling. After her uncle’s death, she inherited his estate, Shibden Hall, though she had been acting as the head of the family for some time, running the coal business and organising the tenancy. She accumulated a fair amount of wealth over the years and has no qualms spending it on her extravagant lifestyle - but can she afford what her heart desires most - a wife? We shall see …

IMPORTANT WOMEN IN ANNE’S PAST & PRESENT

Eliza Raine: Anne’s first lover, whom she shared a room with at boarding school as a teenage girl.  Isabella Norcliffe: A former girlfriend of Anne’s, nicknamed “Tib”. They met in 1810 and remained friends throughout Anne’s life, though Anne heavily disapproves of Isabelle’s alcoholism. Mariana Lawton: The woman who caused Anne to wear black, since Mariana’s marriage to a man plunged Anne into deep mourning. They met in 1814 and still uphold frequent contact, occasionally meeting up for a bit of a lesbian romp.  Maria Barlow: A widow Anne met in Paris and maintained a relationship with for two years, between 1824 and 1826, before they fell apart and Anne returned to England.  Vere Hobart: Another addition to a long list of women who left Anne in favour of becoming a man’s wife. Vere is Anne’s latest love before meeting Ann Walker. She settled down in Hastings with her for the duration of a winter, firmly planning on spending the rest of her life in her company. Until, that is, she met Vere’s groom-to-be.  Ann Walker: Wealthy, sweet, kind little Miss Walker. Surely Anne is not in love with her. Surely she cares little about her company. Surely this is all just a game. Surely Anne just courts her for her money and social standing. Certainly. Doubtlessly. Definitely. 

ANNE AND RELATIONSHIPS

Frankly speaking, Anne LOVES to flirt - a bit of good-natured, harmless flirtation is one of her favourite pastimes, regardless of her current relationship status. When she’s not committed to another woman, she’s quite ready to take things further & far beyond a mere exchange of charm. Anne is very confident in her sexuality and wastes no time obsessing over the 19th century morality of her conquests.  She loves women, she loves being around them, she loves looking at them and courting them, and she loves being intimate with them behind closed doors.

But it is important to note that all of those affairs are private. Due to the nature of the society she lives in, Anne can not let herself be seen openly kissing a woman and confirming the many rumours circulating about her and her female “acquaintances” ( who, by the way, she keeps in close touch with even after years. You physically CAN’T avoid Anne’s exes forever).

When Anne falls for someone, she falls hard and fast. She becomes very attached and demonstrates the deepest care and affection. But even so, she knows how to set boundaries for herself, regardless of what her heart wants. She has been thoroughly educated on looking out for herself in a relationship. If she is hurt beyond a certain point, she’ll be gone. Additionally, she can be calculating in her choice of partners, particularly when it comes to (unofficial) marriage. Anne is the head of her family and the one in charge of running Shibden, so any permanent commitment to a woman depends first and foremost on her lover’s social and financial standing.

( Unless … you manage to change her mind. )

See here for sexual boundaries & preferences.

TL;DR: Anne Lister is best summed up in the words of my girlfriend, who ever so wisely described her as follows:  Anne: I'm very calm and classy. Also Anne: STOMP STOMP STOMP TANTRUM TANTRUM TANTRUM  STOMP STOMP LESBIAN ROMP STOMP STOMP.

[redrobinfection]

I’ll Be There

JayTim | Established Relationship | Angst | Emotional Hurt/Comfort | Fluff | Angst and Fluff | Discussions of Death | 9.9K (below read more link) | Read on Ao3

AN: A gift for @chibinightowl in (belated) celebration of her birthday. Hope this is all you hoped it would be, more even (and not too over the top, at that! =_=;) ❤ Happy Birthday!

WARNING: This is hard-core emotional hurt/comfort. This gets really dark, really introspective, and really, really psychologically unhealthy in places. There is a lot of self-blame being tossed around; there are some panic attacks and near panic attacks; there is a lot of discussion of past canon character death(s), claustrophobia, and mortality on the whole. I had to go to a very deep, dark place inside myself to write sections of this. So, if any of that sounds like it might upset you or set off your own emotional spiral, turn around RIGHT NOW and go read something fluffier. I've written plenty of physical hurt/comfort with fluffy fluff at the end, not to mention the tons of pure fluff, so take your pick and stay safe, my friends.

---

Jason's laughter over Dick's latest exploits - teaching Damian to make rice crispy treats - dims faster than Tim was expecting and he stiffens slightly beside him on the couch. Tim looks up from his tablet. "What's up?"

Jason's fingers are frozen over the pull-down menu on his phone and he is staring intensely at the screen. Tim leans in and quickly reads over the message Damian sent, but what he finds isn't alarming enough to warrant the grim cast of Jason's expression and the tension Tim can feel radiating off of him in waves.

"It's almost April," is all Jason replies, tone curiously flat.

Tim glances down at the date. Saturday, 27 March. "Yeah, wha-" he begins then cuts off abruptly as it hits him; the 27th... April… April 27th, the day Jason died just over ten years ago. He sobers instantly and reaches out to grip Jason's forearm lightly, but firmly.

Last year's anniversary had been rough on him, Tim had learned, after the fact, in bits and pieces that Jason had shared with forced offhandedness. Just remembering it made Tim wince. He had learned more about it from the other family members who - as Bats, had never had enough sense or decency to keep out of other people's business - had kept tabs on Jason throughout the day. According to them, 'rough' was an understatement.

"The 27th," Tim murmurs softly, squeezing Jason's forearm gently. It wasn't question, but Jason replies anyway, his gaze going distant and somewhat pained as memories of years before and years back alike clearly flash before him.

"Yeah..."

Last year had been the first April they'd been officially 'together', but Tim hadn't been around for last April 27th. He wasn't there for Jason and for no good reason at all. Only because he hadn't thought about it, because Jason had never said anything about it, because… it doesn't matter why now, all that matters is that he feels awful about it.

He just went about his business as usual, going out to the Titans for the weekend, coming back a few days later. He didn't worry too much when Jason went quieter than usual right before he left. Didn't think too much about it when Jason didn't call him even once over that weekend.

Some boyfriend he was turning out to be…

"I'll be there," Tim promises solemnly, gripping his arm tightly.

Jason relaxes, eyes blinking as he comes back to himself, and nods jerkily, corners of his mouth twitching into the ghost of his normal, snarky grin. "I… yeah. Please."

~*~

Tim clicks vigorously at the blocks on his Wayne Enterprises schedule on his computer screen and sends them back to his secretary with notes on who to call and when to reschedule them. He leans back in his office chair and considers the day he's just emptied out. Tuesday, April 27th.

He's known about this day for years. It didn't take long after he became Robin for him to learn the exact circumstances of Jason's death. 'Let it serve as a warning' and all that. Grim case files aside, it is hard to forget all the times he had to pull Bruce out of dark reveries right around the same time at the end of April every year. Too many anniversaries he had to pull Batman off of muggers he had beaten just this side of 'too hard'.

So, it's not like Tim could ever forget that date or its significance. He didn't forget it last year, either, to be honest. He'd just never seen or thought about how Jason would spend that day... the day he had died. What are you supposed to do, how are you supposed to feel on a day like that? Mournful? Angry? Contemplative? All of the above?

Tim leans forward and exits the hourly view with a sharp keystroke. He left clicks it in the week view and blocks it out entirely. Better safe than sorry. He sighs and leans back into his seat once more, staring pensively out of the massive windows of his corner office at the bleak, misty day outside.

He had always assumed that Jason liked to spend the day alone, working through what ever he was feeling on his own, because that was apparently what he'd done every single year since he'd come back. Furthermore, whenever anyone would offer to come over, have him over, or take him somewhere, Jason would always brush them off, and if anyone got any ideas about snooping around uninvited, he would always them chase away, often angrily, sometimes violently. So, Tim figured he needed that time to himself.

Now Tim knows that the only reason Jason never lets anyone get close to him on that date is because he never feels it's safe enough to be around anyone else. During his most vulnerable times, Jason - like Tim - curls in on himself and pushes away the people he should hold close, being too afraid to show weakness, too afraid too reveal his inner workings, out of fear that others will push him away, or worse, attack him while he's down.

Jason admitted this to Tim sometime in February of last year. He described the masks, literal and figurative, that he wears around everyone - different masks for each of them, each taking a different toll on him - and how much energy it takes, sometimes, just to exist in the same space as other people. He also admitted that, for the first time in his life, he feels as if he's found someone he doesn't have to try so hard around, someone who he trusts to see him without any masks. Someone he would trust to be there when he's at his lowest.

He had looked Tim in the eye as he said this and made it perfectly clear he was looking right at that 'someone'.

Tim's face burns at the memory, in shame as well as a blend of embarrassment and affection. He whirls around in the desk chair and punches the keys on his keyboard, backing the calendar out to the month view. He left clicks the date and hovers over the options, eyes growing distant.

Jason had said that to him, and he - the 'World's Second Greatest Detective' - couldn't even take a hint! Couldn't connect the dots until Jason had made a comment in passing some time after Tim had returned, something about how he was glad that Tim had had his own stuff going on at the end of April, and gotten coverage in Gotham, because he, Jason, had had a pretty rough week and wouldn't have been up for their usual patrols. It had taken Tim a hot second - had had to catch himself right before he was about to ask why it had been such a hard week - but then, all of a sudden, it had all clicked together, guilt striking him with all the force and pain of a batarang to the chest.

Tim comes back to himself and clicks the option to block out the date completely, for every year in the foreseeable future, with no exceptions. He sighs, and leans back in the chair one final time, steepling his fingers. He rests his chin against them as he frowns at the screen.

He messed up last year. No question. He wasn't where he needed to be, wasn't where he should have been. This year he won't mess up. He made a promise. He'll be there.

~*~

"Hey, Babs, sorry to bother you after a long night, but I need to ask for a favor."

"Hey, Tim. It's been a while since you've called my secure number instead of calling over the comms. What's up?"

Tim sighed and stretched out in his wheelie chair. He was sitting at the console for his own personal 'Batcomputer' in the Perch, typing up the night's reports. "Yeah, well, it's the kind of family sensitive thing I didn't want to float across the comm lines, secure or not."

"Ah" Barbara responds succinctly, the single word speaking volumes to her understanding. Tim hears a few quiet clicks and then Babs confirms, "This line is now 100% secure. No prying ears, Bats or otherwise, will hear this conversation, on my end, at least. So what's up?"

Tim feels a tension leech out of his shoulders that he didn't even realize he'd been carrying. "Two Tuesdays from now could you quietly bring in one of the Birds of Prey to cover my, and maybe Jason's, patrol routes?"

"Well, Jason already asked for coverage that day - for the whole week actually - and Cass is coming back but why would-- oh." The line goes quiet for a few seconds before Barbara continues in a subdued tone. "He asked you to stay with him that night?"

"Yeah, I'm taking the whole day off," Tim responds, absently spinning a Birdarang on the desk to give his fidgety fingers something to do. "I…wow. I didn't realize Jason was taking the whole week."

"Yeah, he always takes that entire week - the day before and several days after, so he's not tempted to tear up the town while he's still in his usual funk - it's no secret. So why with all the 'hush-hush' from you?"

"I…" The Birdarang falters in midspin and he quickly sets the disc aside and sits up in his chair. "I didn't want to make a big deal out of it. This is the first time Jason is letting anyone stay with him and I thought that if the family found out or if Jay heard me making the request over the comms…"

"That he'd be upset that you were attracting attention to the whole thing," Barbara finishes. She sighs. "Yeah, it's probably wise to keep it on the down low, but to be honest, I think this is the one thing Bruce and Dick would leave alone no matter what." She chuckles. "After years of repeated failures, they've 'wisely' taken my advice and are waiting for him to feel ready to open up before they force their way in."

"That's… surprising, but good to hear," Tim admits with a small smile.

"In any case, I'll find someone to cover your routes that night. Is there anything else you needed while I have you on the line?"

"Actually," Tim speaks slowly, weighing his options, "Do you think you could make it the entire week? Now that I know Jay will be down that whole time…"

"Uh. Sure," Babs replies in mild surprise, the sound of keys clicking rapidly in the background. "Done. But can you really afford to be away that long?"

Tim's expression turns grim. "I'll have to. I wasn't there last year, Babs. I have to be there for him this year."

She hums thoughtfully then trails off. The line is silent for so long that for a moment Tim thinks she's hung up on him. Then… "Tim, you know that Jason doesn't blame you for not being around last year, right? You guys had only just gotten together, so he probably didn't feel completely ready to have you there until now anyway."

Tim exhales slowly through his nose, consciously working to dispel the tension that had crept back into his shoulders as Babs spoke. "It doesn't matter. I still feel awful for not even thinking to ask if he wanted me to stay. So I have to be there. I will be there."

"Okay..."

~*~

Everything is set. It's the Thursday before the anniversary and Tim is feeling good about the preparations he's made.

He's cleared his WE work schedule, not only for the day of the anniversary, but also for the day before and the day after. He's arranged for patrol coverage for the entire week and even finished off most of his current caseload, passing off the last of it to Steph and Damian. He spoke briefly and discreetly with both Dick and Bruce to let them know where he'll be and why, and, to his surprise - and appreciation - they not only accepted his explanations without argument, they also completely agreed to give him and Jason space - without even being asked! He even called the Titans to let them know he wouldn't be out there this weekend, or the next, and, to their credit, they had tripped over themselves telling him to take as much time as he and Jason needed.

Which is why, of course, Kon is on the phone with him right this second, begging Tim to come help the Titans.

"Rob, dude, we're barely holding it together as it is. We need you out here, like, yesterday," Conner tells him over the emergency line. Tim rubs the bridge of his nose to ward away the headache building between his eyes. "I wouldn't call you out here if it wasn't a matter of life or death. We've already called in the Justice League, but with half their members off-world and most of the leadership tied up elsewhere we're really struggling here. We need you."

Tim tells Kon that he'll call him back. Jason was in the room when the phone rang and heard everything. The minute Tim lowers the phone, Jason tells him to go. For the first time since they got together over a year ago, they argue for real.

"You know it's okay, right? You can go. Go help the Titans. I'll be fine."

"Jason, I'm not going to do that to you. I took this weekend off for a reason-"

"I didn't ask you to do that."

"You asked me to be here."

"Yeah, for the anniversary. Tim, it's on Tuesday. Today's Thursday."

"Yeah, but just in case..."

"I'm not a dainty fucking princess, dammit! The mere thought that day, days away from now, isn't going to send me into fits. I kind of expected you to be gone for the weekend, anyway, off with the Titans like you always are."

"Jason, it's not just for the weekend! If I go out there now, there's no guarantee I'll make it back in time. I don't want to risk it."

"It's fine."

"It's really not."

"Tim, just go help the Titans, already. I'll be fine. I promise."

In the end, Tim is reduced to the point of begging. "Jason, please… please don't ask me to leave you here alone when I promised I would be here, that I would be here for you no matter what," he pleads. He's practically vibrating with anxiety, his body tense with poorly-suppressed fear. Jason seems legitimately shocked at the force of his reaction, face frozen in a look halfway between frustration and alarm. "If I can't make it back… if you need someone…"

Jason's expression gentles and he pulls Tim close, tucking his head under his own and rubbing one hand across his back soothingly. "I've been on my own for years. I'll be fine. Go do you what you need to do, Babybird. Go save the world; it needs you more right now than I do."

Tim pulls away slowly, looking up at Jason with an expression torn between concern and desperation. "You'll call me if things get bad?"

Jason nods. "I will."

"Promise?"

"Promise."

~*~

Jason calls, just like he promised, but Tim isn't there to accept the call.

To be fair, things were legitimately awful out in California. Between the early season wildfires that had been tearing through the countryside for weeks, the massive earthquake that ripped up the fault lines of SoCal more recently, and the major assaults launched by not one but two of the Titan's biggest foes - H.I.V.E. and Brother Blood - to take advantage opening created by the back-to-back natural disasters, the Teen Titans and those of the Justice League who could be spared to respond to the triple disaster were stretched to their utmost limits.

Tim spent day after day, hour after hour coordinating round-the-clock ops against HIVE and the Church of Blood while also working non-stop with emergency services and the remaining heroes to coordinate rescue efforts. Between handling all comms, assigning rescue missions, coordinating strike teams, troubleshooting EMS communications and the phone grid, repairing power grids, and participating in search and rescue in the final stretch, Tim hadn't slept more than five hours since he'd touched down, and rarely in segments of more than five or ten minutes at a time. Time always ceased to mean much while they were on the go non-stop and eventually the days blurred together until it was difficult to tell how many had passed since it had all begun.

Tim's heart nearly stops the first chance he gets to check his personal cell, not just for the three missed calls and one new voicemail from 'J. Todd', but for also the date and time that glow innocently up at him on his homescreen.

08:47, 27 April, 20xx.

"K-kon! I need you!"

Kon comes flying to his side from halfway across the state expecting a fight or to carry an injured - possibly dying - Tim to safety, but after he calms down, Tim eventually convinces the confused and weary Super that it is imperative that he make it back to Gotham in the next hour.

"Jeez, I thought you were in trouble, dude. Don't scare me like that," Kon chastises as he lifts him and they speed off toward the rising sun.

"I am in trouble, Kon. I promised Jay I'd be there today. I should have been back last night! I knew this would happen if I came out here!"

"Chill, dude. I'm sure Jason's fine. You make it sound like he's going into labor or dying or something."

"This is the day that he died twelve years ago, Kon, and every year he goes through hell reliving it all alone, so, yeah, he is kind of dying!" Tim yells over the rushing wind. He squints toward the horizon. "Can't you fly any faster?!"

Superboy rolls his eyes, wraps a bubble of TTK around them - the tug and roar of the wind around them abruptly ceases - then picks up speed, easily breaking the sound barrier. "No need to shout, dude," Kon placates him in calming tones. "You're lucky I can protect us from the wind, otherwise we wouldn't be able to make the trip at mach 1. Is that fast enough for you?"

"What are you talking about?! You peak at mach 2.1 on a bad day! Why are you going so slow?!"

Tim is still shouting despite the bubble of quiet. Kon winces and shakes his head. He opens his mouth to respond, but Tim babbles on over him, bitching and moaning bitterly.

"I knew this would happen! I knew it! It's all because you had to drag me out to San Fran! Why'd I even pick up the phone? I can't believe I let this happen! I can't believe I let you and Jason talk me into thinking this would work out. I knew this would happen!"

Kon jostles Tim a bit, which, thankfully, shuts him up for a moment. He readjusts his TTK grip, pulls Tim closer, and lights up his metaphorical afterburners. "You know what? You're lucky you're getting a lift from me at all. You wanna see top speed? Fine! Shut up and hang on to your capes, kiddies, but don't complain to me when you're puking up coffee all over your roof in about fifteen minutes."

~*~

Jason isn't sure where he is anymore. He lost track hours ago, sometime, somewhere, in his frantic escape from the way the walls of each place he'd tried to settle down in closed in on him every time the memories bore down. He hasn't stopped moving since he started, he can't find a place that feels right, that feels safe to ride this out, because as soon as he stops, the walls start closing in again and every little noise is a crowbar being raised above him and every child's laugh turns sour and cold in his head. Safehouses, apartments - some of them his, many of them not - public parks, libraries, dank sewers, and secluded rooftops are all flashes in his memory, places he had pushed himself toward in some unnamed, indecipherable urgency, only to abandon with a hollow feeling of dread within minutes, if not seconds, of arriving.

This happens sometimes, in some years, on this day. Other years, he can't stand to move, can't move at all, and he hunkers down wherever he is and tries to block out the outside world long enough to shore up the growing cracks in his fragile mental state.

He had thought this anniversary was going to be one of those 'hide in a corner and try not to hyperventilate' ones, so the day before the anniversary he had picked out a suitable hidey hole, stocked it up with food, checked the security and soundproofing, then locked himself in. Barely five hours in the place, he began to feel that itch under his skin, that urge to move, to get away, to look for shelter in spite of the perfect fine one around him. He held it off for an hour, tried calling Tim - like he said he would - but in the end the crawling feeling in his bones and the lack of response drove him out of his appointed safehouse.

He doesn't remember most of his wandering, and that would worry him, except that some distant part of his mind that can worry about things like his personal safety and situational awareness knows that Oracle and Batman are tracking his every move like flies on the walls, giving him the space to deal with this on his own but ready to step in at a moment's notice to protect him from his own vulnerability.

He called Tim twice more after he started running, once when he stopped in Tim's theater Perch and felt, for the briefest instant, like this was safe place to stop, to stay, and then once again five minutes ago. But the itch is coming back again.

He doesn't want to leave the bolthole he's currently pacing the length of, but he can't sit still. He can't stay, he can't leave, but he can't stay. But if he leaves, Tim won't know where to find him, so he has to stay. But he can't…

He sets his phone down on the lone, rickety table and tugs at his already frazzled hair with both hands. The bolthole isn't big, but for a minute or so the small room had felt secure, knowable, safe. But then the walls started getting closer. He knows they're not moving, can see they're stationary, but he can't shake the feeling that they're inching inwards, reaching out to him, trapping him.

It's getting hard to breath. The dim lighting is darkens in his head, the sickly light not all that different from the glow of a timer from across a dark warehouse, the shadows not that far off from the absolute black of a sealed coffin. His hands are starting to shake, again, and everything around him feels so distant, even as the walls feel so close. He has to wait, he can't leave, Tim will come so he has to…

He's leaving. He leaves. He leaves his phone without realizing it.

Bursting through the door feels like clawing his way to freedom all over again, but also like rolling over to look up as the Joker brings down the crowbar for another hit, and he shudders as the memories rolls over him. He squints against the sunlight - bright, for once, but still so cold; taunting him, searing into his soul, despite the gentle warmth that washes over his skin - and hurries forward to the next shadow, shivering as the loss of light burns just as much as stepping into it had only seconds ago. He keeps moving and flounders in that state of neither here nor there as the memories flood up within him, all around him, and he wanders with urgent, pointless purpose.

It isn't usually this bad, this day. He can count on one hand the number of times he's gotten this worked up over the memories. It's not usually that big of a deal, he reminds himself, but right now he doesn't know where he is, he can't stop moving, can't stop shaking, can't breathe, can't remember how much time has passed… and he can't even care that much about any of that anymore and that...

That's bad. It's been a long time since it's been this bad.

He reaches into one pocket, then the next, then the back one, looking for his phone. He needs to call Tim. He said he would call. He doesn't find it.

A distant, reasonable part of him wants to feel okay that Tim didn't make it back in time, that he didn't make it back before he started to unravel. He told Tim to go. He told him it would be okay, that he'd be okay. He told himself that he's done this many times before, that he can handle it.

But now he remembers how awful each and every one of those times was, even the 'easier' ones. He remembers that terrible feeling of wanting someone, anyone, to be there to anchor him through the flood, but also not wanting anyone at all, not trusting anyone, pushing his family and friends and everyone away. This year was supposed to be different. Tim was supposed to be different. He's supposed to trust Tim. Tim is supposed to be there, be something for him to focus on instead of the maelstrom inside of him.

He wants it to be okay, but it isn't. He isn't angry that Tim isn't here. Tim said he'd be here, but Jason isn't angry. He told Tim he could go. It's okay. But now… Tim isn't here and Jason isn't okay.

It isn't okay.

~*~

"H-hey. Tim. It's, uh, me. I, uh… You're not back yet and I said I'd call if…… I'm in the Bowery safehouse, the bigger one, I know you know the one. Meet me here when you can. I'll- I'll see you."

Tim swallows convulsively, anxiety slithering up into his chest like so many wriggling snakes as he paces through the rooms of Jason's largest safehouse, the first voicemail Jason left echoing in his head. Tim knows he isn't here anymore - the rooms are dark, silent, almost foreboding - but he has to check, has to make sure Jason hasn't circled back, like he often does when he's restless and hopping between places.

Tim rushes from the final room back into the living room and perches on on the edge of the couch while he brings up the Bat-special locator program on his phone, sending out a ping to pin the latest location of Jason's phone on his mobile map. He gets a hit and springs to his feet. He has to find him, he has to get to him. He said he'd be there. He has to be there.

~*~

"I'm here. I mean, I- I left the Bowery place, but I'm here, again, I stopped moving. I'm, uh, in your Perch, that is. The Crime Alley one. I know I said that I could... I can't. Tim. I can't. Please come home. Get this and come ho- come back. I don't know long I can stay here. Please. Tim. Please."

Jason's not in his Burnley bolthole. His phone is, but he's not. Tim feels like he's going to fly apart. He wants to hurl his phone out the wall, he wants to hurl Jason's phone at the wall, he wants to-- his phone starts to ring.

Incoming Call from 'O.'

He barely registers his finger sliding across the screen to accept the call.

"Tim? Hey, Tim, you there? I saw you enter Jay's Burnley place a couple of minutes ago and already I know his phone trail stops there. I have eyes on him right now, so I need you to listen…"

Tim pockets Jason's phone and clutches his own to his ear, listening to Bab's steady voice with all the desperation of a drowning man thrashing towards air. He listens. He follows. He's going to get there. He will be there.

~*~

"T-tim. Tim. Tim. I-I. I can't. I'm. Burnley. In Burnley. I'm… I'm trying. I'm trying to wait but I can't. I can't stop. I can't wait. It's… it's bad. It's really bad this year. I'll- I'll call you. I'll call you… if I can. I'll try, but I don't… I can't…"

"Ja-Jason?"

Tim steps lightly into his very first safehouse - one of their favorite hangout spots back in the day - and searches with quick eyes and slow feet, as afraid to startle Jason as he might a feral cat. The stumbling, nonsensical sobbing of Jason's third and final voicemail is ringing in his ears as he rounds the corner and spots Jason pacing the small space of hallway between the living room and the kitchen. His voice trembles and breaks as he calls out again.

"Jason?"

Jason looks up.

~*~

He looks up at a sound and suddenly Tim is there, calling his name, rushing toward him and throwing his arms around him. Jason's body flinches before his brain catches up, but when it does - TIM! - he wraps his arms around Tim and squeezes, holding on for dear life. His mind hones in on Tim's presence and abruptly halts its spiraling, frantic cycle of respun memories like a dog pauses barking to listen when it hears a new sound, but, at the same time, Tim's sudden presence blows a whole new storm of emotion over him, so he hangs on to Tim so he won't be blown away, and Tim hangs on just as tightly back.

They stand there for a few minutes, just holding on to each other and rocking slightly with their breathing, until they each start to relax and loosen up against the other. When Jason's arms loosen up enough to give him room, Tim leans back and tilts his head up, the unshed tears in his eyes startling Jason. He doesn't think he's ever seen Tim cry before, or even come close.

"I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry, Jay, I'm so-" Tim buries his head into Jason's chest again so that his continued stream of garbled apologies is muffled into the fabric.

Jason feels as if someone just hit a struck a tuning fork his head, the pure tone snapping him out of the lingering traces of his earlier meltdown. He feels a curl of annoyance as he notes that Tim looks about as distressed as he felt earlier, maybe more. He isn't sure what Tim thinks gives him the right to feel worse than Jason on his own deathday, but focusing on Tim's bewildering distress does have the upside of giving him a reason and the urgency to compartmentalize his own for the moment.

"Tim. Timmy. Look at me."

Tim looks up and there are tears visibly swimming in his eyes. "-m so sorry. I said I'd be here and-"

"You're here now," Jason says firmly, fighting down the tiny urge to chuckle at how overly dramatically upset Tim is. He still feels pretty awful right now - nothing changes the past, changes his damage - but just having Tim here now, it's helping. Even this bullshit is helping. "Wow, you must not have slept very much over the weekend, you're a total wreck right now."

Tim makes a croaking sound halfway between anguish and indignance and takes a step back. One tear leaks out of his eye and rolls down his cheek. He whips up a hand to scrub it away, but Jason's hand gets there first and gently brushes it away. "I-I didn't but… But you've been frantic, you're were having a breakdown earlier, and I wasn't… I wasn't here." Tim takes a shaky breath and angrily scrubs the tears out of his other eye before they can spill over. "I wasn't here for you."

"I was and you weren't," Jason intones solemnly. "And I still feel pretty shitty, but this… whatever this" - he waves his hands vaguely around Tim and grins weakly - "is about is pretty distracting, so thanks for that."

Tim scrubs at his eyes again vigorously and his expression darkens. "I made you a promise and I broke it, that's what this is about. I said I'd be here and I wasn't. You were having an awful time, and no one you trusted was here for you. That's not okay."

"No, it wasn't okay. I wasn't okay," Jason admits seriously before gently grabbing Tim by the shoulders and gently shaking him as he leans down into his space. "But you're here now. It'll be okay. We'll be okay.

"Will it? Will we?" Tim bites off angrily, pulling away from Jason's touch. He looks into Jason's eyes miserably. "I broke your trust, worse, I made you go through all of that alone and I don't know if I can ever forgive myself for that and…"

Tim is angry, but Jason can tell it isn't with him for making light of the situation. He's upset with himself. Disproportionately upset with himself and Jason is starting to get a bad feeling about it. Time to nip this line of thought in the bud.

"I can forgive you," Jason cuts in loudly, pinning Tim with an insistent stare. "Easily. I never blamed you to begin with. And you certainly haven't broken my trust. I told you to go. That's on me. Let me decide how I feel about it, okay? Besides," Jason lets some of his annoyance color his voice and he points an accusing finger at Tim, "Since when did this become all about you and your need to self-flagellate over everything, huh? Leave a little misery for the guy who actually died on this day, will ya?"

Tim covers his face with both hands and turns away, groaning. He leans over and makes a sound of disgust as he scrubs at his face. "Ugh. You're right. I turned this all back on me and made it all about myself." He sank down into a crouch and covered his eyes with one hand. "I guess I'm sorry for that, too? Damn… I suck. I'm so sorry, Jay. This was supposed to be about you and helping you and… I'm sorry."

Jason crouches down beside him. "Tim. Look at me. You don't suck." He takes Tim's hand and pulls him to his feet. "And I'm not sorry. A little annoyed, yeah, but also a little glad." Tim gives him an incredulous look and Jason chuckles and gently pulls the smaller man into his chest. "It's probably not the healthiest thing - I dunno, I'm not a psychologist," he mumbles into Tim's hair as he wraps his arms around him and squeezes softly, "but sometimes getting sucked into someone else's problems is a great way to take a step back from your own. So thanks for pulling me out of mine and into yours for a hot second."

Jason feels Tim huff a quiet laugh against his chest and then wrap his arms around his waist. "You're welcome?"

Jason rocks them from side to side, almost like they're dancing to some unheard music, and continues speaking in soft tones. "So now that you've helped me helping you with your problems, let me help you help me."

Tim tenses and looks up instantly, brow crinkling slightly. "What do you need?"

Jason chuckles and rocks them a little harder, pulling Tim out of his rigid stance. "Easy, there. Don't give yourself whiplash, Timbo." He hums and leans his forehead down to rest on Tim's. "As for what I need... this was great and all - this impromptu game of tag plus hide 'n seek plus lots of feelings and talking at the end - but I think I need to retrace my steps 'cause I think might have dropped my phone somewhere, and then, after that, maybe it'd be nice to actually settle down somewhere for a while and ride out my annual deathday meltdowns the right way, the healthy way."

Tim's eyebrows rise. "Healthy way? What is that?"

He shrugs, and grins weakly. "I dunno, still working on it. Thought maybe you could help with that."

Tim pulls back and meets his gaze thoughtfully. "Yeah, I think I can do that. And hey," he looks down and starts digging around in his pockets. "Uh… not that one, how about… ah! There it is. I can fix your first problem," he replies, offering up Jason's phone.

"Oh, good! Because retracing my steps would actually be pretty tough since I, uh, don't actually remember all that much about how I got here," he admits with a chagrined grimace and a shrug.

"Jason…"

"Hey. None of that. I didn't ask for no pity," he cuts in, giving Tim a look that is half disapproving, half teasing.

"No, no pity, I would never," Tim backtracks playfully, before turning serious. "But empathy… ouch."

Jason swallows and lets that hang for a second, then nods. "Yeah. Ouch."

Tim buries his head into Jason's chest again and squeezes. Jason lets him, accepting the unspoken gesture of comfort and commiseration and returning it with a squeeze of his own. After a moment Tim pulls away again and smiles up at him fondly.

"Let's get out of here. I'd say we could stay at this place" - he turns his head to look around the sparsely furnished space with fond sadness - "but we haven't used it in a while and I can't really say how well-stocked it is right now."

Jason shakes his head. "Nah, let's head back to my main safehouse. I bought a whole bunch of food over the weekend and stockpiled a whole bunch of stuff for us there, so we should be good to hide out there for a few days."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Tim replies agreeably. "Did you uh…" he trails off with a grimace. "How did you get over here?"

"I uh… I think I walked? I did have my bike at one point but…"

Tim shakes his head and offers his hand. "Let's take mine. We can track yours down later."

"Sounds good to me," Jason agrees. He slips his hand into Tim's, and together they leave his frantic wandering in the dust on Tim's safehouse floor, behind them, where it belongs.

~*~

"This uhh… wasn't what I was expecting."

Jason steps out of the kitchen, carrying two bowls of chili - complete with fried tortilla tucked along the sides and a mountain of cheddar cheese on each - and raises an eyebrow at Tim.

Tim sweeps his hand in gesture to Jason's current attire - his baggiest, softest sweatpants; the biggest, softest t-shirt Tim had owned before Jason had lovingly nicked it from his pyjama drawer; and the softest fucking blanket he owned draped over his shoulders - then to the food, and finally to the colorful, animated space adventure show queued up on Netflix. He shrugs. "I just figured… it'd be different? From when we usually hang out? I just thought you'd want, I dunno, quiet time and maybe… talking? Not that I'm not down for this, I just…"

Jason sighs and settles down on the couch, setting the bowls on the coffee table. "Tim, I don't know if I can talk about it, not right now, but maybe not ever. I don't… I'm not…" He makes a frustrated sound and leans back against the couch, running a hand through his hair. "I've never done this before. Having another person around for this. So we're just gonna hafta figure this out as we go."

"So… you want me to distract you," Tim asks hesitantly. Jason snorts softly at the wording, thinking of all the ways Tim could keep his mind off of everything.

"No, not that. It's not that I'm not going to think about what happened or that I don't want to," he admits, "I just… I need someone here to remind me not to get lost in my thoughts, in the memories."

Tim nods along slowly, comprehension dawning on his face.

"So whenever I start to space out…"

"I'll be there," Tim finishes softly. Jason nods with a gentle expression.

"Yeah, you will, and that will be enough to keep me from spiraling."

Tim fiddles with the corner of Jason's blanket, then looks up with a guarded expression. "Then let's dig in and get going on our Voltron rewatch, but... if you ever do want to talk… I, uhh… I'm here to listen..." He swallows, then rapidly adds, "And I'll never, ever judge." His hands twist the blanket nervously, but his eyes are cool, firm and serious as he meets Jason's. "There's nothing to judge, but even if there were, you wouldn't get that from me. I know how strong you are. Not in spite of all the shit you've been through, but because you overcome it, again and again."

Jason flips the blanket out of Tim's hand settles it across their laps, then reaches an arm up and around Tim's shoulders, bringing him in close.

"I 'preciate that, Timbo, and I promise, I'm a pro at using the pause button, so if I get the urge to talk… I'll be sure to use it."

Tim relaxes into his side and cranes his head back to smile up at him. "Cool. Now what's this about a chili you promised me?"

"Only the second best thing to real-life chili dog, that's what," Jason responds blithely, hitting play on the show, and settling in for a long evening with his favorite food, his favorite animated show, and his favorite person.

~*~

Five seasons in and several hours later, Jason shifts uncomfortably. He hadn't lied or said whatever he thought Tim would want to hear back when he admitted that he'd probably be mulling over the unpleasant details of his death and resurrection, even while they were snuggled side-by-side watching TV together, for the rest of the day.

Really, any time the credits roll or his mind drifts away from the plot or they pause the show for a bathroom break, memories creep forward from the back of his mind and haunt him with their echoes. Sometimes the show itself dredges up flashes of the past, each one the bittersweet intersection between the emotional connection to the characters that marks good fiction and the miniature personal crises indicative of post-traumatic stress disorder.

For the last thirty minutes in particular, he's been lost in the feeling of death; not the pain of dying, but rather the darkness and loneliness of going into the void and the panic of waking up again buried alive. The words he needs to say out loud sit bitterly at the back of his throat, choking him. He stares blankly at the television, registering nothing of what's happening on screen, while he wavers over whether to finally vent his feelings or continue on stewing over them internally.

He knows Tim has noticed that he's lost focus and fallen into his head - the smaller man sneaks peeks at him and stiffens instinctively before deliberately relaxing again, all the while rubbing gentle little circles into Jason's thigh, presumably to soothe him - but to his credit, he doesn't stop the stream or say anything. He's giving Jason control over when and whether to discuss what's eating at him, and offering his presence and touch in the meantime to keep Jason from spiraling off.

That means the world to Jason, and in the end, it is the combination of that silent solidarity and the reassurance of knowing Tim well enough to know he really won't judge that makes him comfortable enough to pick up the remote and pause the show. Tim sits up slightly and Jason sucks in a deep breath.

"I can't sleep in the dark," he spits out without preamble, his voice cracking at the end. "Not anymore. When… when I was a kid, with my mo-with Catherine, then on the street, then at the manor, I couldn't sleep unless it was pitch black. But after... I just can't. As soon as I can't see to the walls anymore, they just start to close in and I'm back in that box and I can't…"

He swallows and steels himself against the raw, hollow feeling he gets for admitting this out loud. Tim's hand stops circling and spays across his leg instead, squeezing gently, and that gives him the boost he needs to go on. "I lose it. I have to have something - a table lamp, a nightlight, sometimes just pulling up all the blinds and letting the light from Gotham in, but… I feel like a scared, stupid little kid, afraid of the dark and I hate it."

Jason sighs and closes his eyes. "I can't sleep in rooms with low ceilings, either. Or in rooms with wood paneling, or with wooden ceilings. Basements are the worst. It sounds so stupid, but every time I try I feel like I'm back there, six feet under, death on my tongue, running out of air, pounding against the lid and…" he cuts off shuddering. "I hate that, too. I dream about it sometimes. I've clawed my way out of that coffin, out of death, more times than I've celebrated my birthday and that is just... so sad, and so stupid, and I just feel so... broken. Stupid. Worthless."

The last word comes out as barely a whisper but Tim hears it and scoots in close, turning his body toward Jason, wrapping his arms around him, and mashing his face into his chest. Jason sinks down into the embrace and rests his chin on Tim's head. They stay like that for a time, the stark silence in the apartment ringing paradoxically in his head, suffocating him with the illusion of total stillness, like death itself.

Eventually Jason focuses on breathing in and out until the sound of Tim's breathing jumps out at him again, then the sounds of the city outside reappear, and finally the feeling of Tim around him sinks in again. He feels empty and scraped raw having admitted some of the things that had been banging around his head, but it feels right having let some of it out, having shared it with someone else. It feels good. He feels lighter and stronger, maybe because some of his burden rests on Tim now, like he doesn't have to shoulder it all alone anymore.

Now that it's out, he feels like he can forgive himself for some of it, accept it instead of letting it eat at him like acid in his chest, in his head. If Tim can accept it, can accept him, then why shouldn't he?

After he relaxes again, Tim pulls back and hums softly. Jason glances down at him, distracted by the way the gentle lighting plays in his soft, glossy hair.

"I get that. I can't ever know what it's like, exactly-"

"I hope to God you never do," Jason growls lowly, disturbed at the very thought.

"-but I wouldn't say that… Me personally, I don't think you're stupid or broken or worthless because sleeping in the dark or under a low ceiling - or a wooden one - reminds you too much of being buried alive," Tim explains, voice low and thoughtful. "To me that makes sense. I would be the same way; I think anyone would be. It's fucked up, but no one would call you broken.

"And the dark... well, I get that," Tim finishes in a low voice. Jason frowns. There was something in the way Tim said that last bit that sets off his intuition, urges him to press, just a little.

"How?"

"What?"

"You said 'you get that'? How?" Jason asks, keeping his voice low and soft. Tim hesitates and Jason instantly checks himself.

"You don't have to say, it just sounds like there's a story and… you know, same deal: if you wanna talk, I'm here for you."

Tim nods, a troubled expression crossing his face before he forces it back to neutral stillness. Jason doesn't press. Instead, he presses a soft kiss into Tim's hair and Tim cranes his head back to catch his lips in a gentle kiss. They return to the show in unspoken agreement and several more minutes pass before Tim finally picks up the remote with a sigh and pauses the show himself.

It takes him a minute to speak and when he does, his voice croaks like his throat is closing up around the words. "After my mother died, I couldn't sleep in the dark for years. I just… any time I tried, my mind jumped to her, alone and cold and stiff under thousands of pounds of dirt, not rotting, but slowly desiccating, and then I would be there, feeling it, feeling cold, feeling dead."

Jason could feel himself freezing up in horror, the descriptions triggering his own memories, but he didn't stop him. This was something they needed to share and then maybe overcome together, he thought.

"S-sometimes it wouldn't be my mother," Tim admitted hoarsely. "Sometimes… after I became Robin… after I saw the… your file, the last entry… then it would be you." Jason stopped breathing, his eyes widening. "I didn't know you, but I'd spent so long watching you as Robin, admiring you, building myself up to do your memory justice…" - Tim's voice wavered and Jason sucked in a breath, searched numbly for Tim's hand - "…that I felt like I did. I'd… I would talk to you, talk to your suit, in the case, promising to be better… but sometimes, in the dark, thoughts of you, cold and silent…" Tim cut off and shook his head, unable to go on. Jason rode out a wave of nausea and focused on Tim. He didn't let himself fall into his own head; Tim had gotten him through his shit, he could get Tim through his - they could get each other through all of this.

"What-what about your dad?"

Tim latched onto the question just as Jason hoped he would, pulling himself out of his thoughts to respond. He shook his head.

"When Dad died, it was different. Bruce was there when he die-when Boomerang murdered him," Tim corrected. There was something in his eyes as he spoke, a darkness Jason saw in his own whenever he looked in the mirror and thought about the Joker, but that was something to come back to later.

"It hurt like hell, more than with Mom, but somehow… Bruce took me to the manor, after, and shared my grief, kept me close, then, later, adopted me. He kept me focused, grounded me in what was real and present, I guess," Tim mused, his expression thoughtful. It turned hollow in a way Jason had never seen as he went on.

"But after he died… after Steph, Kon, Bart, Dad, then him… I lost myself, a bit. No one was there to keep me grounded anymore - Dick and the demon brat sure as hell weren't, and Alfred was facing a such great loss of his own… - so, for days after we settled the scuffle for the mantle-"

"After you recovered," Jason amended guiltily, his eyes darting briefly to the center of Tim's chest, imagining the batarang-sized scar he'd put there. Tim's eyes shot up to his and he shook his head, squeezing Jason's hand.

"Yeah, but we're way past that, Jay. Don't beat yourself up for something you did when you were in an unbelievably bad place, something I can't even blame you for now that I understand how bad it really was," Tim chided him sternly. Jason opened his mouth but Tim went on over him.

"Anyway, after Bruce died, I spent weeks wandering the manor as if, I dunno, if I looked hard enough, if I walked through the right door or looked under every bed, he'd be there. It was such a shock, such an impossible thing that he could really be gone, that it just wouldn't sink in. I'd look and look and look, for hours sometimes. When the manor started to feel too small and suffocating, I'd wander around Gotham. Every safehouse, every rooftop, every nook or cranny we'd ever hid in. I couldn't stop moving, stop looking," Tim admitted, his eyes lost and distant.

"It felt like, if I kept moving, maybe eventually, I'd find Bruce or find a way to accept he was gone. It wasn't until Dick… when I lost Robin that I snapped out it. Losing my only remaining purpose was a slap to the face, a wake-up call. I stopped wandering, but I still kept searching. I found a painting amongst the family paintings - it had changed, I swore on it - and that convinced me that Bruce was still out there, somewhere in time, and that the body we'd buried was a copy, or that Bruce had been copied, but one way or another he was still out there. I became obsessed with finding him and lost myself to that instead."

He swallowed and admitted in a quieter voice, "Without anyone or anything to keep me grounded… if I hadn't found Bruce eventually… I don't think I would have come back from that. Not really." He paused then blinked and shook his head with a scoff. "Sorry, I'm making this all about me again and-"

"That was what happened today."

"What?" Tim blinked at him in confusion, but Jason nodded slowly.

"To me. That's where you found me. Sometimes, on the anniversary, it all becomes so much that I feel like I'm going out of my mind, like it can't be real, couldn't have been real, and I have to get away, I can't stay in one place, as if… if I search long enough, move fast enough, that I could outrun the past, find a better reality, find a place I feel like me again," Jason explains. Tim stares at him with wide eyes. "So that 'can't stop, won't stop, suffocating and going out of your mind so keep moving' you described? Well, I get that."

Silence falls again around them as Jason lets it sink in; he looks away and gives Tim a moment to process. Tim eventually leaves the room, and after a minute Jason hears the toilet flush. A few minutes later Tim returns on quiet feet and clears his throat. When Jason looks up, he smiling beatifically down at him, and he raises his eyebrows when Tim climbs into his lap and kisses him unreservedly. Jason hums in surprise against his lips, but kisses back just as thoroughly. Tim pulls away after a moment and looks down at him fondly.

"What?" Jason asks with a touch of amusement. "What is that look for?"

Tim laughs and moves off to one side, plopping down beside him. "Nothing. You're just something else, you know?"

"Me?"

Tim flicks his hand in playfully reproach. "Yes, you."

"Why?"

Tim flicks his hand again, so Jason flips it over and snatches Tim's, lacing their fingers together. "This day was all about you, about your problems, and here you are helping me through mine. Again," Tim explains. He shakes his head minutely against Jason's shoulder. "Honestly, I should be the last thing you're worrying about right now."

"Yeah, sure, I mean it's the day I died and that's important 'n all, but that doesn't mean I get the monopoly on being messed up and needing an ear for the day," Jason replies wryly. Tim sucks in a breath like he's going to argue, but Jason lifts their hands and thumps them emphatically against Tim's knee. "No, I don't deserve that, so don't even try to tell me I do. And besides, like I told you earlier, helping you through your problems kind of helps me get past mine.

"I guess, sometimes, it takes seeing someone else suffering in a similar way to put your own suffering into perspective, to make it possible for you think about it objectively enough to work through it," Jason suggests.

Tim hums in agreement and squeezes their fingers gently. Jason gives them a few beats to sit together in companionable silence, then thumps their hands one last time and moves to sit up.

"Okay, Timbo, I know we said we were going to finish out the entire series tonight, but I feel like it's about time we call it a night."

Tim nods in agreement and yawns as he pulls himself away from Jason's side. He darts away just a second too late to avoid Jason playfully ruffling his hair with one hand, and Jason laughs at the little hiss and glare Tim shoots him. Together they lethargically tidy up the living room, turn off lights, check and recheck security systems, then shuffle off to bed.

~*~

Jason climbs in first, rearranging pillows and kicking around the duvet, while Tim brushes his teeth and makes sure to triple check the security system - they are vigilantes, after all, and with people like Batman and Ra's al Ghul up in their business on a regular basis, it could never hurt to double, triple, then maybe quadruple check.

Tim flips off the last light - mindful to first open the shades to let in the light from the city - then hovers over his phone, briefly glancing over his messages before bed. He squawks in playful indignation when Jason rolls over and hooks an arm around his hips, dragging him onto the bed.

Tim falls into the motion, toppling like a felled tree across Jason's body, and feels a brief moment of satisfaction for the breathless 'oof' he gets before Jason rolls them and tries to crush Tim with his superior bodyweight. They wrestle for less than a minute before their brief surge of playful energy wears off, at which point Tim lets himself collapse at Jason's side and doesn't fight when Jason tugs him in close. He rests his head against Jason's ribs and lets himself drift off to the rise and fall under his cheek.

He's almost completely asleep when the rumble of Jason's voice brings him back.

"Tim?"

"Mmmm?"

"That thing…that you said about Bruce…"

"Mmmhmm?"

"About losing your father and then Bruce being there, being around, giving you something to center yourself around, someone to keep you grounded…"

Tim perks up his head and blinks into the dim light, focusing. "Yeah?"

"That's what I need. For days like today. For… always. Someone to be there. Maybe not to talk about it or to help me forget, but just… to keep me here. Present. Centered. I just need you to be here for me, nothing special, just like you always are."

Tim hums morosely and shakes his head. "I almost wasn't today."

Jason scoffs softly and Tim squints at him in the dark, trying to make out his expression. "Yeah, you almost didn't make it back to Gotham today, and, yeah, I guess it helped to have you here, in-person, where I could see and touch you, but even if you hadn't made it back, even if you'd just picked up the phone, made a video call, or done something just to let me…ugh," he sighs and scrubs a hand through his hair. "Long story short, let's just say that even if you can't always be right here beside me, I'll never doubt that you'd move heaven and earth to be here for me," he explains, a touch of amusement coloring the undeniable tones of affection and appreciation in his voice. "Not unless… You're not planning on leaving me, are you, Timbo?"

Tim snorts softly and lets his head drop down again. He wraps his free arm around Jason's waist and squeezes gently, feeling Jason's breath hitch slightly before whooshing out in a long, easy sigh.

"No," Tim replies, smiling softly, "I'll be here."

[livinginlandmarketing]

When official word came in that 10 of 13 service members killed in the bombing attack at the Kabul airport were from a single Camp Pendleton unit, families at the seaside base rallied behind the unit, despite their own fears as more danger looms in these final days of the United States’ planned pullout from Afghanistan.

Nine Marines were part of the 2nd Battalion, 1st Marine Regiment, and the sole Navy sailor killed was a corpsman who had been attached to the unit. All had deployed to the Middle East together in April as part of a special crisis response force. Due home later this fall, they were routed to the airport to help secure its perimeter as Americans and Afghan allies crowded to get to the planes and evacuate.

The 2/1 battalion is known as “The Professionals.”

“I extend my deepest, heartfelt condolences to the families, friends and loved ones of the 1st Marine Division servicemen who lost their lives while heroically safeguarding the evacuation of thousands of U.S citizens and faithful allies from Hamid Karzai International Airport,” Maj. Gen. Roger Turner Jr., commanding general of the 1st Marine Division, which the 2/1 is a part of, said in a statement on Saturday.

They “paid the ultimate price to defend our nation and extend the reach of freedom beyond our shores,” he said. “We cherish the legacy these warriors leave behind and commit our resources to support the wounded and bereaved.”

The loss of the 10 is one of the deadlier losses for the base, which just last year mourned nine men who died in a training accident when their amphibious assault vehicle sank off the coast of San Clemente Island.

The Kabul bombing attack was the deadliest against U.S. forces since Aug. 6, 2011. Then a Chinook helicopter was shot down by militants using a rocket-propelled grenade. That day, 30 Americans, including 17 Navy SEALs and eight Afghans, were killed.

Camp Pendleton Marines were also aboard two helicopters that collided over southern Afghanistan in 2009. Four Marines were among the 11 Americans who died. In 2010, three Camp Pendleton Marines died when their Humvee flipped over in Afghanistan’s Helmand Provence, one of the fiercest areas for Marines fighting the Taliban.

As the remains of the 13 service members were en route to Dover Air Force Base in Delaware – always the first stop for U.S. forces killed overseas – those who knew them grappled with their emotions and fears for the Marines still securing the evacuations while offering their support to the 2/1 community. Flowers and American flags have piled up in front of the base’s main gate in Oceanside.

Chaplain Jonathan Cooper, of Oceanside, will officiate a vigil being planned by several wives of Marines in the battalion. Last August he spoke when hundreds gathered at a similar ceremony organized by the wives to remember the nine men who had just died in the training accident. Many of the families of those killed Thursday had attended.

His goal, he said, is to help bring the Marine community together to heal.

“There is a lot of anger surrounding the circumstances in Afghanistan and specifically in Kabul,” Cooper said. “When the news broke about the deaths of these young, brave men being from Camp Pendleton, it hits different. It hits closer.

“Even though some of these Marines call other parts of the country home, when tragedy strikes like it did this week, I think our community feels like this was their home,” he said.

“What can we do as we watch the news unfold? All our anger, sadness and criticism needs a productive outlet,” he said. “Crying out to God is a good place to start, not only for this community, but for our entire nation.”

For the wives who are organizing the candlelight vigil at Del Mar Beach, it is as much a distraction as a service to the 2/1 community. They’ve arranged mental health counselors, therapy dogs and bagpipe musicians, said Divya Karl, 20, the wife of a combat engineer still standing guard at the airport’s perimeter.

So far, wives and families have largely kept to themselves, mostly communicating via texts and social media, she said.

“We will be gathering at the vigil,” Karl said. “In the Marine community, whether you worked together or not, knew them or not, a loss is a loss and it hurts.

“With it being regarded as a peacetime Marine Corps, nobody expects deaths like this to happen in combat zones in this quantity the way it used to be,” she said. “It makes it even more of a shock. One minute everyone was safe in the Middle East, and a little over a week later, this is the result.”

Most of the families of the battalion’s troops learned their loved ones were part of the evacuation efforts at the airport through social media.

A growing memorial to the service members who were killed in a suicide attack in Kabul sits at the entrance gate to Camp Pendleton in Oceanside on Saturday, August 28, 2021. (Photo by Mindy Schauer, Orange County Register/SCNG)

“Social media has played a really big role,” Karl said. Her husband has been in the Marine Corps for three years. “Because of the nature of the deployment, they weren’t telling us anything. I knew he was in Afghanistan, but not until I saw posts on Instagram.”

Karl, who has a 6-month-old daughter, said she looked at social media partly to distract herself, but it turned out to be her main source of information.

“As much as it was terrible to read it for our mental health, it was the only way we knew what was going on.”

Another organizer, Sierra Tate, said her husband is also still standing guard at the Kabul airport. She’s only had a few moments to catch up with him since the attack.

“The day of the bombing was the longest day of my life,” she said Saturday. “All we could do is sit in our living rooms and hope that no one comes and knocks on our door and hope that no more news breaks. My heart is so heavy for the families of the guys who were lost, for the Afghan people, for our husbands who had to lose their friends and had to witness everything they’re seeing over there.”

Both women also are in constant fear for their husbands as military leaders warn of continued threats of more terrorist attacks. And, they said they worry about how their husbands’ mental health will be affected when they return.

“These guys will never be the same,” Tate said, adding this is her husband’s seventh deployment.

Home for the 2/1 is Camp Horno, located at the northern end of the Camp Pendleton base, close to the border of San Clemente. The battalion’s earliest days go back to the 1920s, when it participated in the occupation of the Dominican Republic. Marines from the battalion saw combat in major World War II campaigns such as Guadalcanal,  Peleliu and Okinawa. The 2/1 also fought in Korea, Vietnam, Iraq and Afghanistan.

At the end of the Vietnam War, in 1975, the battalion helped run a temporary shelter at Camp Pendleton that assisted thousands of Vietnamese refugees fleeing the collapse of Saigon.

In the steep hills high above the home of the 1st Marine Regiment are the crosses placed in tribute to the nine Marines, members of the Battalion Landing Team 1/4,  who died last year in the training accident.

It is a sacred place for Camp Horno units and their Marines and sailors to visit and remember their fallen. More crosses will soon be added, standing in silhouette atop the hills.

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-on August 28, 2021 at 11:28AM by Erika I. Ritchie

[of-valentine]

Dead, Nostalgic and Familiar.

Museo di Santa Palazzo. Milan, Italy : April 2013.

She was standing there quietly, the arts displayed in front of her are rather dark and sad or it is her that still mourn over everything that happened. She never knew it will affect her this much, she never saw a divorce coming to her perfect family. Call it cliché but losing the grip of something you thought would last forever is one kind of painful trials and error.

It has been 4 years since her mother left and 2 years since Nadia replaced her, she like solitude better now even though she knew there’s still a lot of people who cares for her.

“That one is my Grandma’s favorite.”

Said someone who’s standing beside her, out of nowhere. She has no plan on jumping into the conversation, talking with stranger is not her cup of tea moreover now, let alone with strangers — she barely talk with her friends other except Rayshand and Florisa.

But she wonder why did he started to talk to her in english instead of Italian, or it is just his senses because she doesn’t look like one who would understand the language. On the other hand, she still doesn’t know what he looked like because her sight are still on the paintings in front.

“She said this paintings looks dead, nostalgic and familiar. “

Dead, nostalgic and familiar. She never heard a sequence of definition that sounded like that three. Somehow it is closer to the life she’s been having.

“Your Grand mother is right. “

“My Grand mother is dead, passed, to be more courteous. “

“A Belissaro. “

She said, for at last she turned her sight towards the figure next to her. He did the same, leaving the eyes that catches each other. If this is a scene from a movie, everything around them is in blur, the earth stop spinning in a void universe out there, there’s only echoes from a quiet museum and the two of them. But it’s not, she’s no longer interested in an alter reality like a movie. She’s no longer that little girl that waits and believe upon the arrival of her prince in a white horse. 

She looked away after a few seconds, that was only for a validation to her previous statement. If he said that her Grandmother passed away, he might be one of The Belissaro Family. 

A couple days ago, Her father asked Valentine to come along with him and Nadia to attend The memorial of Denise Belissaro. The Belissaro family is one of The Lee`s long colleague, Denise, is the mother of Antonio Belissaroㅡ the current reigning CEO of The Costanzo Corp and also Hardin’s good friend. Their ancestors is considered to be one of the old money in Italy. 

She was quite fond of paintings, that is why they decided to make a memorial for the passing of Denise Belissaro as a showcasing museum of her favorite pieces she has collected throughout her life. The one she’s visiting right now. And the boy standing in front of her might be one of her grand son. 

“And you are?”

He was still looking, as if right now she’s more amusing than the painting he told her was his grandma’s favorite. 

“I didn’t have any plan to introduce myself. “

“There’s only our closest relatives and colleague that receives the invitation for today’s event, I’m pretty confident I will find out about your name anytime soon. “

“Then save it for yourself, I’m fine with only knowing your last name. Good evening. “ 

When she’s about to walk away, he blocked her way as his first reaction. Feeling like he just entered the game himself, then let the quest begin. 

“You’ll see me again. “

“We shall see. “

[atlanticcanada]

Mass killing: Nova Scotia has been through hard times before, but not like this

On days when he's feeling up to it, Nick Beaton heads to a rural road just outside of Debert, N.S., where a makeshift memorial pays tribute to his late wife and unborn child.

It's been almost a month since Kristen Beaton was killed by a gunman who took the lives of 21 other people during a frenzy of violence across northern and central Nova Scotia.

The continuing-care assistant was on her way to work with the Victorian Order of Nurses on April 19, when the killer -- disguised as a Mountie and driving a replica RCMP cruiser -- pulled over her car and shot her for no apparent reason.

On a lonely gravel turnoff on Plains Road, her roadside shrine includes bouquets, photos, cards, candles and a wooden bench under a small canopy, where Nick Beaton can sometimes be found sitting amid scores of stuffed animals.

"I call it Kristen's site -- it's where it happened," he said in an interview. "I don't go there every day, as I believe she's in my heart and she's in my home, too."

Not far from the bench is a two-metre tall letter K, and nestled among some Nova Scotia flags and potted pansies is a small rock covered with painted roses and the words, "Kristen & Baby."

The humble site is one of several similarly appointed memorials along the twisting, tree-lined roads in Colchester and Cumberland counties -- improvised but sacred spots that speak to a province in mourning.

A short drive south on Plains Road is a memorial for another victim: Beaton's VON colleague, Heather O'Brien. Her family has planted a small flower garden there, and there's also another bench and canopy.

A homemade sign proclaims: "Proud Nurse."

Nick Beaton says there will be a funeral for Kristen and "baby Beaton," but that will have to wait until the COVID-19 pandemic has subsided.

Until then, those seeking solace from their grief will have to do so behind closed doors -- or choose one of these very public venues.

In the tiny village of Portapique, N.S., where the gunman began killing neighbours on the night of April 18, there are two roadside memorials: one at the head of Portapique Beach Road -- not far from where 13 people died -- and another along Highway 2 at a former church.

Cees van den Hoek, the building's owner, says he placed four lattice panels in front of the former church shortly after the slayings when it became clear some people were uncomfortable going anywhere near the initial crime scene.

As well, he called on people from across Canada to send him cards, letters and other personal tributes. The panels are now full of flowers, posters, paper hearts and many messages that he has laminated.

"We had quite a few cards from Humboldt," said van den Hoek, referring to the 2018 bus crash north of the Saskatchewan town that killed 16 people, most of them members of the Humboldt Broncos junior hockey team.

"We're kind of in the same boat," says van den Hoek, who knew some of the victims of the Portapique mass killing. "That was really touching. Some of the letters, when your read them, it's really quite emotional."

There's been talk about setting up a foundation with funds that have been raised for the affected families, but van den Hoek says plans for a permanent memorial are in the early stages.

"We're trying to get some light after the dark," he says. "We don't want to be just a morbid tourist destination."

Still, Nova Scotians find themselves in a surreal state of mind these days, given that the pandemic has thwarted the traditional grieving process. That includes handshakes and hugging.

As well, there have been additional tragedies to deal with.

The April 29 crash of a Canadian Forces helicopter in the Mediterranean Sea claimed the lives of six military members -- all of them based in the Halifax area. Then on May 6, the province learned of the disappearance of a three-year-old boy from Truro, N.S., who was walking near a brook with his grandmother.

"It's so piled up," says van den Hoek, referring to the province's collective heartache. "There was the first wave, and then the next wave and the next .... People are still reeling from the first one."

Portapique resident Nancy Hudson lives just down the road from the community hall, where grief counsellors are ready to help those in need.

"That's where people go to talk about things," she says.

"I've lost friends, but I haven't lost children or relatives. But it still hurts .... I can't imagine how some of them are dealing with this right now, especially when you can't come together and have a funeral."

Bill Casey, the well-known former member of Parliament for the area, says the brutality of last month's rampage has stunned the province in a way that is hard to comprehend.

"We're so unused to it," Casey said from his home in Brookdale, N.S. "It's just not part of our culture ... to have anything like this happen."

A day after the killer's cruel mission was ended by a fatal shot from an RCMP officer, Nova Scotia Premier Stephen McNeil said the "innocence of the province cannot be let go of."

"We cannot allow a tragedy as deep and as painful and as hard as 1/8this 3/8 determine what our communities are going to be like."

However, Casey said it's important to remember the province is no stranger to big-scale tragedies. For centuries, Nova Scotia has suffered through shipwrecks, major fires, coal-mining calamities and natural disasters.

According to the Nova Scotia Archives, more than 2,500 men have died in Nova Scotia mining accidents since the mid-1800s, many of them in the coal seams of Cumberland County.

The reality of living on the East Coast has long meant struggling to survive and relying on others to get by.

"We are not without our history of loss," says Casey. "But, just in the last month, it has been incredible how the losses have added up."

This report by The Canadian Press was first published May 18, 2020.

-- With files from Michael Tutton.

from CTV News - Atlantic https://ift.tt/36akCNA

[esprit-de-corps-magazine]

REMEMBERING VIMY RIDGE: Army Cadets Commemorate Vimy's 100th Anniversary In Canada And In France

By Maxime Corneau, Army Cadet League of Canada

In 2010 Canada marked the end of an era on Vimy Ridge Day with the passing of our last First World War veteran. Youth were challenged to take up the Torch of Remembrance so that the memory of those who served between 1914 and 1918 would never fade.

The year 2011 marked the beginning of a new era, when The Royal Canadian Army Cadet Corps (RCACC) commemorated the Battle of Vimy Ridge for the first time. With 300 cadets on parade that evening, they held the very first official Army Cadet Battle of Vimy Commemoration and it was also the very first overnight vigil in Ottawa. The Ottawa cadets felt strongly about commemorating the troops of 1917 in a similar way to what our soldiers had experienced. One hundred years ago, on April 8, Canadian soldiers had to wait in the tunnels of Arras for 24 hours until adverse weather conditions passed and they could storm the ridge the next day. Moreover, cadets from coast to coast also rose to this new challenge of commemoration and organized their own personal corps events.

April 8, 2017 was an important day as it marked the 100th anniversary of this battle. The Army cadets in Ottawa were once again called to carry the Torch of Remembrance. Parades and special commemorative events were organized by numerous corps in each province and were attended by dignitaries, veterans, organizations and members of the community. Some even planned the re-enactment of the battle. In Peterborough, Ontario, cadets from the 2672 Hastings and Prince Edward RCACC planted over 600 ceramic trillium flowers to honour Canada’s fallen at Vimy Ridge at the local cenotaph. Sixteen red trilliums were planted to honour the Peterborough area soldiers who fell in the battle, while the remaining white flowers commemorated the locals who died during the Great War. One hundred cadets from Manitoba will visit the Vimy memorial in May; several other corps will also make pilgrimages this year to mark the battle’s centenary.

It is at moments like these where our youth really come to realize why such commemorative events occur, and why they should be proud to be part of them. To Cadet CWO Michael Robichaud, of the 2870 Royal Canadian Dragoons RCACC, who served as master of ceremony at Ottawa’s Army Cadet ceremony, said of his experience, “Often times, people overlook events or an act because it does not concern them, because they don’t feel as though they are involved with whatever happened. I used to think like that as well, as we all do when we are younger, or simply lack the information to truly understand the situation.”

Robichaud continues: “See, when I participated in the Vimy vigil this time last year, I didn’t do it for the same reasons as I did it this year; it meant something different for me as I had been given an opportunity to learn. It was during my summer camp last year, as part of the first group participating in the Army Cadet battlefield tour, that I finally properly understood why we do these commemoration events. I learned so much that summer, but what I retained most importantly is that the actual numbers of the fallen is not what truly counts.”

Robichaud explains that, “throughout our history lessons, wherever they may come from, such as school or cadets, or literature, we are taught that these numbers such as the 3,598 fallen soldiers of this battle are facts, but in reality, the number, though important, is only part of the story.”

Through his experience in the Army Cadets battlefield tour last summer, Robichaud learned that “What really matters is the life, the story that is behind each number representing each fallen soldier. Every single one of them was a brother and a son to so many affected families, maybe a teacher or mentor to others, a loving husband or father to a happy family, their families left behind in fear of losing a loved one. It is they, each individual, whom we must commemorate, not the number. We must take the time to thank those whose story enabled our own stories to take place, our own families to stay safe. It is their personal sacrifices and actions we must take the time to honour. Though a sombre and mournful time, it is important to thank them for what they did, to remember them and their story … and in that we must always remember them.”

The experience for a group of young cadets of the 1813 Lord Strathcona Horse Army Cadet Corps from B.C., who attended the ceremonies in Vimy, France, could be summed up in a few words. MCpl Morgan said, “This experience has been breathtaking, amazing and overwhelming. This has been the most impactful and memorable experience. It is beyond my imagination in how I am feeling right now.” WO Jewsbury added that, “When I was walking up towards the monument, the intensity of the moment was out of this world and indescribable. So many emotions and thoughts.”

In describing the experience, the cadets used such descriptive words as “overwhelming,” “there are no words to describe how I’m feeling,” “an experience I’ll never forget.” However, most importantly, what we must capture the most from their experience is that they have become much more aware of the importance for them to carry a torch of remembrance in their hearts. This experience will never be forgotten. Each and every cadet who has returned from a similar experience has come back changed, more aware of their roots and of the sacrifice so many made for our country.

This demonstrates the influence such experiences can have on the younger and upcoming generations and how these events can truly touch them on a personal level. The impact is even more profound when they are given the opportunity to travel overseas to tour the many monuments, cemeteries and battlefields, where they can see for themselves and retrace the steps of the thousands of soldiers who walked before them and fell in battle. Cadets and their commitment to commemorate military honours will ensure that soldiers’ sacrifices are not forgotten. By having an appreciation for military and regimental history, Army Cadets will continue to relate to the significant battles Canadian soldiers participated in.

Every year, as Army Cadets gather for the Vimy vigil, our youngsters on parade come to realize that they are not much younger or older than many of the fallen Canadians who perished that day. But they also realize that their story, their life, and their sacrifice must be remembered.

Cadets will continue to commemorate the Battle of Vimy just as they do Remembrance Day. And each year, as new recruits come through the cadet ranks, more of them will understand the significance of these events and the importance of never forgetting the ultimate sacrifice that was made by so many Canadians 100 years ago.

[blackkudos]

Robert Hayden

Robert Hayden (4 August 1913 – 25 February 1980) was an American poet, essayist, and educator. He served as Consultant in Poetry to the Library of Congress from 1976–78, a role today known as US Poet Laureate. He was the first African-American writer to hold the office.

Biography

Robert Hayden was born Asa Bundy Sheffey in Detroit, Michigan, to Ruth and Asa Sheffey, who separated before his birth. He was taken in by a foster family next door, Sue Ellen Westerfield and William Hayden, and grew up in a Detroit ghetto nicknamed "Paradise Valley". The Haydens' perpetually contentious marriage, coupled with Ruth Sheffey’s competition for her son's affections, made for a traumatic childhood. Witnessing fights and suffering beatings, Hayden lived in a house fraught with chronic anger, whose effects would stay with him throughout his life. On top of that, his severe visual problems prevented him from participating in activities such as sports in which nearly everyone else was involved. His childhood traumas resulted in debilitating bouts of depression that he later called "my dark nights of the soul."

Because he was nearsighted and slight of stature, he was often ostracized by his peers. In response, Hayden read voraciously, developing both an ear and an eye for transformative qualities in literature. He attended Detroit City College later called Wayne State University with a major in Spanish and minor in English, and left in 1936 during the Great Depression, one credit short of finishing his degree, to go to work for the Works Progress Administration Federal Writers' Project, where he researched black history and folk culture.

Leaving the Federal Writers' Project in 1938, Hayden married Erma Morris in 1940 and published his first volume, Heart-Shape in the Dust (1940). He enrolled at the University of Michigan in 1941 and won a Hopwood Award there. Raised as a Baptist, he followed his wife into the Bahá'í Faith during the early 1940s, and raised a daughter, Maia, in the religion. Hayden became one of the best-known Bahá'í poets. Erma Hayden was a pianist and composer and served as supervisor of music for Nashville public schools.

In pursuit of a master's degree, Hayden studied under W. H. Auden, who directed his attention to issues of poetic form, technique, and artistic discipline. Auden's influence may be seen in the "technical pith of Hayden's verse." After finishing his degree in 1942, then teaching several years at Michigan, Hayden went to Fisk University in 1946, where he remained for twenty-three years, returning to Michigan in 1969 to complete his teaching career.

As a supporter of his religion's teaching of the unity of humanity, Hayden could never embrace Black separatism. Thus the title poem of Words in the Mourning Time ends in a stirring plea in the name of all humanity:

Reclaim now, now renew the vision of

a human world where godliness is possible and man is neither gook nigger honkey wop or kike but man

He died in Ann Arbor, Michigan, in 1980, age 67.

In 2012 the U.S. Postal Service issued a pane of stamps featuring ten great Twentieth Century American Poets, including Hayden.

Career

By the 1960s and the rise of the Black Arts Movement, when a more youthful era of African American artists composed politically and emotionally charged protest poetry overwhelmingly coordinated to a black audience, Hayden's philosophy about the function of poetry and the way he characterized himself as an author were settled. His refusal to revamp himself as indicated by the pictures of the 1960s earned him feedback from a few scholars and analysts. Hayden stayed consistent with his idea of poetry as an artistic frame instead of a polemical demonstration and to his conviction that poetry ought to, in addition to other things, address the qualities shared by mankind, including social injustice. Hayden's beliefs about the relationship of the artist to his poems likewise had impact in his refusal to compose emotionally determined protest sonnets. Hayden's practice was to make separation between the speaker and the movement of the poem.

The impact of Euro-American innovation on Hayden's poetry and also his continuous assertions that he needed to be viewed as an "American poet" as opposed to a "black poet" prompted much feedback of him as an abstract "Uncle Tom" by African American critics during the 1960s. Unexpectedly, African American history, contemporary black figures, for example, Malcolm X, and African American communities, especially Hayden's native Paradise Valley, were the subjects of a significant number of his poems.

On 7 April 1966, Hayden's A Ballad of Remembrance was awarded, by unanimous vote, the Grand Prize for Poetry at the first World Festival of Negro Arts in Dakar, Senegal. The festival had over ten thousand people from thirty-seven nations in attendance. However, on 22 April 1966 Hayden was denounced at a Fisk University conference of black writers by a group of young protest poets led by Melvin Tolson for refusing to identify himself as a black poet.

Hayden was elected to the American Academy of Poets in 1975. His most famous poem is Those Winter Sundays, which deals with the memory of fatherly love and loneliness. It ranks among the most anthologized American poems of the 20th century. He declined the position later called United States Poet Laureate previously, accepted the appointment for 1976–1977 during America's Bicentennial, and again in 1977–1978 though his health was failing then. He was awarded successive honorary degrees by Brown University (1976) and Fisk, (1978). In 1977 he was interviewed for television in Los Angeles on At One With by Keith Berwick. In January 1980 Hayden was among those gathered to be honored by President Jimmy Carter and his wife at a White House reception celebrating American poetry. He served for a decade as an editor of the Bahá'í journal World Order.

Robert Hayden hasoften been praised for his work crafting of poems, the unique perspectives in his work, his exact language, and his absolute command of traditional poetic techniques and structures.

Other famed poems include "The Whipping" (which is about a small boy being severely punished for some undetermined offense), "Middle Passage" (inspired by the events surrounding the United States v. The Amistad affair), "Runagate, Runagate", and "Frederick Douglass".

Hayden’s influences included Wylie, Cullen, Dunbar, Hughes, Bontemps, Keats, Auden and Yeats. Hayden’s work often addressed the plight of African Americans, usually using his former home of Paradise Valley slum as a backdrop, as he does in the poem "Heart-Shape in the Dust". Hayden’s work made ready use of black vernacular and folk speech. Hayden wrote political poetry as well, including a sequence on the Vietnam War.

On the first poem of the sequence, he said: “I was trying to convey the idea that the horrors of the war became a kind of presence, and they were with you in the most personal and intimate activity, having your meals and so on. Everything was touched by the horror and the brutality and criminality of war. I feel that's one of the best of the poems.”

Wikipedia

[renaroo]

Any thoughts on Venus de Milo(tmnt)?

BOY DO I

I wonder if this is related at all to MovieBob’s recent video about her being the worst female character ever because the moment I watched it I wondered if anyone would be asking me about her. 

So. Ninja Turtles: The Next Mutation is... a thing that in itself is almost too difficult to explain outside of “you had to be there”, but I’m going to do my best. Because I was there. Oh, man. Was I there. 

While I had VHS tapes of the original ‘80s TMNT cartoon I grew up with and watched religiously, the show stopped airing new episodes before I was born, and stopped resyndication by the time I was four. So while I definitely grew up with them and loved them and read the Archie comics religiously as a kid and watched the original live action movies pretty much every weekend we rented movies from the down the road movie rental store (anyone remember those?), my actual first memories of watching any TMNT show as it aired was the 1998 flop show, Ninja Turtles: The Next Mutation. 

In fact, I distinctly remember getting the chicken pox that year and part of the only good thing that came from it was I got to watch episodes of NT:TNM without impediment from my then-one year old sister because they kept her away from me as if I had the plague. 

Which I kinda did, but regardless. 

It was actually just 4 years later, in 2001, that I’d come to build an online presence with TERRIBLE Pokemon, Inuyasha, and Star Fox fanfics that I first started looking up geocities communities for various fandoms and one of those was TMNT. 

If anyone remembers geocities or pre-ff.net fandom lore in the Ninja Turtles circle, here’s how old I am: I, personally, used to talk to the likes of Kali Gargoyle, Azure the Turtle, Kat, Sakan (FREAKfreak), Ame Musashi, Buslady, and Machias -- a statement that I can almost guarantee means absolutely NOTHING to 99.9999% of you.

Now, an interesting thing about the fandom culture just before the 2003 cartoon aired was that there was actually a large contingent of the fandom that were defensive of Ninja Turtles: The Next Mutation and thought of it as being only as bad as the current Power Rangers season of the time (which was the one right before Dino Thunder, so I can’t remember which one it was). In fact, people were so on the bandwagon for it, that the geocities community started an online petition -- which at the time was a difficult thing to do because it meant everyone sending a single email chain around and around so everyone can sign it with their online names and then email it to Saban, who owned the rights. The petition was to allow the show to have another season and tie up its loose ends with the (most likely misinformed) opinion that Next Mutation had had better viewership than the Power Rangers season it ran side-by-side with. 

Did it deserve it? With my nostalgia goggles off, having bought the DVDs of the series and watched it within the last four years, can I say Next Mutation and Venus de Milo deserved that type of fandom swelling in support?

...

Um. Noooooo?

Okay, my extensive fandom history aside, I cannot defend The Next Mutation because... it was really bad. Like, made the Shredder a good guy in the pilot and got rid of the most iconic villains for the rest of the series bad. Instead we had the Dragon Lord (eh) and Wick (his servant, again eh), Silver the Gorilla... gangster whose gang came straight out of the (also flop) Dick Tracey movie, and... 

Vam Mi. Who was probably the first indication my parents had that I was into girls. Because. Well shit. I mean. 

A Chinese vampire obsessed with the female of the show and wore tight leather and heeellllooooooooo

Vam Mi is actually the thing I remember the best about the show and I could probably write an essay on defending the storyline “Unchain My Heart” which goddamn if we’d had episodes like that throughout the show and a villain like Vam Mi throughout the show, well it probably would’ve gotten that mythical second sense that would have made sense of the other garbage. 

But I’ve obviously gotten away from your question. Which is about Venus herself. Or, as I prefer to call her (for reason we’ll get into) Mei Peih Chi. 

The reason I’ve had all this build up and quandering about the show itself is because Mei herself is such a product of this series that removing them from each other leaves out how things went so wrong with an idea that came from such an obviously positive place. “Hey, little girls deserve to want to be Ninja Turtles, too!”

Best intentions. Worst executions. 

If you read a lot of my meta, you know that I actually despise the concept of “Mary Sues” and how female characters are carelessly cast aside by people for basically having attributes of any main character. But. Well. Let’s just look at Mei’s character in its context: 

Mei is a fifth turtle who was in the same bowl that fell into the sewers and was mutated along with the turtles (aka, does not have her own unique origin story and was there from the beginning but WE’RE JUST LEARNING ABOUT IT), she was found by a Chinese monk (Chinese, not Japanese which is the ethnicity of the Hamato family of the turtles and Yoshi, sort of glazing over the cultures as being interchangeable), was raised as his daughter in the monastery back in China even though... he seemed to somehow know about the others Turtles and Splinter and inform her where to go after his death in the pilot?, and she -- in a series called Ninja Turtles, was not a ninja but a Shinobi priestess with psychic abilities. 

Oh, and throughout the show they keep bringing up the fact that none of them are blood-related, despite the turtles being brothers being a cornerstone to the franchise since the 80s comics, for the sole purpose of having a love triangle between Raph, Venus, and Leo without it being incest. 

(This hilariously backfired and became the justification for the ever growing T-Cest fandom that shipped the boys together for years afterward by the by)

She is a fish out of water, has zero fun throughout the series, is not as physically strong in a fight as the boys, and is basically the plot equivalent of Deus Ex Machina in the end because Magic > Ninjitsu in a franchise that is completely dependent on the physicality and Ninja-ness of the characters. 

Also. Despite Mei growing up in China, still learning English and Western culture, and having an obvious struggle with mourning the loss of her home in China and her Chinese father, in the goddamn pilot the main guys rename her “Venus de Milo” because she knocked the arms off a statue and they thought it was funny. Because while the guys are named after Renaissance artists, Mei is renamed and for all purposes “Anglicanized” for an art object. Like. It’s difficult to understand who okayed any of this. 

Like. Were they thinking?

Mei, from the start, was kind of a broken character with a gross costume design (turtle boobs turtle boobs what’re you gonna do there’s a turtle with fucking boobs) that still forces girls to see themselves as thin and demure even if they’re bulky, shell having turtles. BECAUSE WE GOTTA HAVE THEM HIPS AND CURVES i guess. 

She’s so loathed by Peter Laird (co-creator of the TMNT) that he made the overly drastic declaration that he’ll never allow there to be female turtles in the franchise again, period. Which I kinda... find extreme. 

Because....

As bad as she is. As problematic as she was. 

.... When I was six, I loved her. 

How could I not love her? She and Vam Mi were the only girls on the whole damn show! (April and Casey didn’t even get cameos). The face value of representation for a long time made me defensive of Mei and of the show because of how it made me feel as a kid.

It’s that Maya Angelou quote personified: “People may not remember exactly what you did, or what you said, but they will always remember how you made them feel.“

I didn’t remember how bad the props and puppetry was until I rewatched the show. I didn’t remember how annoying Venus’ “spot” in the team was as immediate den mother and object to be fought over (like Raph and Leo needed more to fight over really). I didn’t even remember that the show kept pushing for the Turtles to not be a family. 

I remembered having a lot of affection for seeing a female ninja turtle along with the characters I had grown up loving. I mean, seriously, do I have to post that picture again of me as a baby in the scariest Ninja Turtle themed grocery store ride in the history of ever?

So she’s bad. And there needs to be more effort in being progressive and being more inclusive, especially for old properties trying to adapt to the changing times. 

And I’m someone who believes wholeheartedly that any idea can be done well. 

.... Venus was not done well.

But she had her part in making me a lifetime Ninja Turtle fan. A complicated, twisted, only could happen in the late part of the Clinton administration way. 

So I will criticize the hell out of Mei, out of the series, but I’ll always be mindful of how it made a six-year-old Rena excited every Saturday. 

I’ll remember that and the hot vampire in leather.