#because they come with the risk (if not the certainty) of being either a weapon or liability that will hurt the people they care most about

[notmoreflippingelves]

I am absolutely feral about them. They are utterly different and yet they are exactly the same.

Far more than any of the other characters in the show, Esteban and Elena were shaped and damaged by Shuriki into the versions of themselves that they are now. Yet, they've managed to cling to some vestiges of the self that they once were, despite the horrors that would've broken nearly anyone else completely. Nevertheless, they remain haunted by the Dark Times™ in ways and to an extent that no one else could ever possibly understand except each other. Their experiences were distinctly different and each with their own unique struggles, but nevertheless, they were isolated and imprisoned by Shuriki in their own respective gilded cages (or shall we say, jeweled cage in Elena's case) and trapped in their grief and feelings of failure for over forty years.

Yes, Isabel, Francisco, and Luisa also lost time and family, but unlike Esteban and Elena, they did not experience the profound, sustained, seemingly-unending sensation of loss and solitude for forty-one years. Their experiences have undoubtably impacted them, but they aren't drowning in survivor's guilt and grappling with four decades of unprocessed trauma in the same way that Elena and Esteban are. (And even if Isa and the abuelos had been conscious in the painting (which it's strongly implied they are not), they at least would've been struggling together, whereas Esteban and Elena were utterly alone in the world.)

There's also the fact that Esteban and Elena both possess the same formative "want to be wanted" and "need to be needed"--by anyone and everyone in Avalor but most especially by their familia. The difference is that Elena's needs are acknowledged by those around her. She's frequently reminded that she's liked, valued, and needed, whereas Esteban has felt like he has to beg or scheme for validation and support. And sometimes, he is desperate enough to chase the love he longs for, and he gets a little scrap of affection that they will cling too for all its worth. But most times, Esteban is too proud and/or fearful to seek out the love that he needs like air--because he feels he does not "deserve" it, because he's convinced that he's a burden to be borne, because he's so used to living on less than he needs.

Which is why being saved by Elena's forgiveness magic would provoke such strong, powerful emotions in Esteban. He finally has verifiable cosmic proof that he is wanted and needed in the ways that he's always longed to be. It's Elena saying without words that she wants and needs Esteban in her life more than she resents him for the pain that he's caused them both. It's the sensation of being truly seen and chosen in the ways that Esteban has always longed for but never really expected. In turn, it's Elena recognizing that Esteban has and will prioritize her safety and her emotional needs, even at the cost of his own life. It's needing each other and feeling needed by each other--something that has always been the core of both their characters.

If I think about Elena and Eseban’s themes and similarities I start to cry

[all-about-the-tea-parties]

A goddess of mystery and the unknown marrying a god of rage and death is an apocalypse right?

Death gods always represent transformation from one age to the next, one stage to another. All arcs in peoples lives are “deaths”. Death gods offer the opportunity to finish something and place you at the precipice of a beginning.

Anger pushes action. Rage represents conflict and choices and assertiveness.

Beginnings and endings are frightening. They leave people in a place of uncertainty. It holds risk.

Nightmares are the aggressive manifestation of anxiety and fear, which comes from doubts. Rage is not a weapon of certainty, but a weapon of indignation. The emotional foundation of justice because wrath and rage are different. The action taken when being wronged. Nightmares are the wrongdoings done to you that you greatly fear.

Cassandra was married to a god that, in wedding her, represented the concept of “Armageddon” - the end of the world as we know it. In wedding her, she incorporated them into the Nightmare King. Instead of becoming a passive curse, Cassandra was a curse that spread and consumed. Cassandra’s rage is attached to the feeling of being wronged.

Most ppl hear apocalypse and think nightmare. But that’s simply the worst possible outcome of an end to established systems - it could also mean the beginning of something wonderful.

But that’s the point of Cassandra - we don’t know. We don’t know what happens after we make our choice. We can only hope to embrace what we don’t know and accept the strength of our own convictions.

A death god of rage and a doubt god of twilight creates a community of anarchists. People who are wise and assured and fierce.

Cassandra doesn’t personify doubt, but rules over it and all that it touches. Her spouse probably does not personify rage either, but rules over it and all that it touches.

I imagine that is a massive threat to established hierarchies. Such as royal elves.

Gorgug and Kristen are both learning to healthily express anger. Express it. Not negotiate with it, not reason around it, not suppress it. Feel and express it. They both try so hard to hear people out and be accountable for their behaviour and allow ppl to hurt them in the process. Because instead of accepting the unknown consequences of standing up for themselves, they choose to remain anxious with their passivity.

But Cassandra ISNT passive. She’s steadfast. She married a god of DEATH and RAGE.

Gorgug succeeded in the forest of death because he accepted his situation and chanted encouragement to his friends. Kristen succeeded in front of the nightmare king because she decided the risk of being wrong was worth it.

They may not have succeeded, but even failure had been accepted. All they could do was choose and keep going.

The world ends.

There’s nothing special about stability. Everything is fallible.

Cassandra offers comfort in that, a lack of sentiment for things that don’t work out, and I imagine her spouse offers courage. They both provide the step forward into what has not been built yet.

They make revolutionaries.

They are and have always been dangerous together.

(Unless of course Brennan decided to go the route that doubt and anger together make fascism lmao).

[jammatown919]

Sorry, but...the aura transfer machine? That's been exclusively framed as a bad thing every time we've seen it? That's been shown to be an excruciating experience? That rips someone's soul apart the same way Cinder did to Amber? That aura transfer machine? Besides I really don't understand this idea that Penny is living inside of Winter somehow, similar to how Oz is with Oscar? There's no evidence of that. We've seen no signs of Amber inside of Cinder, or the previous spring maiden inside of Raven. I could talk about how I think you're misinterpreting the merge as well, but I don't want to come off as hostile, I'm just genuinely really confused. Every theory I've seen on this makes no sense to me.

I’ve said this before but citing the typical rules of Maidenhood doesn’t hold up when our entire point is that the transfer from Penny to Winter wasn’t normal. It wasn’t primarily Penny’s Aura being used like we’ve seen from Fria that it probably should be, it was the wrong color except for a green particle effect and the only person around with the color that was used is Jaune. One could say it was an animation error, but that is a MASSIVE error to overlook for something that is in the center of such a major scene in a show that places so much significance on color. There’s really no reason someone shouldn’t have caught that and fixed it if it wasn’t supposed to look like that.

Basically the theory is that because Penny has been shown to be incredibly perceptive of other people’s Semblances, she figured out a way to abuse Jaune’s to keep herself in some way alive or at least retrievable while still getting the powers to Winter. It’s an Aura transfer, and given Jaune’s Semblance deals with other people’s Aura and Semblances have been known to evolve in some less than linear ways, it’s not out of the question. Plus the whole “trust me”, being remarkably cheerful for someone about to die, “I won’t be gone” after Fria acknowledged that she would be gone after giving the powers to Penny, all that fun stuff.

There’s been some symbolism with Penny and Winter with Aura transfer machines. And yeah, we’ve seen the process appears to be incredibly painful, but we’ve never seen a successful Aura transfer using these machines and genuinely can only theorize or guess what the end result would be because every attempt we’ve seen has been interrupted. We don’t even know for a fact it would result in the death of the person’s Aura being moved, it was a certainty for Amber because she was being kept alive on life support already and a risk for Fria because she was old and sickly (Winter specifically says “even IF she dies” in reference to Fria meaning it may not have been a sure thing).

But it’s not unreasonable to think they may be able to figure out how tweak the process to be safer. They have Pietro, who is claimed to be the finest mind in Atlas, and who already has experience with removing only parts of his Aura to give to someone else. Theoretically, he could figure out how to separate a chunk of Penny’s Aura (since at least a bit of it was visibly present) that was given to Winter and give it back to her, either putting it back into a robotic body or leaning into the fact that her human body was a magical loophole exploitation and letting magical shenanigans take over from there.

If you don’t feel like this makes sense that’s fine, honestly. I do and so do a lot of other revival theorists so this is just the hill we’re on. It is also just what seems to be the most popular out of a handful of different methods for a potential revival. Some people think she’s in Ruby’s head based on the fact that Ruby heard her for no reason without even knowing she was dead in V9 or in Jaune’s sword based on the fact that Alyx could keep her Aura inside a weapon for years and Jaune’s was readily accessible. Or inside her own sword since it has no reason to still exist if she’s dead and it literally disappeared when Cinder attacked her only to reappear after the fact.

As for the merge, I’m not sure how I’m misinterpreting it or if you mean between Oscar and Ozpin or between Penny and Winter, so I can’t really respond to that with anything significant.

[dottiechan]

ICEBREAKER Pt. 1

Read on AO3 (link in bio)

Part 1 | Part 2&3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7

Pairing: Crosshair x Reader x Hunter; Tech x Reader (platonic)

Wordcount: 2389

Summary: Tech watches on helplessly as his brothers' affection for you threaten to ruin the squad.

Warnings: cursing, yearning

You’re just as cold on the inside as the ice is under your boots. It crunches with every step you take, and your heart seems to beat along with the fall of your boots, aching. You feel unsteady, almost enough to miss the tracks running in the snow right in front of you. You pause and crutch down, gloved fingers dipping into the indentations as you grumble to yourself. It’s not even your turn to scope out the area where you’re setting up camp, and besides, there is a literal tracking genius in your squad - it really shouldn’t be you who’s out here in the snow and ice, eyes straining against the blinding white of the planet, fingers freezing off as you set up perimeter alarms. And yet you just volunteered for the less than ideal task without explanation, not understanding your own decision either.

At least Tech offered to tag along, but you suspect he’s simply had enough of his brothers for a while. Not that you can blame him.

“Fascinating.”

You sigh, internally begging him to stop talking as you stand, abandoning the tracks after deciding they most likely belong to a lone whitefang. You have enough on your plate right now, with Hunter still being pissy and Crosshair avoiding you like the plague, and silence would be much more preferable right now to listening to one of Tech’s rambles.

“Did you know that this moon’s surface is almost entirely composed of water?”

“No.”

“Despite the subzero surface temperature, there are subsurface oceans underneath the ice that are warmed by the moon’s internal heat.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I wish we could stay long enough for me to study the subsurface flora and fauna. There might be plants underneath the ice that-”

“Tech.”

“-that use chemosynthesis-”

“Tech!”

“What?”

He has the decency to look flustered, one hand gripping the datapad tightly, the other flying up to adjust his goggles as he peers up at you. You didn’t mean to sound so harsh, but sometimes you just can’t help it. Sometimes, the confinement of the Marauder is enough to turn you into a ticking time bomb, irritated by the slightest seemingly innocent things. And you’ve had more than just mere sparks to flare your temper as of late.

...

His rifle is spotless, and yet he’s still scrubbing it as if his life depended on it.

Maybe it does, because if he jumps up and lowers his guard for a second, he’s out the ship and off to find you and Tech. Maybe you’re a fool sometimes, a god damn nuisance, a person he still couldn’t grow used to, but you belong with them now, you’re theirs, you’re his, and that means something to him. You frustrate him beyond reason, and he often grows callous and agitated because he refuses to allow himself to feel the emotions you elicit from him whenever you’re near him.

Even now, on an ice planet, the mere thought of you infects him with a sweet, sweet jungle fever that knocks him off his feet.

And he’s supposed to be angry now, Crosshair reminds himself. After all, you almost gotten yourself killed on Bracca, and almost broke him in the process.

“They’ve been gone for too long,” Hunter grumbles as he paces up and down like a caged nexu craving to run free. But lately Crosshair began to suspect that he craves something else, someone else, and the thought has his throat tightening in jealousy. He’s been watching, and he convinced himself that he’d misread the signs until he saw the same agitation reflect in his brother’s eyes that he himself has to wrestle with every day.

If it ever came down to your choice, he knows he wouldn’t be it, and he hates living with this knowledge.

Hunter has all the things you seem to like - unlimited kindness, longing looks, smirks that turn a little too soft when directed at you, broad shoulders he caught you staring at more times than he can count. Deep down, he’s still hoping it will never come to you having to choose, but it’s impossible not to wish to be in the centre of your attention. You drive him insane, but you also make him want to commit and stop fighting and lay down his weapons for once in his god damn life.

“Relax. They’re probably fine.”

The screen to their left lights up, and Hunter rushes across the ship in long strides before exhaling in relief. “The proximity alarms are online. They should be heading back soon.”

Crosshair sucks in a breath, worried about seeing his own emotions sitting behind Hunter’s eyes as well.

...

You were assigned to assist the Bad Batch for an unspecified period of time some months ago. You’re a versatile field agent, specialising in both stealth and combat casualty care, one of the few volunteers who were qualified enough to join the GAR. Oh, and you’re also clearly mistrusted by your new squad as they flip out the very moment you risk yourself in the line of duty. You’re not stupid, you weighed the risks carefully, and you trusted your abilities to see you through the job unharmed.

But ever since the incident on Bracca, you’re given the cold shoulder by most on the squad, and for once, the scenery matches your mood.

And yet Tech deserves better than to be cut off like that. He deserves to be listened to, and appreciated as the good man he is. You’re friends, but in moments like these, you think you don’t deserve his friendship.

“Look, I’m... I’m sorry, okay? But right now, I have too much on my mind to think about, umm, chemo...”

“Chemosynthesis?”

“Yeah, that.”

“I think I understand,” he nods, satisfied with your half-assed apology for the time being as he goes back to scanning the vast icy desert stretching as far as the eye can see. The Marauder’s lights blink in the background, orange against the dark blue of the growing darkness that surrounds you. It’s like a beacon, a sign that promises warmth, and you gaze at it longingly until you remember that you’ll have to go back to Crosshair’s scowl and Hunter’s disapproving frown and Wrecker’s awkward little smiles. Somehow, the ice is preferable once more, and the snow that just began to fall in soft flakes is little more than a mild annoyance.

“Well, aside from a few distant life forms-”

“Whitefangs.”

“Yes, most likely whitefangs - aside from those, we should be quite safe inside the ship for tonight.”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “You might be. I’m not the most popular with the squad right now, remember?”

“You are a valued addition,” Tech declares, and the certainty in his voice releases inside you the emotional equivalent of a sucker punch. All you can do is stand, and fight the sting of tears in your eyes. You’re confident, but you never in your wildest dreams imagined how difficult it would be to live up to the expectations of a special unit. You also know your worth, but it’s hard to keep on believing in yourself steadfastly when the rest of your squad doubts your every move. “Which is why the prospect of losing you elicits a rather severe emotional reaction in us. It is rare for regs to warm up to us as well as you have, let alone volunteers. Aside from the obvious tactical disadvantage losing you would mean, I believe it is a little more personal than that.”

...

Hunter knows something is off even before one of the alarms is triggered - whatever it is, it is within five clicks of the ship, making you and Tech plenty exposed before he could do anything. He was straining his ear simply to keep you all safe - so what if he accidentally heard your muffled voice, or the soft crunch of snow underneath your boots?

But now is not the time to be idle, and he knows it. He would never forgive himself if something happened to his squad. And to you, he corrects himself almost softly as he grabs his helmet and checks his weapons quickly. Despite the fact that he’s still angry about your previous carelessness, he cannot deny the forbidden yearning coiling in his stomach whenever you’re on his mind, making him just as nervous as hopeful. And to be fair, it happens more and more often as of late, which is both alarming and exciting as he never thought he’d ever have the luxury to feel this way about someone else. Sure, he knows love, he loves his brothers with all his heart even if he isn’t very vocal about it, but this is different. New, scary, exciting different, an effervescent and persevering tingling blinding all his senses.

Crosshair is beside him in less than a second, rifle in hand, silent, and they share a nod before lowering the ramp and rushing out into the freezing dusk.

When he picks up on your muffled voice, he seems to ignore everything as he breaks into a sprint towards you, hoping to reach you in time before you’re in danger. He almost misses the way Crosshair’s heartbeat picks up, the usually stoic man reeking with genuine worry as he looks through the scope of his rifle.

He can deal with this later, Hunter promises himself as he pushes down this uncomfortable feeling. But then he sees you and Tech, and he seems to forget about anything and everything - you have that unfortunate and awfully distracting effect on him.

...

“But Hunter yelled at me for being reckless for a solid hour. And Crosshair said he didn’t care if I wanted to get myself killed, but I should do it in a way that didn’t interfere with the mission. Seriously, what an asshole.”

“Nevermind what they actually say,” Tech waves his hand in mild annoyance. “Hunter was worried sick. Crosshair almost went after you. And they’re both too pigheaded to admit the real reason why they’re so worked up.”

“Which is?”

“Obviously they both view you as a potential romantic partner.”

There’s a moment of pause as you two stare back at one another before you snort and chuckle, shaking your head and crossing your arms over your chest as a futile attempt at staying warm. “Tech, you need to work on your sense of humour.”

“And you need to work on your observational skills and situational awareness.”

“My observational skills are exceptional,” you defend yourself, a finger held up in the air defiantly. “And my situational awareness is-”

“Lacking, as you didn’t seem to notice the whitefang return. I suggest we head back to the safety of the Marauder.”

Sure enough, the wild cat is there lurking amongst the ice dunes, its eyes glowing in the dark as they reflect the light of the ship. It shouldn’t pose a threat to you as it is alone, and relatively small, but you still consider wrestling with it instead of returning to the ship and facing the rest of the squad - somehow, even that feels like a fight more fair than the ones that await you upon your return. So you hold its gaze as it curiously inspects you, wishing to swap bodies and run away and avoid any more conflict. Before you can even think of returning to the ship, you hear quiet footsteps catching up to you.

“I thought I heard something.”

“It’s probably more curious than anything.”

Hunter unsheaths his vibroblade and twirls it in his hand so theatrically it makes you roll your eyes. He glances at you, shoulders all tense, ready to pounce at the slightest sign of danger, and even though his face is obscured by his helmet, you can almost see the disappointed frown sitting on his features. “You want to test that theory?”

“My money would be on the whitefang winning.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Tech.”

“Any time.”

“Relax.” The distorted rasp of your commlink is not enough to drown out the smugness of the sniper. The stand-off ends when a single well-placed shot right before the big cat sends it sprinting away into the darkness. You all turn to find Crosshair standing by the ship, his rifle still aimed at the retreating form of the whitefang.

“Well, there goes my opportunity to finally have an interesting patrol,” you mutter to yourself as you all make it back to the Marauder.

“Do all of your patrols end in you staring down carnivores?” Crosshair snorts, clearly unamused.

“Only the good ones,” you fire back, deciding not to wait for any of them as you head inside. Crosshair is hot on your heels, another string of mockery sitting on the tip of his tongue, because fuck, you’re stubborn, but he’s not going to cave in and tell you how it makes him feel to see you in danger. He can’t, however, put up with being away from you either.

Hunter lingers a little outside. He has to set himself straight, to contain all the things he wants to say you that have nothing to do with scolding you about Bracca, to kill all the feelings that suddenly demand to be felt so desperately. He clenches and unclenches his fists by his side, pretending to survey the surroundings of the Marauder. Tech moves in the periphery of his vision, but instead of following you and Crosshair, he steps closer to Hunter.

“I believe the threat’s been averted.”

“Yeah. Good job on setting up those alarms, Tech.”

“No problem. Is there anything else you need?”

“No. You should head back inside. The last thing I want is for you to keel over with hypothermia.”

“That’s not how hypothermia works,” Tech mutters, his voice trailing off, eyes uncertain behind his goggles. He suddenly places a gentle hand on Hunter’s shoulder, making the sergeant glance at him.

“Hunter, I’m only asking this because I care about you all, but... how long do you think this can go on before one of you gets hurt?”

Tech’s words echo in his mind long after he’s rejoined the squad on the ship. And Hunter just stands outside in the snowfall, watching the last rays of light disappear on the horizon, wondering which one of you he’ll have to hurt when the push comes to shove.

[writefightandflightclub]

End of the line (Santiago Garcia x GN! reader)

@autumnleaves1991-blog​ runs a fantasic # Writer Wednesday, and this week’s photo prompt sparked a lil idea! Of course I’m a day late, please forgive. The prompt is the photo below, and my response is a rather angsty Triple Frontier one-shot. This is different to my usual takes, so I’m so grateful for the prompt!

Summary: you are reaching the end of the line, and there’s only one person you want to pick up the phone to.

Word count: 2.4k, somehow

Rating: mature for themes of violence (18+ only)

Warnings: theme of reader being pursued / targeted; ongoing mentions of guns / gun violence (not graphic); reader injuries (not graphic); themes of character death; angst; vague mentions of past wrongdoing / implied illicit activities; theme of former lovers.

You run your fingers over your scathed knuckles and the bruises on your hands, flexing and opening your fingers and trying to work out niggles in your wrist that you doubt will ever truly leave you. You wince as the motion tugs on a spot which is particularly stiff, and a pain zips all the way up your forearm.

Your only consolation is that the other guy fared far worse.

Undoing all your attempts to unknot your taut muscles, your fists clench again as you hear the door to the dingy motel bar swing open to your right. Your head whips towards the newly-arrived patron and you tense, your hand twitching against the weapon concealed in your jacket. As it becomes clear the new arrival is an old, inebriated local and not a threat, you relax a shade; though not all the way.

You barely remember the last time you fully relaxed. You wish you could shake this state of hyper-vigilance. Eyes constantly sweeping the perimeter. Clocking every open-carry tucked into a belt, scoping every exit route, monitoring every micro-gesture and expression. But one slip now and it will cost you.

You bounce your leg under the table, filled with an onslaught of sadness that you can’t even enjoy a cup of coffee without the looming fear of retribution. Still, you are safe enough here for now, you assess. For at least one more night. At least, you hope. Certainty is a thing long-dead, just like your old life.

Your eyes flick out through the scummy window, reaching across the lot to the stretch of motel illuminated to your left. Not that there’s much to look at out there -snow and vehicles and the shitty exterior- but you are not looking at those things, after all. Your study is far more careful. You’ve been sat here long enough though to be sure that no-one is casing your room. No suspicious vehicles or individuals; at least - there are plenty of suspicious individuals, but none whom seem to have followed you here.

So, you allow yourself to shed one layer of worry, and you give your gaze permission to wander back to the only other thing you can see out there. The ominous looking phone box, stood directly in the path between your table and the window to your motel room. It glows in the dark like an illuminated angel, though you are not sure whether this signals it is a guardian or a traitor. Angels can be fickle things too.

Either way, the booth taunts you, like some dark harbinger or sentinel from a horror film, and, each time your eyes flick back to it, it seems to loom more prominent - even if that’s only because of the single, related thought which swells to the forefront of your mind.

Call him. It’s time to call him.

You promised yourself you would only call him as a last resort. If you had no other options remaining. If you were at the end of the line.

A nausea rolls in the pit of you when you realise that might be true. After so long on the run, you’ve called in every favour you were owed, exploited every scrap of intel you could, manipulated or paid-off every asset you could find to help you... And now there is no-one else left. No-one else left who owes you a favour. There is only the man who had once promised you he would always have your six. There is only the last person you want to ask for help, and the first person you want to see.

Santiago Garcia.

Your nausea turns to aching despair, and you wrap your hands around your cup of shitty coffee, reaching for some vestige of warmth, however faint. And yet, like everything else, it offers you little comfort. Indeed, you have lived without comfort for so long that you tell yourself you don’t need it, but as soon as memories of him flood you, you ache for the distant comfort of his arms.

Arms which will never encircle you again, you’re sure. Not since you’d been forced to compromise every ideal you’d once shared with the solider. Still, that was back in the days when things seemed a lot more black and white. When you still believed in good people and untarnished souls. When he still believed in you.

Your eyes flick once again to the boxy, mocking angel in the parking lot. Now you are sure it is fallen, and that it has come to drag you to hell.

Still, hell would be a relief, you think, compared to this. Compared to this vestige of a life.

Call him. It’s the end of the line.

You bounce your leg more furiously, your muscles tensing so hard they cramp as you think about the prospect. You used to carry his number on a little slip of paper in your top pocket. You’d long since memorised it, but it was the last thing he gave you - you suppose that’s why you couldn’t throw it away. Why you subconsciously kept it close to your heart.

If you ever needed him, he would be there. You knew it. Maybe you should have called him long ago, when things first went south. When you first pissed off the kinda man it wasn’t desirable to piss off. Maybe you would have, but then one thing after another kept happening, and the slow descent into hell began, one compromise and one mistake at a time. So, you called in every other favour rather than face him. Rather than having to explain how you’d let him down - become someone he could no longer believe in. Like a fallen angel.

Now, years had gone by.

Years on the run. Years of hyper-vigilance. Years that had taken their toll.

Now, you’re out of options. Out of money. Out of favours. You’re even out of burner phones until you can hitch a lift to the next town over.

So, the glowing phone box almost sings to you, as if it’s a siren luring you on to the rocks. As if it’s a magical item in a computer game and if you step into its circle of light you can have a new life. You can reset everything. Return to a prior save point.

You know exactly where you would go, if you could. Back to the last time your remember where you didn’t feel so alone. The last time you felt comfort.

You fumble some over-spilling tears from your cheeks and stand, pushing the chair back across the floor behind you with a harsh scrape. Then, with a soft smile to the barkeep you return your mug to the bar-top, to save her from having to clear up. You wonder then. You can’t help but wonder like you do every time. If she’ll be the last person to see you alive will she at least say, to who ever shows up looking, that you seemed kind?

She gives you a small smile and you hang on to this vestige of warmth too, wishing you could pocket it for later for when you inevitably feel so empty and so cold. If only you could have stored up warmth, you would have more than enough to thaw you. There was a time when you had an abundance, after all. Enough to carry you through the longest of winters. 

Your face drops as you tread out, winding your scarf around your neck and your boots puncturing the fresh, powdery snow.

Would anyone who mattered even show up looking? you ponder. Is there anyone left who would remember all the things you were before all this? Before you were a cold, lost thing?

There may be one person left.

Your eyes patrol the lot around you, an automatic sweep for threats, and, seeing nothing of note, you track determinedly towards the phone box, tears near-freezing on your cheeks.

You pick up the receiver and you punch in that number you have memorised, your eyes closing and your other hand bracing itself against the scratched and cigarette-burn puckered surface. You don’t even know if it will ring, or if he will still be at this address, but you do know that your knees will buckle either way. With relief if he does, and hopelessness if he doesn’t.

The line clacks as the number connects, and you grip the receiver hard enough that a day-old wound on your knuckle splits, but you can scarce care. Instead you simply hold your breath as the phone rings once, twice, three times...

Your stomach lurches as the ringing stops.

“Santiago? Santiago Garcia?” you ask, hoarsely, tugging on the coiled phone wire so hard as you wind it around your fingers that you are close to breaking it.

“This is Mrs. Garcia. Can I help you?” a woman’s voice responds.

You want to dry heave. Your heart drops to your stomach.

“You’re his wife?” you ask, the question like a poison barb on your tongue.

“Yes, who’s speaking, please? Can I take a message?”

All this time, you had been the only one alone, it seems. You should be glad for him, but you are too sad for yourself to muster it.

You hesitate. You can’t say who’s calling. You can’t risk it. However, while he may not be at the end of the line, you are. This might be the last chance you get to say your piece.

You have to think on your feet, but that’s become second-nature for you. You haven’t enjoyed the luxury of plans or hopes or dreams for some time now.

You begin. Your voice is choked up.

“Just tell him... Tell him to remember me the way I was in Massachusetts. Tell him I’ve never been happier than then. Tell him not to worry. I won’t cash in that favour, but he’s already done enough.”

He has. He’s given you the strength to make it this far, even if he didn’t know it.

“Who is this?” his wife presses, her tone sharp.

You can’t say, but he’ll know. He’ll know - if he remembers you. Your eyes mist over with tears, and your chest tightens, emotion stealing the air from your lungs.

“Can you just tell him that? Please?” you beg, having been strong for so long and finally collapsing in on yourself, a desperate plea imbuing your voice.

Still, you don’t even wait for an answer before slamming the phone back down on its hook -can’t bear to hear her say no. Instead you surge towards your hotel room, sobs wracking your chest as you realise the cold hard facts. Now, you are truly on the run without any semblance of home to return to, even if you could ever stop. He did not wait for you.

So, you cry, even as you peel off your clothes from your pained body, leaning into the stream of luke-warm water in the motel shower. Water which may rinse the blood and grime from the surface of your skin but has no hope of washing the blood from your hands, or wiping the red from your ledger.

Nothing ever could.

Then, you lie alone in bed, your sleeping bag and liner protecting you from the motel bed covers, at least. You stare up blankly at the ceiling, and, as you often do, you try to pinpoint where it all went wrong. You try to rewrite history. You try to imagine all the ways in which things could have worked out.

As always, with certainty, you can say exactly when and where it all went to shit. And, as always, you wish that you could take it back.

You loll your head against the pillow, watching shadows dance through your curtains as snow falls past the glow of that ugly, beautiful phone box. It was a guardian after all, you think, if Santi got to know that you still think of him. That even now you can’t let him go. 

Always. Until the end.

Then, your whole body jolts in shock as the phone begins to ring - a loud, shrill insistent noise sounding out into the night, setting off a dog barking across the way, and a baby crying through the paper thin walls to your left.

It couldn’t be? Could it? It couldn’t be for you?

Still, you have to know, and so, you scramble into your snow boots and dash into the brisk night, grappling to lift the phone from its receiver before it rings out, your breath a white cloud of exertion before you.

And, at the same time that you connect to the caller, you spot the second harbinger. You see the shadowed figure there, approaching you from across the lot. You see the outline of a gun in their hand, and their trench billowing around their shins as they maintain a steady pace towards you.

You have nowhere left to run. This is the end of the line. You know it in the depths of you.

So, you simply flatten your back to the phone box, facing your assailant.

You simply close your eyes, willing everything else to disappear as an unmistakeably familiar voice filters through the speaker into your ear. You grip the receiver tightly with both hands.

Santiago Garcia says your name. Your real name. Not one of many aliases you’ve had to assume, painting lies over your existence. He says your real name -one you haven’t heard spoken in so long- and your bottom lip begins to tremble. “Honey, is that you?”

You smile, tears of joy cascading down your face as his simple words stoke more warmth than you have felt in so long. Even as the cold bites at your skin. Even as you hear the continued crunch of footsteps in the snow. Even as you hear a gun cock, mere feet from your body.

Hearing his voice, you think your knees may buckle in relief regardless.

“Hey, old friend,” you say fondly, through an inexplicable, watery smile. And, despite the situation, you feel happy, for the first time in a long while. Bizarre as it is, you are finally able to relax all the way.

Will he remember me as kind, at least?

You grip the phone even more tightly as Santi’s voice surges, coming at you with a million urgent questions. You let them flow through you, and then they are gone, just as easily. You know you will not be afforded the chance to answer even one. So, you say something else instead.

“Remember me, okay?” you breathe. “Remember how I loved you. And I did, Santiago. Right until the end of the line.”

You hope that he will. You can only hope that when the stories and lies and secrets and compromises come out, that he will remember you the way you were in Massachusetts. Before things started to unravel. Before you went on the run.

And, as your eyes screw themelsleves tightly shut, and you brace yourself for what is inevitably coming, you don’t think of him as he is now. Someone distant. Someone who doesn’t belong to you. Someone at the end of the line. You don’t think of yourself that way either.

You remember him the way he was in Massachusetts.

You hope dearly, that he will think of you that way too.

You finally feel warm.

[maxwell-grant]

Cass wouldn’t even begrudingly tolerate [the Black Bat], because she’s even less lenient than Bruce on killing and far more willing to throw down.' - THANK YOU for remembering that.

Cass is my favorite Batfam member, the only one really that I have an active interest in reading about. I'd be incredibly ignorant to not bring bring up such a crucial aspect of her characterization. And even if I didn't personally care for her, well, last thing I'd want is to be another source of frustration for Cass fans. Lord knows there's enough of those to go around.

mousebrass also asked: On that note, how do you imagine a meeting between Cass and the Shadow going?

Fair warning: This one took me 6 hours to write, and it became a hell of a lot longer than I imagined. I liked Cass a lot, but I never quite realized I had this many feelings regarding her until I was tasked with writing this, and a lot of things clicked for me regarding my plans for The Shadow thanks to this ask. @mousebrass, thank you. I mean it. I think I may have found something here I've spent years looking for. Hope you enjoy the post.

I'm thankful that this scenario is only really taking place in a hypothetical fanon where both characters can get a fair shot, because I wouldn't trust DC with this premise. I don't trust DC with either of them as is.

There's a lot of ways that this crossover could go on about taking place naturally, initially because Cass is already connected to some of Batman's pulpier elements, due to her connections to Lady Shiva and the League of Assassins, and one could connect Cass to Myra Reldon (who really should just be race swapped if ever brought back so she can stand out as the cool character she is, without the yellowface gimmick holding her back). There's two things I think are crucial to making the most of this idea, and the first of which has to do with the subject of killing. I usually don't like to come up with hypothetical team-ups for The Shadow that focus too much on the fact that he kills, because it's far from the most significant aspect of his character to focus on, much of it is written from a wrong understanding of the character, and it never amounts to anything other than perfunctory. But here, not only is it completely unavoidable to discuss, here there is actually a very, very substantial grounding as to why this has to be such a big part of the story.

The first and foremost thing that's gotta be established to everyone reading that doesn't know already is this: Cassandra Cain, more so than Batman, more so than any other DCU hero, has a tolerance towards murder lower than zero, and this is completely non-negotiable. She will throw herself on the path of an assault rifle to stop men trying to kill her from accidentally killing each other. The defining moment of her incredibly grim backstory is that she was trained from birth to be the world's greatest murderer, and her first kill traumatized her so badly that she has pivoted as far away from that as possible. I stress a lot that the Shadow should not be written as the trigger-happy maniac comics made him into and that the pulp version killed mostly to defend himself and others, generally left criminals to the police if possible, offered plenty of second-chances, had stories dedicated to the rehabilitation of criminals and so on, but none of this would matter to Cass.

Cass has literally chosen suicide over the prospect of living with murder on her hands time and time again, and The Shadow kills. When he kills, he does so without remorse, with unshakeable certainty. He hates death, he doesn't want lives to be at risk in the first place. But people will die if he doesn't do anything, and what he can do, what he exists to do, is turn the tools of evil against evil, and murder is the oldest tool of evil there is. He doesn't kill because a war scarred him, he doesn't kill because he's got a demon in his soul, he doesn't kill because he's mentally off balance, he doesn't kill because he's evil or sadistic or arrogant or anything of the sort. He kills because the men he fights chose death when they sought to harm innocents and fire guns at him. He kills because he is Death itself.

Regardless of how compassionate he is or can be, regardless of the fact that he's motivated by a desire to protect people, regardless of how justified he is, he is still dropping corpses and laughing maniacally doing so. Cass's real arch-enemy isn't Shiva or David Cain, it's Death, it's the thing that she's fundamentally most opposed to. And guess what The Shadow gets compared to often enough? Literally the very first line of the very first book where we get to see him, this is how we are introduced to him:

So the premise here is that we are taking a character who is defined by her fundamental opposition to death with every fiber of her being, who understands death on a level no other human being does, who is traumatized and hard-wired to detest death at all costs and to choose suicide over it, and asking her to team up with The Grim Reaper.

Even if he received the most abject lesson conceivable on the sheer wrongness of murder, even if he does put down the guns around Cass out of respect for her, he cannot protect his agents and others if he cannot shoot or kill those who try to harm them, and the protection of the agents is absolutely non-negotiable and not at all something he's willing to fuck around with by trying out gadget kung fu superhero alternatives. The Shadow has chosen to throw his life away for their sake time and time again, and no matter how appaling or disgusting Cass finds his deeds, even if he concedes that she's right and should be right on all accounts and that he is fundamentally a monster who has no right to judge others, he would not concede on his mission and he would make it very clear she would have to put him down violently to stop him from protecting others this way, and death has not stopped him before.

And to be upfront in case there's anyone who doubts it, Cass would kick The Shadow's ass, if they had to fight. She is the strongest fighter in the DCU, she lives and breathes fighting and combat in a way no one else does. And The Shadow's not one of those characters who is supposed to be invincible and the best at everything all the time always, he can and does lose fights and scrapes to people far less adept at it than Cass. He's a great fighter, obviously, he hauls bigger men than him through doors and was disabling people with Vulcan neck pinches decades before Spock, and he would definitely have an edge in other areas, but he's out of his league here. Frankly, I don't see The Shadow raising a finger against Cass unless she's been brainwashed into killing people by bad writing. Not because she's a woman, that doesn't really stop him from dealing with evil. But because, for one, she's practically a child compared to him age-wise. Two, he'd obviously know beforehand of her capabilities and how futile it would be to fight or even provoke her. And three, the Shadow's whole thing is knowing. The Shadow Knows and all that. Knowing comes with understanding.

He'd understand very quickly that there is no way someone this young could grow so quickly into the world's greatest fighter without horrific treatment that no one should ever be subjected to. He'd see the movements too practiced and quick, the self-control, the strength and speed far beyond even the trained warriors he's seen, the places where she's been scarred and is good at covering it up. Assuming he doesn't already know about her life story, any meeting between the two would lead to him very quickly figuring out that there's something much deeper about her opposition to killing than just moral reservations, something deeper than Bruce's own gun trauma.

Denny O'Neil's 2nd Batman and Shadow story was about The Shadow secretly helping Bruce overcome gun trauma, and Bruce rejecting The Shadow's intentions to hand him a gun. And to make it clear, people tend to assume that The Shadow only helps people for utilitarian reasons, which is not true as I've tried to demonstrate many times now. I don't want to convey that he would want to help Cass overcome her trauma just so she could be more efficient or something, absolutely no, he'd help her because he helps people in any way he can. I think a story with The Shadow and Cass might involve a similar premise, The Shadow understanding that she has been traumatized very deeply by death and refuses to accept it on any terms, trying to help her overcome it, only to learn that she does not want to "learn" anything she doesn't already know, that she has weaponized her trauma into a source of strength, and wishes nothing more than to help others with it.

And here's where we get to the part that allows the two to be on less antagonistic terms, because one thing that also very strongly defines Cass, at least the Cass I like reading most, is her stubborn, almost desperate need to believe in the best of people, that people can and will change for the better. Like The Shadow, her strength too is knowing, it's perception, the things that she knows about people that words cannot convey. Just as there are many things The Shadow would grow to understand about her that others would not, there would be many things that The Shadow would not be able to conceal from her. Things that no one but her would figure out. Things that, despite her age and lack of experience compared to him, he would have to defer to her knowledge on, which reverses the usual dynamic The Shadow has with people. And perhaps one aspect of that reversal, it's that maybe it's she who winds up secretly manipulating The Shadow into overcoming a deeper issue.

Cass's perspective on killing is shaped not just through trauma, but from a painfully intimate understanding of not just what happens to someone at the time of death, but the cost of murder upon the human soul, the ways it warps people into things they never should have been. Killing is a deeply, deeply serious matter, much more so than fiction seems ever willing to go into. Of course we suspend disbelief for fiction, there's nothing wrong with that, but if a story starts asking questions, starts poking holes into fantasies, they should not be disregarded.

And so it begs a question: How has it affected The Shadow? Is he really as remorseless as he appears to be? Is the fact that he's only killing evil people really of that much use? What's the cost of living as someone who has to know so much about so much evil in so many hearts? Knowledge never comes without price, and knowing evil is his tagline. When he enlists Harry Vincent, he makes it very clear that he has lost lives as he has saved them. From when is that regret coming from? What lives did he lose then? Is he saving people by damning his soul or merely prolonging the inevitable by piling corpses on another end of the scale?

If there's a character that could meaningfully start bringing these questions forth, who could ever truly get The Shadow to stop and reveal things to the audience he never would otherwise, maybe Cass could be that character. A girl who was raised to be a monster, who is treated as a monster and an aberration in-universe (and even outside of it), and turned that into a strength she uses to help others, who cares about everyone and refuses to let others be dehumanized as she was. Who better to know what lurks in the Shadow's heart?

Sometimes when I get an ask, I bullshit my way through infodump walls of text until I can structure it into something vaguely resembling a point. And sometimes, and I know it sounds crazy, but sometimes I get a very, very clear word on my mind related to it before I start writing, that almost seems to be a beacon pointing where I need to get to, and I work my way into getting there. Once you sent me an ask about crossing over The Shadow with Cassandra Cain, the word that came to mind the very second was Language.

It's an interesting relation the two have with language. Language is of course a very substantial part of Cass's character, who does not process language and linguistic development the way most people do, and instead reads body language to the point of superpower. Many stories revolve around Cass's relation to the concept of language, the help she may require from others in getting around things beyond her upbringing, and ways in which she has mastered beyond anyone's scope. Though she is mute, language is her power, what makes her what she is, and she is someone that Batman freely admits could kick his ass if she ever felt like it.

For The Shadow, language is also his power. He speaks all languages and connects allies all over the world, he is an expert ventriloquist, he is able to project his voice beyond what's physically possible, he can imitate voices perfectly to the point of being able to conduct group conversations single-handedly well enough to fool even the people whose voices he's imitating, much of his presence and terror and manipulation are done through his voice, arguably the very reason he exists in the first place is entirely because a radio actor's voice performance was so good and captivating that it tricked people into thinking the character was a real star and not just a glorified narrator. The man you cannot see, but only hear, the perfect hero for radio. And then of course the laugh, which I have a whole separate post on and which, in many ways, acts as a substitute for language in the novels. He uses the laugh so often as a substitute for statements or words, even to himself, that it's pretty much his own personal language. And language is at the core of how he deals with people, as he knows the right language to use to manipulate and move and help them. He knows what to promise, what to reveal, what to omit. He knows what to say, how to say it, when to say it. Language is the strings by which he puppeteers the world around him (and he can talk to animals, at least of one kind).

The Shadow and Cassandra Cain have mastered two different types of Language as throughly as anyone can possibly master them. The Shadow can talk a group of hardened criminals into killing themselves, Cassandra can punch a heart into stopping without killing it. The Shadow echoes his voice "through everywhere and nowhere at once" to whip crowds of thugs into frenzies, Cassandra outraces missiles and was tanking bullets as a child. The Shadow can lie and usurp lives so masterfully to fool even the families of those he's passing off as, Cassandra is a living lie detector who gleams inner conversations from miniscule reactions. The Shadow can speak every language known, Cassandra is the greatest master of the world's most universal language other than music. The two are supposedly human, but every now and then, something comes along to call that into question because of the things they can achieve. They cannot hide secrets from each other the way they do to everyone else. They are driven by a deep desire to help others, to make something out of the circumstances of their lives. To weaponize that which dictates they should be evil and monstrous into a relentless force of good.

Language is the root of understanding. And if nothing else, as impossible as a conciliation of their approaches to crimefighting may be, I think there could be an unique understanding between the two. Perhaps, and this is a bit crazier a concept but one that seems to be where I might have been heading towards all along, even Cassandra Cain finding a calling away from the frayed dynamics of the Batfamily, away from the Bat's looming presence, to become The Shadow's successor, swearing to uphold a mission of justice through non-lethal tactics while he stays on the backseat guiding her. If The Shadow could trust the safety of his agents and the protection of the innocent at the hands of someone as capable and selfless and good-natured as Cassandra, I think he'd be all too happy to be able to trust someone in such a manner, to no longer be the Master of Darkness, but instead to serve the next generation that's weaponized darkness without submerging in it. To achieve, and perhaps return, to his strongest, highest self: A disembodied voice heard, but not seen. Once again the narrator, not the star.

It's a concept I've thought about very extensively for the years I've been a Shadow fan, but now it occurs to me that, if I had to appoint a successor of The Shadow, someone who could take up the mission but shine on their own right, even improve it with the right guidance and circumstances, it would be Cassandra Cain. The Orphan, The Shadow of the Batgirl. Daughter of the greatest assassins, meant to be the world's most lethal murderer, instead pivoted to being one of it's greatest heroes, but never allowed to shine as she should. But in the darker, less restrictive and wilder world of pulp heroes, in The Shadow's world, a beacon would shine all the harder. Perfect strengths attached to perfect opposites, joined together for a greater good, unstoppable after together having weaponized that which most take for granted: the power of language to move worlds.

[veliseraptor]

meet me where we are

[READ ON AO3]

so @deadeyellentigh​ mentioned wanting a sequel to my silence as a weapon (well. said that a fic was being held hostage and also wrote me another one) and I wanted a distraction from my long projects that are hurting me, so I went and wrote this instead! 2.3k of self indulgent fix-it (maybe! I believe in these boys. I mean I don’t but I want to.)

[brushes those fierce corpses under the rug] we’ll deal with that later. or never. what’s a few dead body secrets between boyfriends

---

“The man here with you,” Zichen said, and his voice trembled slightly, and Xiao Xingchen felt a sudden cold fear drop into his stomach thinking did he see you, did you fight, is he-

Unfair, he knew. Zichen had a right to his vengeance, or he should, only - only.

“Xingchen,” Zichen said, strained and careful, believing, Xiao Xingchen thought, that he was going to reveal a dreadful secret. “It’s Xue Yang.”

Xiao Xingchen folded his hands together so they didn’t shake. Cast his face down as though he were capable of avoiding Zichen’s eyes.

“Yes,” he said quietly. “I know.”

**

It was a betrayal. He had known that, since the beginning, and though he had never expected to have to face it he had made a kind of peace with that knowledge.

Still, Xiao Xingchen was grateful in this moment that he didn’t have to see the expression on Zichen’s face.

“You-” Zichen sounded like he was choking on the words. “You know?”

“Yes,” Xiao Xingchen said. “I’ve...known for some time, now. He isn’t aware of that - as far as he’s concerned his secret remains safe.” There were reasons he had said nothing. Reasons that he had allowed Xue Yang’s charade to continue. Suddenly none of them seemed compelling enough justification.

“Xingchen…” He didn’t need to see the betrayed expression. He could hear it, and tried very hard not to flinch from it. “You’ve - and you’ve done nothing? Why? What were you thinking?”

He’d convinced himself that his choice had been the right one. That certainty was withering now. But he kept thinking, too, if Xue Yang returned now, he and Zichen would fight. If he and Zichen fought, one of them would most likely die.

He couldn’t bear that. Perhaps, if he were a better and less selfish person, he would be able to.

But he knew himself too well.

“Three years,” Xiao Xingchen said. His hands twisted with each other and he made them still. “He has lived here with me and a-Qing for three years, and through most of that time I have listened, I have stayed close, I have been attentive to his every move. And through all that time, despite opportunity...I cannot say he is kind, or virtuous.”

“My temple,” Zichen said, his voice trembling. “My shifu - what he did to them - Xingchen, you are blind because of him!”

I am blind because of you, Xiao Xingchen thought, but he was not so cruel as to say it and never would, and anyway he did not begrudge the gift. He had given it out of grief and guilt, but he would not regret it.

“I know.”

“And you have let him live - lived with him, knowing what he is-”

The brief pulse of anger Xiao Xingchen felt took him by surprise. He let it pass, only saying, “who he is, Zichen. However monstrous his deeds, Xue Yang is a person as much as you and I.”

“So you acknowledge his deeds as monstrous,” Zichen said, not quite snapped though his anger was clear. Xiao Xingchen did not let himself flinch from that, either.

“I do. Of course.”

“But that doesn’t matter?”

Again there was that thought at the back of his mind that said you are justifying a selfish choice because you are afraid to be alone. He tried to push it aside. He had thought about this, he had thought about it a great deal, and he needed to - hold true to his convictions.

“Yes,” he said. “It matters. But-” He swallowed hard. “People can change.”

“Not all of them,” Zichen said, his voice still hard and angry, so angry, and Xiao Xingchen’s heart beat in his stomach thinking he could walk away, he could leave you again, what are you doing. “The wolf changes hair, it doesn’t change habits. And how can you possibly know? How can you be certain he has not just been waiting, biding his time? Taking advantage of you, using you-”

Xiao Xingchen sat up straight, stung. “Do you think I’m so foolish I wouldn’t be aware of that possibility? That I wouldn’t notice?”

Zichen was quiet, briefly.

“I cannot say he is kind or virtuous,” he said, quieter. “But I can say that he has not done me or a-Qing harm. Nor the people in this city.”

“As far as you know.”

Xiao Xingchen paused, but he did have to allow, reluctantly, “as far as I know.”

“Xingchen,” Zichen said, and his voice was agonized in a way that cut Xiao Xingchen to the core. “Even if you are right - even if that - creature has somehow turned from active violence - don’t his previous victims still deserve justice? The Chang Clan, my temple, heavens know how many others…”

“Would his death be vengeance or justice?” Xiao Xingchen asked. His hands wrung together so hard it was almost painful.

Zichen was silent for a long time. Xiao Xingchen wavered, on the verge of saying Zichen, I’m sorry-

He made himself say, forcing the words out through his closing throat, “whatever you do, Zichen, I...will not stand in your way.”

“You mean,” Zichen said, his voice cold in a way that Xiao Xingchen had heard before but seldom directed at him, “if I decide to kill Xue Yang, you won’t stop me.”

“No,” Xiao Xingchen made himself say, though he felt sick. Imagined Xue Yang returning, basket in hand, humming the way he did when he was in a good mood. He wouldn’t see it coming. Was that better or worse?

He imagined, deliriously, Xue Yang realizing that Zichen was here and leaving. Escaping somewhere else. Xiao Xingchen knew even as he thought it that Xue Yang never would. Not without a fight that he would almost certainly lose. And if he didn’t lose - if Zichen was in danger-

What would he do then?

“But you don’t want me to,” Zichen said, and Xiao Xingchen almost curled into himself at the pain in his voice. “It would hurt you, Xingchen. Wouldn’t it. His death - would hurt you.”

He sounded so achingly, crushingly disappointed. But Xiao Xingchen couldn’t lie.

“Yes,” he said, voice hoarse, no more than a whisper as though that would ameliorate his shame.

He will leave now, said a harsh, cruel voice in his mind. He will walk away from you. Or he will kill Xue Yang and walk away from you. He would still have a-Qing, would not be wholly alone, but…

“Then what,” Zichen said heavily, “would you have me do?”

A lump swelled in Xiao Xingchen’s throat. I don’t deserve you, he thought.

“Give me a chance,” he said. “To talk to him. Can we begin there?”

“I won’t leave you alone with him,” Zichen said immediately.

“Then - you can go inside,” Xiao Xingchen said. “Somewhere out of sight. If he sees you I doubt I’d get a chance to say a word.” And if it came to blows-

He couldn’t let it get that far.

“Xingchen,” Zichen said. “The risk-”

“Please,” Xiao Xingchen said. “Just - give me a chance.”

I don’t want to leave, Xue Yang had said, in the throes of delirium that had seemingly made him honest. I don’t want you to leave.

Oh, Daozhang. I think I like you.

He wanted, so badly, to be right.

**

Xue Yang was humming when he came back. Zichen was inside, no doubt with his hand at least on Fuxue’s hilt if not with it already drawn. He tried not to think about that; tried to project calm where he sat, waiting.

“Daozhang,” he sang out, voice getting closer. “Give you three guesses what I found. You won’t believe-”

He cut off, sharp and sudden, footsteps and voice both stopping. For a moment Xiao Xingchen thought maybe he’d seen Zichen. Or knew, somehow. He wished that he could see, wished he knew what the expression on Xue Yang’s face looked like.

“Come sit with me,” he said, trying to keep his voice calm, even.

He did not hear him coming closer.

“Where’s a-Qing,” Xue Yang said, and the ease was gone from his tone. He sounded tense, alert, wary. No, he thought. No, please. Stay calm. I need…

“Not here at the moment,” Xiao Xingchen said. “What did you find?”

“Oranges,” Xue Yang said after a moment. He still hadn’t moved.

“That sounds nice,” Xiao Xingchen said. He felt a little as though he was coaxing an animal into a trap. His stomach twisted. “I hope you got enough for all of us.”

“Uh huh,” Xue Yang said. The wariness in his voice was clearer now. “Obviously. I don’t want to listen to Qingqing whine about not getting hers.”

Xiao Xingchen tried to smile. “Is there a reason you’re not coming to join me?”

“You tell me.”

Xiao Xingchen took a breath in and said, “please, Chengmei.”

Silence. Finally, he heard slow, light steps approaching. He held carefully still, again thinking of luring some kind of wild animal in close enough to capture it, but that wasn’t what he was doing, it wasn’t.

“Daozhang,” Xue Yang said, voice a little lower. Xiao Xingchen could imagine him looking around the courtyard, searching, watchful. He kept his breathing steady and even. “Something happened while I was gone. You going to tell me what?”

Xiao Xingchen reached out, seeking Xue Yang’s arm to pull him down, but he seemed to be just out of reach. His stomach went cold and his mouth was dry.

He let his hand fall and said, as calmly as he could, “Xue Yang.”

Xiao Xingchen was listening closely enough to hear his breathing stop. And then start again, but faster.

“Please,” he said again. Calm, calm, calm. “Sit. I want to talk with you.”

“Talk,” Xue Yang said, the beginnings of a snarl in his voice but Xiao Xingchen thought he could hear the fear underneath. “Is that what you want to do?”

“Yes,” Xiao Xingchen said. “It is.”

He could hear Xue Yang’s breathing getting quicker. Almost feel his growing agitation. “Took you long enough to put it together,” he said with a nasty kind of laugh. Xiao Xingchen wondered if Xue Yang thought he wouldn’t hear the brittleness in his voice.

“I’ve known for a while,” Xiao Xingchen said. “The flower elemental poisoned you and while you were delirious you...said some things. I put it together from there.”

A brief silence and then a humorless sort of ha. He hadn’t moved, not closer or further away, not to draw a sword. “That long,” Xue Yang said, voice flat. “Did you think it was funny-”

“Did you?” Xiao Xingchen interrupted, quietly, and Xue Yang’s voice cut off like it’d been severed.

Xiao Xingchen folded his hands together so that they wouldn’t shake and said, “I don’t think you want to hurt me. I think - you did. But not anymore.”

Silence. Unlike with Zichen Xiao Xingchen wished he could see Xue Yang’s face. Wished he could get some kind of hint what he was thinking other than the too quick and slightly harsh sound of his breathing, and the fact that he still hadn’t moved, that he knew Xiao Xingchen knew and hadn’t taken any immediate action.

He paused, and took another risk. “I hope that’s so,” he said. “Because I don’t want you hurt either.”

Xue Yang’s exhale shuddered out of him.

“The fuck game are you playing, Daozhang,” he said after a moment, rough and ever so slightly unsteady. “What do you want?”

“I want you to sit with me and listen,” Xiao Xingchen said. “And do nothing rash.”

Still no movement. “If you’ve known that long,” Xue Yang said, “why are you just saying something now, huh? What changed?”

Xiao Xingchen swallowed hard. He’d hoped to be holding onto Xue Yang for this. To have a grip on him to make it harder for him to react immediately, or violently.

“If I tell you,” he said, and his voice sounded horribly thin, weak, “will you promise me not to take any impulsive action?”

This time he did hear movement, but it was a step back, not toward. Light and quiet and Xiao Xingchen could almost picture how he looked, poised, a fox either about to spring or turn and run. He could imagine Zichen, poised the same behind him, only he wouldn’t run.

He stood and moved where he would be - he hoped - between them.

“Please,” he said, almost begged. “Xue Yang. Trust me. Just for a few moments.”

“Trust you?”

“I’ve given you a chance.” One you didn’t deserve, he didn’t say.

Another long, long, silence. “It’s him, isn’t it,” Xue Yang said. His voice was flat and strangely dull. “Your Zichen. Come back for you, after he kicked you out of his life.”

Xiao Xingchen didn’t let himself flinch. He didn’t speak, either.

“How nice,” Xue Yang said, with growing venom. “So, what. Is this you giving me a chance to leave before you let him kill me, Daozhang? Because if I get a choice I’d rather you did the honors.”

He wouldn’t know, Xiao Xingchen realized, if Xue Yang went for his sword. Not until it was too late.

“No,” he made himself say. “This is - as I said. I just want to talk.”

Nothing.

“Three years, Xue Yang,” Xiao Xingchen said. His voice was soft, and a little hoarse, and not quite a plea. “Don’t throw it away.”

He took a step forward toward where he’d heard Xue Yang’s voice, where he could hear his too-quick, slightly unsteady breathing, and this time when he reached out he found his hand, folded his fingers around his wrist in a gentle tether.

Not a closing trap, he thought. An open hand.

“Trust me,” he said again. “Xue Yang,” his name, used like an invocation.

The moment quivered on a cliff’s edge, teetering, but Xiao Xingchen was suddenly, inescapably certain it wouldn’t fall.

[ibijau]

part 8 of the Nomad Nie AU // On AO3

Lan Xichen worries, Huaisang explains

warning for mentions of children dying and miscarriages

Something was wrong with Huaisang.

Lan Xichen might have missed it if he hadn’t been paying attention to his husband. Huaisang, lovely and cheerful and just a touch capricious, was surprisingly good at deflecting and hiding what he didn’t want to show, it turned out. He was a skilled liar as well, telling his brother that the blood on his sleeve was from a horse he’d had to care for and he just hadn't had time to clean it yet, that if he was nervous it was only because there was so much to prepare before they moved camp. Mingjue showed some suspicion at first, but his brother just had to complain against being treated like a child, letting his voice rise a little to hint that he was ready to have a fight, and the Khan dropped the matter. He was busy too after all, and trusted his brother to tell him if there was a problem.

Up until then, Lan Xichen would have shared that certainty. Now though, seeing those bandages that always ended up stained red even days after the wound should have closed…

The first day, Lan Xichen didn't worry too much about it. It could have been that the cut was deeper than he'd realised, or that the story behind it was actually more embarrassing than what his husband had initially told him. 

The second day, he assumed that Huaisang was going to explain to him why he was still bleeding, as soon as they could catch a moment alone… But for some reason Huaisang just had no time at all for him that day, and so the right moment didn't come. 

On the third day Lan Xichen grew tired of that game. He asked a few questions to Zonghui, obtained something that he hoped would help, and set out to corner his husband. That day too, Huaisang seemed determined to avoid him, but there were only so many places he could hide. Lan Xichen eventually found him sitting behind another ger with a few children who were helping him mend covers. 

"I'm busy," Huaisang announced without so much as looking up toward his husband. "We're busy. Whatever you want, it can wait until tonight."

Lan Xichen hummed nonchalantly, refusing to let that suddenly cold attitude get to him, and pulled out some aaruul from his sleeve, immediately catching the children's attention. 

"I give this, you go," Lan Xichen offered. "I help Huaisang repair, yes ?" 

The children, without surprise, agreed to the deal and quickly ran off to eat the sweets without being bothered. Huaisang frowned and pouted, but didn't stop working. 

"If this isn't ready on time it's your fault!" he grumbled, still refusing to look away from his work. "Their mother is going to be mad at you!" 

"And I'm cross at you," Lan Xichen retorted, kneeling down next to his husband. "Show me your arm." 

Huaisang shivered, his hands stilling over the blanket. 

"My arm is fine, there's nothing to show." 

"If there's nothing wrong, then why can't I see it?" 

Refusing to answer, Huaisang pinched his lips and went back to work. Lan Xichen tried to grab his husband's wrist, but Huaisang dropped the blanket and leapt out of reach. 

"You're unreasonable," Lan Xichen accused as his husband scrambled to his feet, ready to flee. "I just want to check the cut to see how it's healing, and Zonghui gave me a balm that…" 

"I already have Mingjue to deal with!" Huaisang snapped. "I don't need another person treating me like a baby, so leave me alone!" 

Lan Xichen stood up as well, puzzled and somewhat annoyed by that reaction. 

"I'm not treating you like a child, I'm treating you like my husband, who I'm worried for. If you'd just let me help…" 

"I don't need anyone's help!" Huaisang hissed. "Not yours, not Mingjue's! I'm fine, and I just want people to let me be for once!" 

"Huaisang, I'm just…" 

Before Lan Xichen could say anything more, Huaisang had run off. Shocked by that outburst, Lan Xichen remained frozen in place. It was just a cut, and he hadn’t thought he’d been particularly overbearing, but he didn’t know Nie customs so well yet, and he couldn’t be sure what was or wasn’t acceptable between spouses. A little upset that his efforts had been met with such hostility, Lan Xichen sat down again and took over mending the cover, the way Huaisang had taught him.

Having something to do helped take his mind off of the situation, if nothing else.

-

Huaisang did not return to the ger they shared with Mingjue that night. Instead, the Khan told Lan Xichen that his brother had decided to spend the night with his cousin Zonghui, apparently to help his family with some work they were doing. 

A fear like nothing he’d ever known seized Lan Xichen, gnawing at his ribbing cage, creating a cold pit in his stomach. He remembered, suddenly, that Meng Yao had warned him on his first day that Huaisang’s emotions, as deep as they might appear, changed quickly and without warning. They’d been happy so far, and Lan Xichen was impossibly fond of his husband, too fond perhaps. If things were to end already, if Huaisang had moved on…

“Did something happen?” Khan Mingjue asked, sitting on the other side of the ger.

Lan Xichen hesitated. He knew the Khan would wish to know about his brother’s wound, and maybe he would have managed to force Huaisang to accept help for it. At the same time, Huaisang had made it very clear that he didn’t want his brother involved in this. Lan Xichen, selfishly, didn’t want to risk truly ruining what they had by betraying him, not unless it really became necessary.

“We had an argument,” he simply said, promising himself he’d come clean in a day if Huaisang still appeared to be bleeding.

“And he was not winning it,” Khan Mingjue guessed. “Huaisang doesn’t like losing. He’ll be angry for a while, and then he’ll pretend nothing happened. You’ll get used to ignoring his moments of bad temper.”

It would have been exaggerated to say that Mingjue’s tone was warm, but it wasn’t exactly cold either. Lan Xichen thought that there might have been some pity in the Khan’s voice, or at least some sympathy. Considering how little regards he had for Lan Xichen since that hunting trip, it was a comfort to see that he wasn’t gloating about their current dispute. It had to mean that Mingjue knew they really would reconcile.

At least, Lan Xichen clung to that hope.

-

The next morning, Lan Xichen decided not to go train with Zonghui. He had slept poorly, too used by now to having a presence at his side to feel comfortable without it, and it seemed dangerous to hold a weapon in that tired state. Besides, there was much to be done inside the ger. The move would start in just a few days, so everything not absolutely necessary had to be put away. It was normally something done in family to go faster, but Khan Mingjue was busy with other things and left quickly, so Lan Xichen was on his own.

It felt a little awkward to be taking care of this alone, when Huaisang had at one point promised they would do it together so he could show Lan Xichen what to do with everything. On his own, Lan Xichen dared not do much more than fold the pelts and covers around him. He was tempted to ask Meng Yao to join him, but doubted his friend would have accepted. He never entered the Khan’s ger if he could avoid it.

That line of thought became irrelevant when after a little while, Huaisang strode into the ger, looking as if he’d slept as poorly as Lan Xichen, his usually neat braids still messed up from the night, and an unhappy expression on his face.

"Mingjue scolded me," Huaisang grumbled in lieu of an explanation. "Said I had no business making you sad so soon after getting married."

Lan Xichen risked a smile. After how angry Huaisang had seemed the day before, it was a relief just for him to be around again.

"I'm more worried than sad," Lan Xichen cautiously noted. "Though I suppose I am sad you feel you can't share things with me."

Huaisang grimaced. He came to kneel down near Lan Xichen and started putting away his set of tools for working leather, turning his back on his husband. 

"I trust you with everything," Huaisang firmly said. "But this is something special. It's… I've never told anyone. Menyao doesn't know. The rest of my family doesn't know, just me and Mingjue. If people knew… It would create problems for Mingjue, and it'd be dangerous for me." 

Lan Xichen finished rolling the pelt in his hands, taking the time to consider this carefully. 

"This isn't just about you getting cut, is it?" 

Huaisang shrugged.

"I see. Then I will drop the matter," Lan Xichen promised. "I won't make you share more than you can. I trust you to let me help when needed." 

Looking at him again, Huaisang snorted. 

"You probably shouldn't. Mingjue doesn't trust me about this." 

"He's your brother, and I'm your husband. It's normal for us to have different expectations. You’ve said many times it upsets you that he treats you like a child. I want to treat you like an adult, and that means trusting you. I don’t need to know this. I just have to believe you’ll tell me if I can do something to help."

Huaisang stared at him with wide, shiny eyes. He looked almost as if he might cry, just from being told his judgement was trusted. It made Lan Xichen feel a spark of anger at Khan Mingjue, all the more so because he had to know that Huaisang was unhappy about being treated this way. He didn’t want to dwell on unhappy feelings though, not when his husband and him seemed to have reconciled, so instead he shuffled closer to Huaisang and dropped a kiss on his cheek.

“If you say you’re fine, you’re fine,” Lan Xichen insisted. “Now let’s get to work and empty this ger. I have no idea what I’m supposed to be putting away, so you’ll have to tell me.”

Huaisang, still a little stunned, nodded weakly and started giving directions. There really was a lot to do all over the ger, but Lan Xichen decided to stick close to his husband for now, even if it wasn’t very efficient to be working like this. It was a little ridiculous to have missed Huaisang this much, but he was glad to have him back and set out to work  with greater cheer than before.

Huaisang, for his part, was rather slow as he continued putting away his tool, until eventually he stopped entirely, a determined expression on his face.

“What have you heard about my parents?” he asked, trying to keep his tone casual, as if they were just making conversation as usual.

Lan Xichen’s hands slowed for a moment, surprised by the question, before he quickly resumed what he was doing.

“Your father was the previous Khan, and your mother was his second wife,” he replied. “I’ve been told they both died when you were still somewhat young.” He hesitated. “I’ve also heard that your father thought someone had cursed him.”

Huaisang nodded grimly.

“Hm. When Mingjue was three, my father married his second wife, and they quickly had a child together,” he said. Lan Xichen did some quick counting based on the age difference between Mingjue and Huaisang, and frowned as realisation struck him. “It was a boy,” Huaisang continued, “and he seemed healthy enough, even if the birth was difficult on my mother. Mingjue told me that the baby was just starting to crawl and bothered a dog that bit him and… and he never stopped bleeding, not until he was dead. But that happens, right? Babies are fragile, most don’t make it to adulthood.”

Lan Xichen weakly nodded, watching his husband poke at the wound on his wrist that seemed to take so long to heal.

“My mother got pregnant again soon after,” Huaisang went on, staring at the box of tools in front of him. “The second son they had died in childbirth, and my mother almost did as well. But this too happens. It’s always dangerous to give birth, and the baby was coming early. Then, there was me. I was fine, even if my mother almost died again, but she recovered and things were really fine for a few years. Then…”

He poked a little harder at his arm and winced in pain, yet did it again, as if he couldn't stop himself. 

"My father put me on a horse before I could walk," Huaisang explained, still relentlessly poking and pressing until a spot of red appeared on the fabric of his deel. "Everyone here would say the same about their father, but he really did. And I was pretty good at it, too. At just three, father was letting me ride alone, at least if the horse was of decent temper. Mingjue says even back then, I loved horses more than anything. But one day, the horse I was riding got scared and made me fall, and I hit my head."

He pressed hard on his wound, gritting his teeth in pain. Lan Xichen reached out to make him stop. Huaisang pushed his hand away, but stopped poking at last.

"I don’t remember, obviously, "Huaisang whispered. "Mingjue was already twelve though, so he was there for it all. He says I bled for days and days and days, and they thought I’d die, like my brother. I didn’t, but it was close. Still… kids are fragile, right ? So father didn't think too much about it. Not until it happened again the year after, when I played with Mingjue's brand new saber. I cut myself pretty deep and again, I just continued bleeding for days and days.”

"Huaisang, that's…" 

"Wasn't allowed to touch anything sharp after that," Huaisang went on. "Then when a few weeks later, after finally recovering, I got into a fight with some other kids. Can't even say about what. It was stupid for sure, and one of them punched me in the face. After that, father and mother forbade me from playing with other children. Forbade me from riding horses, too. They told me I'd die if I got hurt again. I was just about five, and my nose wouldn't stop bleeding from that one punch, so I obeyed. I never really got out of the ger anymore. And then, because that wasn't bad enough…"

Huaisang curled on himself. Lan Xichen, unable to stay away a moment more, plastered himself against his back, wrapping his arms around his husband's waist. This time Huaisang didn't resist, and even leaned against his chest. 

"In the span of a year, my father lost both his wives. Mingjue's mother caught sick that winter and didn't recover. Around the same time, my mother became with child again. She had another miscarriage, and she didn't survive that one. Father became convinced that he had been cursed. Maybe he was. This much bad luck for a single man, how could it be possible otherwise?"

Unsure what to answer, Lan Xichen only held him closer. 

"Then the Wens heard about it," Huaisang sighed, molding himself against Lan Xichen's chest. "We've never gotten along too well with them, so they saw this as a chance to create problems. They tried to convince some of the families in the tribe that he shouldn’t be Khan anymore, that someone else should take the title. They didn't know about me, but with three dead sons and two dead wives in such a short time, it was already enough to cast doubt."

He shivered and closed his eyes. 

"It… it got really bad," he whispered, sounding half frightened by memories. "There were fights and arguments, and then father died, and Mingjue had to fight so hard to become Khan, even though he was still so young. Of course, he won in the end,” Huaisang pointed out. 

In spite of the dark memories, his voice was dripping with pride for his brother. Lan Xichen smiled, and kissed his husband's hair. 

“But not everyone was happy with him being Khan," Huaisang confessed. "He really was young for it, and some people worried that father's curse might have been passed on to him. Mingjue too was worried, I think, so he didn't look for a wife, and he told me that we would continue hiding my problem. It seemed safer… and I didn't really mind, at first. I remembered how much I'd bled when that other kid punched me, so I was scared it would happen again if I played with other children, or if I did anything at all. People said I was lazy and spoiled like a Han emperor, but I didn't care. Not at first."

"Not until you got lonely," Lan Xichen guessed, thinking of his mother, who also was never allowed to leave the house, who was so lonely and hopeless toward the end.

He'd never been told the whole story, but it was common knowledge that there had been a rebellion against the emperor just before she married his father. Several officials had died, including a local magistrate linked to their family. Anyone caught had been out to death, and the others had gone into hiding.

If his mother had been linked to this, no wonder a woman with such passion in her heart had not fared well locked up in a merchant's house. She'd really looked so sad toward the end… And it was easy to imagine Huaisang wilting away in the same way, when he was never happier than riding his horse.

"At one point, Mingjue became decided I'd die of boredom even more surely than if I cut myself," Huaisang confirmed. "So he started giving me some liberty again. I was getting old enough to be careful, anyway. He let me have a horse again, and it was like… Like I'd forgotten what it was like to be alive until then. I couldn't race, I couldn't go hunt, I couldn't go anywhere out of view of the camp unless Mingjue was with me, but it was so good, it was enough. Then I was allowed to train the hawks too, and that too was so good. We'd go hunting together when he had time. He didn't, usually, but I lived for those times he did. It really was enough… Until it wasn't."

"Those incidents after Meng Yao arrived." 

Huaisang nodded. 

"Menyao couldn't know. He… I think sometimes that he knew that Mingjue really didn't want me to do things on my own, but he encouraged me anyway. He was trying to be a good friend and to help me show I could be more independent, I know he meant well, but that just went so badly for him, and it’s really my fault if he’s in a bad position now. I shouldn’t have been selfish, I shouldn’t have asked to keep him with me, but I was lonely." 

Lan Xichen pulled Huaisang tighter against himself. Before knowing about this, he would have agreed that Mingjue was overprotective and it couldn't be good for his brother. Now though, with everything that had happened to them, he understood the Khan a little better. It really was a miracle that Mingjue had allowed his brother to get married. Lan Xichen must really have looked completely harmless to him, or he wouldn't have agreed to Huaisang's caprice. 

"Does it bother you that your brother acts like this?" Lan Xichen asked. 

"Of course it does!" Huaisang whined. “I know Mingjue is like that because he’s worried. And he has reasons to be worried. But I want a normal life. I want to go hunting, I want to ride out and check on the herds! I’m not saying he should let me join raids, I’m not stupid! I don’t even want to do that! But there’s so many things I could be doing without taking too much risk and Mingjue just… He just… I'm not a child anymore, why can't he see that?"

It wasn’t about seeing Huaisang as a child, Lan Xichen thought, because all he wanted at that moment was to grab his husband and put him somewhere safe, the safest place possible, and never let him get near anything that might harm him. Even knowing how much Huaisang hated being so sheltered, the impulse was there… but it would have been the greatest of cruelty to do such a thing, and Lan Xichen loved his husband too much to let him wilt away like a flower cut from its roots.

“If he can’t see it at the moment, then we’ll work on making him accept that you’re old enough to choose your own path,” Lan Xichen offered. “Running away and doing things behind his back isn’t working, so we’ll find another way.”

“There’s no other way,” Huaisang sighed, dropping his head against his husband’s shoulder and pouting. “He’s so stubborn, he doesn’t listen to me and to what I want!”

“We’ll make him listen,” Lan Xichen promised, kissing his husband’s temple. “I’m already training with Zonghui so I can protect you when your brother isn’t around, so I’ll continue doing that. As for you… we need to make him see that you’re not going to run off and hunt wolves just to impress others anymore. He needs to see you as you really are now. The way I see you. I know how serious you are when you want, I’ve seen you look over children, I’ve seen you try to help others in whatever way you can, even if there are things you can’t do. We’ll make him see you’ve grown, and that he can trust you.”

“Mingjue is too stubborn, he won’t listen.”

“Then we’ll just have to be more stubborn than him,” Lan Xichen retorted. “It will take the time it takes, he probably won’t change his mind in a day, but now we are working on this together. If you want, that is?”

Huaisang sighed, but still nodded. He looked rather unconvinced by that plan of action, but Lan Xichen figured it wasn’t a surprise. Perhaps Khan Mingjue wasn’t the only one who needed to be convinced that things didn’t have to be this way.

They stayed like that a little while, Huaisang leaning against his husband, too shaken by the intense conversation to go back to tidying right away. Lan Xichen, always happy to have him in his arms, didn’t mind at all, content to hold him close especially now that he knew how close they came to never having had the chance to meet. If Huaisang had been as unlucky as his brothers…

“Are you really going to continue being my husband?” Huaisang suddenly asked, leaning a little harder into Lan Xichen’s embrace. “Even now?”

“Why wouldn’t I?”

Instead of answering, Huaisang vaguely motioned at his arm. Because of all his earlier poking and probing, the fabric of his sleeve was stained with blood.

“I won’t leave you unless you ask me to leave,” Lan Xichen promised, kissing his cheek.

“Even if others find out and say I’m cursed?”

“If this is a curse, then I’ll help you bear it. You’re my husband, it’s how things should be.”

“But you didn’t even want to be my husband!” Huaisang pointed out.

“I didn’t,” Lan Xichen admitted. “Not at first. But now I do, so you’re stuck with me.”

Huaisang snorted at that answer, and giggled when Lan Xichen, determined how very much he wanted to be married now, started kissing every part of Huaisang’s face that he could reach.

[monstersdownthepath]

Spiritual Spotlight: Zyphus, the Grim Harvestman

Neutral Evil God of Accidental Deaths, Graveyards, and Tragedies

Domains: Death, Destruction, Evil, Plant, War Subdomains: Blood, Catastrophe, Daemon, Decay, Murder, Thorns, Undead

Inner Sea Faiths, pg. 88~93

Obedience: Spend an hour sitting on the grave of someone who suffered an accidental death. You must reflect on how chance has wronged you and vocally reject the influence of any gods associated with these wrongs. If no suitable grave exists, spend an hour telling strangers how their religious beliefs and hopes for a just afterlife are folly and of no consequence. Alternatively, you can write this screed and post it in a public place within a settlement. If you’re away from civilization, you can instead spend an hour sabotaging a path, bridge, tool, or other device so that it’s dangerous for the next person who uses it. Benefit: You gain a +4 profane bonus on Craft (traps) or Disable Device checks, chosen when you complete the obedience. 

i’m glad the grim harvestman covers his basis but also jesus

Anyway, Zyphus is one of the most petty and spiteful of the gods, and this is no better shown than in this Obedience. A typical adventurer wandering the countryside must actively make the world a worse place for everyone else involved, and the clause “next person who uses it” means that you have to either toss aside your party’s good will, or take up the dreaded spot at the back of the marching order. Should you find yourself in a public area, you become just as much of an obnoxious git as a follower of Groetus, except this time you’re personally spitting on their beliefs... However, if you wish to be significantly more tolerated by society, you should do as Zyphus encourages his followers to do and disguise yourself as a Pharasmin or the faithful of another god of order and afterlives and very carefully disguise your blasphemy as “misguided” teachings. At worst, you can feign ignorance and/or explain that you’re new to the faith and had no idea that what you’re saying is wrong. You can even blame other Zyphans for muddying your understanding of the truth, an act I’m sure the Harvestman finds extra ironic!

Telling someone that their practices don’t matter because Pharasma has already decided your fate is the easiest way to go, and the best part is it’s not even inaccurate! NPCs don’t have the spiritual freedom PCs do, so their path is already nearly impossible to change! Get pranked, idiots! Masquerading as one of Pharasma’s flock comes in especially handy when performing the first and ‘easiest’ ritual, as well, because tending to graves is something the Lady of Graves wants people to do in the first place. Make sure to be careful with how you word your vocal casting away of the god’s will, however, or you may arouse more suspicion than you soothe.

The benefit is subpar. Crafting traps is alright, but you’ve likely got better things to use your gold on--wait, there’s no restriction on the CR of traps you can craft, so long as you can beat the DC and have the gold? Well. Go crazy, go stupid, I guess! Here’s a list of everything you can make! The most cost-efficient and useful, however, is the CR 1 bear trap, which--make no mistake--will absolutely shred lower level encounters, but will lose a lot of its spark later on. At least it costs basically nothing to make! Traps are usually the domain of the DMs, but if you need to hold an area? They can come in very, very handy. Otherwise, you’re just leaving them behind you on lonely roads in the hopes some fool will step on them.

Disable Device is normally the way you want to go, shutting off traps that could be a potentially lethal danger for most of the party at most levels. And, of course, rearming them so some fool behind you can stumble into them later. Even if your adventure doesn’t contain many traps, you should never underestimate the strength there is in doing something as simple as popping a lock.

Boons are acquired slowly: the first once you reach 12 hit dice, the second at 16, and the third at 20. However, the Evangelist, Exalted, and Sentinel Prestige Classes can be entered as early as level 5; doing so grants you the Boons at levels 8, 11, and 14 instead. As Zyphus is a true deity and does not require Fiendish Obedience, you earn the right to enter the classes earlier than those who serve fiends!

-------- EVANGELIST --------

Boon 1: Champion of Cruel Chance. Gain Deathwatch 3/day, False Life 2/day, or Healing Thief 1/day.

Decent all around! And by “decent” I mean “they have niche uses, but shine in those uses.” Healing Thief is the most interesting one, establishing a link between you and a creature you touch that causes the victim to heal only half as much from magical or supernatural means, with you gaining the other half. Creatures who gain Fast Healing or Regeneration through supernatural circumstances can become a boon to you, while enemies relying on Channeled positive energy or in-combat healing will find themselves struggling. The best part is that it doesn’t even offer a saving throw!

Of course, it’s still a touch attack, and you have to remain within an extremely tight radius around the enemy (25ft + 5ft/level) to maintain the siphon. This is a little riskier than I’d like, not to mention it’s completely useless if your foe doesn’t use any in-combat healing. Also, at only 1/day, I’d probably settle for the significantly more boring False Life for a nice 1d10+8 (up to +10) temp HP that lasts for a million years. It’s not much, but you can use it twice and it might stop some scratch damage, and every point between you and 0 HP is nice.

Deathwatch lets you instantly know if you’re looking at an Undead or disguised Construct, which is its primary function in my book. With a duration of 10 min/level, it’s likely to last for entire dungeon floors and makes you an expert at calling out foes who’re on their last legs but otherwise looking healthy. It’s a decent spell if you’re unsure of what you’re going up against or want to be the pointman for your team, but otherwise False Life is the typical go-to.

Boon 2: Resiliency. 1/day, you can gain a number of temporary hit points equal to your Hit Dice, lasting for 1 minute. Activating this ability is an immediate action that can be performed only when you would be brought below 0 hit points, and can be used to prevent you from dying. If you have the Resiliency ability from another source, you can activate these abilities separately or as part of the same immediate action.

As far as I can tell, there is exactly one source for the Resiliency ability as it’s written here, and that’s a single Rogue Talent. It’s... eeeeeegh, not so good. It lets you stall death’s timer for a single minute, usually long enough to end the battle (or be ended) and get some real healing. It will likely save your life at least once in a campaign, but the goal here is to avoid being brought to 0 in the first place! Especially since this will, if obtained ASAP, only shield you for 11 HP, which is one--maybe two--attacks from a creature with a similar CR and basically nothing against spells being flung around at that level. This Boon is actually worse in many ways than just giving +1 HP per HD you have, especially since you technically already have access to the same amount of temp HP in False Life.

I suppose the most amusing use of this power is to fake being down and out until your foe turns away, but that carries risks of its own. If you’re brought to -20 or something and the temp HP only takes you to -5, you’re still knocked out but at least have some mercy time before you start dying for real. I’d advocate for combining this with Diehard if you want to get the most out of it, because otherwise this is an extremely subpar “Life Insurance” Boon that will really only impress the group maybe once or twice in a campaign and be boring or underwhelming in all other moments.

I’d want it to be at least 2 or even 3/day.

Boon 3: Tragic Minion. By spending 1 minute praying over the corpse of a Humanoid opponent or a Humanoid who has died a tragic death, you can summon an Allip to serve you. Unlike a normal Allip, this Allip is of an alignment that matches yours, and has a number of hit points equal to half your total. It receives a +4 bonus on Will saves to halve the damage from channeled positive energy, and it can’t be turned or commanded. This Allip serves as a companion to you and can communicate intelligibly with you despite its madness. You can dismiss it as a standard action. If the Allip is destroyed or dismissed, you can’t summon another for 7 days. This ability allows you to have only one Allip companion at a time.

Oh, that’s cute! You get a little insane friend! Unfortunately, as you can see here, it’s about 10 levels too late to actually be useful. At the level you can finally summon one, your Allips are extremely fragile, as even with their boosted HP they’re still only protected by an AC of 14 and no outstanding resistances aside from their incorporeality. Enemies with magic weapons are almost a certainty by level 14, and even enemies without magic weapons will rarely ever fail their save against the Allip’s Touch of Madness, whose save DC doesn’t scale past 15. You’d be relying wholly on it scoring critical hits, which make the Wisdom damage and drain irresistible, but that’s obviously not viable.

Really, all parts of Tragic Minion are ironically accurate. The Allip can’t even really serve as a scout, because they constantly Babble to themselves in a way that hypnotizes everyone within 60ft of them. Even with their +8 Stealth, a bunch of mooks suddenly stopping and standing still will alert enemies who can succeed the DC 15 Will save that something strange is going on. Adding in that Allips have no ability to hide or disguise themselves, just walking around with one is enough to turn heads. And don’t even think about just dismissing it and summoning another one, or using it in combat with any level-appropriate foe, or this is a blank Boon for an entire week!

Seriously, the 7 day ban on summoning another one is a serious kick in the teeth when the “only one at a time” limit was restrictive enough. You’d think Zyphus would be happy to grant his most powerful Evangelists more than one CR 3 minion at a time, but no! If you lose this extremely fragile minion, no more for 7 days! That’ll teach you to take good care of your toys! And that’s more or less the Allip is; a toy. An accessory.

-------- EXALTED --------

Boon 1: Catalyst of Destruction. Gain Break 3/day, Find Traps 2/day, or Spiked Pit 1/day.

Well I certainly hope there’s traps, given who you’re working for! But it’s good to have insurance that they’re not aimed at you. Find Traps lasts a decent time (1 min/level) and grants a monstrous Perception bonus to spotting them, automatically triggering a Perception check if you draw too close to a trap as well which--depending on how you interpret the spell--alerts you to the fact one is nearby even if you don’t see it. Then you can use Zyphus’ granted +4 to Disable Device to knock it out!

Break can have its uses, shattering enemy equipment even as they wield it. Just remember that targeting an attended object allows the wielder to make a saving throw in its place, while an unattended object gets no saving throw (provided it’s nonmagical). And since Break targets Fortitude, it’s not likely to affect the targets you’d really need it to (Fighters in heavy armor and Barbarians with big weapons), but if your teammates can knock their weapons from their hands, they’re free game. However, the use of Break in combat doesn’t nearly compare to what it can do out of combat; weakening doorways, crumbling containers, sabotaging enemy equipment they’d otherwise grab later, and cracking open items made of skymetal. Note that a second casting of Break outright destroys an item that’s already broken, and you have three each day! Personally, I’d save it for the times you need to sabotage something or bypass a small obstacle, rather than risk a high-Fort-save enemy succeeding in combat and wasting your turn.

And I’ve spoken about Spiked Pit before, here and here, but to reiterate:  it’s a pseudo Save-or-Suck that seriously waste the time of anything without a decent Strength score or some Climb skill as they crawl back out of the pit, while you and your allies either deal with other foes, or rain destruction down on them from above. Even if the victim makes their initial save, the pit doesn’t go anywhere, letting you push your targets in one at a time if need be. Since it’s literally just a huge hole in the ground, you can even hurl multiple enemies inside! AND it’s filled with damaging spikes! The spikes don’t do much, but every little bit helps.

Boon 2: Ever Vigilant. You are protected by a constant Death Ward, The immunity to energy drain ends after the effect has prevented a number of negative levels equal to your Hit Dice*, which resets when you next perform your Obedience. In addition, you gain a +2 profane bonus on saving throws against effects that occur before your first turn in combat.

*it says “Exalted level” but that would mean that this could have zero effect if you don’t class into it, so it’s been changed to prevent it from being a dead Boon.

Huh, this is pretty g--wait. Hold on, let me read this a little closer

“The subject gains a +4 morale bonus on saves against all death spells and magical death effects. The subject is granted a save to negate such effects even if one is not normally allowed. The subject is immune to energy drain and any negative energy effects, including channeled negative energy.“

and what did Ever Vigilant say? “The immunity to energy drain ends--”? But that implies that the rest of Death Ward stays up, right? ... right :)

A lot of Boons grant you an everlasting spell effect for your trouble, but none of them are quite as potent as this one. Death Ward UTTERLY stops negative energy effects, crushing the entire school of Necromancy underfoot, crippling the offensive power of most forms of Undead, and ironically making the devotees of the God of Tragic Death some of the hardest sons of guns to actually tragically kill. Even if an incoming death effect offered no save (such as Power Word Kill), Death Ward forces one, and because you’re Ever Vigilant you don’t even have to know you’re going to face one to begin with!

Also, a universal +2 bonus to saves when out of combat, and for the first round in combat! A nice and cute addition, making it slightly harder for enemy casters or monsters relying on their powers to get the jump on you. Ever Vigilant makes you one of the best Undead hunters out there... Which is why it’s--ironically--tragic that Zyphus, an Evil god, gives it out. In an Evil vs Good campaign, you’re not likely to actually be combating enemies who use negative energy, death effects, or anything else Death Ward protects against. The real sauce in this ability comes from an Evil vs Evil campaign, or a campaign in which you’re pretending to be Good, or at least Neutral! Just... make sure it ends before level 14, because...

Boon 3: Visitor From Abaddon. 1/day as a standard action, you can summon a pair of Greater Ceustodaemons as if with Summon Monster II, and gain telepathy with them to a range of 100 feet. The Ceustodaemons follow your commands perfectly for 1 round per Hit Die you possess before vanishing back to their home on Abaddon. The Ceustodaemons don’t follow commands that would cause them to perform overly good acts or save mortal lives other than your own, and they immediately vanish if your orders contradict these restrictions.

...it’s going to be very difficult why a Pharasmin can summon two daemonic gorilla-men who breathe electricity. Ceustodaemons are bred to be the dumb muscle of Abaddon, but they’re still capable warriors in their own right with decently damaging claws (2d6+6) and a bite (1d6+6) and the ability to exhale 6d6 points worth of Electricity damage in a 30ft cone. There’s also their spell-likes, an at-will Dimension Door letting them infiltrate and scout for you, a 3/day Fly to make your party a nightmare to fight, and a 3/day Dispel Magic to crack enemy magic open.

However, they’re only CR 7, unlikely to stand up on their own against level-appropriate threats. So, the key here? Don’t use them against level-appropriate threats, as is normal with summons dramatically weaker than you are. They’re terrors that shine brightest against enemies hovering around the CR 10 or so range, their resilience and immunity against--and I’m not exaggerating--nearly every status effect in the game except petrification and their DR 10/Good or Silver letting them slug it out with mid-level foes and rip apart nearly anything else lower than that.

There’s also the fact that they can be summoned as a standard action with a range of Close, letting you teleport your gorilla fiends right at the enemy’s vulnerable backline or in front of their melee bruisers to tie them up while the rest of your team flanks. The standard action summoning is the biggest treat here, because being able to have two more beefy bodies available immediately shifts any battle in your favor... But know that if your campaign keeps going past level 14, your gorilla men are going to have a harder and harder time standing up to level-appropriate enemies, and it’ll eventually cause them to be summoned to fight against minibosses only or--eugh--being sent on scouting missions. They’re good at them, mind, but you know how it is.

At their absolute worst, though, they’re still six castings of both Fly and Dispel Magic. There’s worse things out there.

-------- SENTINEL --------

Boon 1: Walking Disaster. Gain Bungle 3/day, Spontaneous Immolation2/day, or Deadly Juggernaut 1/day.

Bungle is a fun spell, slapping a target with an insurmountable -20 penalty to their next attack roll or check requiring a d20 roll, but since the spell is only level 1 and takes your concentration to maintain, it’s not likely going to stick. Granted, it lingers for 2 rounds after you stop concentrating so you can focus elsewhere, so there’s certainly worse spells to use... but it only affects one attack roll or check at a level where most enemies have two or even three attacks, making it significantly less useful than it looks. It’s best if you use it out of combat to scramble a skill check a foe is trying to use, but it’s negated by a Will save entirely so it loses a lot of potential oomph. And I just read the spell even closer and it says it only works on Humanoid targets, so it’s even worse than I previously thought!

Spontaneous Immolation is infinitely funnier to use, anyway. Why make someone flub a speech or fail an Escape Artist check when you could have them suddenly burst into flames from within? With no component requirements, Spontaneous Immolation is TRULY spontaneous, the victim exploding into fire without having an idea of the source. You could potentially make people believe it’s the wrath of your god, the power of some curse you possess, or even the wrath of their god if you can spin it well enough. The damage is middling--3d6--and is halved on a successful save, but it’s got a range of Medium and sets its victim alight if they fail their save so you can create a single spark in a crowd that becomes a roaring inferno as the panicking victim grabs onto whatever they can to try and put themselves out.

As God of Sudden Death, it’s a perfect spell for both in and out of combat, slaying random citizens in bursts of horror and pain they’d have no chance to realize is coming, I’m sure Zyphus approves of using it to malice citizens just as much as he enjoys watching his faith’s foes burst into flames. This leaves Deadly Juggernaut, a spell that a martial character such as yourself would normally LOVE getting... if it weren’t for the final clause stating that the effect doesn’t trigger unless you slay a foe within 4 HD of yourself. While that prevents the effect from being exploited with a Sack Of Rats, it also makes it far less likely to activate if you’re fighting swarms of lower-level enemies. It DOES mean that battling creatures of roughly equal strength to your party has some pretty high snowball potential, but since you, personally, have to reduce the target to 0 HP, unless you’re the party’s DPS you may just end up missing out on most of the spell.

I’d personally just tuck Makes You Explode under your belt each day. If nothing else, it’s a funny prank to pull on the locals.

Boon 2: Tragic Accident. 1/day as part of a successful attack, you can target your opponent with either Inflict Critical Wounds or Poison as a free action. The DC for this ability is (10 + 1/2 your Hit Dice + your Cha mod). You don’t have to declare the use of this ability until you know the attack is successful.

More than almost any other god I think I’ve encountered, Zyphus encourages lying, subterfuge, and you looking as harmless as possible. Even the ostensible God of Secrets and Murder, Norbergorberburgerhurger, inspires less subtlety in me than Zyphus, because his domain is specifically accidental deaths. You gotta make your kills look like mistakes no one could have seen coming, which makes Tragic Accident yet another tool in inspiring fear and terror than actually being useful in a fight.

Give someone a playful slug on the shoulder and scream as they fall over, dead. Deck some guy who’s hitting on you in a bar in the chest and feign horror as he suffers an apparently fatal heart attack as Poison rips through his body. Hit someone with a blowdart or even just hurl a pebble at someone and strike them down with nearly no trace, since this ability can work with ranged attacks as well. Coming up with subtle ways to use this power out of combat is significantly more fun than thinking of ways to use it in battle, because as a 1/day negated (or halved, in Critical Wounds’ case) by a save is just asking to be disappointed.

Especially in the case of Poison, because if you want someone dead in combat, hitting them usually works better than slowly, slowly, slowly hoping and praying that their Con hits 0. Inflict Critical Wounds is a little more useful if you’re using it to speed up an opponent’s death in combat, dealing 4d8+11 (+1 per level) damage... or healing an Undead ally. Yes, you have to hit with an attack, but as I’ve already stated above, the attack doesn’t have to deal much--or ANY--real damage to trigger a Tragic Accident. I do appreciate that Zyphus assures your attack connects before you trigger this ability, a lot of other Boons are not so gracious. Like...

Boon 3: Unfairness of the World. 1/day, you may fill an attack with negative energy. You must declare your use of this ability before you roll the attack roll; on a hit, the target gains a number of negative levels equal to 3 + 1/2 your Hit Dice unless it succeeds at a Fortitude saving throw (the DC for this ability is the same as Tragic Accident’s DC). If you openly wear an unholy symbol of Zyphus, the saving throw DC to resist this effect increases by 2.

... This one!

Hah. Well. Whatever you hit with this is dead. Like, straight up dead. The name of this Boon is as accurate as can be. There is NO recovering from being slapped with ten negative levels (+1 for every 2 levels you have!), because even if your victim survives the initial onslaught of energy, that’s a -10 to every single roll they make and the loss of some or even all of their high-level spells and most potent abilities. This isn’t so much a Save-or-Suck as it is the mother of all signals for your entire party to unload every SoS they have on their person upon your victim.

IF it lands.

Because not only do you have to succeed an attack roll to use this ability or have it dissolve into the aether, but they also have to fail a Fortitude save. That’s two possible points of failure for this ability which seriously reins in its potential, but with just a LITTLE bit of setup you can cut your unfortunate victim in half. It’s definitely both a possible end to a fight AND something you can smite a random citizen with by using the same “things that count as an attack roll” exploits I listed Tragic Accident. By the time you get this power, you can also shamelessly reveal your faith in the Harvestman to make the DC 2 higher, but you may want to keep that to yourself if you’re still masquerading as something else, breaking it out only for boss fights.

Most gods in Inner Sea Faiths leave a lot to be desired, so it’s nice to see a god give so generously! It’s just too bad it has to be the God of Pettiness and Inconvenience.

You can read more about him here.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Whumptober 19: Survivor’s Guilt

TIMELINE: Takes place in the Iris Michaelson, Teen Badass AU of the Fillis Angst Parade AU - look, @whump-tr0pes and I make our own fun, and by “fun”, I mean we make “Isaac and Finn suffer”.

Basic Plot: Fourteen years ago, Finn Dunham and Ellis Price were taken captive. The team has never been able to rescue them, and knows only that Finn lives life as Patrick Michaelson’s plaything and Ellis teaches at a Syndicate dayschool and tutors the Michaelson’s adopted teenage daughter. When Iris Michaelson sends a message to the famous rebel Isaac Moore, he can’t help but answer it.

CW: Referenced noncon/dubcon, referenced torture

“If this is a trap, I’m going to owe Gavin fifty bucks.” Vera checked and rechecked her handgun, as though it would suddenly be less loaded than it was just a few minutes before. Her jaw was set in a grim line, eyes flashing a kind of damped-down fire, embers ready to spark. Her thick black hair, showing growing hints of gray, was pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck, and she wore a pair of black pants and a tucked-in t-shirt, ready for the fight she was definitely expecting. “I don’t want to owe Gavin money, Isaac.”

“It’s not a trap,” Isaac replied, making his own nervous check and recheck of the table and chairs. “I don’t think it is, anyway. My instincts are saying it isn’t.”

“Your instincts-”

“My instincts have been spot-on for a decade, Vera. Just trust me on this. She let us pick the day, the time, the location… she let us give her the location with less than four hours’ notice, even. If this is a trap, she’s piss-poor at setting it.”

“Hm.” Vera snorted, and checked the second gun, the rifle they had leaning up, hidden on the other side of a doorframe, where Vera could pick it up and keep shooting if she had to.

If they needed the second gun, it would be because she was buying time for an exit, not because they had a shot in hell of getting a win.

“She wouldn’t have let me pick the spot with such short notice if she was planning on killing us,” Isaac said, but he felt less certain than his voice sounded.

“She’s a teenager, isn’t she? Who the fuck knows why teenagers do anything?”

It was Isaac’s turn to snort, then.

Their scheduled meeting space was a busted-out house an hour outside of the Michaelson Syndicate's largest stronghold city, a hidden place they had used, in the past, to run dissidents out of the city north, always north. A few years ago it’d been compromised, the house was half-burned down in the attack, but there was a room at the back that was still standing… more or less.

The girl had agreed readily to meet here - which Vera didn’t like, such a quick agreement made her think the youngest Michaelson child had some kind of plan, but it was a cleared space and Isaac had put his people all around. If the girl was bringing weapons, well, so were they. 

Isaac had sentries watching for miles around, covering every road. It paid to have his reputation, and have so many people willing to sign on to help him out with this. It didn’t hurt that his reputation meant he’d managed to scrape together enough money to pay them.

Not in money, no - Isaac had traded pallets of flour with boxes' worth of packets of yeast, a couple of beat-up cars that could at least be broken down for scrap, and cough syrup from their carefully hoarded medical supplies. But it had been enough to draw in some people willing to take the risk.

Sentries had reported by radio - one car, following the directions Isaac had given it. No escort cars, no one caught sneaking through the scrubby woods around the house. Just one, single, shining black Michaelson Syndicate vehicle, clearly marked, making no effort to hide.

She was following every rule she’d been given, right down to the tiniest detail.

Still, his nerves were on edge. What the youngest Michaelson child could possibly want with them - what had made her reach out to schedule a face-to-face - had had him up at night ever since the first message had come in, sent via dissidents who didn’t even understand what they were carrying in the envelope that no one dared open until it got to him.

My name is Iris Michaelson and I need your help. I know Finn Dunham and Ellis Price. Please call me. Then a number, everything written in a childish looping cursive, and the sight of Finn and Ellis’s names had meant Isaac could never have stopped himself from calling.

“I wonder-”

“If she wants a way out, I’m not doing it,” Vera snapped, interrupting Isaac’s thoughts, her fraying nerves given away by the edge in her voice. “We can’t handle that kind of heat, Isaac.”

“I can find her someone to go to for that,” Isaac said, not quite in agreement. “We’re not in the business of hiding Syndicate kids.”

“Oh, are we not?” Vera’s dry humor edged on sarcasm. “Because I’m wondering what exactly you think we did with Gavin, then-”

“Anymore. We’re not in the business of hiding Syndicate kids anymore. That was fifteen years ago, are you-”

“Ever going to let it go? Nope. I’m too old to escort a spoiled rotten rich kid into the real world again, and you’re sure as fuck too old to fall in love with another one.”

Isaac felt a smile pull at the corners of his mouth, and shook his head. “Calm, Vera.”

“Isaac, so far you’ve turned Gavin into your goddamn life partner and tried to give Danny fucking Michaelson a place-”

“All I did was give him my name to help him get as far as he and Nate could get, when he was ready.” Isaac ignored the twist of bitterness inside him. “And he never was, was he? He’s still there.”

Some part of Isaac would always wonder why - when given the chance to get out - Danny had chosen to stay.

He sighed, and kept talking. “In any case, that’s not going to happen here. I’m not going to give her safe harbor with us. I’ve already spoken to some other communities, just laying groundwork. If she needs a place to run, she can have it - but she’ll have to give up a tremendous amount of intel to earn her sanctuary.”

“What kind of intel does a fucking fourteen-year-old girl have?”

“Don’t know, but she might have enough. She didn’t drop Danny’s name to meet with me, did you notice? She dropped Finn’s and Ellis’s names instead.” He shifted the chair on the other side, the one she’d sit in, this way and that until he had it just right. His own weapons - he carried two, one under his left arm and one on his right hip, plus another hidden taped under the table on his side - were fully loaded, too. All this to take on a single teenage girl.

Granted, it wasn’t just a teenage girl. Iris Michaelson happened to be the daughter of Patrick and Corrine Michaelson. Danny’s parents, and she was the beloved youngest child of the fucking assholes that had stolen his family, and kept them. The last Isaac had directly seen of Finn and Ellis was them being surrounded by Patrick’s men fourteen years ago as the car with him inside spit gravel and sped away.

Isaac swallowed, tightly, wondering if it was a good sign or a bad one that he rarely teared up when he remembered the moment, now. He’d cried too much for them already, and Iris Michaelson would be here soon.

“Would you have met her if she’d namechecked Danny?”

Isaac shook his head, jaw set firmly. “No.”

“But you will if-”

“Listen, maybe it’s about Finn, or Ellis,” Isaac said, softly. He barely dared hope. “Maybe she’s willing to trade intel on them. We know they’re still alive. We know Finn is-... that Finn has-”

“Yeah,” Vera said heavily. “Maybe. Hell, maybe the daughter has a heart. Anything’s fuckin’ possible, right?”

“Right.” Isaac took a deep breath. He heard the sound of car tires on gravel and raised his head, jaw setting into a determined line. “Here they are.”

“Showtime,” Vera said, voice low. She shifted back until she was mostly hidden in a doorway, covered enough in shadow that she wouldn’t be immediately visible unless she wanted to be. “I’ve got you covered, Isaac, but if it looks like it’s going south-”

“I’ll drop so you can start shooting and cover me until I can fire, too.” 

“Right. Again, just for the record-”

“You won’t owe Gavin money. I promise.” Isaac took a seat on his side of the table. He knew his own people littered the woods around the clearing, weapons at the ready. He’d brought a full fucking team to meet with a teenage girl. But as far as Isaac was concerned, Iris Michaelson might as well be more dangerous than just about anyone else he might meet with.

Isaac knew enough, from his short time with the Michaelson family going on fifteen years ago, to know that their Syndicate wasn’t entirely human.

Crunch of footsteps - Isaac counted. The girl’s steps - lighter, but firm. Projecting a false confidence, Isaac thought. She was trying to sound stronger than she felt. He knew the feeling. A large… man, he guessed, from the time between heavy footsteps. Bodyguard, probably as armed to the teeth as Vera was. He waited to count more but… heard no one. 

Isaac’s eyebrows furrowed, frowning. “Vera-” He turned to look back over his shoulder.

“I heard,” Vera whispered. “Eyes straight ahead, Isaac. I heard it. She’s only bringing one inside with her. Gavin might just owe me money.” Vera’s smile flashed white in the darkness. “Now that idea I like.”

She melted back into the shadows, and when Iris Michaelson entered the room, Isaac would seem entirely alone. 

Iris moved into the room with the unconscious certainty of power that every Syndicate son or daughter carried, although her steps were a little hesitant and her breathing tightly nervous, but that wasn’t what caught Isaac’s eyes. Her head was slightly down, auburn hair catching the dim light, a thick braid down her back with two smaller braids that ran on either side along her head to join the larger on. She also had a small, almost delicate-looking handgun on a small holster on her hip. 

He froze watching the lanky, gawky, all-elbows-and-knees girl in her soft black off-the-shoulder sweater, jeans, and combat boots that cost more than the gun on Isaac’s hip enter the room. He hadn’t seen hair quite that color since…

“Iris Michaelson.” His voice somehow came out even, but he heard himself speak as if from some far away place. His heart had started to race. “You requested a meeting with me?”

She raised her head to meet his eyes, and Isaac’s world broke apart. 

The shape of her face was unmistakable, as was the color of her hair. Her eyes were wide and a strangely startlingly clear hazel leaning towards brown, but…

Isaac heard Vera’s soft gasp behind him and knew she saw it, too.

Iris Michaelson was the perfect spitting image of Ellis Price - except for the fact that she had Finn Dunham’s hair and eyes. 

Iris came to a stop, warily, the hulking bodyguard - a brute of a man who seemed to carry himself with an absurd gentleness, with cropped dark hair and dark eyes in a pale face - that followed close on her heels putting his hand to his gun. Isaac automatically raised both his hands, empty and open-palmed, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her. 

My God, I know who you fucking are, now.

Finn and Ellis had been captured during their flight from the Michaelson stronghold nearly fifteen years ago. They had disappeared into the depths of the Michaelson’s mansion, and every attempt the team made to understand what might have happened had dead-ended into the common knowledge that anyone who went into the Michaelson mansion never came back out of it alive. Isaac had refused to believe they were dead at first, and when no one hunted them down - no one found the safehouses Ellis and Finn knew about, no attacks were made on places the two of them might have given up under torture… he had refused to believe they were broken, either. 

The team had never been able to go back for them, it had been too dangerous a risk even though Isaac had tried and failed and tried and failed again. They’d been… gone. 

Not dead - there’d have been some closure then.

Just… disappeared.

The Michaelsons had adopted a baby girl - philanthropic move, adopting the orphaned child of their employees, a couple killed in an attack by rebels. They'd named her Iris, and she'd been raised as just as much a part of the family as Ryan or Danny. 

Then, shortly after the public announcement of Iris joining the Michaelson family, Finn popped back up. They were kept at Patrick Michaelson’s side, his willing, branded plaything, photographed sitting in his lap at parties, glass of champagne tipped to their lips, eyes dead and empty above a gorgeous smile, head tilted to the side as Patrick's lips pressed into the brand on the left side of their neck. 

Isaac had been shown photos of Finn - with Patrick’s mouth on theirs or their neck or his hand between their legs, Finn with their back pressed up against Patrick’s car like Finn was just an object, even right out in public, even in plain sight. Finn wearing perfectly tailored suits, Finn half-wearing those suits, Finn wearing nothing but a harness of knotted navy blue rope with their legs wrapped around Patrick Michaelson’s waist, smiling and begging for more, harder, deeper… 

Broken and leaning into Patrick’s touch, over and over with that same dead-eyed smile. Standing with Patrick’s arm around their waist, leaning into him, a carefully crafted expression of adoration there. Isaac had shed bitter tears over being too late to save them. Whatever had broken Finn was something Isaac could never have brought them back from.

Ellis… Ellis had been gone for more than four years. The team had eventually assumed Ellis was dead - Isaac had grieved their fucking death. He’d thought losing them must have been what broke Finn, made them give up and resign themself to life in Patrick Michaelson’s bed.

Then… an envelope, and a set of photos Isaac had never expected to see. Ellis, nearly five years after Isaac had last seen them, teaching children at a Syndicate school, heavily guarded but still clearly themself. Smiling for children but expression set in a furious grim line the second no one was looking. Photos snuck out of the city by secret dissidents, Isaac had spent so much of what little money he had on every bit of information he could get about the two of them.

They were miserable, captives held behind enemy lines for more than a decade. But they never tried to run, never tried to contact anyone. Never took the chance. Isaac had managed to leverage people who owed him favors, new and old contacts, but every attempt to get Finn alone at a party had ended in their soft refusal - an insistence that I'm happy living this way, thank you or I love Patrick Michaelson, who could want to escape from living like this? or please, I can’t talk about it, I have to love him - and they’d move back to Patrick’s side - and Ellis was never fucking alone at all.

They weren’t trying to be alone, though, and Isaac just didn’t understand it.

Isaac hadn’t been able to grasp why Ellis could look so unbowed and so… utterly Ellis, and still be there. Still go day by day to the school, teaching children their ABCs, spending their nights and weekends tutoring the Michaelsons’ youngest child like it was nothing. Like it was a life they wanted, evenings and weekends helping raise a fucking Syndicate daughter, a pampered little princess.

It should have been something Ellis would rather die than do.

Isaac had wondered, again and again, what could possibly keep Ellis from trying to escape. Now, staring as Iris Michaelson crossed the room and settled herself in a chair across from him, Isaac understood. 

He understood, and he would have made exactly the same choices they had made, for this.

Ellis had been tutoring their own daughter, grasping for time with her. Doing anything it took not to lose her. And so, in their own way, had Finn. Ellis wouldn’t try to escape because they wouldn’t leave their daughter - Finn was at Patrick’s side to stay as close to Iris as they could get. The two of them had spent fourteen years like this. 

Corrine Michaelson hadn’t taken Iris from a dead employee to raise as her own. 

She’d taken Iris from Ellis. 

The two of them had managed to leverage their captivity to stay close to her, no matter what they had to give up, no matter how much of themselves they had had to give away. Isaac had to blink away tears that blurred his vision, wanting to stare at Iris for as long as he could.

Was this why Danny had stopped contacting Isaac about possibly leaving himself? Had he gone radio silent and stayed here because he didn’t want to leave Iris, either?

She looked up at him uncomfortably, rubbing at one arm with her other hand. It was… strange, to see the child’s roundness in Ellis’s face with Finn’s brown eyes, the hint of nervous shyness that he’d never seen in his friend, his family. But… he couldn’t look away. “What? What are you staring at? I’m adopted.” 

Isaac just blinked, until Vera cleared her throat behind him and Isaac jumped a little, startled out of his thoughts. The world felt like it had just tipped sideways, all of it made sense now, all at once. Puzzle pieces falling to the floor and magically into place. “I-I’m sorry, I just-... I know. I’ve met your brothers-”

“I know.” Iris’s voice was low, but held a sharp edge. “They told me.”

“They did?” Isaac almost asked her what exactly Danny and Ryan had had to say about him, but he could feel Vera’s eyes on his back, and he cleared his throat again. “My apologies. You wanted to meet with m-me?”

His voice was trembling. If he wasn’t careful, he’d cry right here in front of her. How are they? How broken? Is anything left? How much did they lose just to keep you?

“Yes. I, um. I thank you for-... meeting with me today. For agreeing to meet.” Iris’s voice was carefully even, but it shook, too, giving away that Syndicate daughter or not, she was nervous. Probably scared - she didn’t have any good reason to believe Isaac wouldn't just kill her or take her hostage. She’d shown a lot of trust, having just the one bodyguard and probably a driver come with her. She’d shown a lot of courage.

That’s Finn and Ellis for you, Isaac thought, and his throat nearly closed again.

“I-I’m not here for my own sake,” Iris said, quietly, looking slightly down, as if reciting something from memory. Her face was red, and Isaac decided this might be as close to seeing Ellis blush as he was ever going to get. “I don’t-... I don’t. Um. I’m sorry, this is just. Wait, I was supposed to start with-... shit.”

Isaac’s lips quirked in the slightest smile - he heard Vera huff a laugh from her hiding spot. There’s Ellis’s daughter, through and through.

Iris’s bodyguard leaned over, putting a hand on her shoulder, whispering in her ear. He looked up at Isaac, then, without the instinctive loathing or derision that Isaac usually expected from the Syndicate guards he’d gotten into fights with in the past. 

“Right. Right, thanks, David.” Iris put a hand up over the bodyguard’s, looking back at Isaac, sitting up straight again. Her black sweater fell just lightly off one bony shoulder. Loyal to her, Isaac thought, watching the bodyguard. Not Patrick and Corrine. We can use that. He’s not a Syndicate bodyguard - he’s Iris Michaelson’s bodyguard. There’s something there, if I can just figure it out.

Jesus, what had Ryan and Danny said years ago? Not everyone in the Syndicate was human. Was this David human? Or something else?

His heart was pounding. He had to make it through this meeting and then he was going to let himself be crushed under the weight of what he could see only in hindsight, only with Iris sitting here in front of him. Now that he understood that his attempts to save them had been fruitless because they didn’t want to be saved - not if… not if it would take them from their daughter.

He understood, now. He got it, all at once. Finn wouldn’t leave Ellis. Ellis wouldn’t leave Finn. And they wouldn’t leave Iris. 

God, he could feel fourteen years crushing him, all at once. Freedom he’d had and they hadn’t, could never get back. And they’d only been caught because Isaac had been running from being turned into Danny’s unwilling plaything, against both his and Danny’s will.

If he hadn’t let himself be rescued, he could have stayed with Danny and Nate. Danny would have… would have tried to make it feel as close to normal as he could. 

Stop it. You couldn’t have known. You could never have known. This isn’t your fault. This isn’t-... this isn’t your fault.

Felt like it, though. If he’d just… belonged to the Michaelsons - spent his days with Danny - then Finn never would have, would they? They’d be a rebel medic still, probably, not a plaything who spent their time being felt up or worse by the Michaelson patriarch-

Stop it. She’s fucking talking, listen to her, Isaac.

“Ellis,” Iris was saying softly, “is my real mother. And they told me to tell you, um, something that proves-... that proves that I’m here for them. They said… it’s been a while, motherfucker. Is-.. is bitchboy behaving?” 

Isaac closed his eyes, briefly, wanting to laugh and cry and do both at once. Vera huffed a laugh from her position behind him and Iris jumped, glancing back at David, who had a gun up, out, and pointed right at Isaac in less time than it took for Iris to flinch back when she realized Vera was there.

“Hands where I can see them,” David said, voice deep, low, and flat.

Vera stepped out into plain view, holding her gun pointed upwards with the safety on and her finger off the trigger. “Here I am,” She said, carefully. “I’m going to lay this down on that side table. No shooting. Yeah?”

David held steady. “No shooting. I don’t put this down until yours is down.”

Isaac’s hands slipped down, as if lying in his lap, the get a grip on the gun under the table, ready to pull it free and aim. “She’s with me. I promise we’re not planning on hurting anyone today, if you’re not.”

“So have her put her gun down,” Iris said, lifting her chin.

Isaac felt a stab of surreal pride that this near-stranger made her voice so strong, that she seemed so brave. It fit, that Ellis’s daughter would be good at hiding her fears.

“Vera,” Isaac said softly. 

“I’m doing it.” Vera laid her handgun down on the side table and then backed slowly away, hands still up, until she was leaning against the wall. When David’s gun lowered, so did her hands. He reholstered his weapon and everyone let out a breath they hadn’t realized they were holding simultaneously. There was a round of nervous laughter from them all.

Isaac tried to remind himself to just keep breathing. "So... they're still Ellis, definitely. Angry?”

Iris smiled, and you couldn’t mistake that smile for anything but someone who was talking about her mother. “Angry all the time. They’re good with the dayschool, though. I go see them every day, mostly.”

“And… and Finn?"

There was a pause, and Iris’s eyes dropped. She picked at a loose thread on her sweater. "They're, um." Iris paused, and Isaac heard her shift in her chair. "They're… very sad. All the time. With my father-”

Isaac winced. “He’s not your-”

“I know. But he is my father, too. Please don’t-... please let me talk.” Her voice did tremble, then, and Isaac went quiet. “With my father, and around everyone who works with us, they seem mostly happy, I guess. I know my fathers love each other-”

“Bullshit,” Vera said, her voice flat. “They don’t love him.”

Iris didn’t look up. “They do,” She insisted. “They do love each other, but… but when I’m alone with Finn, they’re… they’re very sad. And they don’t love him any longer. Did you… do you know them? They told me stories, but they didn't-... there were always other people around, so-"

"So they didn't tell you everything."

"No. But… but I-... I want to get them - Ellis and Finn - away from my, um. My family."

Isaac wasn't thinking about self-protection. If Iris had wanted to, she could have had her bodyguard kill him, in that moment, his eyes closed and his guard down. He leaned slowly forward and put his head in his hands, the silence drawing out. No one drew a weapon. No one fired.

Isaac felt the punch of pain, anyway, the tears running down his face. 

That's not your family, Iris. We are. Or we were supposed to be. 

“Do they know-”

“Ellis knows. I mean, my mother knows.” Iris laughed, airily, and Isaac looked up through his hands to see the piercing sadness in her features, the blend of her mother and father so deeply written in every single gesture, each expressed emotions. “I’m not allowed to call them that, so, so I hope you don’t mind if I just do it all the time, for right now? My mother knows. But-”

“Finn doesn’t know?”

Iris swallowed, and glanced back at David, who looked impassively down at her, but he kept his hand on her shoulder. “No, Daddy doesn’t know.”

Isaac’s breath hitched. Daddy-

“I can-... I’m sometimes allowed to call them that. I call, um, my father is just… Father. Or Da, sometimes, he likes Da. But Finn isn’t-... Finn doesn’t know that we’re meeting today. They know I want to, and they know I’m doing something, but we can’t tell them what or when or any details.”

“Why not?” That was Vera - but there was a set to her jaw, and a tension to her words, that suggested she knew the answer before Iris ever spoke it out loud.

“Because… if Father asks them, they’ll tell him anything. Everything. Anything they know.”

Isaac breathed out. Slowly, slowly, trying to control the despair threatening to well up inside of him. “They’re tortured?”

“Um. Not… not exactly. They just… will. Father will ask, and he’ll… kiss them, or something-” Iris’s nose wrinkled in something like disgust. “Which, watching your fathers kiss is pretty weird, for the record-”

“No doubt,” Vera murmured, “When one of them doesn’t want to.”

“Um. Sort of.” Iris’s expression shifted - something Isaac couldn’t read there - and she shrugged. “In any case. He’ll ask, and they’ll tell, sooner or later. So Ellis - my mother, God, it’s so nice to say that out loud just like that - says they can’t know, it has to be a surprise for them. So we, um, we kind of have to abduct Finn, but-... but they’ll go, we just-... have to make it a surprise abduction.”

“As opposed to the usual kind, where you send a note they can RSVP to,” David rumbled behind Iris, and she shot him a brilliant smile over one shoulder, bumping her shoulder into his side.

“Anyway… my uncles Nate and Danny know. Nate and Ellis trade books a lot, they’ve been hiding messages in them.”

“Nate Vandrum,” Vera said. “Loyal to Danny Michaelson, not his last name. Which means…”

“Which means Danny wants in on this, wants to get them out.” Isaac ignored the odd little thrill of nostalgia. One week, fourteen years ago, and it had ended in disaster. And still part of him leapt at the idea of seeing Daniel Michaelson again. “Why now?”

“Because…” Iris took a breath, closed her eyes. Opened them again, and Isaac was caught all over again by how thoroughly Finn those eyes were, but full of all the sparkling life and light that was missing from Finn’s in every photograph taken since their disappearance, since they’d been turned into a plaything, but something worse and more than that.

Playthings are discarded. They die or get paid off to disappear. 

But Finn… Finn had been at Patrick Michaelson’s side for fourteen years. They were far more than a plaything. Patrick introduced them, Isaac had been told, as his consort. Like a fucking monarchy. 

What were Syndicates, really, but petty fucking kings and queens with little kingdoms where their word was law? Why wouldn’t Patrick style himself king, and style Finn something like consort, or concubine, or-

Or royal fucking whore-

His hands had closed into fists, palms aching where his nails were digging in. Isaac forced himself to slowly, carefully relax them. 

“Because what, Iris?” Vera had moved closer up behind Isaac, and he felt her hand settle warmly onto his right shoulder. A comfort - and Vera could reach down and take a gun from Isaac’s underarm holster in less time than it took to catch a breath. 

“Because, um.” Iris picked at her manicured fingernails, then looked up from under her lashes at them both. “Because I want to go with them, with you. I want-...” She swallowed, again and again. “Because I don’t want them to hurt anymore. Because Daddy’s so fucking sad, for me, and-”

“It’s not your fault,” Isaac said, his voice strangled, caught in his throat.

It’s mine, for taking the opportunity to run and never seeing that my freedom would be paid for with theirs.

“They’re ready because I’m ready. I want to be with my family, just the three of us. I want-... I want them to be my family. And Ellis said Isaac Moore was the only person they could think of who could ever get all three of us out alive.”

“No pressure, though,” Vera said softly.

“None at all,” Isaac said. He was floating. He was a thousand miles away. He was barely tethered to earth. “Well… fuck.”

“Fuck indeed.” Vera’s hand tightened on his shoulder. “We’re doing this, right?”

“Of course we are.” Isaac watched Iris from across the table, and then did his best to smile for her. “Okay, Iris Michaelson-”

“Iris Dunham-Price,” She countered, and Isaac nearly choked on a mix of pride and grief. “I mean. I hope to be. Once we’re out.”

“Iris Dunham-Price, then. You have yourself a deal. You want to help your family escape, and escape with them. I’ve-... I’ve been waiting to bring my family home for fourteen fucking years. So let’s both get what we want, okay?”

“Okay.”

Isaac held out his hand, and Iris held out hers. Her fingers were thin, but she shook his hand with a firm grip. 

“Deal,” Iris said, nodding once.

“Ellis teach you to shake hands that way? Thought you’d crush all my bones for a second.”

Iris laughed, really laughed, for the first time she’d entered. 

Her laughter sounded exactly like Finn’s.

---

@astrobly @slaintetowhump @finder-of-rings @orchidscript @burtlederp @whumpiary @sableflynn @moose-teeth

[bl4cklabyrinth]

ROCKIN’ON JAPAN August 2016 Interview Translation: Hiro talks about ANTITHESE, Budokan, and his past

Disclaimer: Please do not retranslate my work into other languages, as my translation may not be accurate. I am no Japanese or English native.

The biggest thank you to Anna for helping me get the magazine clippings!

Photo from here.

To what fate was he born and chosen to sing?

Thoughts on his family, his upbringing – a 20,000-character tell-all interview

To be honest, I didn’t expect Hiro to tell me this much about his life. By the time he responded to my proposal for a 20,000-character interview, he was already prepared to talk about his thoughts on his family, his upbringing, and what his songs mean to him. Be that as it may, I wasn’t expecting to hear so much about his conflicts with his family, his love towards them that was clearly in a changing phase, and the loneliness and circumstances he suffers from that no one else could ever experience.

Hiro tells us the reason behind this as he explains his relationship with (ROCKIN’ON) JAPAN, but he also details the story of how MY FIRST STORY created the masterpiece “ANTITHESE” and decided to stand on the fated Budokan stage. I believe Hiro’s songs will change immensely from hereon – they will become more impulsive, more passionate, and elicit stronger feelings of great potential. The life he is in, the life he is destined to live, in which singing was a matter of course from the moment he was born. This interview is a complete narrative of the turning point that made a significant change to his story, and the masterpiece of an album that was a turning point in itself. I hope you take the time to read it thoroughly.

- I think Hiro has dealt with loneliness and frustration really well over the years and has had to carry things from his upbringing that others couldn’t even begin to fathom. I feel like the time you’ve spent fighting like that has become the foundation of your form of expression. In that sense, the album “ANTITHESE” shows a lot about your personality, so for you to talk about your life is the same as talking about this album. 

Hiro: Yes, that’s right.

- Hiro wrote most of the songs as far as this album is concerned. Did this result in more Hiro songs?

Hiro: For this album, I thought of doing it all myself. For the longest time, it was always Sho who would make the original demos, add the melodies, change the chords, and subarrange, among other things. This time, I made the foundation for it myself. Rearranging it further was the hardest part, but it was the perfect timing and I knew I had to take charge, so I made up my mind to do so from the start. There was an overwhelming theme to this album and it couldn’t be done without me, so I thought that I should be the one making it. 

- Asking this now may seem out of the blue, but what is this overwhelming theme?

Hiro: My number one goal, or rather, what inspired me the most was definitely Budokan. It wasn’t finalized yet when we first started working on this album, but I felt like I could go to Budokan if we made this album. When I thought about what kind of album I should make for this purpose, I had an album in mind that I wanted to surpass no matter what, and I thought it made sense to go through trial and error to achieve that goal. That’s where the title “ANTITHESE” came from – the main point was to have an antithesis to a thesis. That was the biggest thing for me.

- So there was a clearly defined rival.

Hiro: Yes. It’s an album title that those in the music business, those who know of us, and those who are fans would definitely notice. On top of that, I knew it would without a doubt be the most controversial album of all time. I could’ve ignored that fact for a long while, but I have a tendency to look at things from a bird’s eye view. When the members became 4, when Budokan was decided, and when things started popping out left and right, I knew I shouldn’t run away from it forever. When the date for Budokan was set, I sort of felt like it was fate. I had never had a moment in my life where everything just clicked like this. If everything was connected up to this point and the ties will not be severed from hereon, then maybe I too should try riding the wave of that thread. With that in mind, I created this album.

- I see. The work on this album starts with the single “ALONE”, a song that focuses on “the proof of existence”. It’s very easy to understand that that’s where the story begins, because Hiro writes a lot about himself. I suppose the line “I’ve risked it all, even if it almost tore my lost heart into pieces” in “Nothing In The Story” is what your heart is screaming.

Hiro: That’s right.

- “I’ve risked everything for this,” you say. I’m sure you’ve had some frustration in not being able to express those feelings directly, but I also assume you tried to view things from a different point of view and accept that that’s just the way things are. However, you’d go, “If I do let things stay the way they are, my story will not move on from here.”

Hiro: That’s true. I’m not mature enough to be enlightened on the way things are, and no matter how hard I look at the bigger picture, subjectivity definitely goes in there somewhere. It wasn’t something I could give up so easily.

- You didn’t want to be compared to anyone else, you wanted to be recognized for who you are and move upwards as you are now.

Hiro: That’s what I find most difficult. It would be unbearable if I think about it too much, and I don’t know the right thing to do either. I am who I am now because of everything I’ve been through. If you are currently at a certain point in your life, then to go back to square one would be to deny the person you are today, but it all gets complicated when you’re not content with where you are now. I think this album was about coming to terms with that and deciding what to do from there.

- You’ve written all sorts of songs, but you’re only trying to say one thing. You’re earnestly writing songs that convey, “It’s these things that have made me who I am”.

Hiro: That’s right. The theme was hard.

- “Kimi no Uta”, for instance. It’s all in Japanese.

Hiro: I used more Japanese this time. It was composing the songs that was harder than anything else. The lyrics weren’t easy either, but once I got them right, I went deep into writing them. I’m not the type to compose music logically at all. I’d start with a melody and add backing tracks little by little, but if a good melody doesn’t come up then it doesn’t get my approval. Apart from that, this time I had an overwhelming challenge in mind that I didn’t want to be pulled too far in the direction of, but if I strayed too far away from it, I might not be able to get the message across. It was really, really difficult at the time.

- In any case, you’re calling this album “ANTITHESE”, so it wasn’t about making something friendly and having the world accept it. For Hiro, making “ANTITHESE” wasn’t about creating an album showcasing your skills or technique. It was about putting everything you had on the line.

Hiro: I’ve been trying not to show much of myself for as long as I could remember, but I couldn’t help thinking that this work was non-negotiable. I felt like I was finally going somewhere. It’s really scary, though. In the past, I would’ve had a wider perspective in choosing which songs I liked on the album, what order I should put the songs in, or which songs would be a hit among the rest, but this time I didn’t think about any of that at all. I was completely engrossed in making this album, so much so that it was the first time in a long while that I was able to relax after I finished recording “Home” last and wondered if the album was going to be okay. I had never made an album this controversial before, so I’m really looking forward to seeing how people react to it, having made it on the assumption that it was going to be criticized.

- So you recorded “Home” last.

Hiro: It was the very last song I recorded.

- This is the final number, right? People would think, “Are you really gonna write this much?” You’re literally singing about your family.

Hiro: That’s right. Really though, this song has everything you need for a 20,000-character interview (laughs). As I had come to accept myself recently, I wanted to express something that I had finally been able to digest. Up until now, I’d been depicting it in a very abstract way. I thought I had dipped my toes in the water for some songs, but I had never really submerged myself into it. That was the case for “Itsuwari NEUROSE” – I thought that that would be the be-all and end-all. When I pondered on which part of myself I personally wanted to share, I thought that the circumstances I grew up with and the sensibilities I had at the time were everything. Then I thought to myself, “There’s no other band like this”. I’d been asked what sets us apart from other bands in other interviews, but it isn’t about losing or not losing. I can say with absolute confidence that they couldn’t possibly win. It feels like I’m the main character in a role-playing game. The protagonist never dies, right? They come back to life over and over again until they defeat the last boss, they level up and equip all sorts of weapons. I had a much stronger feeling than certainty that I couldn’t die. That being the case, when I considered what everyone wanted to see, I thought that it would be the moment the hero takes down the villain and the ending. I think that is our story. We’re probably the easiest and hardest band to empathize with, but it was only recently that I realized that we are the ones who could change that. It was only recently that I’d come to deal with that fact. That was around last winter, when we were in the middle of making the album. I feel like I had finally changed my destiny with this album. For this reason, I thought that I wouldn’t be able to beat the almighty devil king or god unless I read the story behind why they appeared in the first place. Then, I linked that to my own life. However, I think that prologue would look completely different from the hero’s point of view and the villain’s point of view. Because of this, I didn’t want to end things with only one side of the story. To put it another way, that (one side) would be the most dominant part of my personality. As I see it, I feel like my past is my everything. However it may have been, I’ve always wanted to relay everything in a song, but I couldn’t, and I didn’t know how. But once we decided to create this album, it all felt like it was going to be fine. Down to the music and the lyrics, we had a specific theme and image for each song, especially for “Home”. I think this song plays the most important role out of all of the songs we’ve made thus far. The very existence of this song will lead to so many things.

- To use your words just now, if you don’t write this song, you wouldn’t be able to show the side of you that makes you who you are and the side of you that you have to look into the most, which will lead to you being judged. 

Hiro: Yes. I think about myself quite often, don’t I? Well… Would it be okay to tell you everything?

- Of course. If you have a lot to say, please go ahead.

Hiro: Alright. Lately, I’ve been thinking a lot about how there’s no other family as ridiculous as ours. No other family has changed the industry like ours has. Both parents sing, and their sons sing as well. Moreover, two of those sons are in a band. I don’t think it’s common for most families to have thoroughbreds succeed thoroughbreds, and you don’t see families where most of the members get to stand on the Budokan stage very often either (laughs). I thought that being able to do that was fate. I was born into such a family, and even though I was the one who decided to go down this path, I feel like even that was predetermined. Just because I started making music doesn’t mean I’ll be able to play at Budokan. I think the odds of that happening are astronomical already. But I’d been fighting against those odds ever since, so if I had already made it this far, then maybe I should ride that fate out and see where it takes me. I wanted to see how things pan out, and that’s what changed within me.

- I see.

Hiro: Our guitarist Sho went on hiatus, Masack left the band and we became 4, we released an album, then decided on Budokan which will be taking place on November 18th. Budokan’s schedule is pretty packed, isn’t it? I don’t think that us being able to hold a show there in November was a coincidence. With all this happening one after the other, I couldn’t make excuses for myself anymore. That being said, what do I do now? When we first started the band, I was thinking of saying it all at Zepp, but when I got to stand there, I thought I wasn’t ready to talk yet. The view from the stage as a performer was closer than I thought it would be when I was still watching as a part of the audience. Because of that fear, I thought it was a bit too early to be talking about Budokan. But when I thought about it clearly, Budokan would be a slightly different case compared to Yokohama Arena or Saitama Super Arena. Budokan and Tokyo Dome were different. Then when I wondered how many years it would take for us to get to Tokyo Dome, I knew everyone wouldn’t want to wait that long. With that in mind, I set my heart on going nowhere but Budokan. The thing is, I couldn’t change the fact that so many artists are able to perform at Budokan. The value of Nippon Budokan wasn’t gonna diminish as I had imagined it to, but that value would inevitably change as more people became able to play on that stage. That being the case, I always said that we should hold a Budokan show that only we can do. When asked what kind of show that would be, I knew it had to be one that would surpass the Budokan show from 6 years ago. I think that that was the only way we could conquer Budokan, and that we were the band that should be doing just that. Over the years, there had been many twists and turns to be able to achieve that goal, such as members going on hiatus, quitting the band, joining the band, and touring around all 47 prefectures, but if it will only take us 5 years to stand on the Budokan stage, then the stakes will all be worth it. To stand in Budokan on November 18th – that in itself means a lot already.

- To sing “Home” at Budokan on November 18th holds a lot of meaning for Hiro, and it would be the first time the band MY FIRST STORY will be playing as the protagonist. Truly, in the essence of Hiro’s being, life, and values, MY FIRST STORY will become a band that can compete with everyone else. 

Hiro: I guess so. I don’t want to lose, of course, but we’re not trying to match anyone either. Rather, it all starts from here, from the moment I made up my mind to stand on the starting line, or the moment I finished warming up and got myself in a ready position. I feel like this is where the competition to see who can do the fastest time begins.

- Hiro is the only person in the world who has the right to stand on the starting line, huh.

Hiro: That’s right.

- I would assume you also thought about just running on a different lane.

Hiro: That’s true. There was a part of me that was already happy with doing just that. It was definitely my weak side. But if fate was going to lead us to where we are now, then there was no point in running away anymore. I think it’s more like me to face things head on. I think I would have never seen the real me had I not decided to confront my fears. This time, our moment had finally come, so I’d be happy if everyone understood that.

- I’m not on the level of understanding just yet (laughs). This song is amazing. “Now I want to go beyond, now I want to go beyond”. And the lyrics after that, “Sometimes I watch the TV and hear family’s voice”.

Hiro: I think I’m the only one who can write these lyrics. I actually came up with these lyrics around the time we made “Second Limit”. It’s an homage to the lyrics of Avril Lavigne that went something like, “I was listening to the radio and Radiohead was playing” (T/N: I assume he was referring to Avril Lavigne’s song “Here’s To Never Growing Up”). I don’t think there are a lot of people who are in a position to embody such a line to this extent, and to express it in terms of “him” or “her” instead of proper nouns. I’d been thinking about that since I wrote “Second Limit”, but no matter how I looked at it, it wasn’t the right time to put it out just yet. It was refreshing to finally be able to write it out. I tend to get easily distracted, and even if I find something cool, it’s unlikely that it stays that way for long. This was the only feeling I had that never changed or once wavered. Since I’m still feeling the same way 5 years later, I thought it would be a good idea to finally write it down. In a way, I think it had held a bit of my rebelliousness from back in the day. I also used to care too much about what other people thought of me. It felt like I was weirdly acting like a grown up, even if I was still far from being one. It felt like I was being strangled more and more. I was concerned about what people would think if I said such a thing, but if they still had something to say despite me not saying anything, then I might as well lay it all out then be told off afterwards instead (laughs). If I were told off after I’d said my piece, it would be a good rallying point and it would be possible to reach a compromise.

- It’s like you’ve climbed up all this way just to sing this song. “Even if I can’t go back to those memories, I will not run away from you” – does this part bear meaning to you personally as well?

Hiro: This one, no. Only the beginning.

- So it was just written for writing’s sake.

Hiro: Yeah. But I wrote that line with the hope of the song in mind. It wasn’t 100% me, it was more of Hiro from MY FIRST STORY. Of course Hiro from MFS would appear in this song. So I had them both mixed up here in these two lines.

- Now, let me ask you something else. First and foremost, when is your birthday?

Hiro: January 25, 1994.

- What’s your earliest memory?

Hiro: Maybe when our house was built. The house was built around the same time I was born. I don’t think I was old enough to understand anything at all, but I remember looking at it from the outside while my father was carrying me. I was like, “Wow~ Amazing~”. I guess that was my first ever memory.

- How would you describe the shade of that memory?

Hiro: ...If I had to choose, it would probably be a warm memory. It might not go all the way up the scale, but it’s a memory with a temperature, if anything. 

- You were around a year old?

Hiro: Yeah, more or less.

- But you remember that scene happening.

Hiro: I remember it vividly. I don’t know, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t mean it in a bad way, but for better or for worse, I don’t have any memories of spending time with my family. Moreover, it feels strange to have the world know about my family. We had such a special relationship that it was almost as if my grade school classmates knew my mother and father better than I did. It’s like, “That guy on TV is my father” – that’s about as uncomfortable as it’s gonna get. Everyone would tell me, “That’s your dad”, and I’d be thinking, “Is that so?” I had never simply played catch with him, never gone anywhere for the end of the year, and I had never even had a home-cooked meal before, so I had really weird feelings towards my family. I know they’re important, but I think they’re less important to me than most people are. If the average person weighs 100 percent to me, it would only be about 70 or 60 percent for my family – they lack the remaining 30 or 40 percent. It’s not that I don’t like them or am bitter towards them, it’s kind of like, even I don’t understand why. I’ve always felt strangely towards my family, so I think that’s why I was able to write this song. I guess it’s because I was born last, so my memories of family were a lot shorter compared to those of my brothers. I never felt bad about that though, and I’m able to do all of this now because of that. If things had gone well, I’m sure I would have been one hell of a little shit (laughs). I can affirm that, but it’s kind of hard to understand so I can’t really explain it.

- What kind of kid were you?

Hiro: I don’t think I’ve changed much. I was pretty stubborn, and I wouldn’t yield even if I said something wrong. I used to lie a lot, too. We weren’t allowed to have cup ramen at home, but I would hide and buy some from the convenience store. If I got found out, I would say I didn’t know anything (laughs). Even if it was in my room, I would say, “It wasn’t me, didn’t mom put that there?” then run away.

- When did you first become aware of music?

Hiro: Hmm, when I was in my second year in high school. Until then, music was just always in the air. Music would naturally be playing at home, and I would listen to music when I’m out of the house as well. My parents would sing songs and stuff. It was always just there. That was how it had always been, so I didn’t pay attention to it for a long time. But when I was in my second year in high school, everyone started deciding what to do in the future, and my friends said they were going to university. 3 years in middle school and 3 years in high school were enough to make me sick of being a student, so I didn’t wanna go there. Thing is, there wasn’t anything I wanted to do either. When I was thinking about what I should do, I don’t know when it happened, but there was a moment when I realized that music was something I could make a career out of. Up until then, there were barely any hurdles for me to make music my profession. When the idea popped up in my head, I made up my mind immediately with no hesitation. I hadn’t been able to take part in any of the club activities until then, but since music was what I had always been doing at the time, I knew this was the only thing I could do. I just didn’t see the point in not pursuing music when I was allowed to do so anyway. I thought that life wouldn’t be as fun anywhere else. It was the first time I became aware of something I had always taken for granted.

- Have you been singing since you were a kid?

Hiro: Mostly just humming. I would look at the lyrics and sing along as I listened to minidiscs and stuff like that. If my dad happened to come home while I was singing in the living room, I would turn off the music right away. He would point out that my pitch was off and in my head I’d be like, “Shut up”. That’s why I didn’t really sing in front of my parents. I guess I would have been able to sing if both my brothers were with me, but all I could think of at the time was that they were all so annoying. 

- You still didn’t have feelings of liking singing at the time, huh.

Hiro: I didn’t. It’s a part of the necessities of life that I can’t live without – it’s only natural to have music. In other words, I don’t really understand the power that music brings. Sometimes I would think that music could change people or that music could change the world, and I say so in my MCs too, but I rarely think about it. I can’t say that music could change the world or that music could change people, because music is a natural part of life. I would think, “I don’t mean this in a bad way at all, but how can music save someone?”

- So you’re not overly attached to music, huh.

Hiro: Right. It’s my destiny already after all. I don’t have any emotional attachment to my own life either, because it’s like, “I’m alive right now (and that’s all that matters)”. But whenever I get asked what life means to me, I’m really not exaggerating when I say that I would plainly answer “music”. I don’t feel emotionally attached to it, but if it’s not there then I would die. Because it’s who I am.

- Everyone tries to attach emotions to their personal experiences. Some people have stories like, “When I heard that riff by Nirvana in my second year in middle school, I knew I wanted to be a musician, so with that one riff, everything changed”. On the other hand, in Hiro’s case, your life was set up right from the start.

Hiro: Yep. From the very day I was born.

- Did you ever try to pursue anything else apart from music?

Hiro: I wanted to try a lot of things. Music wasn’t even on the list until my second year in high school, so I thought about doing all sorts of jobs like being a comedian or a baseball player. But I started to think that I wasn’t going to be a kid forever, so I decided against it. I found myself face to face with reality. 

- We all once wrote our dreams for the future in our grade school yearbooks, right? What did you write in yours?

Hiro: I don’t remember. I wasn’t the type of kid who took those things seriously, and I didn’t have to think about it from the third grade up to my third year in middle school. I thought I could get away with it, I guess. But when that time of my life ended, I thought to myself, “Well, what am I going to do?” That was what the second son (T/N: Tomohiro Moriuchi) was particularly agitated about. Every time I saw him, he would ask me, “What are you going to do in the future?” Music didn’t come up whenever my family asked me what my dream was, so it seriously wasn’t an option. I wasn’t mature enough to really think about it that much, and when I was in middle school and high school, I was happy as long as I had fun every day. I thought my life would be over after high school. I didn’t think it would last beyond that. That was when I met our producer. The first thing he said to me was, “You look like a good singer. Are you in a band?” At the time, it had been around 2 days since the band I had with our guitarist Teru disbanded. I answered, “I’m not. Our band just broke up the other day actually,” and he replied, “I see. Let’s start a band.” I thought that was really sloppy of him (laughs), but my band had just broken up, so I said, “Sure.” Then he asked me to come to the studio a week later. I sang at the studio, but the recording we had was pretty intense. I thought I wasn’t cut out for it, but they said my voice was cool and that we should start a new band. Nob and Masack were on the bass and drums back then, so I started a band with those 3. After that, we decided to bring in another guitarist, and just my luck, Teru said he wanted to play with me again. I was in a huge hurry at the time. Everyone around me was in high school, and we kept getting booked by livehouses, playing shows, and paying extra because we didn’t reach our quota. It had me wondering until when this was going to last. I was graduating soon, and my friends in high school along with their other friends were my entire community, so I knew it would be a disaster if all of that disappeared. I was living in a very small world, but everything changed when I met our producer. The possibilities, the range and depth of options, all unlike anything I had ever seen before. I was overwhelmed by the speed at which things were happening, but I was also relieved.

- I see.

Hiro: The first 2 years was all about the simple joys of being in a band. When we went on our first tour or show, everyone came and paid for their own tickets, and I was genuinely glad to be standing there as a professional. The members were all serious about what they were doing too, so that made me really happy as well. Up until then, it was normal for me to hear, “Sorry, I have to go to cram school”, “I have to study”, I have a part-time job”, so getting rid of that alone made me so happy I could die. As I released more and more of my music, my own emotions started to grow, and things gradually changed from then on. I think it was around the time we made “Saishuukai STORY” when MY FIRST STORY became a part of me. All this time, I was screaming and just going with the flow, but then all of a sudden, I became an adult. 

- It’s ironic, isn’t it? In your case, music was always by your side, yet the realization that being in a band was fun came later than most people.

Hiro: That’s true. I’ve been asked what the first ever CD I bought was in so many interviews, but that question is incredibly hard for me to answer (laughs). I seriously don’t remember it at all. All this time, I had only been giving half-assed answers because it’s not something people would understand unless they’ve heard my story, but I’d never been able to share my story up until now. When I was in middle school or high school, I felt like ROCKIN’ON JAPAN was the number one magazine out there. I thought it was the king of music magazines, and I was deeply attached to it. Then, when we started the band, I was thinking of speaking up for the first time at Zepp or Budokan, but I’d decided that this (magazine) would be the first place I talk about my life.

- Is that so?

Hiro: Then, since the timing was perfect with this 20,000-character interview, and since Koyanagi-san will be the one interviewing me, I thought that today was the day I should finally speak up. I’d never spoken about it before, I didn’t have the guts to, and I had quite a few things left unsettled up until now. It feels great to finally be able to talk about it now for the first time. 

- You deal with music in a very unique way, huh. To illustrate, it’s like water and air to you. “The air saves me every day!” Don’t you agree? (laughs)

Hiro: I do! I don’t think anyone appreciates being able to breathe air every day. Everybody just lives off of that life force, so I couldn’t help thinking deeply about it. 

- When did music become a form of expression for you?

Hiro: Expression… I don’t know if I’ve ever thought of it that way. I sing about proving my existence in “ALONE”, but in my mind, it’s not as strong a proof of existence as everyone imagines it to be. I’m really just doing it because I love it. I simply want to hear new songs in my own voice. I’ve always done it as an extension of my hobby, so I don’t really understand the fact that I’m getting paid to do this. I’m like, what’s this compensation reward for? I don’t think I’ll ever leave music behind no matter how much it changes, so I don’t really feel like I’m doing it for self-expression. 

- I see. I want to ask you a few more questions about your past. What kind of student life did you have when you were in grade school and middle school?

Hiro: I was just having fun. Well, I was a bit of a naughty kid from around my second year in middle school (laughs). I didn’t go to school much. I didn’t have a lot of friends in middle school. I was rather popular until around my first year so I was just going with the flow, but just like how a nail that sticks out gets hammered down, I was pushed to the side hard (T/N: ignored) in my second year or so. I couldn’t make any friends and I was always lonely. Even in my third year in middle school, I would play outside instead of going to school. Then, I joined the music club in my third year in high school. I heard that students weren’t allowed to join clubs in their senior year because they would be sure to participate in the school festival. They’d have club homeroom every Wednesday, so that was when I asked them, “Please let me join the club.” I didn’t feel like I would lose to any of the guys in that room, so I said, “Please let me participate in the school festival,” and with that they told me, “Fine, if you insist”. At the time, the best performers out of everyone in the club gathered together and did covers and original songs. I was already with MFS back then, so we were touring around non-stop. That being said, we decided to hold a performance that would overwhelmingly crush the top band at the school festival, and we went home with a bang. When I got to my senior year, I thought, “Yikes, I’ve only got 1 year left to be a student”, so I decided to do a ton of things that I could only do then. I became a member of the executive committee for events and was involved in organizing the athletic and cultural festivals. That’s why my senior year in high school was pretty free and fun. All things considered, I think both my middle school and high school days paved the way to where I am today. I was living in a society where that community was everything, so I couldn’t help feeling a sense of loneliness when I was withdrawn from it, but I was able to meet so many people and realize that I was struggling in such a small world. 

- Hiro’s way of life is pretty flexible in a way, huh? You’re willing to accept things because that’s just how they were meant to be. It’s a special ability you were able to learn, isn’t it?

Hiro: The past isn’t going to change, but I don’t want to say these kinds of things in my songs. You don’t know what kind of person is going to be listening, and a song is only 3 minutes long. There’s only so much text you can squeeze in. For example, you can’t expect some random person passing by to suddenly give you good advice. And even if what they said was right, you don’t even know them. There are people who don’t share the same pain, and I don’t think it’s a good idea to put the band on the line and dedicate everything to a single group of people. That’s why I write songs about my story. 

- I strongly feel you on that. When it comes to your manner of songwriting, you don’t say, “This is how it should be”. You’d answer your own questions, and if someone else sympathizes with you in doing so, then great.

Hiro: Yeah, exactly. It’s easy to put up a façade, but I believe people can grow by showing their weaknesses and making other people think. It’s no good to just show the answer to a problem; the most important part of the process is to think about why you got the answer you got. I think life is a repetition of these things. I don’t want to tell people they can change. I don’t really like being pushy.

- Hiro doesn’t say, “This is black” in his songs. You endlessly ask yourself, “Is it white? Is it black?” That’s what everyone says – “It’s different for each person”. But I think Hiro truly understands that each person is different. I believe that’s how you’ve been living your life. Perhaps that’s the reason your self-questioning lyrics are so compelling. In this album, Hiro writes, “This is what the shape of my heart is like now”. This piece was the first time you tried to frame your own mind.

Hiro: I think I’m a really, really twisted person. If I’m moved by something I see, I think people who could see things from a normal perspective would be even more moved by it. I’m pretty confident about that. So whenever I find something cool, I’d say, “It’s cool, isn’t it?” I’m not trying to impose. The fact that I was able to think a certain way and keep going with that in mind is the reason I’m here today, I believe. That’s what it all comes down to. I think this is the most direct I’ve ever been able to express myself, not in an abstract way. 

- You were able to write in specifics without escaping to the abstract. It’s truly an incredible album.

Hiro: Thank you.

- You mentioned at the beginning of this interview that there was something stronger than certainty already in place. What would that be?

Hiro: To release our 4th album, at the age of 22, as 4 members, playing Budokan in November after having been together for 5 years… It’s scary, isn’t it? How things led up to this point. With everything turning out that way, I knew I wanted to exceed the album from that time at all costs. I thought that doing so would be the best way to prove my existence. I’m absolutely sure that there was something stronger than certainty about that.

- Something along the lines of, “I will face my destiny”, or “I will live my destiny”?

Hiro: Yeah. I guess it’s somewhere in between facing my destiny and living my destiny. I do think it’s more important to face it though, and I feel like Budokan is the perfect stage for that. But as you would expect, I definitely don’t want to lose. This is the first time I’m talking about this, but our motive for starting the band, or our biggest ambition if you will is, as mentioned earlier, the fact that there is no other family like mine. There’s the father and the mother whose sons were rascals, but one’s in a successful band that’s doing well overseas, too. “Their son is just as amazing”, “What a great family” – this is our current image to the public. The story I want to tell, however, is that there’s also a younger brother in the picture who’s even better. That’s the ideal story we wanted to create. We’ll go into battle as the select few in order to make this a reality, so we have no desire whatsoever to join a major label like they did. How can we go above and beyond? That’s my biggest dream, so I’m running forward to achieve just that. But like I said before, it feels like I’m trying to view the public’s image of my family objectively. I’m not in that circle. As I say in “Home”, I don’t belong in that circle; I’m connected to it, but I’m somehow outside of it and am trying to break it with no hesitation. It’s a strange feeling, but I strongly stand by it. If you take this into consideration when listening to this song, you’ll see it in a completely different light. It’s not just a simple desire to not lose – it’s a more complex emotion with a different direction.

- You’re not just saying it’s a rivalry. It’s not about who should win, it’s about the situation you were given.

Hiro: I want to seize my destiny. With such strong blood, strong DNA, and a strong destiny, I truly don’t feel like I will lose to anyone. It’s like, “Sorry, but you’re definitely not gonna win. Because there’s no other family like mine.” I don’t have an emotional attachment to the idea of family like everybody else does, and I don’t really understand what it’s all about, so I’d discuss it with my friends when we go out for drinks. I had kept it to myself all this time and never told anyone about it, but I started to loosen up and was able to talk about it. I don’t know if people would understand my situation, and they probably won’t, which made me think that I was the only one suffering from this. Then I thought it might be a good idea to turn this into a song.

- 22 years old, 4 members, November, Budokan. The whole journey was written in this song, wasn’t it? I think this interview was very meaningful because of this album and song, and that everyone’s emotions are headed in the right direction towards Budokan.

Hiro: I believe there are people who realize what it means to us to perform at Budokan in November. Some people think that’s amazing. Now that this album is out, the mystery is finally solved. “Now I understand. You can do it, MFS” – I hope everyone looks forward to Budokan having this in mind. That’s what we mean by holding a Budokan show that only we can do.

[thecanadianowl]

Justice league Snydercut review

Wow talk about a long movie. Remember Mass Effect's 3 shit endings that were later improved (sorta) with DLCs. Well that is kinda how this movie is.

Before we start this, I just wanna say that I was very impartial throughout the whole snydercut movement. I wasn't part of it but I do see the good that they did in regards to some of their charities and with how the fandom itself has been painted in a negative light. So its good that they got what they have been demanding for quite some time. Snyder as director for me, I really am not the biggest fan of. His movies have some great cinematic moments that look amazing but the context around it is what muddles it for me.

Is it better than Whedon's JL? YES. To start I'll look at some of the things that I do like.

I do like how it was split into parts.  Gives it that miniseries/Comic book feel

Thank god they removed that stupid cringy flash landing on top of Diana's chest scene.

Darkseid looks good. I know some people have issues with it but I liked it. I mean looking at it first glance has me convinced its Darkseid. His voice isn't too bad either. Reminds me a bit of Injustice 2.

As much as I have issues with Darkseid being introduced so early I do like that he had a brief confrontation/glaredown with the League, foreshadowing a possible in person encounter and that the League needs to expand if they are going to fight against Darkseid.  

Steppenwolf's design has greatly improved and looks better than before.

Loved the scenes between Alfred and Diana.  Wish there was more of that.

I loved how the movie added Cyborg, Aquaman and Flash attempting to stop Superman from getting to Batman. I also liked how in this version,  Batman pleading to Clark's humanity telling him that world needs him and he needs to snap out of it.  Also bonus for taking out that scene of Batman on the ground groaning about how old he is getting.

Okay seeing Clark get the black suit and having the voiceovers of both his father's merge together works in terms of Clark's arc into becoming the person he was meant to be. Also like the use of Zimmerman's Ideal of Hope score wished they let it play out a little longer.  Probably my favourite moment in the film is where Superman just takes Steppenwolf's Axe like its nothing and freezes it.

Now to go into some of the more critical stuff that bugged me when watching.

For a movie that is 4 hours long, pacing issues were bound to happen. I think the first example of this can be found in the opening with the Superman scream wave (which started to get a bit hilarious when his screams could be heard every now and then) hitting all three mother boxes. they are shown individually reacting to it and it takes time, where it could have just showed them together or an compilation of each of the motherboxes waking up. I know it Snyder's thing but tone down on the slow mo. Like some instances its fine (like with bullet time or Flash's scenes) but other instances I'm just like alright I get it.

The scene involving Cyborg transferring money into that single mother's bank account. Is he gonna do this for all the people suffering just like her? or just for that one person? I mean if you can hack into the world monetary system, you can solve a lot of financial issues affecting  the majoirty and not just one person. Did I miss the scene but why did Cyborg go from helping one poor person, suggesting the potential good he can do to change the world for the better  to "Fuck the world". Seems a bit inconsistent in character. Especially since he knows who Diana is (from what he says)  and that Parademons are after the motherbox. Maybe her offering help, you should take it? idk Vic. Also the whole Auto defense system malfunction, would it not be better if this was established beforehand where we see Vic struggling to maintain his body's autonomy leading up to the Superman confrontation? Prior to that it seemed he had it under control and his biggest conflict throughout the movie seemed more to be with him coming to terms with his new body. With that being said, Cyborg's character here is much more interesting and better than it was originally. I can see why Ray Fisher is so pissed (well that and the abuse he faced).  I am glad this was improved and gave the character a lot more to do.

The movie still has the same issue as before in regards to the whole motherbox plot and how convenient it was that all three are located on earth. You would think that with the involvement of Darkseid/Steppenwolf that separating them to distinct locations across space would make it more difficult to collect them. I mean we know that the Green Lanterns exist (we saw one get chomped), you'd think that they or the guardians would take one and secure it on Oa. The pushback to this would be "well there was only one green lantern and he died, so how could they retrieve the box?" which begs my question, why send only one? I mean it has been established that Darkseid is a known conqueror of worlds, you'd think the Guardians would be smart enough to send more than one Lantern to aid Earth in their fight.  Did they not think it would be a good idea to have the corps be more involved/keep an eye on earth since it is the only planet that was able to repel Darkseid's forces?

Why is it that the best idea of security when it comes to humans is to bury it? Would it not be better in optics to look over it and know its location instead of dropping it somewhere on the off chance that someone might find it due to being  curious or the land changing/altering  making the box more easy to attain? A situation as dire/serious as this, you would think that the Amazons/Atlanteans would have been better prepped with armor/weapons for such an event. I mean you have the arrow of Artemis that shoots quite a distance to give Diana a message but not some kind of weapon that hurts/cripples Steppenwolf? Or better yet, how about the moment that the boxes started acting up after Superman's death, that Atlantis/Themiscarya would put aside any differences they had with one another and to the outside world to come together to secure the boxes?  How could Darkseid forget the name of the only planet that was able to force him to retreat? nor does he know that it harbors the anti life?

Did this movie break Aquaman's continuity? because from the dialogue between Mera and Arthur, its implied that Atlanna abandoned/left Arthur at Tom's doorsteps whereas in the movie,  we see Atlanna spend a couple of years with Tom and raising baby Arthur before she was forced to come back. You'd think Zack being a producer for the Aquaman  movie would have edited that line or made it more clear. Well that or James Wan F'ed up when making the movie.

"I've never seen a being as strong as Steppenwolf" Did Diana just forget Ares aka the god of war who killed the Greek Pantheon/Old gods and orchestrated the first World War? Hell from the looks of the flashback it seemed Ares (I'm assuming its Ares, if its Hades, my bad) was getting some good hits in on Darkseid, who is superior to Steppenwolf.  While we are on the topic of Diana, it's a bit odd that Snyder who  was a producer on WW84 where one of the biggest focuses on the movie that Patty Jenkins talked about was how Diana doesn't solve her problems with violence (even though her primary weapons in this movie are a sword and shield but okay. Then again New 52 hasn't done a good job in disproving that), yet in this movie we see her using her gauntlet smash to fucking kill the one remaining terorrist. Like sure you can argue that they were terrorists and deserve to die, but given how easy and quick it was for her to take out the previous guys, why do something that runs the risks of destroying the very building that you are in (with hostages). I mean from the look of the blast and how much debris fell from the building outside, and it was a miracle no one (but the terrorist) got hurt/killed.

Why did Steppenwolf  kidnap  them in the first place? Just use that mind extracting device you used on the Atlantean soldier to see if they know. Seems like a waste of time to collect them in one location only to interrogate them later.

Okay, I'm sorry but even in this cut I still don't like Miller's Barry Allen. He isn't as bad as he was in the theatrical cut but man does it stick out. When he is helping to escort the kidnapped civilians out, why doesn't he just grab them and transfer them to a safe distance? He even makes a comment about how slow they are going. Can I also just say how weird it is for Barry to take time saving Iris to caress her hair and look at her more creepily in slow mo? Like yeah its in slow mo but still I think your priority should be to get everyone to safety as quick as possible and check if anyone else could get hurt.  I will admit that Barry's speech as he is running so fast to reverse time at the end was really good. Tho the more I think about all the slow mo Flash scenes are good.

They still kept the "Let's use the mother box to bring back Superman plot". Why? This is a piece of tech that you don't fully understand how it works and you are going on the whims of someone you just met. Especially if they come back as a different person/mindset all together.  If Superman 's death was the reason that allowed for the Mother box to call to Steppenwolf/Darkseid, what the hell were they doing prior to Superman's arrival on earth? I mean we've seen how easy it was for Steppenwolf to attain the two boxes even if they were guarded, so why the wait ?. I get that Batman is going through an arc and trying to change from the person he was but how does go from "1% chance of absolute certainty" to "let's go on a whim and have faith" when it comes to resurrecting Superman? 

Its gonna be awkward as to how Clark will explain his sudden return from the grave around the same time Superman came back.

I was wondering when the Knightmare scene will play out. Jared leto's Joker isn't over with me, it seems way too try-hard to be edgy. Other than that yeah, not much I can say about it. Tho do we seriously need another iteration where Superman (or someone with Superman like powers) is evil?

I also love how nonchalant Bruce is about J'onn appearing in front him. However the revelation that J'onn was that army general all the time breaks so much of continuity (and just why now did you decide to show up and help and not idk the time Zod invaded and nearly  terraformed earth, HELL WHY TF DIDN'T SHOW UP TO HELP THE LEAGUE IF YOU KNEW ABOUT DARKSEID, I'M SORRY TO RAG ON BUT REALLY THIS CAMEO JUST OPENS UP SO MANY QUESTIONS, IT JUST SEEMS LIKE AN "PALPATINE WAS BEHIND THIS ALL ALONG" KIND OF THING ).

In terms of getting a sequel, I am not sure if WB is going to go through with it given that their current vision seems to be a different route than the one Snyder intended so who knows. Despite my criticisms I do believe this is Snyder's best DCEU film to date and probably one of his better films. You could tell that he put in a lot to make this. The movie itself does have issues mostly due to the plot surrounding the motherbox as well as pacing. I would say it's worth the watch at least once, though I think its best to watch it in doses rather than one sitting. Ultimately this is the version that we should have gotten and I can see why so many people who were supportive of Zack wanted or vouched for him to finish it. Regardless, I think the very least I am happy for Snyder. If you like Snyder's previous stuff, you will like this one, if you don't, your perception of the film won't change significantly other than some cool bits here and there.  

[mandochlorian]

white flag

part I part II part III

summary: sneaking out of the resistance base on Ajan Kloss isn’t the safest idea. but you have to reach out to Ben just once more, in case you never see him again.

song inspiration

general masterlist

star wars masterlist

“Ben...” you try to shout, in hopes you’d be able to get his attention and warn him, “Ben!” It doesn’t feel like your shouting though, it feels like your voice is barely above a whisper. And you had not changed a single thing. Ben still gasps for breath. Ben still stumbles back. Ben still dies. And there is still nothing you can do about it.

You can almost feel the red glow of his lightsaber burning your eyes when you gently jolt awake. It takes a few moments before you can accept that it wasn’t a dream. It happened. One moment he was here and the next he was gone. You squeeze your eyes shut, wishing your body wanted more hours of sleep. Then maybe you can live in that moment before you lost the love of your life forever.

Seeing you lying there, your eyes closed and a painful expression on your face, Poe decides whether or not he should speak up. Finn steps in. “Y/N,” he mumbles, swallowing the lump in her throat when you don’t respond, “we’re close to Exegol.”

“How close?” You wonder, not moving, not opening your eyes, barely even moving your lips to speak.

Poe just watches you sadly, frowning down at you, “One red asteroid field away.” He jokes slightly, placing his hands on his hips awkwardly, “We drop you off and we head for the skies.”

You just hum, turning away from the two. The thought that Ben had once crossed this distance, alone, in his own tie fighter, to once visit the Emperor... it makes your heart hurt. You’re not sure how you can handle any of this. You can’t go two seconds without thinking about Ben, laying down, feeling the death of his mother and only being able to mourn for a few seconds before he meets his own end. 

Poe holds back a sigh, heading back to the cockpit. But Finn stays. He crouches down beside you. “Open your eyes.” He mumbles, watching you intently, “I need to talk to you.”

Looking at him, you sit up slowly. “What could you possibly want to say to me?” You ask. It isn’t harsh or angry, it’s almost genuine, “Nothing can make this okay. He’s gone. And now Rey’s missing in action. I’m the only one left and this was never my fight to begin with.” You know Rey did what she thought was right... but it doesn’t take away the pain you feel. And you know Finn did the same.

“We either go through with this,” Finn begins, giving you a stoic expression, “Or we don’t. But I need to know you’re in this.” He says, taking a breath, “I need to know you’re going to give everything you’ve got. I need to know you’ll try.” Trying feels like the last thing you want to do right now. “Y/N, I know you feel alone... but I need to know you’re going to give this a shot.” Something inside of you is telling you to stand, get the hell up, keep going because that’s what Ben would have done. No one was ever there to help but; no one but you. He could’ve given up on himself a million times, but he didn’t. Not even until the very end. “If we all get out there, we give it our all to end this war.” He adds, watching you as the tears silently fall from your eyes, “We give it everything we’ve got. You’re our only hope.”

“Ben would have never given up,” you tell him, your voice quiet and soft. You pause as you look at the ground, trying hard not to let the tears fall, “Everything we’ve got.” You nod, swallowing the lump in your throat as you stand up. You take a deep breath, feeling your chest shake but you push it all to the side for once. You try to clear your head. For the greater good.

Your ship lands on Exegol and you can’t help just rush to exit it, lightsaber by your waist as you run into the dark crevice. You feel lost. Your whole body is aching from the events of the day before. But you push through it, sensing an upcoming danger appearing. You slow down your run, taking time to search your surroundings.

It’s so incredibly dark except for the lightning that lights up the long hallway every few seconds. Turning from side to side, you can’t tell where the feeling is coming from. Every time the lightning strikes, you think you see someone standing beside you. But each time, you’re wrong.

You curse at yourself. You’re just losing time. “Y/N.” 

You freeze. You can’t pinpoint where the sound comes from. You ignite your lightsaber. “Show yourself.” You order, walking forward slowly to continue your path. You appear beside a large throne, in a dark room.

“I am here,” His voice is rough and deep and you flinch, turning to see the former emperor himself, “And, finally, so are you.” He walks towards you slowly, attached to some contraption hanging from the ceiling and all you can do is watch, eyes wide, disgusted and confused.

“How are you here?” You watch him, gripping your lightsaber in your hand, “It’s impossible.”

“And yet,” he smiles, taking a seat on the throne, “Here I am. I have waited for this moment for a long time. It is only a shame there is only one of you here to continue my legacy.” Raising his hands in the air, Palpatine opens his mouth but before he can speak again, someone is calling your name. 

“Rey.” You whisper, turning to the call Palpatine shouts, standing from his throne. She gives you a smile, standing beside you and igniting her weapon. You turn back to Palpatine, looking up at the old figure. “Your legacy,” you scoff, shaking your head, “comes to an end.”  

“If only you put your certainty in what is right.” He mumbles back, raising his hands towards you. Before the lightning can make its way towards you, you and Rey raise your lightsabers at it, deflecting the growing beam. But it isn’t enough. You grunt, your hands shaking around your weapon as Palpatine walks towards you. The force is too much, he’s too strong, the lightning sends you and Rey flying backwards in the air. You come crashing down to the ground, feeling the hard surface shoot pain all over your body as you slide against it. 

You can’t breathe. At all. You try to sit up but you fall back down, your weight placed on your arms as you gasp for air. 

Breathe.

You close your eyes, trying not to feel the pain radiating through you. 

Breathe.

Your lightsaber. Rey. Turning your head, you look around, barely spotting Rey until she stumbles to her feet.

Breathe. 

Sucking in a breath, you reach your hand out, feeling secure when your lightsaber comes flying into your hand. Standing tall, you ignite it too, facing Palpatine now - even if it’s the last thing you do, even if this means that Ben died for nothing and Poe and Finn are risking their lives in vain. You face him, holding your blue lightsaber high. 

“The odds are not in your favour.” He announces, letting out a spine-tingling laugh, “You have no choice in this narrative, you either strike me down, continue my legacy, bring an end to the wretched Jedi... or you die here, alone, helpless... Like Ben Solo and his father before him.”

Using the force, you push Palpatine back with fire in your angry eyes, “Keep that name out of your mouth!” You shout, watching with satisfaction as you roughly push him back against the stone throne.

He laughs. Loudly. And you look to Rey as the two of you walk up to him, weapons and hands ready. Marching towards him, you bring your lightsaber back, ready to aim down and hit him. “Do it!” He shouts, bringing you to a halt, “Kill me! Let my spirit flow through to yours, complete my legacy!” He cackles, one hand gripping the throne as he looks up at you.

You meet his eyes, seeing their glossed over nature, the grey colour to them. And you turn back to Rey, never letting your weapon down. This much is clear between the two of you; no one can strike him down, not unless you want all the Sith inhabiting your mind, “It can’t be...” Rey mutters, shaking her head gently.

“It is,” Palpatine answers smugly, “I am all the Sith, invincible beyond your comprehension. There is no way that you reign victorious... And now,” he announces, taking a deep breath as he slowly raises his hands.

You step back, pushing Rey behind you as you stumble away from the growing electricity in his hands. It happens so quickly, your lightsaber is up in front of you, catching as much of the shock as it can. And then someone stands beside you. At first, you think it’s Rey, but from the corner of your eye, you see long, black hair, and the outline of a large nose. You nearly drop your lightsaber when you meet his eyes.

“Ben,” you whisper, though it’s inaudible amongst the sound of the electricity hitting the two lightsabers, “You’re here... Ben,” you mutter, your eyes filling with tears as he gives you a benevolent smile. A loud crash brings you from your shock, and you turn to see Rey on your other side, her lightsaber also taking in some of the electricity and deflecting it back to Palpatine. 

The mix of Kylo’s red lightsaber and yours and Rey’s blue ones cast a colourful glow on the late emperors sunken, yet shocked, face. He stumbles back, his hands shaking at the force of power being shot back at him. He shouts, screaming in agony as he begins to burn, fading away into nothing. With one last effort, Palpatine sends a wave of electricity searing into the sky, hitting the ceiling of the place.

Then, quiet; nothing but the hum of two lightsabers and the unsteady crackle of one. You turn to Ben, searching his eyes for a moment as you turn your lightsaber off. He turns his own off, tossing it to the ground in hopes that this is the last time he’ll even use Kylo Ren’s lightsaber. It doesn’t belong to him. Not anymore. 

 In front of you appears a tall man, dressed in dark clothing from head to toe. Only Rey sees him. You and Ben are too busy waiting for the other to talk, say something, waiting for something to happen, unsure yet longing to be in one another's embrace. And unbeknown to you, the same type of figures crowd around you from behind too. “We have another problem,” Rey announces, making you and Ben tear your eyes away from one another awkwardly.

For a second, you wonder if you’re just seeing Ben in your head. Surely it’s not an apparition... but then, how the hell is he here? Your breath becomes steady. You can sense those people behind you now. But before you can take your first swing, the sound of a blaster during breaks everyone’s attention away. Ben’s blaster is comfortable in his hand, he swings it behind him to shoot at an approaching figure without even looking.

Your lips are parted. You lock eyes with Ben, your face completely shocked. You stand still as the dark figures crowd around the man who was once their partner. Ben gives you a small smile, a reassuring one, and it’s only then that you close your mouth and take a breath. It’s real, he’s not an illusion. He’s here! Back from the dead! Not important, not important! He’s surrounded! You close your eyes, sucking in a deep breath as one of the Knights draws his weapon to strike Ben. But before any of them can, you push your hands out, force pushing them to the ground roughly, at least three metres away. It gives you some time.

Holding a lightsaber to him, Rey places it in his hands. “You’re gonna need this.” He ignites his mother’s lightsaber, holding it steady in his hands and you have to admit, he looks so good with a blue lightsaber lighting up his face. You ignite yours too, standing by him. Rey does the same.

Ben grins at you, not saying a word before he lifts his hand up, spinning quickly to strike a Knight down. And just like that, you’re all attacking them. You, using your force powers as best you can as you strike one down with your saber. Rey, rushing toward one to stab through his chest. And Ben, surrounded by three but managing to take them all down skillfully. 

Breathing heavily, you see the knights’ body’s become still on the ground. When you turn to Ben, he’s already watching you. You can’t help but run to him, your arms wrapped around his waist tightly as you embrace him. You take everything in. His smell. The way it feels to be held by him. His height. The way he leans his head down to cradle you. It’s quiet for a long time. You take him all in, wondering how you survived this long without him.

When you pull back, you have to wipe the tears from your cheeks, “I can’t believe you’re here...” You open your eyes, looking up at the man you grieved for. “You’re really here...” you whisper, your eyes blurry with tears as you give him a smile. 

“I am.” He nods back at you, giving you a fond smile. A smile. A genuine one, too. It is Ben. He nods, licking his lips before he speaks, “I’m here.” 

You smile widely, tears still blurring your vision. One of the first things you notice is the scar gone from his face, and you can’t help but place a hand to his cheek. He lets out a heavy sigh, his eyes fluttering closed at your gentle touch. Ben leans towards you and his forehead leans against yours. He just breathes, his chest rising and falling for what feels like the first time. 

When his arms wrap around your waist, you can’t help but press your lips against his. It’s slow, and for a moment your lips just brush against one another as you smile. And then he leans forward, his eyes closed as a smile graces his lips. It’s the last thing you see before you close your eyes too; the kind, happy, peaceful smile of Ben Solo. His hands tremble against you. Your lips warm his up, and you can hear his thoughts going wild.

 “I’m glad you didn’t lose hope for me.” He admits, his voice rough and deep as always. Ben opens his eyes, gazing at you fondly.

“Never.” You smile, wrapping your arms around his frame to hug one another tightly.

taglist: kinkywitchy ah-callie dorisfantasyworld ieatboyss 

[counterror]

* ANSWERED ASK  /  GHOST META.

                          DO NOT REBLOG.

RANDOM DEVELOPMENT ASKS  /  ALWAYS ACCEPTING.

anonymous asked :  are there any differences between how simon acts towards children and how ghost acts towards them ? in a situation where a child could be a threat, how does he deal ? in the other meta you said he could potentially become more feral and frantic when presented with a vulnerable kid, is this because of an innate desire to keep them safe or for other reasons ? what's his view on those who harm children and if he witnessed something like that, what sort of reaction would he have ? love your metas btw !

I believe there are differences.   in a situation where ghost is confronted with a child as a hostage, it’d be simon that bleeds through.  if you think about it, despite simon practically shutting himself off and engaging ghost once the mask is on, ghost isn’t a separate entity that’s jumped into his body.  he’s a persona.   meaning, despite his complete lack of empathy and hard shell, simon is witnessing everything taking place.  he’s merely channeling certain aspects of himself to get the job done.   

take the concept of a method actor, an actor who remains in their role right up until the job is finished, if they’re playing an extremely apathetic character and the routine of that character is to kill the bad guy.  mind you, the actor themselves are empathetic.  so you’ve got this caring, empathetic actor playing the role of someone that’s the complete opposite.  and it’s all going fine, routine is routine, you’re used to it  -  until there’s the cold hard reality of a child stood in front of them with their life on the line.  imagine that one thing that draws every ounce of empathy out of you and put it in the place of that child.   do you really think simon, the actor in this circumstance, would shun that entire situation purely to remain in character ?  if they really want to, they might confront the event as the character  -  while responding to the actor’s empathy rather than ignoring it entirely, if that makes sense ?   

so you’ve got ghost, who’s apathetic, logical, focused and objective being driven by simon riley, who’s capable of being all of those things but completely lacks the composure to act confidently and intelligently on them.   which works fine, until ghost is faced with a situation that can draw aspects of simon out that are meant to be boxed away until later.   but then without ghost present, simon on his own would behave in an entirely different way.  which would risk getting him and the child killed, because the urge to react would outweigh the certainty of being logical and careful.  but because simon would also bleed through ghost in that moment, even with the mask on, it’d prompt ghost’s response to be less calm and analytical than it would be when faced with an adult  -  since simon wouldn’t be bleeding through under that circumstance.  

however, high stress interactions differ massively from general ones, so if ghost was faced with a child in a calm environment  -  say he randomly crossed paths with one while deployed, it wouldn’t trigger any reaction from simon.  he’d move on and have little interaction.  he’s there to get the job done.  whereas were simon to cross paths with a child, he’d be more observational of the child’s surroundings, scanning what their parents are like or if they’re in any danger.   this changes for ghost when high intensity comes into play  -  when lives are on the line.   he would ignore the child, up until that child called for help or was visibly in danger, in which case a response would surge from simon  -  likely kicking ghost into reacting in a more urgent and frantic way.   it’s important to note that ghost is, mostly, a manifestation of simon’s grief and anger that is stored away, which he learnt to utilize in a useful way.   emotions that would typically eat away at you and push you to act out within society are caged away and then brought out in full force when faced with hostile environments  -  he’s able to turn that aggression and violence on and off with the mask.   but the lack of control in a situation can cause it to be used inappropriately or clumsily, because simon’s lack of composure bleeds through and is liable to cause ghost to make mistakes.   so behaviour and reactions definitely vary depending on circumstance.

things differ with a child who’s perceived as a threat.  it’s similar to how a soldier may love dogs, may even own one, but if an enemy’s dog is charging at them with the sole intention to rip out their throat or one of their teammate’s, they have to act without holding up the mission or giving away their presence.   I do believe when an enemy is involved ghost will aggressively and actively block simon out in order to proceed.  he’s experienced enough to know that an enemy with a weapon has the potential to compromise the mission, kill him and one if not all of his men.  there is a big difference between an innocent civilian in danger and an enemy that is bringing the danger.   this is where ghost’s objective thinking comes into play, child or not, this enemy has a weapon and intends to use it on me.  morals and ethics go out the window, albeit with an extremely subtle struggle in comparison to eliminating an older enemy.   whether he wants to or not doesn’t come into it, and the same can be said in a situation where a pregnant woman with an explosive vest on is approaching him or his team.  he’s trained to see, before anything else, an enemy who intends to harm innocents.  whereas an innocent child being taken hostage by an enemy presents a completely different variety of consequences and possibilities.  

that’s not to say eliminating a child enemy who’s considered a threat wouldn’t play back on his mind later once the mask is off.  but the reality is that, leaving that child alive could’ve meant high causality numbers of the people he’s supposed to be protecting  -  that lapse in judgement could risk the deaths of many, all to protect that one.   and ghost is trained to see that before anything else, meaning simon is too and therefore wouldn’t disruptively bleed through because he knows it has to be done.

the feral and frantic side I mentioned in that meta is a combination of simon bleeding through which prompts ghost to lose the control he has over the aggressive, hostile aspects of himself he projects  -  anger that’s triggered to be used inappropriately or impulsively rather than calculated or logically.   ghost is a protective persona, his purpose is to act as a fortified wall around simon so the moment a direct threat to simon is perceived ( such as something that triggers his ptsd, like witnessing a child in danger, ) ghost’s aggression will spike in a way that isn’t progressive.  ( this isn’t to be compared to the general threat that comes with his line of work, because that’s a different threat entirely. )  that’s simon bleeding through, his lack of composure pushing the control out of ghost’s hands.   

it isn’t innate, but it is a desire to keep them safe.  throughout much of his childhood, he didn’t feel this way.  in fact, he wasn’t aware of his own trauma for much of his life, until he grew to his older teen years in which terms and labels became evident and he could see life for what it was.   he eventually felt for kids in rough situations, and empathized with them, and his trauma / abuse throughout his childhood is the primary fuel of that desire.  he had to become his own hero, effectively  -  there was no one there for him and therefore he had to become the man he needed at the time of his struggle.  if he witnesses anything remotely similar to that which he experienced, or he sees a child who needs someone but doesn’t have them  -  he steps up and puts people in their place.  he will speak up about it.   

however, the final push came when his nephew was murdered alongside his family.  a sweet, innocent child caught up in cold blood.   clueless and terrified as two men, who were seen as friends, stormed the home and began gunning his entire family down.   simon could never grieve for his loss.   he could only focus on vengeance and justice for them and himself.   but he regularly thought of his nephew’s suffering.  wondered whether he died immediately, or whether he died slow, face down in pools of his blood  -  helpless and alone because his uncle riley wasn’t there to protect them.   he couldn’t save himself, he couldn’t save his nephew, and certainly nobody on the outside at all tried to save either of them or even gave a single fuck about their tragedy.   he doesn’t trust the law to step in, and he doesn’t trust anyone’s justice but his own.   simon riley would risk any consequence in order to save an innocent, vulnerable child and it’s unlikely ghost would be able to do anything about it, other than offer a more composed, controlled, logical approach than simon alone would. 

simon views those who harm children as weak and pathetic.  there’s no other way to put that.  he despises those who abuse their power and who take it on out the defenseless.   it says in the comics that he joined the military after the events of the september 11 attacks.  a position sought after in order to protect people from the tragedy and destruction many aim to produce.   even at the start of his military career, he wanted to defend the defenseless.   as aforementioned, simon would risk any consequence to save an innocent, vulnerable child.  the most likely reaction you’d be looking at is him scaring the abuser / person doing the harm into never doing it again.   he knows his father was fearless, didn’t care if he lived or died.  which is where he, in the end, got to him, by leaving him to his cancer despite his father asking a favour of him.   hanging in between life and death.   

simon would know it’d be most sensible to involve the law and assist in pushing for justice, which is where taking ghost’s persona on would come in handy, enabling him to do what would be considered illegal in order to get a better outcome without waiting for the law to do very little.   I won’t go into detail, but he’d certainly give much more than a stern word, that’s for sure.   why remove a child from their home environment and throw them around needlessly when you can remove a few of the abuser’s teeth or fingers and ensure that child receives nothing but the best from that point on.  if you see what I’m saying.

[eirlyssa]

Whumptober day 31 - Embrace

My final fill for @whumptober2019​! A very whumpy WinterIron ficlet that is also available on Ao3. Thank you all so much for following me this month, and I hope you’ve enjoyed it!!

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

He wasn’t going to last much longer.

Every single part of him was hurting. He had long since passed being exhausted. Some of his wounds had become infected, and he was pretty sure some of his bones had been broken and were healing wrong. Not to mention the fact that the cough he’d developed was worrying him. Ever since Afghanistan, his lungs had already been compromised, and he wouldn’t be surprised to find out they’d gotten infected as well.

If the others didn’t find him soon, he was afraid it might end up being too late. And what was worse, they’d started to make him doubt.

Usually, people would kidnap him for ransom or to make him build them something. It was what he’d been used to since far too young, and he knew how to deal with either of those situations.

These people hadn’t, though. As far as he knew, there had been no demands - to Pepper, to Rhodey, to Bucky, or to the other Avengers. And they certainly hadn’t let him anywhere near anything he could use to get himself out. Instead, the only thing they seemed to want was to make him suffer as much as possible.

Oddly enough, the physical torture wasn’t even the worst. It hurt, and it might be what ended up killing him, but mentally, he could deal with it. But they’d kept him awake for days with lights, with noise, and despite being used to some sleep deprivation, this had quickly surpassed his ability to handle it. And then there was the mental torture - the curses, he was familiar with. Even the way they told him, over and over again, that everything was his fault, that he was a terrible person and that his weapons had killed thousands, that he would burn in hell for all eternity, was familiar.

It was the certainty with which they told him that no one was coming for him that threatened to break him, though. The way they yelled that no one cared about him, because how could they, and they would be glad to be rid of him. The way they laughed and told him he was pathetic, thinking people could actually love someone like him.

Somehow, it felt as though they’d dug up his deepest, darkest fears and threw them straight into his face. It was everything he’d ever worried about, all of the things he had thought but never said out loud.

He’d managed, so far, to pretend it didn’t bother him that much. Three days in, he’d gone silent, stoically gritting his teeth and mentally chanting ‘Stark men are made of iron’ over and over and over again. Outwardly, they might be able to see that he was suffering, but he could still pretend that they hadn’t broken him.

Maybe they hadn’t, yet. Maybe this was just bending, farther than he’d ever thought he could. As long as he didn’t let them see him break, maybe… Maybe he hadn’t, yet.

Through it all, he’d tried to remind himself that they’d come. He might be all of the bad things they said and more, but… They knew about that. Rhodey had known him since he’d been a teenager, had been there through so many highs and lows that he probably knew more about Tony than he knew about himself. Bucky had gotten to know things about him that he’d never told anyone else and still stuck with him, still told him he loved him. Pepper, the other Avengers...

They all knew him, good sides and bad, and they still cared. There was no way they’d faked that, no way they would pretend to like him just for his money or his tech.

(Except he’d thought Obie cared as well, hadn’t he?)

((But Rhodey and Pepper both would’ve been set for life if he’d ended up dying in Afghanistan. Yet they’d never stopped looking for him, never stopped setting up search missions to try to find him.))

Lack of sleep wasn’t helping when it came to trying to have faith. His mind oscillated wildly between the hope that the others cared, that they were looking for him, and the despair of knowing he wasn’t worth it and they shouldn’t come for him, wouldn’t come for him.

He coughed again, grimacing at the way it made agony course through him. There were a few trickles of blood as some of his wounds opened again due to the movement.

Gritting his teeth, Tony reminded himself to just hang on.

They were looking for him. They had to be. They were his friends, his family. They weren’t fake, not like Obie had been. He might not be worth it, might deserve to die right here, suffering until his last breath. But that wasn’t the kind of people they were. They were good, and honest. They were heroes. And he knew he was not a good person, but somehow they must have found something in him that was decent enough for him to deserve having them care about him.

So all he had to do was last.

 Stark men are made of iron. Hang on. They are coming.

He repeated it to himself over and over and over, ignoring the pain as they hit him, cut him, kicked him.

He repeated it to himself over and over and over, drowning out their voices as they yelled about how terrible he was, how pathetic, how worthless.

He repeated it to himself over and over and over, clutching to it desperately as they pushed him down into a tub of salt water that made him want to scream.

 Stark men are made of iron. Hang on. They are coming.

He was still holding onto it when the gunfire started, when there were yells and screams and roars. And he had to crush the little spark of hope, because if it wasn’t them, that might just end up breaking him.

Instead he held on, breathing as evenly as possible and listening carefully for hints of what was going on. And if, in his mind, a litany of please please please had started, well… No one else could hear that, or judge him for his weakness.

And then the door was slammed open, bouncing off the wall and off the hinges.

Bucky was dressed in full gear, one hand holding a gun and the other a knife. The look on his face was absolutely murderous, and even the black of his gear couldn’t hide the blood.

The moment his eyes met Tony’s, his entire face softened in a way that was so intimately familiar that Tony’s breath caught for a moment. “Tony…” Of course, then he looked at the rest of Tony, and his face looked like it could have been carved from stone. Tony knew him well enough to know that, right now, Bucky very badly wanted to go out there and make every single person that had hurt him suffer.

Rather than doing that, though, he stepped further into the room. “Found him,” he informed the others, voice flat and business-like. Tony couldn’t hear what the others were saying, but he could guess when Bucky’s next words were “alive, but injured. Badly.”

After informing the others, though, he once again focused fully on Tony. “Oh, doll…”

He wanted to speak up, wanted to say hello, or that he’d missed him, or that he’d be fine. But he didn’t want to risk it, not with his injuries and his lungs and the way that his throat felt like he’d swallowed knives. So instead he just attempted the best smile he could, feeling the way it sat unevenly on his face.

And then Bucky was there, and for the first time in what felt like ages, someone touched him without hurting him. The whimper he let out was completely involuntary, instantly triggering another coughing fit that made his eyes water with the pain of it.

Through all of it, Bucky held him, somehow managing to find the exact right balance between tight enough to make Tony feel secure without being so tight that it would hurt more or injure him further.

He didn’t have a lot of strength to move with, but with the bit he had left, he buried his face into Bucky’s neck, savoring the warmth, the feeling of utter and complete safety that Bucky always inspired in him. With Bucky holding him, nothing would hurt him anymore. And while he was still very aware of his injuries, they seemed somehow less painful now.

As he pressed a small, desperately grateful kiss into Bucky’s neck, he could feel the way those strong arms tightened just a little, the way Bucky curled around him protectively.

“I’ve got you, doll. We’re here, we’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

[altumvidetur]

MCU: Stucky Fic Recs

MCU FIc Recs Masterpost

So, I was thinking about the coronavirus pandemic and what I could do to help people out. I’m isolated because I’m at higher risk, so I can’t really offer to go out for my elderly neighbors or my family… but I thought I could try to help keep people entertained.

Because I don’t have an AO3 account right now, I’ve been compiling fic recs for my own amusement for a year or so. And I thought – maybe that’s the time to share these with everyone? So everyone will have plenty of things to read while they have to stay at home, or even to escape anxiety a little bit if you’re forced to go out.

Of course, these cater to my own tastes, so you may find stuff you don’t like around here. I never include works in progress. The Mature and Explicit works will be in italic. I ask you to READ THE WORK’S TAGS before continuing, so you won’t find anything that makes you uncomfortable.

I’m not even close to reading the whole Stucky tag in AO3, and I lost my wind a little bit with Endgame, so this is an incomplete list at best. I hope you enjoy it anyway!

Not Easily Conquered, by dropdeaddream and WhatAreFears

Summary by me: AU in which Steve wasn’t frozen and Bucky wrote letters to him during the war confessing his love. 

Induction, by windsweptfic

For a prompt at Livejournal's capkink community: 'pre-serum!Steve/Bucky, hypnosis'.

In Love and War, Don’t Seek Counsel, by sinuous_curve

Most of being Steve’s -- or Captain America’s, really -- right hand man entails busting into Hydra weapons factories and blowing them to hell with stolen Hydra weapons, making sure that Cap has room to use his superpowers to the greatest effect while no one on their side gets killed in the process. Bucky used to be afraid every single time he heard the sharp report of gunfire, but since Cap came and pulled him out of a very literal hell, there isn’t much room left in Bucky for something like fear. Dying can’t be worse than what Schmidt’s pet scientist did for kicks. And being a part of a team as special as the one he’s on now keeps him feeling like he’s varnished in heroism. It’s more brilliant explosions and less humping it through sticky mud in the rain.

The Soft Darkness, by sinuous_curve

He’s not going to tell Steve that of everything that got lost between docking in England and where they were, he never lost the packet of letters Steve wrote. He understands, now, the oddity to them that he could never place. The reason it seemed like Steve was talking around his life rather than about it is because he was. Bucky wants to ask about the chunks he neglected to mention, but won’t. Can’t. Has no reason, to, because there are things Bucky omitted in his letters back.

Beneath a Blue Umbrella Sky, by victoria_p

Steve's been to Coney Island before.

That Heart of Yours Could Crumble Kings, by CallMeBombshell

But then, Steve’s always been a better man than Bucky, always been the better of the two of them, and Bucky thinks that Steve can handle it, can handle the weight and the pressure and the responsibility of it all, because for as much as Steve carries the world, Bucky has always carried Steve.

It Wakes The Seeds, by Sharksdontsleep

They still call him a sharpshooter, even if they let Bucky bring his own rifle, not a Sharp, a nine-pound breech-loader that feels like certainty when he slings it across his back.

Bucky and Steve, becoming who they become. Civil War era AU. Thanks to figletofvenice for the lovely and thoughtful beta, and to the long-suffering marycontraire for hand-holding and head pats. See end notes for (slightly) spoilery warnings. Title from Wilfred Owen's 'Futility.'

The Spin I’m In, by victoria_p

Five times Bucky kissed Steve because of ~reasons~, and one time Steve finally believed he really meant it.

Alarm, by pollitt

Despite the vast and mind-boggling technological advances that happen in the 60 years that Steve had been frozen, there are a lot of things that make sense. Security doors, codes, things like that.

Cell phone alarm clocks, though, not so much.

A Place Called Home, by Renne

New Years Eve. Suits. Party at Stark's place. Honesty happens.

The curves of your lips rewrite history, by victoria_p

Five times Steve was distracted by Bucky's mouth.

i like my body when it is with your, by unfinishedidea

Steve is jealous of the people Bucky goes to visit at night.

space!military au, by Renne

Fics set in an alternate future universe with the queer-friendly space military. The Allies vs. Hydra. Steve is the poster boy for humanity, Bucky is a flying ace. It all unfolds as it has before, with pain and loss and a slow, difficult return. For the full rambling plot full of ridiculous angst and pain see here.

Nothing But the Rain (The Quit Your Grinning and Drop Your Linen Overdub), by victoria_p

We have to get out of these wet clothes.

Our history is just in our blood (history, like love, is never enough), by victoria_p

Steve is sure the guy working the morning rush at Starbucks is Bucky. Unfortunately, the guy doesn't seem to know that.

People and Things, by quigonejinn

Steve, Natasha, the past. The smell in the room is indescribable; the way it looks is indescribable, too.

The Finish Line., by quigonejinn

Your best friend comes back from the factory camp, walks thirty-five miles next to you, and you aren't sure what is wrong with him.

Flesh Seven Ways., by quigonejinn

Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes walk into a brothel. Seven variations.

Beast of Burden., by quigonejinn

There is a SHIELD response team all over the apartment. Steve rubs his face with both hands, asks if he can go ahead and use the kitchen. They say that he can.

Avengers, reframed.

Why Then Oh Why Can’t I? (or, 5 Times Steve Rogers Felt Awkward Talking About Sex, and One Time He Stopped Talking Altogether), by ladyblahblah

“You really never did grow up all the way, did you, Steve? Of course it changes things. But hey.” He lifts his glass, and Steve reluctantly lets go to join in the toast. “Who says change has to be bad?”

Here Where We Stand, by orphan_account

Steve helps Bucky acclimate to the modern day era.

Our Carnival Life, by victoria_p

Bucky is the best gift he's ever gotten, every time.

Kind Men, by quigonejinn

D/s-ish-verse retelling of Captain America: The First Avenger. When the time comes, Erskine doesn't throw a grenade onto the training ground.

Fortunate Son, by orphan_account

Bucky wakes up in the future to a world that needs Captain America; meanwhile, a Cold War-era supersoldier assassin emerges.

Counting Backwards, by honeypuffed

It's not exactly friends, but it's not exactly more than that either.

eye of the beholder, by attice

Bucky doesn’t like Steve’s drawings. Not the way everyone else does, at least.

Pictures of You, by Sarah K

Bucky wants a souvenir to take to war with him.

Беда́ не прихо́дит одна́ (trouble never comes alone), by postcardmystery

There’s a tracking device beneath his skin, wrapped around his carotid artery, and if he pulls it out, he’ll die in seconds. They’ve got a wolf on a leash and he’s never heard them so pleased with themselves, so sure that this is the only weapon they’re ever going to need. They did not win the first war in Chechnya, but a second time and the story is rewritten. (He knows that this is a thing they truly believe. He’s lived more history than they have. He knows better.) He rides on tanks, jumps from helicopters onto ground solid with snow. He stands, ringed by ruins, in a capital that burns. He lost his last war in Grozny. This time, he slings his rifle on his back, breathes smoke, knows what it is to watch history being made.

but hey, you’re all right, by beardsley

'This is not my fault,' Tony lies. 'It was supposed to be a joke! Christ.'

'Thanks to your joke,' says Coulson, 'we now have a code three-four-delta, with the variable being a Russian immigrant. We're checking his background right now, but it might take a while. Meanwhile, I suggest you civilian-proof the Tower. If any SHIELD intelligence is compromised, I will hurt you.'

Yes, this is the story where the Winter Soldier is a Russian mail-order bride. Everything goes about as well as you'd expect.

he likes a boy in uniform, by lazulisong

Bucky's always been better than Steve at things like this; at pulling his collar just so and making his tie sit right. Bucky always looks sharp, a real dapper dresser.

Gone Quiet, by victoria_p

Three times Steve and Bucky comforted/quieted each other.

in my fortress alone until you came, by haipollai

Steve murmurs Bucky's name. He wants to list off every time Bucky woke up feeling like he couldn't breathe because of Steve, but he knows Bucky wouldn't listen. The metal arm is between them and Steve doesn't touch more than necessary. He knows Bucky doesn't like it being touched. Doesn't like Steve touching it; he's seen Bucky and Natasha grapple enough to know that Bucky doesn't mind when others touch it.

It's just Steve.

Eisner Award for Best Writer and Artist, by orphan_account

(Summary by me: ComicWriter!AU, with actual ray of sunshine artist!Steve and grumpy, disillusioned writer!Bucky.)

with the lights out, it’s less dangerous, by victoria_p

Bucky says it's what friends do, they help each other out, and it's their little secret, right?

i’m no angel, by haipollai

His first instinct is to tease Steve for jerking off to one of his own drawings but then he sees what the drawing is.

Who it is.

You’ve Got Me In Between, by Renne

In a gross lapse of judgment, Professor Rogers takes one of his students home. Sex (and guilt) ensues.