#before they’re taught to keep their minds apart and to only share deliberately

[gaealynn]

TT/AU half-fic continuation

So Yoda explains that back on Coruscant he’d come to (from meditation? sleep? unconsciousness? death?) at the very same time that Obi-Wan had inexplicably come back to life on Naboo, and immediately packed up several members of the Council and a handful of healers and headed for Theed.  He seems to remember/know everything that Ben remembers, and yet….

It’s not quite clear is what, exactly, all of this is.  Have they shared a powerful Force Vision?  Is it time travel?  An alternate universe?  

Yoda’s holding out for Force Vision, but Ben is honestly – pretty sure it’s not.  At least not for him.  Even just the time they spend talking together before Ben is too exhausted to continue makes Ben suspect – well, that he and Yoda have not had quite the same experience.  

Yoda just seems… too whole, to be the same Yoda that had lived through the destruction of the Jedi order.  Grieved, and concerned over what he’d seen, to be sure, but – not hollowed out and unmoored, the way that Ben still feels.  The way the Yoda on Degobah had been.  Yoda is a grand master of the Living Force, true, and the Force is indeed a powerful ally, but there are some things….

They’re not able to come to agreement on what has happened.

“Matter, it does not,” Yoda finally says, when Ben can no longer hide his mounting exhaustion, this young body still far too drained for an extended philosophical debate.  “Knowledge, we have gained.  Act on it, we will.  But rest, you require.”

So Yoda leaves Obi-Wan to rest, and….

***

“…. Master Obi-Wan?”  The high voice from the door, sometime later, was not a surprise.  The surge of pure gratitude, verging on happiness, that swept through him at the once-familiar voice, however, was.  Ben embraced it, the feeling uncomplicated and pure in a way he had nearly forgotten, and allowed a smile to bloom on his face.

“I’m not your Master, Anakin,” he corrected gently, and gestured the young boy into the room.  “You should just call me – Obi-Wan.”  And, ah, what a strange thing to say!

Anakin, impossibly young and wide eyed and Light, darted into the room quickly, casting a look over at Qui-Gon’s still form on his way to Ben’s bedside.

“Are you alright?”  Anakin asked immediately, pressing himself anxiously against the high side of the medical bed.  “Is – is Master Qui-Gon alright?”

“I’m quite fine, Anakin, and I believe that Master Qui-Gon will be, as well.” Ben answered, and chuckled at the wave of relief that immediately poured off the boy.  He’d forgotten how much, and how strongly, Anakin had projected before he’d learned to hold basic shields.

“Master Yoda said that you would be, but I – I came every day,” this was offered somewhat shyly, and quickly followed up with an earnestly concerned, “and it seemed like you were dead!  You’ve been asleep forever.”

“Six days is quite a long time,” Ben agreed gravely, and Anakin nodded fervently, still darting looks in Qui-Gon’s direction, hands twisting anxiously in the sheets at Ben’s side.  Ben knew what he should do, according to the teachings of the Temple, and what he would have done – what he had done – when he’d come to know Anakin for the first time.  But he was too old and tired, now, to chide Anakin over this heartfelt worry.  Besides which, he had to admit to himself, he simply… did not want to.

“Why don’t you come up here?” He offered instead, shifting himself slightly to make room on the bed and patting the empty spot.  Anakin stared up in surprise for only a second, then scrambled up, not even hesitating before tucking himself under the arm that Ben held up.

He looked so much like Luke at this age, Ben thought in astonishment.  Who had been looking after him while he and Qui-Gon had laid asleep?  Padme – or rather, now, Queen Amidala – surely would have seen that his needs were met, but the Queen couldn’t possibly have much time to spend with a little boy after Naboo’s recent crisis.  And Anakin had just left his mother, whom he had never before been without, and was now on a strange planet…

Ben could not recall if he had found those circumstances so alarming his first time around, but he could not, in fact, recall much from those days other than the pressing grief.  He suspected, now, that he’d been a very poor comfort to his young padawan.

“How have you been, Anakin?” He asked, when his study of the young boy had stretched on too long.  Anakin, warm and bright beside him, did not seem to mind.

“I’m wizard,” The young boy declared immediately.  Obi-Wan chuckled; perhaps his concern was misplaced.   “I destroyed the droid ship and Padme says I’m a hero and I got to be in a parade!  Uh, not that – I didn’t mean to leave the hanger, I swear!”

“Oh?”  Ben asked, to cover his confusion.  What? – ah, yes, Qui-Gon had told him to stay put.

“It started to fly on its own!”  Anakin explained earnestly, “I didn’t mean to, but I just– I couldn’t not help!  I knew I had to….”

“Your instincts do you credit, young one; the battle could not have been won had the droid ship remained functional.”  Anakin brightened again, and beamed up.  Ben hid his amusement; this was something that his padawan had never managed to shake, the desire for praise, and this honest reception of it was more charming than the somewhat arrogant preening that Anakin had taken to in his later teenage years.  That thought, however, threatened to turn dark, so he shook it off quickly.

“And Master Yoda and Master Billaba are teaching me to meditate!” Anakin continued brightly, before wilting slightly and confessing, “But, uh, it isn’t going so well,” before hurriedly moving on, “and this morning, Master Yoda let me take apart his lightsaber!”

Oh, stars.

“That’s – extremely kind of him.”  Ben managed, swallowing a laugh.  How desperate had the old troll had been, to allow such a thing?  Anakin was a far cry from the orderly children that Yoda liked to visit in the creche.  

“Yeah, it was wizard!  And, uh.  I wanted… to ask…” For the first time, Anakin seemed unsure, twisting away, slightly, from where he’d been lying against Obi-Wan’s side, eyes downcast.

“You can ask me anything you like, Anakin,” Ben reassured, and Anakin bit his lip, but continued.

“I thought – this morning?  It seemed like you were in the room, but you weren’t there!  But I felt you!”  Anakin insisted, eyes wide again.  Ben frowned, and then realized.

“You mean this?”  He asked, and reached out again; even though he was still exhausted, it was easier this time, with Anakin so close, to brush the happy content glad to see you against the boy’s mind.  Anakin’s eyes went even wider.

“Wizard,” He breathed, and Ben didn’t even try to hide the smile as Anakin pressed back again, happy excited happy – although there was still that faint hint of confused.

“What is it, Anakin?”

“I thought – youdidn’tlikeme?” It was a quick mumble, Anakin’s mind pulling back from his own even as the boy cast his eyes back down to the floor.

Oh, Force.  He’d been such an arrogant, young fool.  And why was Anakin always so perceptive exactly when Ben wanted him to be oblivious?

“That’s not true,” Ben reassured hastily, heart twisting – had his own Anakin believed the same thing?  Had their problems started even here?

“But you said–”

“I know,”  Ben cut him off, “I know, Anakin.  And I can only ask  you to forgive me, for being very unkind.  I was – I was afraid,” He admitted, “And I allowed my fear to control me.  It is not the Jedi way.”

“So you do think I’m dangerous?” Anakin asked, voice wobbling, and Ben pulled him closer, tight against his side, and shut his eyes against a future that had already – and not yet – happened.  

Did he believe Anakin was dangerous?  All beings had the potential for darkness; he knew that now better than most.  But to say that the bright, warm being in his arms was destined for the Dark?  To throw away this Light, over the fear that Anakin might someday turn?  

No.  Ben wouldn’t do it.  Even if Anakin were tempted, even if Anakin did Fall again – there would still be hope.  Ben knew that now.

“No,” He breathed his denial into the soft blond hair.  To himself, to Anakin, to the Force?  He didn’t know.  “No, Anakin.  You’re not dangerous.”  Not any more than any other Jedi.  “I’m so sorry…”

He wouldn’t fail Anakin again.

***

Later, when Anakin had exhausted himself (describing the palace and the victory celebration and his new studies with Yoda and Billaba and, of course, Padme – oh, so very much about Padme) and fallen asleep against Ben’s shoulder, Ben let himself drift.

The Force was comforting, here, in the busy city of Theed; millions of sentient lives overlapping, a gentle, contented hum that smoothed out thousands of tiny, petty instances of disagreement and discord.  So much more life than there had ever been on Tatooine.  

Anakin, against his shoulder, so star-bright that it almost hurt to look at him in the Force, though it was only a fraction of the strength that Ben knew he would someday achieve.  And across the room, Qui-Gon, his Master, that cool-warm presence, reminiscent of the deep forest…

Not his, Ben carefully avoided thinking, adrift in the Force, untethered among the great currents of a changing future.

Not his, but beloved, and precious.  He certainly wouldn’t fail them again.

[phantom-curve]

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah. Yeah, whatever you need, Lex.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, Lex?”

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

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

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

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

[lelitachay]

Frozen fanfiction: Søsken

Summary: An accident in the North mountain forces Elsa to spend several weeks in her brother’s apartment under Anna's care. And during this time, Anna begins to notice there are peculiar things about Elsa's life she wished she could understand. Everything starts to make sense after a family reunion.

Modern AU. Kristanna - Frohana - Kristoff & Elsa BrOTP.

Chapters 1 to 10 - Here  

Chapters 11 to 20 - Here

Chapter 21 - What to do

Chapter 22 - What’s there to lose?

-

Seek the truth

Weeks went by, and even if things had calmed down in Elsa's life, and she now spent her days studying with Anna, training with Marshall, and enjoying her brother’s company whenever he had days off; there were still several things hanging over Elsa’s head. The big picture seemed to show her life had gone back to the way it was before the accident. Though, during the calm - almost lonely - moments at home, she couldn’t help but think about the way things were changing around her.

Week after week her relationship with Anna was becoming stronger. The two of them had not only found a peaceful routine they could enjoy, where Anna helped her with her studies and Elsa in exchange taught her about life in the mountain; they had also begun to trust in each other, sharing their worries, their problems and relying on one another whenever they needed a shoulder to lean on. Week after week they were acting more like sisters, and Elsa was torn by the idea.

On one side, she had found in Anna a confidant like only Kristoff had been to her before. On the other, however, she still was unsure what to do about her real parents, and she constantly worried if the relationship she had been able to build with Anna could come to an end if she didn’t do the right thing.

True to her word, Anna hadn’t said anything about her parents or the letters, giving Elsa all the time she needed. But still, deep down Elsa knew she was silently waiting for her to do something and finally let everyone know if she was willing to give her birth parents a second chance. It was true she still didn't feel entirely comfortable with the idea of the Arendelles being her parents, but pushing Anna away by not making up her mind was the last thing she wanted to do. 

From the start, she believed she was doing Anna a favour by not calling her sister. After all, she didn’t want Anna becoming uselessly hopeful. But the more Elsa thought about her sister’s patience - when being patient was not something that characterised the girl - the more her conversation with Marshmallow came to mind. Making Elsa fear Anna would reach her limit and run out of patience. After Marshmallow had so bluntly put into words the possibility of Anna getting tired of waiting, she had started to think that, maybe, giving Anna some hope wasn't the worst thing that she could do. 

Some days, when both girls were peacefully studying together, Elsa found herself trying more familiar nicknames in her mind. Sister. Sis. Day after day, those nicknames were growing on her, and she almost caught herself saying them out loud once or twice. Still, there was a part of Elsa that couldn't do it. She couldn't look Anna in the eye and call her her sister if there wasn't even the slightest chance of giving her biological parents a chance. She wanted to spare Anna the disappointment in case everything went downhill.

The whole situation left Elsa with only two options: continuing to ignore the fact Anna had gradually become her sister, and hope she would continue to be patient. Or, reading Idunn’s letters once and for all, finally finding out the truth about her past. 

There were several nights during those weeks when she had stayed up wondering what was best for her to do. And with every sleepless night, an idea was beginning to grow on her, as she was getting tired of uselessly trying to find a solution to her dilemma. 

It was for that reason that, now, after becoming tired of turning in bed once again, Elsa had gotten up and was standing in front of the bookcase where she had hidden the letters all those weeks ago. She thought for a moment what was really best for her to do. And walked away from the bookcase. She picked some logs and threw them on the hearth.

Summer was just a few days away, so there wasn’t really a need for her to burn wood uselessly but, opposite to what her family believed, she liked the fire and the heat. She wasn't sure if it was because her body and skin were always cold, or the fact she hadn't had contact with fire until she was fourteen years old. But despite the reasons, she enjoyed the crackling sound of burning wood and it helped her think and relax whenever she was feeling overwhelmed.

And right at that moment, she was feeling overwhelmed and she was sure she could use the soothing sound to help her mind find some clarity. She had finally made up her mind about reading Idunn's letters, and part of her knew she was taking a risk. There was no guarantee things were going to change for the better after she opened those letters, but part of her knew she couldn’t keep ignoring the truth anymore. It was time she found out more about her parents’ life and made up her mind. 

Sadly, the task proved to be harder than it looked. Her mind and heart were torn and she could still list several reasons to go back to bed and forget her idea. She could find a way to continue living without those answers; but the truth was, there was going to come a day she could no longer ignore her past, and it was best to face it before she lost Anna, or things became too complicated between both families. Kristoff was also part of that mess, and she couldn’t ignore that.

“They're just letters, Elsa,” she murmured to herself. “You'll find the answers that you need and you’ll be able to move on. Just open them.”

With a sigh and a trembling hand, she picked the letters from the bookcase. She hadn't touched them since the night she had put them away, so she guessed they were still in the correct order for her to read. She sat down on the floor, near the fire, and carefully opened the first envelope in the pile with an old hunting knife that was lying around. She took a deep breath before she began reading.

The first letter wasn't addressed to her - or anyone in particular -, and to Elsa's surprise, it began without an introduction. Out of nowhere, Idunn had begun telling what seemed to be a story. She wasn't sure what she was expecting to find, but a story was not it. Out of curiosity, she continued reading, and it was only after she was a few paragraphs in that Elsa realised Idunn was talking about her life. And more particularly, her younger years. In a strange way, Idunn was able to talk about her life in an objective way. She had a way with words that kept Elsa hooked to the story, helping her forget she was technically reading about her biological mother. Before Elsa realised what she was doing, she opened the second letter and the third, one after the other. Every letter seemed to be a chapter in Idunn’s life and it was difficult not to continue.

In her letters, Idunn talked about her life, her job and the when and how she met the love of her life. How his family had ignored her existence and how her boyfriend, Agdar - as long as Elsa was aware since she never mentioned him by name - had always tried for his father to accept her into the family. She explained how the couple had found a way to stay together in spite of the adversities, and how they thought they could find happiness together regardless.

‘Everything changed, however,’ explained Idunn towards the end of the third letter. ‘When you came along.’ For the first time, she was addressing Elsa directly, making her come back to reality. Up until that moment, she had been so absorbed in the story, she was surprised to become a protagonist. Suddenly finding herself in the story was something that didn't set well with her, but she had already made up her mind and her curiosity pushed her to open the following letter, and the next, and the next. 

It was a relief to notice Idunn didn't play the victim, nor blamed her for the things she had lived during her pregnancy. Instead, she talked about it as a happy, hopeful time for her, even if Agdar’s family had constantly tried to break them apart. She stated facts and tried to show with words the way she had felt during those times, allowing Elsa to live through her past and letting Elsa understand things from her point of view.

With every single letter, Elsa found out more about Idunn’s past, and consequently, about her own. Learning Idunn had been younger than Anna when she got pregnant came as a big surprise. Elsa thought Anna’s parents looked young - younger than Gerda and Kai at least - but she’d have never guessed they were barely over forty. She tried to put herself in Idunn’s shoes for just a moment, and the idea of being pregnant with almost any money was something that triggered anxiety. She knew from experience how hard it was to live by with just enough money for bare necessities and adding a baby in the mix was surely a bad idea.

Another great surprise was finding out Idunn had also been sick during the pregnancy. And what almost made her stop reading the letters abruptly, was realising the doctor who had taken care of her mother and her own birth was no other than Weselton.

She felt anger at the fact her birth parents had deliberately chosen to seek Weselton’s help and then leave her in his hands. She cursed the stupidity of Idunn and Agdar’s younger selves and cursed Weselton for ruining her life from the start. Every single doctor who had tried to help her after she escaped Weselton’s clinic had insisted it was not possible for her powers to be natural. And Idunn’s letters were doing nothing but proving that to be true. She could have had a better life - at least a powerless one - if only Weselton hadn’t treated her mother. The idea made her feel sick and she had to drop the letter for a while. Weselton, or whatever God existed, had taken her childhood and her real family from her. And she hated that realisation.

After calming down and drying the tears that had escaped her eyes, she picked the letter once again and continued reading. She had already read too much to stop, and she needed answers. Idunn had explained their main idea had been to get back on their feet and then return for her, which was yet another shock for Elsa. But she was the child in the story, and she knew they had never returned. And now she needed to know why. She needed an answer to finally know what to do about her birth parents. Seven letters in and she was still torn about what to do about her real parents. Part of her wanted to face them and let them know how incredible stupid they had been for trusting someone like Weselton, yet, a different part of her wanted to listen Idunn talk and explain in more detail everything she was not saying in the letters.

The story continued with Idunn explaining their life after leaving Elsa. Bitterness crept in her heart whenever Idunn mentioned the good things about those years; but the feeling soon disappeared, however, when she explained there was always a part of them missing too. 

A dry laugh escaped Elsa’s lips when she read how close her parents had been to retrieving her. Only for life to stop their plans once again with Anna’s pregnancy. She could only be comforted by the fact Agdar and Idunn had learnt from their mistakes and they had done what was right for Anna. She was happy to know they had allowed Anna to live a happy life from the start.

When Elsa thought the story was coming to an end, she found out Idunn and Agdar had tried to find her for a second time. And that time they had done everything in their power to get to her. Idunn even listed the orphanages she had visited in hopes to find her. Every hardship, every sleepless night was written down, proving Elsa they had in fact spent several months looking. Their search came to a stop, however, when they were told in Trolheim to stop looking since they risked losing Anna too.

In her letter, Idunn explained how strange it had been for her to accept that since every other institution had tried to give her as much information as possible, and not once had they mentioned such a risk. Elsa agreed with Idunn on how strange it was all the other orphanages had tried to help them find her, except Trolheim’s. And all of a sudden a realisation came to her mind. 

She put the letter aside and looked in the previous letters for any dates Idunn had mentioned. She marked and counted months and years, and matched them with the ones in her own life. She returned to the last letter and did the same work. And to her misery, it all added up. If Idunn wasn’t lying, they had been in the orphanage at the same time. She had been a few rooms away from her birth parents, and the nurses had lied to them. There was no way they wouldn’t have thought of her. There was no way someone could be so incredibly inept in their job to miss it. Unless… They had been working for Weselton.

In an outburst of heartache and anger, she let her powers manifest, hoping letting go of the ice and snow could help her with the pain in her heart. She pulled her legs closer to her torso and she hid her head between her arms. She was crumpling the letter in a tightened fist, but she didn’t care.

She cried her heart out as she let the snow storm engulf her completely. They had been so close to get her back. And what was worse, if they had had the chance to find her, she wouldn’t have suffered all the things she had in Weselton’s clinic. She wouldn’t have been abused and mistreated; she wouldn’t have hurt a nurse in the process. All her worst nightmares could have been avoided if only the employees in Trolheim’s orphanage hadn’t sold their soul to someone like Weselton.

It was only when the storm receded and she felt like she could breathe again, that Elsa found the will to finish reading the letter in her hand. It was difficult for her to read the crumpled paper now that her storm had put the fire down. Once her eyes adapted to the new darkness in the room, she was able to discern the letters and continued reading. 

She had been expecting to read more about her biological mother's life after their visit to the orphanage. However, contrary to what she had imagined, the last part of the final letter addressed her directly.

‘There was so much I needed to say, I didn’t know where to begin. I wish I didn’t bore you with my past.’ It began. ‘I’m telling you this story, not for you to feel as if you should forgive me. I know I've lost the right to call you my daughter years ago, though I wish I still could.’ The tears that had only stopped mere seconds before, started falling down her cheeks once again as she read her words. ‘I’m telling you this story because you deserve to know who you are, where you come from and who your parents are, Elsa. I know writing to you won't erase the pain and fear you must have felt all those years alone. I know it’s not enough. But right now, I can’t think of anything else to do. I feel so much pain, shame and guilt. Your happiness and well being was always my priority, and only now I realise how wrong my actions and decisions were. All I wanted to do was help you; and in the end, I ended up doing the opposite.’ Elsa took a deep breath trying to control her feelings and stop the snow from covering the letter in her trembling hands. ‘I feel there’s nothing I can do to fix those mistakes. So, the only thing I can do is say I'm sorry. I’m so sorry for the pain I’ve caused you.’ Elsa stopped reading to dry the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. Idunn’s words seemed sincere and she felt a relief she had never felt before. As if a heavy weight was being lifted from her shoulders. ‘I know I have no right to ask any favours of you, but I’d like to hear your story... I wish you could let me in and share your life with me. I’d like to get to know you. I love you, Elsa. I always did.’ And with that last line, Elsa lost the remaining composure she had.

She hugged her legs close to her body and rested her forehead on her knees before allowing herself to cry as much as she needed. She felt as if someone was standing on top of her chest, painfully crushing her heart, barely letting her breathe. This time it wasn’t fear or disappointment, like it usually was; this time it was pure, unutterable sadness. She was missing a life she had never had the chance to live, and her heart could barely stand it. She had been so close to living a normal life, but life - or Weselton to be exact - had always pushed her in another direction. All the pain and suffering she had gone through had been nothing but a crazy man’s whim.

The last letter had shaken Elsa to the core. Reading Idunn’s words made her remember how much she had wished for someone to tell her those things during her time in the clinic. How much had she needed someone to find her and tell her she was loved. And here she was finally reading those words. Finally knowing someone had cared about her whereabouts all that time.

She couldn’t ignore the fact someone had shown up in her life and helped her, though. Gerda had been the person who had helped her stand up when she was ready to give up, and she had let Elsa know she was loved. She couldn’t ignore that. But for some reason, reading those same words coming from Idunn had a completely different meaning and impact on Elsa. Making her feel happy and guilty at the same time.

She stayed where she was in the dark for what seemed like hours, simply letting the snow fall and her tears dry on their own. It wasn’t until she noticed the first rays of sunlight through the window that she realised she was supposed to meet Anna in just a couple of hours and she hadn’t had any sleep.

She picked herself up from the cold floor, and collected all the letters which were scattered on it. She took a moment to skim the letters once again and arrange them. Something told her it was not going to be the only time she was going to read those letters, and she needed them to be in the correct order.

When she reached the last letter, however, she took the time to read for a second time Idunn’s words. Idunn's words had shaken her so much, she hadn't really paid attention to her request towards the end the first time she read it. But now that she was more calm, she could really pay attention to it. 

She wasn’t asking for forgiveness like Elsa had originally thought she would. She was merely asking for her to open up and tell her story. To share her past and let her in. 

Elsa chuckled humorlessly, and wondered what Idunn thought her life had been like, for her to be able to explain her story as she so simply put. Idunn’s request was ridiculous in Elsa’s opinion. She couldn’t just sit down and write everything she had lived. The pain was too great and the memories too vivid, transforming the task into mild torture. She had already shared her past with Kristoff, Anna, Kai and Gerda; but that didn’t mean she was ready to share it with her biological parents yet. 

However, there was nothing stopping her from sharing a different part of her past. A part of her life she rarely talked about. Thinking she could spend a night without sleep, she soon forgot about heading back to bed and walked straight to the kitchen table. She looked for her notebook and pen, and sat down. She wasn't sure why she felt the sudden need to write, but she followed her instincts and began writing what first came to mind.

--

Ever since Gerda had adopted Kristoff and Elsa, Saturdays had become Gerda’s favourite day of the week. Days that used to be dull and simple had become entertaining and exciting once their children came into her life. From the very beginning Saturdays had been filled with common stories and family projects. Every weekend they found something different to do and something new to learn about each other. And even if her children were now adults and no longer living with her, she still could count on one of them to give her a reason to enjoy her Saturdays in a different way. Just like Kristoff was doing that morning.

Early that day, her son had surprised Gerda and Kai both with a visit during breakfast. Gerda thought he was merely stopping by before heading to the factory, but to her happiness he had planned to stay with her once his father left for work, and prepare lunch together. 

Gerda loved those sudden visits and even more when they turned into cooking classes to his son. Kristoff had always been interested in learning how to cook - contrary to her daughter - and teaching him every tip she knew was one of Gerda’s favourite activities. What she loved the most about those moments, however, was the conversations she could share with him during those moments; because it was there that she could really get to know her son. She had found out about his relationship with Anna - before it was official - during one of those opportunities. She had gotten to know the real Kristoff through them too. And she treasured every single one of those memories. 

It was for that reason that, once they were settled in the kitchen working together, Gerda took the opportunity to ask her son how things were going in his life. After all, her instincts told her there was a reason Kristoff had shown up without a warning that morning.

“What’s on your mind, dear?” asked Gerda, while she checked the recipe to make sure they hadn't forgotten any ingredient.

“How did you know I wanted to talk about something?” His incredulous face made her smile. He was a grown up man, but she could still see the expressions of that little boy she adopted. 

She stood by his side while he chopped the onions and commented, "You chose to spend your free day cooking with your old mother rather than going to the mountain or somewhere exciting." 

"I enjoy spending time with you…" 

She could hear his hesitation. "And?" 

A smile appeared in his face and he closed his eyes in defeat. "And I need advice. Your opinion, really, about something." 

With a pat on his shoulder, she encouraged him to share his worries. "Don’t beat around the bush then. What is it?" 

"I want to be on good terms with Anna’s family again." He stopped to put the chopped vegetable inside the pot and handed it to his mother. "I think Anna deserves it, but…" 

"Have you got mixed feelings about the Arendelles?" asked Gerda, already knowing the answer. 

"Yes." She watched him gather his thoughts until he explained. "And I feel as if I would be betraying Elsa too. Is it okay for me to give her parents a chance before she does?”

"You’ve got the right to spend time with your girlfriend’s family if that’s what you want, dear." 

"The thing is, I’m not sure I want to. I don’t know what to do,” confessed Kristoff.  “They left Elsa on her own when she was a baby." He began using the knife with more force as he explained the way he felt, and Gerda couldn't help but worry for his fingertips. "I feel as if I'd start arguing with them as soon as we see each other. And I don't want that to happen. Anna doesn't deserve it."

"Why don't you let me continue with that?" suggested Gerda, asking for the knife. To her relief, he handed her the utensil and he sat on the stool by the counter. Gerda could understand his predicament. He was standing between the two most important girls in his life and either thing he chose could end up hurting one or the other. 

She couldn't blame Kristoff for being angry with his in-laws. She had been mad with them herself, and from time to time it was hard for Gerda to remember the reasons why she had forgiven them. But Kristoff was usually a compassionate person who could easily put himself in someone else's shoes. It was strange to think he hadn't done it with the Arendelles yet; especially if he wanted to be on good terms for his girlfriend's sake. That's when she realised that, maybe, he hadn't heard their side of things. "Have you heard their story?"

"Whose story?" 

"Arendelles',” clarified Gerda. “Their story and reasons to leave Elsa behind, I mean."

He looked at her, intrigued. "No. I left before they had the chance to tell me anything. Have you?"

Gerda nodded. "They are not monsters if that’s what you’re worried about. They made stupid mistakes, I won’t deny that." She soon explained to let her son know she didn't justify their actions. "But I think they are just victims in Weselton's play."

"Did they know Weselton?!"

Thinking it was best to explain everything to Kristoff and help him understand how complicated everything surrounding his sister's life was, Gerda offered, "Let's finish cooking and I’ll tell you everything they told us." 

--

As it was usual, the city bus stopped in the North mountain’s parking lot mid morning. Anna thanked the driver, whom she now knew was named Oskar, and got off. She rearranged the bag on her shoulder and started walking towards Elsa's house. 

The trail was considerably long but she enjoyed walking it every weekend. It had become part of her routine, and she enjoyed observing the way the trees changed around her every passing week. She smiled knowing the shinny shades of green were letting her know Summer was just a few days away. And that meant she was just a few days away from finishing her academic year. Just a couple more tests and then she was going to be free for a couple of months. And she already knew what she wanted to do… She had already talked with Elsa about the possibility of her spending another week on the mountain, and to her delight, she had agreed in a heartbeat. Anna was excited for that week to come. The two of them, together with Kristoff and Marshall were going to explore the valley and go camping near the most beautiful mountain rivers. Activities she had never had the chance to do due to her father’s overprotection. Nonetheless, she still needed to make sure she finished several things before that week came. She still had to pass two finals to be able to enjoy her summer holidays to the fullest, and also make sure Elsa finished with the compulsory curriculum for her tests. So then, when they returned after their improvised holidays, she could sit down and help Elsa practice and study, making sure she was ready for the tests in the first weeks of Autumn.

Anna came out of the forest and walked into the glade surrounding Elsa’s cottage. She smiled when she noticed in the distance the older girl sitting on her front stairs, looking at the sky absentmindedly. Whatever she was thinking about was distracting enough to allow Anna to get to the cottage without Elsa noticing.

“Say, what’s in your mind?” she said, cheerfully.

Eyes opening in surprise, Elsa looked at her. “Anna!”

“You were miles away. What were you thinking about? Or better yet, who?” She laughed at Elsa’s unamused expression. Making fun of her older sister had become one of her most treasured pastimes, and Elsa’s annoyance the best reward.

“I was just enjoying the day,” answered Elsa, ignoring Anna’s remarks. “It's a nice morning, don't you think?” 

Looking around, Anna had to agree. The sun was shining and the sky was clear. “Yeah, it's a beautiful day.” When she looked back at Elsa, she was once again looking at the sky, and Anna soon noticed she hadn’t really heard her answer. “Are you okay?” 

“Sure,” she said with a small smile. “Why wouldn't I be?” 

“You just seem to be in a brown study.”

“A... what?”

“Distracted.”

“Why don’t you say distracted then?” asked Elsa, faking annoyance. 

“It won’t kill you to learn an idiom or two. But, seriously, are you okay?”

“I am.” Elsa stood up and instead of climbing the stairs to her door, like Anna was expecting, she began walking towards the forest. “Would you like to go for a walk? I haven't been walking as much as I should lately.”

“Have you been doing the exercises the doctor recommended?”

“I have. Don’t worry,” she answered with a big smile. “I just feel like walking. The mountain is beautiful during the mornings this time of the year.”

“Okay,” accepted Anna. “But it doesn't mean we won't be studying today. I've got a few lessons ready and we need to keep a good rhythm if you want to take your tests in Autumn.” 

Elsa continued walking and it was only after she had taken some distance that she answered, “Sure, sis. Whatever you say.” 

Anna’s eyes doubled their size, and she jogged to catch up with Elsa. “What did you just say?”

Elsa looked at her, and with a smirk said, “I said we'll do what you say after the walk. Come on.”

“I'm pretty sure you said something different.” 

Pretending to be deep in thought she answered, “I don’t think so.” 

“I could swear you said something different.” 

“Must be your imagination.”

Anna dropped the topic, knowing it was useless to try to get Elsa to admit she had said something else. But Anna was sure she had heard Elsa correctly, and she felt a new kind of excitement she’d never felt before.

--

Just as they had agreed, Gerda and Kristoff finished cooking their meal and sat down to eat before his mother began telling him everything she remembered about Elsa’s parents. As he listened, Kristoff guessed Gerda couldn't really explain everything with as much detail as Agdar and Idunn could; but he was nonetheless surprised at his mother's memory. 

She talked about their life in Romsdall, their surprise when Idunn became pregnant and the woman’s illness during those months. She told him how they had met Weselton and why, and everything they had gone through once they discovered Elsa’s powers and left her on her own.

What certainly called Kristoff’s attention — besides the fact they had deliberately left Elsa in the hands of Weselton — was finding out how hard it had been for Agdar to be with the girl he loved. Once or twice Kristoff had heard Anna talk about her grandfather, Runeard, and how her father always avoided giving her much details about his life. Something he had always found strange, especially since it had been Runeard who had built the company Agdar now owned. However, now, thanks to Gerda’s explanation he understood better why, and he thought it had been ridiculous on Runeard's part to care so much about his reputation to the point he ignored his own son’s happiness.

Kristoff wasn’t sure the Arendelles’ lives and experiences justified what they had done to Elsa, but the story was certainly different than what he had imagined. “I never thought Agdar and Idunn had lived so many things in their youth.”

Gerda nodded in understanding. Even if she didn’t know the couple as well as Kristoff did, she had to agree their life had been way different than she had imagined too. “About Elsa,” she said, going back to their main concern. “I honestly don’t think they tried to get rid of her. On the contrary, they only gave her up in hopes she would live a better life.”

“You said they even tried to find her, didn’t you?”

“They looked in every single orphanage in the area. They were set to find her once they had settled down and they knew they had the means to help her.”

“I can't believe the employees in my orphanage interfered in their search the way they did.” He had to be honest and admit he didn’t have really good memories from the orphanage, apart from becoming friends with Elsa. But the idea of them not only ignoring Elsa and stopping her from meeting her real family crushed Kristoff and made him realise how despicable people could really be when they were interested in money.

“There are bad people in this world, dear. And sadly, there’s little we can do about it.”

He hated to accept how real those words were. He knew for a fact how hard his parents had tried to help Elsa and make sure everyone involved in her suffering paid. But justice wasn’t always fair, and there were little people like them could do to change that.

Thinking it was best to ignore the world’s injustice and get the conversation back on track, he commented, “I truly thought Agdar and Idunn had forgotten about her.” He was still baffled by how mistaken he had been. "Does Elsa know about this?" 

"I don't think so. Your father and I haven't talked to her about this. And we didn't let the Arendelles get in touch with her. Even if we understood their reasons, it didn’t mean we would go over Elsa’s wishes. She's got the right to choose when and how to meet them and if she wants to listen to them."

"I never thought I’d say this, but Elsa needs to hear them out,” said Kristoff with resolution, even if the idea of his sister opening the door to her real family hurt him deeply. But Elsa had suffered enough through life, and she deserved to know she had been loved.

Mother and son stayed silent, both lost in their own thoughts. Kristoff wondered if it was correct to let his sister know, or if it was better to follow his parents original idea — letting Elsa find out the truth whenever she felt it was the right time. 

He looked at his mother, ready to find out what she thought about it, when he noticed Gerda’s crestfallen expression. “Are you okay, mum?”

“Do you think Elsa will give them another chance?” 

The question came as a surprise to him. Gerda knew as well as he did the answer to that question. Elsa was, after all, a girl with a forgiving heart. “I think she will… with time. That doesn't mean her scars will magically heal.”

“That’s what I thought you’d say…”

Her heartache didn’t go unnoticed by Kristoff. “I've got mixed feelings about them too,” he admitted. “I still think they are partly to blame for Elsa's childhood.”

“That’s not what unsettles me,” said Gerda as she held her son’s hand in hers. “I’ve talked to them. I’ve noticed their pain and sadness. I don’t think they’ll do anything to hurt Elsa, on the contrary.”

Puzzled by his mother’s certainty in Agdar and Idunn’s intentions, Kristoff had to ask what was really troubling Gerda. “Then, what’s your main concern?”

“Ever since I heard Idunn’s side of the story, I've been thinking about the role she may have in Elsa’s life from now on...” she took a deep breath and looked at her hands as if she was ashamed of what she was about to say. “Tell me, dear. Have you considered what it will mean for us if Elsa gives her biological family a second chance?”

Kristoff stayed silent for a moment thinking about his answer. He offered his mother a side smile and admitted, “I would be lying if I say I haven't… Being honest, it's something I try not to think too much about.” Deciding it was best to simply tackle the elephant in the room, he asked, “are worried about Elsa leaving us behind?”

“No,” she said a little too fast to sound believable. “Not at all.”

“I had a hard time accepting Anna was her real sister. And I consider Anna one of the most important people in my life…” Kristoff said, trying to make his mother understand it was completely normal to feel apprehensive. “I can only imagine what you must feel when you think of Elsa seeing Idunn as her mother.” 

Gerda sighed and showed Kristoff a sad smile. “As long as she’s happy. I'll be happy.”

“I know you will,” said Kristoff, knowing it was the truth.

“Between us…” Gerda said, calling his attention once again. “I do fear she may stop calling me mum, you know? I know it’s silly, after all I’ve never been her real mother, but I fear I'll become just Gerda in her eyes.”

“That’ll never happen.” The sadness in his mother’s eyes pained Kristoff. If there was someone who didn’t deserve to feel dejected was Gerda. “Elsa loves you more than anyone in this world. Including me.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Kristoff noticed Gerda truly believed that to be impossible, and wished his sister could be more open and actually let their mother know how much she meant to her. “She once confessed she would be dead if it hadn’t been for you, mum.” He felt bad for breaking his sister’s trust by sharing that information with his mother, but Gerda deserved to know how important she had been — and still was — for Elsa. “You'll never be in second place in her heart.”

“I know you’re trying to lift my spirits, dear. But that’s really unsettling.” Gerda showed him a concerned face and tightened her hold in her son’s hand.

“She was talking about what she would have done if she had been taken to a different clinic. Till this day she’s certain people would have kept running tests and experiments on her,” he clarified. “What I was trying to say is, Agdar and Idunn suddenly appearing in her life won’t change the past. You and Kai are our parents. No matter what other people say.” He chuckled and said, “you're stuck with us forever.”

“I wouldn’t want it any other way.” Gerda’s eyes shined and an honest smile appeared in her face. She stood up and kissed his forehead before picking up the plates on the table. On her way to the kitchen, she turned around and asked one simple favour. “Don’t tell Elsa about this, please. I want her to choose whatever her heart desires. She doesn’t need to worry about old Gerda.”

“I won’t,” he promised. Still worried about his mother, Kristoff thought fast on something to distract her. Luckily, an idea soon crossed his mind, and even though he knew it was risky, he went along with it in hopes his mother would forget about her worries. Clearing his throat, he called his mother’s attention and said, “though, she does worry about you, you know? You’re getting older by the day and she fears you won’t remember her next time she comes to visit.”

“I’m still the closest thing you’ve got to a mother, do not forget that,” came Gerda’s annoyed retort, and she disappeared inside the kitchen.

He tried his hardest not to laugh at his mother’s insulted demeanour, but he completely lost it as soon as she left the dining room. His laugh stopped, however, when she returned with desert just for her.

Before Kristoff had the chance to complain or beg his mother for some, she interrupted him. “Do you really think you can say that to my face and don’t face the consequences, young man?”

With that, Kristoff knew he had taken things too far and his mother had undoubtedly won.

--

Elsa looked at her cards and then at Anna. The girl in question had just called truco and was waiting for her to answer. She was certain she had a good hand, and Anna had the tendency to try to fool her into thinking her cards were better. But she had played that trick once or twice already and something told Elsa she was being serious this time.

“Quiero retruco,” she said, hoping Anna was lying once again. She noticed how she tried to hide a grin and Elsa already knew what was coming.

“Quiero, vale cuatro,” 

“You’re buffling.” Elsa was so close to winning, but she couldn’t risk it. If Anna’s cards were better she would earn four points and end it there.

“I said, vale cuatro. What do you want to do?” she said and looked at her with a defiant expression.

“I fold.”

Hands up in the air, Anna let a triumphant, “Yes!”

“Let me see your cards.”

“No way. There’s one mano left, I won’t let you see my cards.” Anna picked the cards from the table and soon began shuffling them to prevent Elsa from seeing them.

“You tricked me again, didn’t you?”

“You’re pretty bad at this game. I’m sure you were cargada and backed down at the last moment, weren’t you?”

“I knew I should have accepted!”

Anna began laughing at her face while she shuffled the cards. Elsa had been so close to winning and she had completely changed the course of the game thanks to her buffling.

Elsa was about to complain once again about Anna’s acting skills when the door opened and Kristoff came in. 

“There you are!” said Anna cherfully, while she dropped the deck and walked towards her boyfriend. “I've missed you!”

“You spent the whole day with him yesterday. How could you possibly have missed him?” said Elsa as picked the cards. She was quite relieved her brother had shown up and interrupted their game before Anna won once again. 

“I always miss him,” Anna answered with a smile. “I thought you weren't coming. I was about to leave.” 

Anna had been waiting for Kristoff to show up and give her a ride home that evening. She had mentioned to Elsa earlier that day there was an important business dinner at her house and Agdar wanted her to be present. 

“I lost track of time talking with mum, sorry,” soon apologised Kristoff.

“How's mum?”

“Good,” he said as he sat down on the couch next to his sister. “Though, she’s a little disappointed you don’t visit her more often.”

“Why do you always say things to make me feel guilty?” she complained. “I call her almost every day.”

“It wouldn't kill you to spend a night or two in the city. And you could visit Sven in the process.”

“I know you love to argue,” Anna said, interrupting their conversation. “But can we, please, get going? Dad wanted me to be home before his business partners arrived."

"Sure thing," said Kristoff standing up. 

"Wait, Anna. Before I forget…" Elsa said, calling Anna's attention who was in the kitchen picking up her things. "There's something I need to give you." And with that she disappeared into her bedroom only to return a few seconds later with a envelope en her hand. 

"Huh? What is this?" said Anna as she looked up from her bag and grabbed what Elsa was offering her. 

"It's a letter." Elsa hoped for Anna to understand and not make much fuss about it. She had been trying all day to find the right moment to give the girl the letter she had written to Idunn. 

"A letter…" Anna looked at the envelope in her hand, as she tried to understand. "Wait, what? Hold up. Really?!" 

"Don't get too excited it's-" 

"No, no, no," she cut her sister mid-sentence. "You can't hand me a letter addressed to mum and tell me not to get excited. Elsa, are you serious?"

"Look," Elsa said, raising her hands in front of her as she tried to calm Anna down. "It's just one letter and a simple response to the letters she sent me. Please, don't think too much of it." 

"What letters?" asked Kristoff while he entered the room. His girlfriend's excitement had called his attention, and he arrived just in time to hear Elsa mention she was merely answering back to Idunn. 

"Elsa! You're writing back!" Doing exactly the opposite of what Elsa had asked her to do, Anna wrapped Elsa in her arms. After a moment, she let go of her sister and asked, "What made you change your mind?" 

Elsa thought about her answer. She didn't want to admit she had been struggling so much with the idea of reading the letters. And she also didn't want to let Anna know she had merely read them in fear she would get tired of her. So, to make things easier, she simply explained, "You should be thanking Marshmallow, he said something to me a few weeks back and it made me realise giving the letters a chance wasn't such a bad idea."

She laughed out loud and then hugged Elsa once again. "I love that big, intimidating guy so much! I could kiss him!"

"Okay," Kristoff stopped her. "There’s no need to kiss anyone." It was clear by his expression he still had many questions he wanted to ask, but he had put two and two together, understanding his girlfriend's happiness perfectly well. That didn't mean he wasn't going to ask his girlfriend for clarification later on. 

Looking at her boyfriend, Anna said in a serious tone of voice. "Two months ago I thought Elsa would freeze my butt if I even mentioned my parents' existence. Whatever Marshall said changed her mind. So excuse me if I think he deserves a kiss."

"First of all, that's quite an exaggeration," said Elsa thinking about the idea of her freezing Anna's behind. "And second, I'm not sure Marshmallow would like for you to start kissing him all of a sudden." 

"Maybe you're right…" said Anna, thinking about another option. "You'll have to do it for me." 

Elsa deadpanned. "Very funny. Weren't you in a hurry?" 

Anna, noticing Elsa's embarrassment behind her serious mask, laughed and said, "You wish for me to go before I talk too much, don't you?"

Elsa narrowed her eyes and silently told Anna to shut her mouth. Weeks before, she had asked Anna not to tell her brother she had slept in Marshall's house. Not because something had actually happened between them, but simply because she wanted to avoid the jealous-brother conversation that would surely take place. Elsa still wasn't sure what Kristoff thought of the mountaineer, and she didn't want to find out during an awkward conversation. 

"I have no idea what's going on, but I'd rather not find out," said Kristoff, before Anna crossed a line. "Pick your things and let's go."

After silently thanking her brother, Elsa turned to him and asked, "are you coming back after dropping Anna off?" 

"Sure thing," he answered with a smile. It had been days since the two of them could spend a night together, and Kristoff was eager to talk and have fun with his sister. "I'll bring some pizza on the way back." 

Elsa was about to suggest a place when a knock on her door distracted her. She looked at Kristoff with a puzzled expression, wondering who could it be, and then walked out of the kitchen to answer. 

When she opened the door, she was surprised to see Marshmallow standing on the other side, since he had told her he had to work late that night. But even more shocking was his appearance. His comb over hairstyle was disheveled in an unusual manner, he was breathing heavily — as if he had run all the way to her house — and his angered expression told Elsa he wasn't there for chit-chat.

"Marshmallow?" she asked, lost for words. "What are you doing out here? Are you okay?" 

Breathing in deeply, he looked at Elsa and said, "I need Anna’s phone number." 

--

I hope this chapter finds all of you well.

Time went by faster than I imagined and I was surprised to find out it had been more than a month and a half since the last time I updated. My apologies for the long hiatus. 

Nonetheless, I've got good news! I've been writing and planning a lot during this last month and a half, and I'm pretty sure I've got all the ideas in order for this story's finale. There are several chapters left, 7 or 8, more or less, but at least I can say I can see the finish line. (Then, it will be up to you if I continue with a second part, but that's something else altogether.)

Also, I've written a new summary for the story. I think this new one can help people understand a bit more what the story is about before reading it. The previous one was quite confusing. 

-

In case you were wondering, the game Elsa and Anna play in this chapter is called Truco. It's quite common among friends in Argentina and I wanted to include something related to my country's customs and traditions. (The game is not originally Argentinian, but the one Anna and Elsa play here follow the Argentinian rules and calls.) Just a small wink to my teenage years and all the fun I've had playing this game. By the way, I'm terrible at it. 

-

As always, thank you for your constant support and patience. I know I should try to update more often.

Don't forget to leave a review on your way out. They are the best fuel a writer can get! Whenever I need inspiration, I go back and re-read every single comment. They really mean a lot to me.

Tagging: @swimmingnewsie @melody-fox @kristoffxannafanatic @kristannafictionals @neptrabbit @skneez @ellacarter13 @wondering-in-life @who-i-am-8 @fanfictionrecommendations-com @815-allisnotlost @khartxo @joannevixxon @betweenthedreams  @burbobah @rileysfs @earlvessalius @blood-jewel @disneydreamer8901 @the-sky-is-awake @disneyfan103 @the-magic-one-is-you @anamaria8garcia @welovefrozenfanfiction @bigfrozenfan-archive @bigfrozenfan @frozen-snips  @deisymendoza  @zackhaikal123 @cornstarch @roostercrowedatmidnight @showurselfelsa @fuzzyelsalikeiduna @when-dawn-arrives @drafteedragon @snowycrocus @tare8chan @localarendellian@wabitham @roostercrowedatmidnight  @just-your-local-history-nerd@dontrunintofirexoxo @daphmckinnon @poketin @bruni-is-love @luna-and-mars @anotherpersondrawing @lovelucywilde @shimmeringsunsets @aries1708 @wabitham @agentphilindaisy @anotherpersondrawing @spkfrozen @thegeekogecko

[whetstonefires]

Hi Whetstonefire. I have a question about the comic where Nightwing cheats on Starfire with Barbara: What happens directly after that? Does Starfire find out that Nightwing cheated on her? And, if so, how does she react? I've read online that (according to Marv Wolfman) Starfire is the opposite of everything Batman taught Nightwing to be and that Batman taught Nightwing to be repressed and cold. What did Nightwing contribute (emotionally) to the relationship between him and Starfire? (Cont.)

(Cont.) From what I can tell, from online, Nightwing was adamant about standards of mercy and monogamy - how do you think, if Starfire were to be written as her own character and not written around Nightwing and his emotional needs, she would handle and react to that? (This bit is an FYI for other readers: this is just speculation, not hate. Sorry about that.) Sorry about the questions! Have a nice day! 

Okay there are so many separate questions packed in here! I may miss some of them lol and I do not want to put in the hours it would take to produce an orderly response to all this, so this post is going to be a mess.

Initial query and important point: the cheating story was out of continuity. Like, literally, not just by ‘being rejected by the fanbase,’ it was just this weird retcon oneshot that seems to have been some sort of fuck-you to Nightwing or his fans or something. So no, it had no in-setting fallout lol. It, in more ways than most comics, didn't exactly happen.

It was just this weird thing where Dick hooks up with Babs before giving her a wedding invitation, which is both out of character for him in general and out of step with where he was leading up to the wedding--he was desperate to get married so they could have some Normal Stable Adulthood Happiness; the choice to recharacterize him as a fuckboy who regards it as a loss of freedom isn’t congruent, on much more than the level of principle.

As far as how Kori would feel about it, if she had learned...that is very hard to say. Apart from how it would require her to reinterpret everything about where their relationship stood at that point, the data is very unclear, and I don’t even have all of it. Gonna back up to cover some of the rest of the ask, get some context here.

So this actually brings up two of my biggest gripes with Wolfman’s NTT--weird Kori characterization and the weirdly negative interpretation of Batman as parent that backwashed heavily into other titles and influenced the character for the worse, in ways we're very much still dealing with today. 😩

The latter is pretty self-explanatory, though Wolfman’s take that the main thing Bruce taught Dick was repression does shed light on some writing choices and make others funnier. But Kori. Oh my lands.

So, item one, I wouldn't say that Kori is overall opposite Bruce, or even of his philosophy? There are just some very major points of opposition. She isn’t emotionally buttoned-down like at all, especially about positive feelings, although considered realistically with all the bullshit they’ve piled into her backstory she absolutely leans on repression to cope and stay positive, which makes her a lot like Dick actually.

To an extent, she was clearly written around foiling Dick’s Batman-derived traits in the same way that Robin was written to foil Batman, bright and glad and aerial. A Flamebird to his Nightwing in theme if not in name.

You could do some interesting stuff with that, and the bildungsroman aspects of this period of Dick’s life, like he has two roads forward in terms of how he’s going to define ‘adulthood’--does it necessarily require becoming more like his mentor-father, for good and ill, or can he make Kori in part a destination, as it were, and create an adult self that is derived from who he has always been as well as the man he’s modeled himself after?

To an extent I think this even was one of the things going on in ntt but like. Only a little bit.

(Given how much like Bruce Babs is in most of the ways Kori isn’t, especially once she’s Oracle, you could make a case for her as love interest being like. Symbolic of his not being in a rebellious phase? That gets weird and oedipal really fast tho lol.)

Okay stepping down one meta level lol, the thing about answering the 'what would kori' question here is that her character is deeply bound up in her culture, about which we are told and shown a great many contradictory things. Any attempt to read her as an independent character has to tackle not only the gender stuff you allude to and these inconsistencies, but how much of the sheer mess of her is rooted in racism.

'Fantastic' racism, technically, because Tamaraneans aren't real, but the 'taming the savage' narrative that kept surfacing between them and the language used in reference to it is just. The existing racism of presumably the writers, placed in Dick's mouth, and it's super gross. I hate it so much.

(I had a faint hope when they cast her for live action it was with a deliberate intent to directly tackle and better that history, but lollllllll nah. At least they didn’t double down in it tho! Can you imagine, with a black actress, in this day and age....)

So to predict and comprehend Kori, you have to make a lot of calls about Tamaran as a civilization. I like to slightly privilege stuff established earlier if there's no good reason not to, so while much is made over time of her inappropriate rage and the violence she was raised to normalize, I think what she says in her first appearance is good to keep in mind: in her culture, kindness is for friends and cruelty is for enemies. She doesn't understand why the Titans seem to have this backwards.

Kori is not a merciless person. She’s very empathetic, as a rule. With people she loves, she is self-destructively forgiving. That's not a trait only Dick benefits from--her family keeps betraying her in new exciting ways, and she keeps letting them.

Her arc of growing away from that habit is however greatly crippled by centering Dick in the narrative and by the awful 'civilizing' overtones that keep coming into it. When she comes back after the 1986 breakup, still married to Karras, she brings with her a commitment to doing things the Earth way--to eschew lethal force as more than a compromise with her friends’ values, but as a deliberate choice.

This deserved a lot more space and time than it got, and the fact that it didn’t get it is only somewhat due to her being subordinated to Dick and to general writing fail; a lot of it’s just the team book problems of everything happening to everybody all at once.

I mean, Dick’s journey later on to deciding he loves her enough to date her even though she’s married and it’s technically against his principles was packed into this absolutely heinous issue where he was inspired by a woman refusing to separate from her husband who’d just threatened to kill her and their kid with a knife, until being stopped by Nightwing. Because he’s apologizing for what he did.

This is his inspiration for accepting Kori’s marital status! It’s supposed to be heartwarming, as far as I can tell! Not heavyhanded messaging that this is a self-destructive terrible choice in which Kori will inevitably harm him somehow! This issue is pro ‘consensual open relationships under certain circumstances’ and also ‘giving abusers another chance’ as expressions of love. Welcome to the 80s ig.

(Notable is that the wife in this issue was black and the husband and son both looked very white, so it’s probably her stepkid and she probably wouldn’t get to keep him if they separated; this is not even vaguely treated as a factor.)

Point is, everyone was getting too little space to actually go through the amount of development they were getting, and it was clumsily handled; it’s not just her.

In an overlapping period Gar processed his issues with his adoptive father with whom he constantly fought and their shared trauma over the rest of their family (the Doom Patrol) having died violently not long ago via a batshit several-issue storyline where Mento went crazy, created supermutants, and abusively mind-controlled them to attack the Titans. It is literally all like this.

Back to the infidelity thing, now. So much to unpack. So like I mentioned above, their first big breakup, while partially driven by Dick’s existing conflicted feelings about their different ideas about things like ‘killing in battle’ and ‘her identity and loyalties being tied up with her home planet,’ is explicitly over different takes on monogamy.

When Dick is breaking up with her, Kori makes it clear she thinks it’s totally reasonable to have both a husband and a love, since Karras also has someone he loves and they’re both fine with it, but the story doesn't really explain how nonmonogamy works on Tamaran, or even if it's practiced outside the context of political marriage. They do do a sort of...soulbond fusion dance...thing, as part of the ceremony, so marriage is definitely serious business. There are so many levels of cultural difference that get poor to no development.

But to return to the weird ooc retcon cheating story: because of this context, no matter what her personal norms are, Dick specifically casually sleeping with someone else would be something for Kori to be mad about, because of the hypocrisy.

Then there’s the Mirage Incident, which I haven’t read through properly and which was very poorly handled by the writers. Kori is upset about Dick having slept with someone impersonating her and there’s a general vibe of this being treated by Dick’s social circle as unfaithfulness even though he was in fact sexually violated by deceit; it famously sucks.

We still don’t learn a lot here about Kori’s ideas about monogamy, from what I have seen, because her focus is mostly on feeling like Dick doesn’t care about her enough or in the right way since he couldn’t tell the difference. Which is an understandable feeling, even if it’s not an appropriate reaction to have at him at this time.

What Nightwing contributed emotionally........hm. This is a mess, honestly; he was all over the map, and not just because of having Brother Blood in his head. I cannot speak definitively on this, it’s too inconsistent.

For most of their relationship, Kori was the more intensely invested one, the one to initiate and the one who was shown at length to be excited to come home at the end of the day to their shared apartment because her boyfriend was there to see and talk to. If we set aside his more egregious white male bullshit, Dick was pretty emotionally available most of the time, though? They were cute.

Since they split up a lot of ink has been spilled making him less into her in retrospect, but he was pretty invested--leaving her coincided with mental breakdowns both times, and it wasn’t even mostly because she was doing his emotional processing for him, because she wasn’t, although it’s fair to say he often fell into using the relationship as an emotional crutch. Kori was definitely doing the same thing though so...it wasn’t the most balanced relationship in fiction history, but apart from slight codependency and the racism, it was decent enough.

She gets more evenhanded development than most superhero love interests, honestly, because she was costarring in a team book. She had her own storylines. She had other friends.

Mostly both of them just needed some space to finish growing up and stop being retraumatized long enough to process some of the existing trauma better, and I think they could have gone on being good for each other for a long time.

[ridiculously-over-obsessed]

I can haz domestic staubrey?

Yes you can boo 😘

Who reaches out to new neighbors

Aubrey, it’s the southern upbringing. She’s always hosting dinner parties for neighbours, always looking to make each new resident feel like they’re at home. Stacie loves this about Aubrey, loves the soft domestic look that she has when she’s in their kitchen cooking enough food to feed a small army.

Who remembers to buy healthy food

Aubrey. She’s a bit of a health nut, never able to really shake her old Bella habits. Given her obsessive nature Stacie keeps a close eye on it because she knows it can get (and has gotten) out of control, but she supports Aubrey wanting them to have a healthy and balanced lifestyle, plus as she likes to say a lot: “You did fall in love with my gorgeous form before I’d even opened my mouth, I’ve got to keep it nice for you.” Stacie thinks it’s really cute when Aubrey cuts the vegetables into fun shapes for their kids to get them to eat them.

Who remembers to buy junk food

Stacie. She buys it because she knows when Aubrey gets crazy obsessive over what they eat that she’ll forget to eat the things that make her happy (because as healthy as kale is, it doesn’t exactly spark joy) and Stacie wants Aubrey to remember to be kind to herself, even if it’s just a frozen pizza on days she doesn’t feel like cooking. It’s also her that gets their kids hopped up on sugar which she thinks is amusing until the day that Aubrey tells her that she’s going to get a coffee with Chloe and maybe go get a manicure whilst Stacie deals with the kids who need feeding, a bath, and a nap, as well as long list of household chores that Stacie has to do whilst dealing with the sugar high 2-7 year olds. After that? Not so funny...

Who fixes the oven when it breaks

Aubrey. Her dad taught her how to do all sorts of household and car stuff when she was growing up, never wanting her to have to rely on anyone else. Aubrey, with her toolbelt around her waist, her hair pulled back, a look of intense concentration on her face is the hottest thing Stacie has ever seen, to the point where she has seriously considered deliberately breaking things around their house just to see Aubrey “all butch”.

Who waters the plants/feeds their pet(s)

Aubrey. She has a strict regime and timetable for watering and caring for the plants around the place, and even their pets are on a tightly kept food/treats/walks schedule. Stacie thinks it’s really cute, and a great, healthy outlet for Aubrey’s need to be in control.

Who wakes up earlier

Stacie. You’d think it would be Aubrey given her early starts to go for a run and make breakfast and go to work, but Stacie trains herself over the course of their relationship to wake up earlier than her girlfriend because she enjoys seeing the peace in her face when she’s asleep, enjoys seeing the sleep disheveled look that Aubrey sports as she splays out in their bed. It’s the Aubrey that only she gets to see and if it means that she has to wake up at 4am to see it. Aubrey is a heavy sleeper (at least Stacie thinks so) which means that some mornings Stacie traces the outline of Aubrey’s features, just wanting to commit every last part of her to memory. Aubrey is however a fairly light sleeper and is always woken up when Stacie does this but doesn’t let it show. She loves the caring way in which Stacie traces her face and  won’t ever do anything to make her stop doing that.

Who makes the bed

Both. Yes Aubrey is something of a neat freak, but Stacie likes coming home to a nicely made bed too, so when they get up they make the bed together before they go make coffee. Aubrey never says it out loud but there is nothing she loves more than these little domestic moments with Stacie, these moments that make her feel normal and loved in a way that she never thought she’d have. Stacie knows this without Aubrey having to say it though, and she makes sure that she gives Aubrey as many of these ‘normal’ domestic moments as she can to remind Aubrey that she loves her.

Who makes the coffee

Stacie. Again, she loves giving Aubrey these little domestic moments, these moments where the woman she loves passes her a mug of coffee and kisses her cheek sleepily. Stacie loves these little domestic moments too, and loves them even more when Aubrey gets up earlier than Stacie (which happens so rarely) and brings her a coffee in bed, because it’s these moments that Aubrey wears her heart on her sleeve for a morning and tells Stacie how much she loves her.

Who burns breakfast

Neither of them. Both Stacie and Aubrey are great cooks so no-one burns anything until they have kids. The first few months of fitting kids into their dynamic and learning a new routine means that on occasion the toast is a little singed but never indelibly burnt. Neither Stacie or Aubrey mind that though, it feels like a ‘normal’ family dynamic, one that neither of them had really had before.

How do they let each other know they’re leaving the house

More often than not, they leave at the same time, sharing a kiss before they walk out of the door together. Once Bella comes along, and then their other kids, Stacie and Aubrey take turns to take maternity leave when they’re small. Aubrey will always kiss each of her children on the forehead and then Stacie, lingering a little before pulling back: “I love you mommy, have a good day.” which makes Stacie melt. Stacie gives every kid a big hug  before draping her arms around Aubrey’s neck and whispering something in her ear that makes her a little red, then kisses her innocently and leaves. Aubrey pretends she hates it, but she wouldn’t have it any other way.

How do they greet each other when one of them gets home

Pre-kids, it’s always with a kiss as the other passes them a glass of wine. Post-kids, they’re usually mobbed by 1-4 children all screaming “Mama!” as their wife smiles at them and kisses them softly once she’s maneuvered her way around their children. Aubrey loves being swept into the arms of her loving family when she gets home after a long day, and once the kids have all been peeled of their mother, Stacie pulls Aubrey into her arms, sometimes dipping her if she’s feeling extra goofy, and kisses her deeply. Stacie loves nothing more than seeing her family after the long days in her lab and once her kids have scampered off to do something, she walks over to Aubrey who’s usually making dinner at the stove and winds her arms around her waist, kissing her neck as she sighs happily. It’s a little thing, but it’s everything to both of them.

Who brings home little gifts like flowers/chocolates more often

Stacie. She knows that sometimes Aubrey is insecure about their relationship and needs reminding that Stacie loves her to death. So she’ll sweep into their apartment, their house, Aubrey’s office, anywhere she needs to with a bouquet of lilies (Aubrey’s favourite) and a kiss, and more often than not with a little speech about how much she loves Aubrey and how grateful she is that she’s in her life.

Who picks the movie for movie night

They take it in turns, Aubrey usually opting for a musical, Stacie opting for some kind of crime drama. It doesn’t matter what they watch though, because Aubrey is content to just sit curled up in Stacie’s arms and spends more time thinking about how lucky she is then actually watching the movie.

Their favorite kind of movie to watch

The thing they both agree in is true crime documentaries, it’s a guilty pleasure they both indulge in (although sometimes Aubrey can’t help but yell at the lawyers/law enforcement when they’re being dumb).

Who first suggests a pillow fort

Stacie. It’s something she used to do with her brother and sisters growing up and she wants to do it with their kids. Aubrey can’t argue with all of them pleading with her to make a pillow fort, especially when they all look at her with big sad eyes in the way that makes her heart melt.

Who builds the pillow fort

Aubrey. “If we’re going to do this, we’re going to do it properly.” It’s the best damn fort in the whole world, more akin to a pillow mansion, and the kids love it. Stacie loves it too, and especially loves Aubrey’s take charge attitude. Stacie is very grateful that the pillow fort is so distracting for their kids as she pulls Aubrey into the bedroom.

Who tries to distract the other during the movie

Stacie. She can’t help herself, here Aubrey Posen is in her arms, looking so beautiful and she’s supposed to sit there and ignore that? It starts off innocently enough, just simple kisses and gentle caresses of Aubrey’s arms, but hands and lips quickly wander, and Aubrey will always giggle and protest a little bit, but she will never ever turn Stacie down.

Who falls asleep first

Both of them fall asleep at the same time usually, but in the early years of their relationship it’s Stacie that falls asleep first because Aubrey stays awake, wanting to make sure that Stacie is still there, still with her as she falls asleep, because she can’t quiet believe that Stacie has picked her and she’s scared if she falls asleep first she’ll wake up to find it’s all a dream.

Who is big spoon/little spoon

Stacie is the big spoon. Aubrey is the more authoritive of the two yes, but in bed next to her girlfriend Aubrey doesn’t have to be the one in charge, the one with all the responsibility. She’s just Aubrey, not Captain Posen, not Aubrey Posen esq., just Aubrey, and being in Stacie’s arms, held tight to her body, feeling Stacie’s warm breath on the back of her neck is the place where Aubrey feels the safest and happiest that she has ever been.

RJ why must they be so damn soft??? Thanks for this! 🥰💖

Send me a ship and I’ll give you my angsty or domestic headcanons!

[artificialqueens]

With Their Gold be Generous, 1/5 (Rosénali) - Mattels

the year is 1974 when rosé teaches denali to love

potential tw for homophobia

https://archiveofourown.org/works/30316788/chapters/74726673

-

The woman handing out flyers by the corner of a mom-and-pop grocery store is loud, Denali’ll give her that. Persuasive or convincing? That’s another story entirely. 

Denali isn’t totally sure what she seems to be advertising or selling, but one glance of the woman shoving a brightly coloured flyer into a pair of unwilling hands, tells Denali all she needs to know. She makes a bee-line around her, head down, no eye contact, no thank you ma’am, not today.

She breathes a sigh of relief when she steps past the woman, no promotional whatever in hand. 

“Excuse me!” A finger taps her shoulder. Spoken too soon. “We’re staging a pride celebration on Monday–” Denali reluctantly pivots herself around, trying desperately hard not to roll her eyes. 

She wants nothing more than to walk away from the chirping woman, slinging a half-assed ‘Sorry!’ over one shoulder as she goes, but she finds herself glued to the sidewalk. 

The woman is a little brassy, sure, but for what she lacks in the conservative femininity Denali is used to, she more than makes up in beauty. She seems to command the Chicago sidewalk like it’s a stage, bright pink curls coiffed into a faux-mohawk of sorts, reminding Denali of a show-pony. Her green eyes sparkle as she talks, wildly animated and gesticulating with her hands.

“–We’re meeting outside Phenomenon up on the big intersection by 13th, you know the one?” Her voice lilts slightly, some watered-down accent half tacked onto the end of her sentences. “Well you can’t miss it!”

Denali blinks, shaking her head, “sorry, what?”

�� Phenomenon? It’s the café on 13th avenue? Y’know, like, on the big intersection?” The woman speaks with a suppressed laugh, looking slightly quizzically at Denali.

“And this is for…?”

“The celebration?” The woman arches an eyebrow.

“For…?” 

The woman takes a deep breath and Denali has to will herself not to take a step back from her, convinced she might be about to get yelled at. Or slapped. Or maybe both if she’s extra lucky.

“In support of the LGBT community,” she says it slowly like Denali is a child, “like, to commemorate the anniversary of Stonewall? It was five years ago… So, like, it’s kind of a big deal this year.”

Denali feels her face flush pink. Sure, it’s not a secret that she had left her hometown in Alaska for something bigger, something more than that stupid one-light town where the light seemed to perpetually be red. Chicago had just seemed like the perfect place– a big city filled with people like her, and swarming with opportunities to be, as cliché as it seems, herself.

She remembers the Stonewall protests– she had listened to the shitty coverage of it on an old tinny radio locked away in her bedroom. When it had started playing in the kitchen after her mother had asked her to turn on a channel as they cooked, Denali had burned red, ducking her face out of view of her mother’s eagle eyes. 

“Change the channel, Mija.” Her mother had said, “I don’t want you listening to this.”

Denali changed it immediately, only taking it from the kitchen and listening to it under her covers later that night when she was sure nobody was awake.

The woman laughs sharply, “you okay honey?”

Denali’s face glows warmer. “Fine!” She squeaks out, trying desperately to break eye-contact and duck away from the woman’s piercing stare.

“So you’ll come?”

“I–” Denali feels like she’s short-circuiting, brain overloaded by the knowledge that the woman is offering her an olive branch of sorts, inviting her to come and celebrate alongside a community she had yearned for for so many years. She might be bad at dot-to-dots, but Denali isn’t dumb. 

“Don’t tell me I’ve read this wrong, sweetheart.” The woman cocks a hip, blue denim stretched taught across the skin. “My gay-dar is usually spot on!”

“No, uh,” Denali blushes, eyes focused intently on her scuffed sneakers. “You’ve, erm, not read it wrong.”

The woman puts a warm hand under Denali’s chin, forcing her gaze up, where she beams at her. White teeth, Denali notes. “Well I’ll see you there then doll, nine AM sharp– the info is on the flyer!” The woman smiles at her again, turning away with a little wave.

“What’s your name?” The words rush out of Denali’s mouth before she can stop them. The woman pivots around.

“Hm?” 

“What’s your name?” Denali sputters out. Her heart is palpitating in her chest and her head is spinning.

“Rosé,” she shoots her another dazzling grin. She extends out a hand for Denali to shake.

“Denali,” she knows she’s gripping Rosé’s hand a little too tightly and her palms are definitely weirdly clammy despite the June heatwave, but Rosé still shakes her hand with vigour.

“I’ll see you on Monday, Denali.” Rosé replaces her hand with a brightly-coloured flyer. And then she’s gone, turning back around to continue to pass the leaflets to other passerbys, undeterred by the constant rejection she seems to face.

Denali stays put, watching for a second. A couple of people tell Rosé to go to Hell, alongside other strongly-worded and remarkably aggressive insults, but she still smiles sunnily, enthusiastic despite the harassment. 

Denali reads the flyer properly as she starts walking, recognising a handful of photos from the Stonewall Riots and the subsequent pride celebrations that had happened on the last few anniversaries. It has an address on the front, written in big black letters and Denali makes a mental note to look it up in the big dictionary she keeps in her apartment later.

Her heart flutters a little in her chest when she thinks about Rosé, remembering the brush of her knuckles when they shook; the tiniest dimple in her cheek when she smiled; the crease in her forehead when she frowned that Denali had wanted to wipe away with the pad of her thumb.

Denali blinks. Woah. That’s… a lot. She blinks again, banishing the image of Rosé from her mind with one fell swoop.

☆☆☆☆☆

Denali counts herself lucky to live alone.

To call her arrangement ‘living alone’ seems like a stretch half the time when she has to share a kitchen and a slightly grotty row of communal showers with her building like she’s still at school. The tiny living room and bedroom she gets to herself makes up for it, though. Mostly.

Everyone who lives in the building seems to be a total asshole. There’s the group of college-aged guys who hit on her every morning without fail; the chain smoker who feels it’s okay to smoke without bothering to crack open a window; the couple down the hall who have loud rows and even louder sex every other day. A real melting pot of characters , as she had described to her mother on her shitty landline when she had first moved in, trying to remain optimistic. 

Melting pot, my ass, she thinks to herself. Honey this is an on-fire garbage can, at best.

Although the everyone in the building seems fucking awful, a few people from the sister building next to theirs had been somewhat welcoming to Denali when she arrived.

The woman who’s window faces directly into Denali’s, Kahmora, always flashes her a smile when they pass outside, occasionally stopping to ask how she’s finding the city. She’s also remarkably beautiful– Denali is sure she knows it as well, based on the number of times she’s caught her staring at her own reflection in a mirror across the windows.

From the couple of times Denali’s met her, the landlady of her own building, Bianca, seems nice enough too. During their first meeting, Bianca had given Denali a big map of the city, circling restaurants and clubs to check out, which Denali had been more than grateful for. 

Denali kicks off her sneakers as she walks into her room, nudging them together with a socked foot to put them together by her door.  She tosses her keys into a flower-shaped bowl she keeps by the front door, given to her as a gift by her parents the first time they had come to see her. 

She had hated every minute of that trip, if she’s being perfectly honest. Hated having to let her parents into the space that she had deliberately built up to be nobody but hers. Hated their poking and prodding of everything, squeezing and suffocating Denali, grinding her down to a repulsive paste that had left a bad taste in her mouth for weeks after. 

Her room is her pride and joy. She’s accumulated enough plants to cover every surface that gets a trickle of sunlight. They cover her shelves and tables, leaves creeping around her bedroom; a trail of life wherever she goes. A couple stray vines seemed to have glued themselves onto a worryingly damp windowsill, roots growing happily into her walls, which Denali (equally happily) chooses to ignore. 

She’s put up a curtain of clear plastic beads to divide her room into two, putting her bedroom on the other side. When it’s sunny enough, the beads catch the light, throwing it around the rooms and dispersing tiny rainbows. 

Anything that Denali has completely to herself is some sort of sacred. She revels in being able to take up her own space, something she hadn’t had the luxury of having when she was growing up, sharing her already minuscule room with her sisters and then with all of her cousins during the holidays. 

Her room is a sanctuary of sorts, a place where she can shield herself from the outside world. Built up with green plants and warm-toned carpets and cheap hanging lights that only half-work that were left in the room from the last person who lived there. She’d been tempted to get a cat when she had first moved in four months ago, but decided it was too much of a cliché for her to handle. 

She collapses onto her bed, looking up at the discoloured ceiling above her. Denali had stuck little stars she’d painted with gold glitter up onto it a few weeks ago, trying to put them into proper constellations but giving up almost immediately when she had realised how complicated it was. They’re dotted around instead, shedding sparkles over Denali’s white linens like it’s their job. It irritates her immensely, but they’re practically super-glued to the ceiling, refusing to come off no matter how hard she wedges her fingers under them.

Denali thumbs the flyer again, fishing it out of her pocket where she had neatly folded it. She kneels up on her bed, turning to the wall above the headboard where she’s put up a small cork board. Despite living in Chicago for enough months to have filled it up with interesting things, it remains remarkably bare. A ticket from one of the local ice-rinks is tacked up onto it, alongside her plane ticket, which she had excitedly pinned when she first arrived. 

She pulls out a red thumbtack, piercing the flyer so it’s stuck right in the centre of the board. The late afternoon light pools in a warm puddle across her bed, bathing the room in a glow foreign to Denali’s Alaskan summers. 

Lying flat on top of her sheets, she feels full with the promise that the flyer brings.

[imagine-darksiders]

Would make a short of Strife rescuing a tiny human? Please ?

Short?

Hi guys, so I was writing this reply when it suddenly occurred to me that I’ve been neglecting you and I owe you, at the very least, a 6000+ word, Strife centric Christmas present. So although it’s isn’t a Christmassy piece per se, it all I have at the moment. 

Thank you so much for being patient with me. XXXX 

—

The photograph stands on a tiny, pink dresser, its edges cut back just enough so that it fits inside a silver frame, out of which peer three humans, their grinning faces never changing as they keep a quiet vigil of the bedroom and its otherworldly visitor, who – in turn – finds his sharp gaze frequently returning to the little, paper snapshot.

A pair of eyes, golden and glowing in the lightless bedroom, screw themselves shut tightly for a moment as their owner heaves a sigh and tries not think about what had happened to the trio of humans. He especially refuses to dwell on the youngest; the little boy in overalls and wellington boots who rides happily on his father’s shoulders in the photo, but who also so, so closely resembles the tiny, emaciated corpse twisted up in a wardrobe nearby.

These are the moments during supply runs that Strife hates the most – where he stumbles across the sad, broken remains of humans, all whilst he rummages through their homes and helps himself to what was once theirs with his only consolation being the humans back at the maker tree, who would survive just a little longer thanks to his pilfering.

If he thought too hard about it, he would be troubled, and the horseman could not afford that. Best to put it from his mind and move on, as he always has. As experience has taught him.

Peeling his eyes open again, Strife turns his back on the photograph and continues stuffing a dishevelled, cuddly pony into one of the leather pouches that hangs from his side.

’Just the essentials,’ he reminds himself before every supply run. ’Food, water and ammunition being top priority.’

But then, Ulthane had brought that kid to the tree and she’d cried all night, asking where her caretakers were and complaining how she couldn’t possibly sleep without a ‘Mister Bear’ and…

The horseman strokes a finger over the toy’s stringy mane before he withdraws his hand and fastens the pack up again, safely sealing it inside.

’In this instance’, he reasons, ’a soft toy is an essential.’

Besides, he’s already gathered plenty of food for today at least, and if he doesn’t get back soon, Ulthane and the other humans will start to worry where he is.

“Where Jones is,” he corrects himself aloud with a bitter frown.

He’s beyond the point of believing they’d care about Strife the horseman in the same manner they care about his human disguise.

Casting one last, solemn glance at the corner wardrobe, Strife once more finds himself fighting to put the humans’ fate from his mind.

It was so much easier when he thought – as many other species still do – that humanity was little more than a savage society with no ambition beyond killing and consuming to survive. Then, he actually met the little species and found everything he thought he knew about them to be a lie. His eyes had been opened, and he’d been left sadder, but wiser.

Humans had been treated like dirt for so many centuries.

And he hadn’t really cared.

Deciding that he’s spent more than enough time among ghosts, Strife steps back over the bedroom’s threshold. 

Moving towards a set of rickety stairs, he reaches out to place a hand on the banister when he suddenly freezes in his tracks, his keen senses honing in on a sound coming from somewhere further down the landing.

A scuffle, then a snort followed by the scrabble of claws on a hard surface.

For several moments, the horseman remains at a standstill as he listens with rapt attention to the pants and growls he’d pin to a Goreclaw, if he had to take a wild guess.

The damn thing sounds as though it’s stuck. That, or it’s looking for something. Either way, it will be sufficiently distracted and chances are likely it doesn’t even know a horseman is in the vicinity.

Mercy’s grip sticks invitingly up from within its holster and Strife runs a thumb over the smooth surface, thinking.

He could just leave. It is only one demon after all.

But then…

The horseman’s mind drifts back to the little body in the wardrobe and his jaw immediately sets.

No way in Hell is he about to let that thing get at it. Dead or not, a kid doesn’t deserve to be reduced to marrow by a hell-dog. Strife could spare him that, at the very least.

Shaking his head and wondering when he’d become so sentimental, he draws his pistol and steps back onto the landing. Following the sounds of guttural snarls, he stalks through the crumbling apartment until he comes upon a broken doorway, torn off its hinges at some point by a hand greater than a human’s. Strife halts just shy of the entrance and presses his back up against the wall before inching his head around the corner, golden eyes narrowed dangerously as he scans the room beyond.

Far be it from him to err on the side of caution but he is curious to know what the demon is up to. His earlier assumption had been spot on. It’s a Goreclaw alright, currently in the midst of trying to shove its long talons underneath a chest-of-drawers, teeth snapping and drool flying from its snout.

“What the Hell are you doing?” he wonders quietly, observing while it retracts its foreleg and presses its nose up to the slim gap beneath the furniture.

He’s only ever seen the dogs get this excited when they’re on the trail of prey.

For a split second, the horseman’s blood runs cold at the thought of a human being trapped under there, though he soon shakes that notion off. No matter how tiny, there isn’t a human alive that could stuff themselves underneath there. Not with barely two inches of space between floor and wood.

Through the window, he’s distantly aware that the sun is no longer shining through a gap in the curtains, having sunk well below a building on the opposite side of the street, heralding the swift approach of night.

Aware that he’s burning daylight, and desperate to put a bullet in something, Strife obnoxiously clears his throat, rounds the corner and aims a cocksure grin at the startled demon when it whirls about to face him.

“Sorry to interrupt,” he says cheerfully, “Just wanted to stop by and tell you, there’s something on your face.”

A roar of outrage shatters the relative peace as the demon crouches, ready to pounce. It barely manages to plant its hind legs however, before a bullet tears out of Mercy’s chamber and buries itself directly in the Goreclaw’s skull.

“Ope, never mind, I got it,” Strife gloats, a smirk lifting his lips. The demon crumples to the ground, gurgling and twitching for a moment until it eventually lays still, dead on the floral print carpet. “Huh…I was hoping that’d be a little more satisfying.”

With his grim duty taken care of, the horseman turns on his heel to leave. However something nags at the back of his mind and he stops mid-stride, a frown pulling at his brows.

Just what had that demon been so desperate to get at?

Beneath his helm, Strife chews pensively on his lip, turning back to face the unassuming chest of drawers. After a moment’s deliberation, he gives in to curiosity, a newfound trait he wholly blames on the humans he’s been sharing a tree with for the past several weeks. Every one of them has a penchant for sticking their noses into strange situations, and it seems their behaviour has rubbed off on the horseman somewhat.

An obnoxious huff escapes Strife as he grabs each side of the dresser and picks it up effortlessly, as if it weighed no more than a feather and moves it aside to peer down at the dustless rectangle that had been left in its wake. It isn’t long before his sharp gaze lands on something out of the ordinary, a patch of colour in the otherwise murky grey.

“What the?…” Dumping the chest of drawers down to his right, the horseman squats to get a better look at what appears at first glance to be just another child’s toy.

“All that fuss for a doll?” he wonders aloud, reaching slowly down with a finger to prod at it.

Just then, before he can utter anything further, he almost jumps out of his skin as the ‘doll’ springs to life.

Rather, it suddenly leaps to its feet and darts sideways, gunning straight along the wall’s skirting with two, little legs pumping along like a steam engine.

“Hey! Woah there!” Caught off guard, Strife doesn’t think before he shoots out a hand towards the fleeing creature.

It can’t quite skid to a halt in time to keep from colliding with the horseman’s gauntleted palm that abruptly slams to the ground in front of it, and with a soft ‘plink,’ the human-shaped thing collides with his hand and falls back onto its rump so jarringly, Strife can’t suppress a wince. “Oooh, sorry about that,” he says, wasting no time in pinching his thumb and forefinger against the collar of a thin, brown shirt and plucking it up off the floor. “Now, what do we have here?”

Dangling his prize in front of his silver helm, he squints, head tipping to one side so he can get a good look at what he’s caught.

He very nearly drops it again when he realises what he’s peering at.

It’s a human. A boy, to be precise, and a fairly young one at that, clothed in nothing more than a ratty shirt and a pair of equally dishevelled shorts that hang low on his waist, too baggy to fit on his near skeletal form. They’ve even been tied in place by a strip of green twine.

Hanging limply from the horseman’s grasp, the little human tries to work his shirt loose, twisting this way and that but impeded by violent trembles that wrack his body. Realising that thrashing is doing him no good, he opts to reach up with miniature fists and attempt to tear the shirt free, tiny grunts leaving even tinier lips.

“You’re a human!” Strife blurts out, eyes flashing interestedly.

At the sound of his booming voice, the boy flinches and cries out, abandoning his prospects of escape in favour of clamping both arms over his head and curling in on himself, a meagre method of protection against his titanic captor.

Standing back up to his full height, the horseman continues to study his handful whilst planting his free hand on a cocked hip. “Well damn me, I didn’t think human kids could get this small,” he murmurs. Suddenly, his ears perk up at the sound of a diminutive squeak that emanates from the boy currently hanging from his fingers. ”What was that, kid?”

Shivering, his arms still shielding his head, the tiny boy swallows and raises his voice loud enough to be heard. “I-I ain’t a human!” he claims shrilly. Then, after a small pause, he adds, “And I ain’t no kid neither!”

“Not a human, huh? Well, you sure look like one.” Strife chuffs and raises a claw-tipped finger, prodding the boy in his stomach and eliciting a squawk of indignation. “Sure sound like one too…Kind of on the skinny side though, aren’t you?”

His words cause the boy to turn rigid and his arms peel back slightly to give Strife a view of ebony hair and wide, brown eyes. “What…what’s that s'posed to mean!?” he whimpers, “You’re not gonna…you’re not gonna eat me, are you!?”

“Mmm, haven’t decided yet,” the horseman playfully responds, tapping his chin in mock thought. “Doesn’t look like you’ve got much meat on you…Then again, I am pretty hungry.”

Behind his mask, he grins, though the expression promptly blinks out of existence when he notices a wetness has gathered on the boy’s cheeks.

“Uh oh.” That wasn’t supposed to happen. He’d been sure human kids loved jokes! Hell, Ulthane had playfully threatened to eat some of the younglings back at the tree and they’d all thought it was a great game, even laughed their heads off when he made a slow swipe at them with one of his meaty paws.

“Oh, hey, no – I – Ah, damnit.” Like a flipped switch, Strife’s tone loses its teasing lilt and slips to something gentler. “Hey, ease off the waterworks, okay, pint-size? I was kidding.” Borderline desperate, the horseman lowers his catch into a sturdy palm and lets go of his shirt, even smoothing down the back of it with the pad of a careful finger for good measure although as he does, he becomes aware of just how prominently the boy’s spine protrudes. Human anatomy varies, sure, but that doesn’t feel right.

Jerking away from the encroaching finger, the ‘not’ human swipes furiously at his eyes, smearing tears across reddened cheeks. In spite of the horseman’s reassurance, he doesn’t appear convinced, eyeing the palm beneath him with about as much trust as he’d give a hungry snake, half expecting it to spring to life and squeeze the soul out of him. Truthfully, he hasn’t seen much of the world, even before monsters fell out of the sky, but he knows enough to tell that this metal-clad behemoth is most assuredly not human.

Human eyes don’t glow like liquid gold.

In the meantime, Strife gives himself a mental kick for making the child cry.

“So, uh,” he clears his throat awkwardly, “You… got a name, kid?”

“What do you care?” the boy sniffs, all pretence of bravery made redundant by his trembling, “You’re just gonna drop me or – or squash me or something.”

Drawing his head back, the horseman frowns. ��C'mon, you’re like – what? - three inches tall? Be kind of a dick move for me to hurt someone smaller than my thumb.”

Cautious surprise flickers across the youngster’s face and he swipes the back of a wrist under his nose, chin lifting to shoot a suspicious squint at his captor. “But…but ain’t you one of them demons?”

Strife bristles despite his best efforts. “Do I look like a demon to you?”

Ducking his head, the boy gulps but still balls his hands into fists and squeezes out, “Well, I dunno… You big'uns all look alike from down here.” He risks a mistrustful glare at Strife’s luminous eyes. “Like monsters.”

Apparently the Horseman has been spending too much time around humans because that sent an unpleasant pang bolting through his chest.

“Yeah, well…Speaking from experience, not everyone who’s bigger than you is a monster, kid,” he murmurs gently.

The boy blinks, caught off guard by the sober tone of voice he hadn’t expected to hear from this gargantuan, metal man. All his life, he’d had drummed into his head the mantra that if a big one caught him, they’d more than likely kill him. And those that didn’t would shove him in a jar or underneath a microscope - that last one had happened to his great, great grandfather. Or so he has been lead to believe.

And yet so far, there’s no jar, no microscope, and although he knows it’s far too early to be letting his guard down, the longer he goes without becoming a sticky mess under the heel of a boot, the more his nerves relax the strangle-hold they have on his heart.  

Outside, the city grows steadily darker and with the absence of sunlight, a chill seeps its way through the broken window.

Drawing up his knees and hugging them to his chest, the boy falls victim to an involuntary shudder.

“Cold?”

The suddenness of the giant’s voice reverberating overhead causes him to jump and snatch his gaze up from where it had wandered down to his shoeless feet. On impulse, he blurts out a stubborn, “No,” and clenches his jaw shut again to stop it from quaking.

Strife raises an eyebrow and though his skepticism is hidden under a helm, it manages to saturate his voice. “Uh huh. I can see you shivering, kid.” Slowly, his fingers creep a few centimetres closer to the boy. 

“I told you, I’m not a kid,” his handful mutters, “I’m nearly eleven.”

A snort of laughter bursts out of Strife before he can catch it, earning himself an icy glare. “Now, I’m no expert,” he chuckles, bouncing his hand slightly, much to his passenger’s horror, “But I’d’ve said eleven was well in the range of what a ‘kid’ oughtta be.”

“Kids can’t take care of themselves,” the boy explains, agitated, “I can.”

Strife draws his head back in mock surprise. “Oh hoh! Can you now? S'that why I found you seconds away from becoming a demon’s snack?”

Huffing, the boy averts his gaze from the dazzling yellow eyes overhead and mumbles, “I’d have been fine.”

“Whatever you say, half-pint.” The corners of Strife’s lips tilt up as he inspects the boy’s grumpy pout. “You know, you’re pretty feisty for such a little guy. Didn’t your parents ever teach you not to go picking fights with demons a hundred times your size?”

Despite his far larger stature, the horseman can pinpoint the exact moment he’d said the wrong thing. The word 'parents’ has barely slipped off his tongue before the boy’s eyes suddenly clamp shut and his back goes rigid against Strife’s fingers. Understanding dawns at once and the horseman’s eyes lose some of that preternatural glow as he exhales softly through his nose. “Oh….Your folks’re not in the picture anymore, huh?”

Face now pressed into his knees, the boy shakes his head.

“Was it a demon?”

This time, Strife receives a slow nod, confirming his suspicions.

Blowing out a puff of hot air, he scratches at his neck and offers, “Damn. I’m…. sorry, kid.”

What else could he possibly say?

“…Hamish.”

Strife blinks, lifting the youngling closer to his eyes and peering down at him. “What’d you say?” he murmurs, giving the boy a gentle nudge with his thumb in the hopes of coaxing the words out again.

Luckily, he’s rewarded when his passenger finally looks up at him with a pair of drooping, brown eyes, their edges tinged red. “My name,” he tries, louder this time, “It’s not kid. It’s Hamish.”

The metal mask does little to conceal its wearer’s pleased grin.

“Hamish, huh?” He decides not to make a fuss about the tears rolling down the kid’s cheeks. “S'good to meet you. Name’s Strife.”

Confusion sweeps across Hamish’s features and he carefully extracts himself from his knees, scrubbing away the fresh teardrops. “Strife?” He hesitates for a moment to scrunch up his nose even further, and the horseman can’t help but notice that when he does, he bears an uncanny resemblance to Yarin after the humans tried explaining the concept of a computer to him. Strife’s grin widens of its own accord at the fond memory whilst its wearer waits patiently for Hamish to finish scrutinising him.

Eventually, the boy appears to come to some sort of conclusion as he huffs and rubs tiredly at one of his eyes, though Strife suspects it has more to do with not wanting to meet the horseman’s gaze when he says matter-of-factly, “That’s a weird name.”

Glad that his little acquaintance has at least stopped crying, Strife feigns offence. “It’s a Nephilim name,” he explains, “and - for the record - how do you know I don’t think Hamish is a weird name?”

The boy gulps, apparently mistaking the giant’s playful banter for real displeasure, after all, he had just insulted an unstoppable behemoth’s name. Eager to move the conversation along, he stammers out, “U-Uh, what’s a…a nephilim?”

The horseman, making note of Hamish’s renewed trembling, softens his tone. “A Nephilim is…It’s, uh…” Something stops him mid-sentence. Is he really about to tell this kid about the Nephilim? A brutal race of bloodthirsty, world-conquering titans? Of which Strife himself was a member? The horseman clamps his mouth shut. What if explaining who the Nephilim were prompts Hamish to start asking questions? Creator forbid the boy discover that the man holding him in his palm was one of four responsible for the total eradication of their own species.

With a hard blink, Strife focuses back on Hamish and notices the boy’s eyes are nervously darting all over his mask. The suffocating spell of silence had lasted longer than the horseman intended. Thinking quickly, he stumbles over an answer that he hopes will satisfy the boy. “It’s…Well, s'just what I am.”

Perhaps it’s only because Hamish has spent his entire life keeping his existence a secret, but the giant’s vague response doesn’t bother him half as much as it ought to. He gets it. The man probably doesn’t want anyone knowing about his existence. Hamish finds the feeling is mutual.

So, instead of calling Strife out on his blatant avoidance, the boy simply offers him a nod and says, “I knew you weren’t human.”

“Ha, only when I need to be,” the horseman chimes secretively, and before Hamish can ponder what he means by that, he’s unexpectedly bounced up into the air, letting out a startled yelp before he lands in the centre of the giant palm again.

“Anyway,” Strife begins, shooting a cursory glance out the window and wincing upon finding it utterly obscured by the ink of night, “There’ll be plenty of time to get to know each other once I get you to safety.”

Hamish’s fingers twitch against the tough gauntlet, a trickling cold slipping into his stomach. “Wait, what?”

“Well, today’s your lucky day, kid!” Strife puffs out his chest and jabs it with a thumb, proudly declaring, “I am gonna take you someplace safe.” Pausing for a moment to let that sink in, he watches the boy’s eyes grow wide, feeling a sense of accomplishment at seeing what he imagines can only be excitement, so he carries on, “It’s warm, away from demons, there’s lots of humans and enough food to last you a lifetime.” He stresses his point by poking Hamish’s belly with a careful fingertip. “By the looks of things, you could use a good meal. So, what do you say? How’s that sound?”

The boy remains silent for several seconds as he processes what he’s being told.

Then, to the horseman’s shock, rather than elation or relief, he’s met with a face full of horror and before he can ask what’s wrong, the boy leaps unsteadily to his feet and bellows, “NO!” at the top of his lungs.

Taken aback, Strife snaps his other hand up to close Hamish in a loose fist when it looks as though he’s about to jump off the horseman’s palm. “Hey! Easy there! What’s the matter?”

Hamish begins pounding ardently on the fingers holding him hostage, kicking his legs to no avail. This hulking stranger wants to take him away from his family home – the place he’s lived and loved and known his whole life - and dump him with a bunch of humans? Not a chance. “Let me go!” he cries, terrified at the prospect of being uprooted, “I’m not going with you!”

Baffled, the horseman tips his head to one side and frowns at the ferocity behind each blow on his metal gauntlet. “Stop that, you’re gonna hurt yourself!” He reaches up and catches one of the boy’s arms, holding it gingerly between two fingers. “Why don’t you want to come with me?”

“Because! This is – It’s my home!” Hamish all but sobs, pushing furiously at Strife’s metal thumb.

“Kid, this is gonna be your tomb if you stay here much longer,” the horseman tries to reason, “I mean, look at you, if a demon doesn’t get you, something else will. You’re skin and bone.”

“I’d rather take my chances out here than be surrounded by humans!” Hamish gives a final heave before collapsing over the enormous thumb, with one arm still held above his head, caught in a firm but gentle grip.

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Strife almost laughs aloud at the thought of the humans at the tree hurting anyone. Three of them had actually cried after they discovered a dead bird outside the entrance. But even still, he has to put the boy’s mind at ease. At last relinquishing his hold on the skeletal arm, he sighs, “Listen, kid. Nobody’ll hurt you, okay? They’re good people. Besides – no offence – but I think they’ve got more important things to focus on than antagonising you.”

Unfortunately, Hamish either isn’t listening, or he just doesn’t care.

Glancing up at the giant, fresh tears streaming in a never-ending torrent down his face, he puts on the bravest voice he can muster and yells, “I’m staying here!”  

“No, you’re coming with me.”

“No, I’m not! You can’t make me!”

Golden eyes flash brightly at the challenge. “Oh, you don’t think so?” Strife smirks, and without warning, begins to lower Hamish towards one of the pouches on his belt.

As soon as he spots where he’s headed, the boy’s struggling becomes increasingly wild. “No, no, no!”

“Sorry, kid,” the horseman murmurs, steeling his heart against the frightened wailing, “M'not leaving you here.” Using his free hand, Strife fumbles with the pouch’s leather strap and is just about to get it open when Hamish suddenly cries out, “Wait, wait! Just – I’ll go with you, okay? Just stop!”

The horseman pauses, considering the boy for a moment before lifting him back up to his helm. “What’s up? You claustrophobic or something?”

Little fingers dig imploringly into the gaps of Strife’s gauntlet as Hamish shakes his head. “No, I – I just…If you have to take me, then….at least let me get my things first.”

“Your things?” he echoes, squinting down at the kid and noting, with some semblance of relief, that he’s no longer putting up a fight. “Where are they?”

Shrinking underneath the giant’s dazzling stare, Hamish swallows noisily but manages to raise a shaking finger and points it over his shoulder. “In the walls.”

Puzzled, Strife glances to where he’s indicating. “You….lived in the walls?” He sees Hamish nod from the corner of his eye.

“There’s an, um…like a little crack in the skirting board, over there.”

Once again, the horseman follows a tiny finger as it points down to the bottom of the wall, where there is indeed a hole, just large enough to grant entry to a mouse, or perhaps someone else who stands just a few inches off the ground.

For several seconds, Strife deliberates the situation, his gaze flicking between the dark window, the hole and Hamish until eventually, he blows out a huff and shakes his head, turning back towards the doorway and lowering the boy to his hip once again. “Sorry, kid, but whatever it is, it can’t be that -”

“There’s something in there that belonged to mum and dad!”

Strife’s steps falter and he squeezes his eyes shut with a sigh.

Sensing his captor’s hesitation, Hamish prods, “Please? I don’t want to leave without it! It’s all I have left of my family…”

Family. The word plucks insistently at Strife’s heartstrings and he briefly laments the younger, colder version of himself that wouldn’t have flinched if he’d heard it. For some time, the horseman wrestles with himself, teeth grinding together until at last, he lets out a groan and stomps over to the hole in the wall. “Alright, fine.” Pausing to lift the boy up to his mask again, he levels a stern glare at him and adds, “But you gotta be in and out of there in one minute, okay?”

Hamish’s face brightens and he squirms restlessly as Strife lowers himself onto one knee and places his hand on the ground.. “O-okay, mister!”

Barely even waiting for the appendage to stop moving, Hamish all but dives off as soon as the fingers uncurl themselves, landing on the ground and haring for the wall, but before he can get too far, he finds himself jerked to a halt when the waistband of his trousers is pinched between two, enormous fingertips. Craning his head back, he stares anxiously at the horseman, flinching when a gruff voice booms, “I mean it, kid. In and out.”

“I-I got it!” Hamish replies hurriedly, desperate to put some distance between himself and the metal giant.

After giving him one last, calculating look, Strife finally relents, letting the boy go and leaning back to watch him scurry into the wall as fast as his little legs can carry him. Snorting softly, the horseman eases back onto his haunches, content for the time being to wait for his discovery to reemerge. “And here I thought I’d seen everything,” he muses.

——-

Meanwhile, unbeknownst to Strife, a similar thought is occurring to Hamish as he races through the intricate maze of tunnels his ancestors had dug out of the house’s stone foundations. Spiderwebs threaten to catch the boy’s flimsy shirt and hold him back, but a lifetime of memorising every twisting, dust-choked tunnel meant that Hamish could navigate his way through each obstacle without even having to slow down. In almost no time, he’s scaled up the wall’s interior and burst through the tiny, wooden door that leads to his family home.

Slightly winded, Hamish takes a moment to collect himself, peering about at the candlelit kitchen and trying to decide where best to hide because he has no intention of going back to the clutches of that giant. To do so would be in complete violation of everything his family had ever taught him, and if he could do nothing else, at least Hamish could carry their lessons with him. Perhaps his mother would even be proud of him for tricking the giant into letting him go free, had she still been alive. Pressing his lips together, Hamish slumps heavily against the doorframe and exhales roughly through his nose, determined not to cry again.

All of a sudden, his whole world shudders as a thunderous boom hits the wall beside him, threatening to knock him off his feet. Crying out, Hamish drops instinctively to his knees whilst two more booms follow the first, one after the other, rocking the entire foundations of his home and raining dust down into his already grubby hair. Fear of being crushed by falling debris compels him to move, so he crawls across the still shivering room, every now and again having to doge pots and pans that are flung from their hooks on the ceiling until he gets close enough to the kitchen table to throw himself underneath it.

Then, as soon as they’d begun, the booms stop and everything grows silent, save for the clinking of a cup that rolls across the ground before coming to a stop just beside Hamish’s hiding spot.

“Hey, kid! You get the stuff yet?” Strife’s muffled voice calls from outside.

To his irritation, the horseman sounds entirely oblivious to the abject terror he’d just put him through – is still putting him through. Unaware that he’s balled his hands into fists, Hamish aims a harsh scowl at the wall, behind which the voice had come from and, in as brave a tone as he can summon, yells, “GO AWAY!”

There’s a pregnant pause, a heavy stillness that hangs in the air like a lead weight over his head and Hamish is just beginning to wonder if Strife had actually obliged him, when the horseman’s voice cuts through the brick again, considerably softer this time. “You know I can’t do that, little man.”

The boy scoffs aloud. “Yes, you can,” he retorts, “You just have to turn around and leave.”

“Hamish.” The pointed use of his name isn’t lost on the boy. “I am trying to look after you. Now would you come back out here so I can actually do that?”

The voice sounds closer now, as though Strife is speaking directly next to the wall outside his hiding spot and Hamish realises too late what a stupid move it had been to shout and give away his position. So, with lips pursed and arms crossed, he offers the horseman a stubborn silence. A full minute passes before he hears a low sigh from the other side of the wall.

He expects Strife to continue banging on the wall until the sound becomes so annoying, it drives him out. He expects the horseman to at least pretend to leave, then snatch him up again the second he steps from the mouse hole. What Hamish doesn’t expect, however, is for the wall of his kitchen to suddenly explode inwards.

A cacophony of sound beats on his eardrums and in a desperate bid to avoid being deafened, Hamish throws his arms over his head and presses himself into the floor, his scream swallowed by chunks of plaster and brick showering down all around him. When the dust settles, he still doesn’t move, not even when silence is all he can hear aside from the blood pounding through his eardrum.

Then, movement. Not from Hamish, but from the gaping hole that has appeared in the brick and cement, exposing his kitchen – his home – to the world outside. Choking on the fear that weighs down on him as surely as the ceiling above, Hamish raises his head and peeks out between trembling arms to see a colossal fist slowly dislodge itself from the tight confines of his kitchen wall, fragments of which tumble down around it, plinking off metallic plating and leaving a coat of dust in their wake. With a final tug, the fist breaks free, retreating enough so that what little light is left can spill through the gap and illuminate the hovel. As Hamish watches, too rigid with anxiety to move his limbs, a familiar pair of luminous, yellow eyes loom out of the dust and peer inside, swiftly finding him cowered underneath the kitchen table. Their gazes lock and they stare at one another, the boy’s eyes widening as a direct contrast to Strife’s, which narrow at the sight of him.

“You know, I don’t appreciate being lied to,” the horseman grumbles before adding curtly, “I thought we had a deal?”

Pinned helplessly beneath that glare, Hamish attempts to shuffle backwards further under the table, though his limbs have locked up and refuse to cooperate with his intentions. However, his mouth hasn’t suffered the same petrification. “I-I don’t make deals with giants!” The words tumble out before he can catch them. “I’m not going, so just!- Just leave me alone!” As he speaks, he continues to shimmy away until he emerges from beneath the table, all the while his every move is followed intently by an unwavering, yellow gaze.

An entrance to one of the many tunnels his family had built into the walls is just to Hamish’s left – shrouded in darkness and invitingly safe. If he could just reach it, he’d be able to disappear into the brickwork.

Taking a fairly solid guess on the boy’s next course of action, Strife growls out a warning steeped in thinly veiled concern. “Come on, kid. Don’t make me do this.”

With the deliberate slowness of one who doesn’t wish to provoke a predator, Hamish gets to his feet and in utter silence, they stare each other down, one defiant and the other dejected.

Then, the horseman eyes squeeze shut just for the briefest of instances, as if in pain.

It’s all the opening Hamish needs.

Like a rabbit with a fox at his heels, he bolts sideways in a mad dash for the tunnel entrance, his mind fixated on one thing only: Escape.

Although he’d always been the youngest family member, he could boast an impressive swiftness, outpacing even his mother and father as they raced through the apartment in playful capers.

His father had once said that Hamish’s speed would keep him safe.

His father was wrong.

The enclosed doorframe comes within reach and another round of adrenaline fizzes across his brain at the the tantalising prospect of freedom, so close it puts a hopeful smile on his face. He would not be made to leave his home. Fingers grasp the wooden edge of the door and Hamish readies to propel himself those last, precious few feet through the gap. He’s so focused on where he’s going, he doesn’t notice the rush air that whizzes past him, nor that it’s soon followed by a large, ominous shape sliding past his body in the darkness and curling into his path. However, he does notice when he slams against a solid wall of metal and leather - a wall that begins to gently scoop him backwards, away from the door, away from the safety of the apartment’s labyrinthian tunnels and straight towards a home-wrecking giant.

“No!” he shrieks like a banshee as strong fingers fasten around his midsection, ensuring him that this time, there will be no escape. The horseman will not be duped again. All too soon, Hamish finds himself dangling back in front of that avian mask and shying away from the palpable disappointment radiating from beneath it.

“Okay,” the low, unimpressed voice chimes, “I can tell there’re gonna be some trust issues between us.” Before continuing, Strife holds an admonishing finger up right in front of the boy’s face. “But you need to understand that you can’t just run off like that, kid! What if you’d gotten hurt?”

Reflecting on what he’d said, the horseman has to suppress a shudder. ’Shit, I’m starting to sound like Death.’  

“What do you care if I get hurt!?” the boy challenges, “You’re the one who’s kidnapping me!”  

Bridling at the accusation, Strife sets his jaw and snaps, “You got duskwings in your belfry, kid? I’m trying to protect you!”

“I don’t need you protecting me! I was doing just fine on my own!” Hamish bellows, balling his hands into fists and throwing them wildly in the direction of Strife’s mask, more as a show of defiance than anything else. He’s borderline hysterical now, barely sucking down enough air to keep himself conscious during the throes of panic.

Meanwhile, the horseman watches his display, taking in the boy’s skinny frame, the shorts that barely cling to his narrow hips, the dark bags hanging under his eyes and the grime covering his skin and clothes. “No,” he says with an air of finality, “You weren’t.”

There’s no further opportunity for Hamish to retort because he’s promptly swept in a downwards arch towards the horseman’s pouches once again. No amount of pleading, thrashing or crying garners a reaction out of the stone-faced giant who has turned a deaf ear to his tiny captive. Only when he lifts the flap of his frontmost pocket and lowers Hamish inside does he speak, simply to say, “This is for your own good.”

The boy’s backside touches something soft and fuzzy and he balks, inadvertently grasping at the fingers that unfurl from around him, as though they would pull him out of the very prison they’d slipped him into. The last thing he sees before his world is plunged into darkness is a now familiar pair of amber eyes gleaming down at him and pulling a whimper off his lips.

—

Strife expels a hot breath as he fastens the clasp on his pouch and finally allows himself an indulgent second to relax. Then, giving the bottom of the pouch a few, gentle pats, he turns once more towards the pitch black hallway, smirking when a minuscule foot kicks against his palm. 

[gffa]

Master and Apprentice | by Claudia Gray THIS IS GOING TO BE SUCH A LONG POST, but there’s a weird thing going on with this book and I’m not sure how to articulate it without making this post a mile long, especially because I would also end up needing to quote Dooku: Jedi Lost.  But what I’m ultimately rolling my way around to is:  There’s a strange flatness between Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan throughout the book. I’m not sure if it’s the ghosts of Jedi Apprentice, in holding onto that old dynamic, instead of building an entirely new foundation for their interactions, if it’s because this book really isn’t about Obi-Wan and he’s so different from the character we see during AOTC and ROTS and TCW, if it’s just my own bias coming into this (entirely possible!) or if it’s deliberately written this way.  Qui-Gon spends about 3/4ths of this book not actually talking to Obi-Wan, despite constantly thinking that it’s his fault that things aren’t going well.  They’ve been together for four years by this point and the things that establish their relationship in the beginning of this book, the foundation we the audience build our understanding of them is: ➜ Obi-Wan misunderstands what Qui-Gon wants him to do in battle against the Hutts.  Which is relatively minor, but it’s an establishing point, we’re meant to understand that they’re Not In Sync, even after all this time, in really significant ways.

None of this made Obi-Wan a bad candidate to become a Jedi Knight. Many Jedi Knights—some of the best—thought and acted along the same lines. But it made him an awkward match for Qui-Gon. Years into their partnership, they still remained out of sync. Had the situation been more dire today—if the threat in the Hutt palace had been more serious—that gap in their mutual understanding could well have gotten them killed.

➜ Qui-Gon is frustrated, he does try to say, no, Obi-Wan it’s not your fault that you can’t understand instructions, it’s that I didn’t make them clear enough.  You get the impression that Qui-Gon knows that this reaction is how it’s going to go over with Obi-Wan, that this is something that’s happened often, yet he doesn’t really make any steps to phrase it better or talk to Obi-Wan about it.  (A theme that will keep recurring.)

     “Obi-Wan. The fault was mine.” Qui-Gon lay one broad hand on Obi-Wan’s shoulder. “First I gave you unclear instructions.” And a better Master could’ve taught his Padawan to understand his battle instincts by now. “And I knew you probably wouldn’t be able to get a ship all by yourself—it was worth a try, that’s all. You’re not to blame.”      Most Padawans would be relieved to be off the hook. Obi-Wan only frowned. “I can do better.”      Qui-Gon sighed. “We both can. Now let’s get home.”

➜ @belldreams had a really interesting observation about how Qui-Gon infantalizes Obi-Wan in some ways:

     Master Billaba leaned forward, studying her datapad with a frown on her face. “It worries me, this misunderstanding between you and your Padawan. This isn’t the first time you’ve reported such difficulties.”      Qui-Gon bowed his head slightly. “It worries me as well. Obi-Wan is strong in the Force, and eager to do his duty. The failure must be mine. Fundamentally, I fear, we are a mismatch. I’ve been unable to adapt my teaching methods to his needs, despite my best efforts.”      Yoda cocked his head. “Adapt he must as well. Cooperation is learned not through individual effort. Only together can you progress.”      Agreeing to that proposition—sensible though it was—would mean shifting some of the blame onto Obi-Wan, which Qui-Gon preferred not to do.

He doesn’t want to put any blame on Obi-Wan?  On the surface, that might seem very caring of Qui-Gon, but the more I thought about it, the more it really is a disconnect between them, that Qui-Gon treats Obi-Wan with so little sense of actually being a partner that he can’t put any blame on him at all, there’s no sense that he actually trusts Obi-Wan to have any agency when he puts all the blame on himself.  When Obi-Wan is younger than this, sure, but he’s seventeen here, and he thinks about how mature Obi-Wan is, but he doesn’t actually talk to him about a lot of important things. ➜ Qui-Gon is offered a seat on the Council, but he doesn’t know if he’s going to take it.  They specifically say, if you need to talk to your Padawan or friends about it, that’s fine, just be discreet, but Qui-Gon doesn’t.  He doesn’t share any of this with the person that it’s going to impact just as much as him--and, yes, it’s Qui-Gon’s decision, it’s understandable that he wanted to sort some stuff out in his head first, but it does show that he doesn’t exactly have much faith or trust in Obi-Wan’s agency:

     “Well, Averross asked for you specifically. I realize the timing isn’t ideal, Master Jinn,” Kaj said, “what with your having just been asked to join the Jedi Council. It’s a big step, and no doubt you’d prefer to concentrate—”      Damn, damn, damn. Qui-Gon closed his eyes for one moment. It blocked nothing; the wave of shock that went through Obi-Wan was so great it could be felt through the Force. Qui-Gon hadn’t thought Kirames Kaj would mention the Jedi Council invitation. It seemed possible the soon-retiring chancellor of the Republic might not even have taken much note of information about a new Council member.

➜ Afterwards, Obi-Wan is understandably upset, Qui-Gon tries to talk with him about it.  They get about a page and a half of conversation out, Qui-Gon saying, well, I didn’t discuss this with you because I thought you’d get upset and apparently I was right.

     That comment finally pierced Qui-Gon’s damnable calm. There was an edge to his voice as he said, “I suspected you would be too upset to discuss this rationally. Apparently I was correct.”      “I thought you said my reaction was understandable,” Obi-Wan shot back. “So why does it disqualify me from hearing the truth?”     Qui-Gon put his hands on his broad belt, the way he did when he was beginning to withdraw into himself. “…we should discuss this at another time. Neither of us is his best self at the present.”

On the surface, Qui-Gon’s concerns about how this wouldn’t be a fruitful conversation seem sound, but it’s part of this weird larger dynamic where they keep doing this.  This is the basis of our foundation between them in this book.  They never have a real conversation and this is further illustrated by the later scene where Qui-Gon finally tells Obi-Wan why he hadn’t moved him ahead in his sword practice:

     Obi-Wan walked toward the door, obviously outdone. “At the beginning of my apprenticeship, I couldn’t understand you,” he said. “Unfortunately, that’s just as true here at the end.”      Only yesterday they had worked together as never before. How did Qui-Gon manage to get closer to Obi-Wan at the same time he was moving further away?      Just before Obi-Wan would leave the room, Qui-Gon said, “Once, you asked me about the basic lightsaber cadences. Why I’d kept you there, instead of training you in more advanced forms of combat.”      Obi-Wan turned reluctantly to face him again. “I suppose you thought I wasn’t ready for more. The same way I’m not ready to believe in all this mystical—”      “That’s not why.”      After a long pause, Obi-Wan calmed to the point where he would listen. “Then why, Qui-Gon?”      “Because many Padawans—and full Jedi Knights, for that matter—forget that the most basic technique is the most important technique. The purest. The most likely to protect you in battle, and the foundation of all knowledge that is to come,” Qui-Gon said. “Most apprentices want to rush ahead to styles of fighting that are flashier or more esoteric. Most Masters let them, because we must all find our preferred form eventually. But I wanted you to be grounded in your technique. I wanted you to understand the basic cadences so well that they would become instinct, so that you would be almost untouchable. Above all, I wanted to give you the training you needed to accomplish anything you set your mind to later on.”      Obi-Wan remained quiet for so long that Qui-Gon wondered if he were too angry to really hear any of what he’d said. But finally, his Padawan nodded. “Thank you, Qui-Gon. I appreciate that. But—”      “But what?”      “You could’ve said so,” Obi-Wan replied, and then he left.

It shows that it’s not just Qui-Gon beating himself up over nothing, but that he really doesn’t understand Obi-Wan, even after four years of working together.  You put that together with the multitude of times Qui-Gon doesn’t really talk to Obi-Wan--who is shown to be very open to such a thing and it’s usually Qui-Gon cutting off the discussions when they finally do happen. Furthering this weird disconnect between them is that their coming back together never resolves the lack of communication between them, they just have this strange conversation about how their dynamic is based on Obi-Wan being rebellious:

     Once it had traveled farther along, Obi-Wan said, “You know, I never had problems with that as a youngling. Being independent, I mean. I broke rules right and left. They even called me rebellious. Probably the Masters were surprised anyone was willing to take me on as an apprentice.”      In fact, Qui-Gon had been warned about this very thing. He’d long since assumed that the crèche masters’ concern was overcautious. But now, finally, he saw what had happened. He began to laugh.      Obi-Wan stared at him. “Master?”      “Don’t you see, Obi-Wan? They knew you’d rebel against any Master you worked with. So they made sure you wound up with a Jedi who almost never followed the rules. The only way for you to rebel was to become the perfect Jedi.”      “Hardly perfect,” Obi-Wan said, but by now he was laughing, too. “They really did that, didn’t they?”      Qui-Gon shook his head. “Never underestimate Yoda.”      In some ways, he knew, he and his apprentice were still far apart—on separate sides of a profound philosophical divide. With completely different understandings of the Force.      But in other ways, the bond endured. Qui-Gon would have to take what comfort he could in that.

That’s it, that’s how they come back together--everything just sort of gets dropped and they go back to how they were before, nothing is addressed, nothing really changes.  I keep contrasting this against Obi-Wan and Anakin in my head, how they have communication trouble as well (if for very different reasons, largely because Anakin keeps rebuffing Obi-Wan’s conversation about important things, it’s almost always him who turns away first), but their establishing shot in Attack of the Clones is one where we’re shown them getting along and Obi-Wan understanding exactly what Anakin needs to stop spiraling, George Lucas describes it as showing that they love each other.  In the Age of Republic - Obi-Wan Kenobi comic, they have an actual conversation and resolution about their miscommunication on how they each thought the other didn’t want them. An Obi-Wan & Anakin Adventure is all about them realizing they have to stop bickering and work together instead, how they both need to work on this, not just one side or the other.  It’s such a weird contrast against almost everything of Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon in this book. Which gets EVEN MORE INTERESTING when you put it together with the short story in From a Certain Point of View, where they’re discussing Anakin:

     Even Obi-Wan doesn't see it. "You see me in a kinder light than most would, old friend."      "I owe you that. After all, I'm the one who failed you."      "Failed me?"      They have never spoken of this, not once in all Qui-Gon's journeys into the mortal realm to commune with him. This is primarily because Qui-Gon thought his mistakes so wretched, so obvious, that Obi-Wan had wanted to spare him any discussion of it. Yet here, too, he has failed to do his Padawan justice.        "You weren't ready to be a Jedi Master," Qui-Gon admits. "You hadn't even been knighted when I forced you to promise to train Anakin. Teaching a student so powerful, so old, so unused to our ways...that might've been beyond the reach of the greatest of us. To lay that burden at your feet when you were hardly more than a boy—"      "Anakin became a Jedi Knight," Obi-Wan interjects, a thread of steel in his voice. "He served valiantly in the Clone Wars. His fall to darkness was more his choice than anyone else's failure. Yes, I bear some responsibility—and perhaps you do, too—but Anakin had the training and the wisdom to choose a better path. He did not."

This struck me, from the very first time I read it, that there was a disconnect there.  Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan never talked about this over the years?  As well as Qui-Gon’s pouring all this affection towards Obi-Wan in the scene, literally thinking of him as “the bedrock all goodness is built upon”, which is contrasted against how Obi-Wan’s thoughts are almost entirely turned towards Anakin and Luke, rather than the person who is directly there with him. Contrast this against even these really small moments of Dooku and Qui-Gon’s flashbacks in Master and Apprentice or against their delightful banter in Dooku: Jedi Lost, where there’s a sense of how they do understand each other and get along better and have mutual weight in each others’ consideration, that Qui-Gon’s right about that.  Contrast this against all the intensity and weight of Obi-Wan and Anakin’s relationship.  And I don’t know if it’s just that I’m not as invested in this relationship or if it really is weirdly flat in comparison to pretty much any other dynamic in this lineage.

[bluebeirry]

Chp 270- From AfO’s POV vs Tomura’s

I am suuuuper late to this party

K so this is like unedited but fucknkit it’s super long and fun. I see a lot about how hero society is misunderstanding Tomura, but not a lot about how AfO might be, so I wanted to write this.

I believe that in chapter 270, AfO believes that he’s successfully pushed Tomura to throw away all his best traits- but he’s failed epically and he doesn’t even realize it, because he misinterprets Tomura’s actions. Namely, AfO is projecting symbolism and moral coding onto actions that have very different meanings to Tenko.

It should also be noted that I strongly believe that the entire dream is fictional- Nana isn’t actually there, there are no ghosts beyond AfO himself present, and the whole thing is symbolism rather than actual people. I also strongly suspect that AfO designed/controlled the whole dream, beyond Tomura’s own actions. This will be reflected in my writings.

To elaborate:

/./././././././././././././././

First, establishing why I think Horikoshi can write with insight

So something I notice Horikoshi is wont to do is looking at the story from the POV of our non-POV character(s) and asking ‘okay what would they believe/think/do with the information they  have.’

For example, Todoroki’s guess at the Sports Festival- that Midoriya is All Might’s secret love child- comes across as hilarious to the audience because it seems so far out of left field, and Midoriya is shocked because it’s out of left field for him as well. But when you think about it, this is a completely natural assumption for Shoto to make with the information he has. Yes I know people joke about this and there’s a thousand reasons readers claim the idea was foolish, but when you really think about the scenario without our pre-existing knowledge- Shouto really was making a logical guess with the information he has (and his personal history) since in-universe quirks are genuinely completely unique, beyond bloodline inheritance. I already wrote up a walk-through a potential line of thought for Shouto If we assume he thought through this theory before apprehending Midoriya about it: https://bluebeirry.tumblr.com/post/617845821257498624/so-for-personal-reasons-along-with-a-theory-i-may it’s on this link

Shouto’s guess in that scene wasn’t merely a gag, but a well thought-out step on Horikoshi’s behalf to show logical, intelligent thought coming from a character lacking critical information. In that hallway scene, Shouto wasn’t being written as a conspiracy theorist or socially inept- although he’s definitely the latter, that particular trait is not the driving force behind Shouto’s guess. In the hallway scene, Shouto was being written as a https://yudkowsky.tumblr.com/writing/level1intelligent Level 1 intelligent character. I’ll let the link explain why this matters and why it's a big deal, but the importance is that this scene serves as evidence that Horikoshi can write level 1 intelligent characters. He can give his characters https://yudkowsky.tumblr.com/writing/thoughtful-responses thoughtful responses and intelligent mistakes based on the information THEY have.

Now that this is clarified, onto Tomura and AFO.

Horikoshi’s ability to write Level 1 intelligent characters- and to separate character knowledge from audience knowledge- is key to why I think AfO greatly misunderstands what’s going on with Tomura in the chp 270 fever-dream.

First, let’s go through the scene and analyze it for symbolism, interpretations, and character analysis from our own PoVs. As in, using the information we know- which as you’ll see encompasses information AfO would know- we’ll analyze what Tomura’s dream means to us.

So let’s look at the scene from AfO’s perspective.

What does Tomura’s family mean to AfO?

Tomura’s family is his past. It’s the love of his lost ones, and yes, to a degree, it’s death. Joining them would be death. But they’re also love, normalcy, and the childhood he lost so long ago. And yes, Kotaro isn’t a part of that love- but he is a part of that childhood, and a part of being ‘normal.’

Hatred and pain can be ‘normal’ if caused by ‘normal’ things. IMO Kotaro was put in there partially to ensure Tomura wouldn’t choose the love of the rest of his family, since Kotaro served as a reminder that the old life of Tenko wasn’t all sunshine and roses. Kotaro was the pain that Tenko had to endure in order to also have the love and protection of his childhood. Kotaro was intertwined with the love of Hana and Nao.

(And me repeat this is what I think AfO would interpret)

What does the destruction of the dead Shimura family mean to AfO?

Rejection of the love, normalcy, and acceptance into a stable- if imperfect- environment. Tomura joining the dead Shimuras he killed would have been giving in and choosing that life and that love over the life that’s ahead of him- the life AfO built for him.

Tomura turning from his family is therefore symbolic of him turning from love, and acceptance.

Ironically I think AfO is right about this dream pushing Tomura into rejecting the possibility of societal acceptance, but not for the reasons AfO thinks- this will be discussed later in Tomura’s section.

What does AfO mean to himself?

This one’s simple- AfO sees himself as a symbol of evil. He says it over and over, he brags about it, his minions hail him as one, he’s one of the most despicable characters in the manga because he does everything For the Evulz.

AfO sees himself as the symbol of evil- and to choose him is to choose the life of evil.

What does AfO think he means to Tomura?

This we get from further flashbacks. We know that AfO wants to turn Tomura into a ‘symbol of fear,’ and that’s exactly what he thinks he is to Tomura. Just as AfO sees himself as a symbol of evil, he sees himself to Tomura as Tomura’s path/role as a symbol of fear. In choosing AfO over his family, AfO sees it as giving Tomura two options- love (and death), or becoming what AfO wants him to be.

See, we the audience and AfO know full well that AfO is pulling Tomura’s strings- that he’s been nothing but a puppet from the beginning. So this plays into AfO’s interpretation of the dream as well.

What does Tomura accepting AfO mean to AfO?

AfO sees Tomura choosing him over the Shimuras as Tomura embracing the role AfO has planned for him. It’s Tomura choosing to be a symbol of fear. Combined with rejecting the Shimura’s, it’s Tomura choosing the Symbol of Fear as his only future, all other options now gone forever.

What does Nana Shimura mean to AfO?

The same thing all One for All users mean to AfO- she’s a Symbol of Good. The alternative path to evil. For all his brilliance, AfO sees the world in very much a black-and-white sort of mindset, and he enforces and pushes this mindset onto others.

What do Nana’s words mean to AfO?

“Don’t forget” means “Don’t forget what it’s like to be good.” AfO sees the rejection of Nana as the rejection of ‘goodness.’ If the Shimura family are neither ‘good’ nor ‘bad,’ but simply the only life AfO thinks Tomura can lead that will bring him love, then Nana is the concept of ‘good’ specifically. Rejecting the Shimuras solidifies Tomura’s rejection of any other path in life, but rejecting Nana as well is the rejection of all things good.

“Once you’ve accumulated both hatred and joy, you will truly be free” -AFO

The next thing we need to establish is that thanks to AfO’s upbringing, Tomura’s mind has been warped in certain ways. There are concepts which most people assign to specific words, that Tomura doesn’t. ‘Good’ and ‘evil’- it’s well-established that he doesn’t think much of these terms, if at all. He says outright ‘it’s my right to destroy what I don’t like’ while AfO is listening, and later he tells Izuku that (as far as he knows) everyone destroys what they don’t like. The reason the world still stands is because (again as far as he knows) Tomura has an unusually high desire to destroy. It’s something AfO told him directly (chp 237), and it sets Tomura apart from everyone else, making him an outcast and an outsider.

Thing is, AfO actually has a very strong moral understanding of right and wrong- he actively chooses to do the wrong thing BECAUSE it is ‘evil’ and that gets him off or something. AfO taught Tomura to view the world a twisted way, even though he himself views the world very differently.

But. For all that he’s brilliant, AfO tends to see the world in black and white- and he tries to push this view onto others as well. It’s something he shares with hero society- labeling everyone as ‘good’ or ‘bad’ is prevalent there as well. He raised Tomura to choose the ‘evil’ path, but forgot that in the process he told him things like ‘morals aren’t real.’ AfO looks at the results of Tomura’s actions and sees him as evil, but he doesn’t realize that to Tomura, that binary switch of ‘good’ and ‘evil’ doesn’t exist.

That’s why All Might confused Tomura. That’s why Stain’s popularity pissed him off. Tomura’s mind may be warped, but he lacks the good/evil complex that almost everyone else in the story has, and that blinds them all to the true nature of things.

See, Tomura’s philosophy- that people destroy what they don’t like- betrays something about him that I don’t think AfO realizes: Tomura isn’t a hypocrite, and he believes that EVERYONE has the right to destroy what they don’t like. Likewise, the reverse applies- you have the right to preserve/protect what you like. This is reflected in how he’s willing to let his companions/friends keep the things they love, because they should be able to destroy or keep things as well.

Now I’m going to pick the scene apart from Tomura’s perspective, by asking several questions at each major point.

What do Tomura’s sister and mother mean to him?

So first of all I want to say that I do believe that Tenko didn’t deliberately kill his family (perhaps barring his father). That is opinion, however, and unproven, so I’m going to instead say this: whether or not he killed his family on purpose, he still loved them- and possibly still does love them. A moment of rage, while in shock and traumatized, can cause horrible results- kids that age regularly scream and break things in fits. Kids with supernatural abilities could easily kill someone in a fit. Likewise, we know he felt guilty after their deaths- accident or intentional, there were still positive feelings for at least some of his family.

Now to the actual fever dream- I notice that with both his mother and his sister, Tomura shows compassion. He tells Hana not to worry about hurting him with a smile that personally I think shows forgiveness, but at the very least it isn’t cruel. He tells his mother he’s fine, and he shows her compassion as well. I think Tomura still loves his mother and sister.

But the most pressing piece of evidence that this is the case is the way his family looks at him when they’re holding him back. Minus his father, every single one is looking sad. It’s guilt that they provide, guilt that makes their hands a challenge to overcome. Guilt- over leaving the people he loves.

What does Tomura’s father mean to him?

With Tomura’s father, it’s the exact opposite. He represents opposition, something destroyed, something to hate. Hatred, too, can drag a person down and hold them back. Where the rest of the family clings to Tomura’s arms, Kotaro pushes him down head-first. His face, when destroyed by Tomura, mimics that of the face he made when he tried to kill Tenko- it’s the culmination of all the hatred Tomura has for his father represented in this form.

And the thing is, this too can drag Tomura down into death. Hatred alone can only go so far, and while it can be a powerful motivating factor it also causes suffering for the one who feels it. If you hate the living, you’ve got a goal and you can use that hate- but if you hate something or someone that’s far beyond your reach, you’re helpless to have an outlet or use that suffering in any way, and it only causes pain. Much like love becomes grief when love cannot be manifested.

Tomura is letting go of his father the same way he lets go of his mother and sisters. The emotions may be opposites, but the results are the same. He may always hate his father, but in destroying his ghost Tomura affirms that he won’t let that hatred hold him back.

What does the destruction of the dead Shimura family mean to Tomura?

Different things for each of them- some love, some hate, but the one thing all of them share is that they’re dead. He’s not. If he stays, if he lets them hold him back- he’s staying with ghosts. This isn’t about good vs evil, or love vs apathy- it’s about letting go of the past and moving on. It’s about not letting your pain distract you from what you could have in the now. Contrary to AfO’s viewpoint, the inclusion of Kotaro in the ‘ghosts’ holding Tomura back mean that if this was about the ability to love, it wouldn’t just be love that Tomura destroys as he walks forward- it’d be about hate as well. If anything, hate was literally the forefront emotion holding Tomura back- as NAMEHERE’s hand was the one pushing Tomura’s face, the most present and pressing one. Love was something that drags behind, hate is something that pushes down, and Tomura let go of both here.

For Tomura, the destruction of his family is the destruction of his past in the context of the destruction of his pain. He’s letting go of his suffering- both from abuse and from loss of love- and moving on. Nothing less, nothing more.

What does AfO mean to Tomura?

According to the common definition of evil that you and I use, AfO isn’t ‘evil’ in the eyes of Tomura Shigaraki. Quite the contrary, AfO is the one who saved him- taught him, encouraged him. From Tomura’s perspective, AfO is improvement- rescue, safety, comfort, the league/friendship, nomu/strength, all of the things he gained only thanks to AfO. If Tomura used a normal vocabulary, I think he’d even go so far as to say that AfO is the biggest source of goodness in his life- as all the concepts we understand to be ‘good’ are concepts AfO represents for Tomura. AfO is the life Tomura could have, and the life he does have, so long as he doesn’t let the past drag him down. AfO isn’t just a person, AfO is a symbol for the future- for living life to it’s fullest.

In going towards AfO, walking away from his decayed family, Tomura sees himself letting behind the pain of his past and walking towards the future.

This may seem too easy- something he’s already done. But remember what he said to Re-Destro in chapter 235, right after he remembered his past?

ReDestro told him “There is no future for a world without creation”

Tomura replied “Future? Who needs that?”

In that moment, in those memories, Tomura didn’t really care about anything but destruction. He didn’t see a future for himself, and he didn’t want one. He wasn’t really thinking well- shock and exhaustion and trauma will do that to you. But the important thing is, Tomura established that after recalling his past, he did not care about having a future.

AfO, in an ironic twist, completely reversed the emotional impact that recalling his memories  had on Tomura in the fever dream.

What Tomura gained from the fever dream was a desire to see what the future brings. Again, recall that his understanding of ‘the future’ is warped by his upbringing- he doesn’t have any long-term plans or anything like that. But he doesn’t want to die. He wasn’t exactly suicidal after recalling his trauma, but he also genuinely didn’t care if he lived or died, or even if he won. Now, after chapter 270, he cares about living again.

AfO isn’t a Symbol of Evil to Tomura- he’s just a symbol of life, and continuing on.

What does Nana Shimura mean to Tomura?

Now the big one. The biggest difference between AfO’s understanding of that scene and Tomura’s understanding of that scene. And all the similarities in their understandings are for completely different reasons. Because compared to the reader, Tomura knows very little about Nana Shimura. He knows three things:

1. She is his grandmother

2. She was a hero

3. She left his father behind in some manner

Thing is, he has no clue that AfO and Nana Shimura were connected in any way. As far as Tomura is concerned, Nana is part of HIS personal past, and nothing more.

When he first learned of her existence, young Tenko was elated- excited- thrilled. That elation is what Tomuraremembers when she shows up in the dream, and that tells us for certain what Tomura thinks of Nana. That despite her picture connecting to his punishment and his father’s wrath, young Tenko never connected Nana to anything besides his first reaction to her. Unsurprising, given he was a child, but we also know now that Tomura also doesn’t have any opinion on her beyond that first reaction.

To Tomura, Nana is a symbol for hero society in general. Something he longed to be part of as a child, when he didn’t know better, but no longer wants. The same society that ignored him when he needed help, pushed him into the gutters and neglected him when he was hurt, and broke each of his friends in turn. More critically, the same society that now demands his death (and while this is literal Tomura might not be aware of this fact- but he does know they’d lock him up and leave him to rot, a metaphorical death).

See, Tomura doesn’t know how Nana died- as far as he knows, she died in the line of duty as a hero (which is arguably true from a certain point of view). She accepted her ‘role’ was to die, and she did so- and now she’s telling Tomura to accept his ‘role’ and die as well.

So Tomura is rejecting Nana as he rejects the role Hero Society places on him and defines his own. He’s not particularly driven to accept this ‘role’ and he throws her off quickly- which is not surprising. If he were to take this ‘role’ and do the next ‘right’ thing according to it, he’d either die or surrender. And there’s nothing for him there- no reason to do so. It’s easy to see why he throws this off so quickly.

Again, it goes back to Tomura not being willing to die.

What do Nana’s words mean to Tomura?

Nana tells Tomura, “Don’t forget.” I think to Tomura, these words are reflections of society’s attempts to define him by that one horrible day in his past. “Don’t forget” means “don’t let go of any part of it,” means “define yourself by the memories,” means “don’t ever outgrow the pain” means “go back to the gutter where AfO found you.” It also could mean “remember the faith in the system you once held” and “remember that the bad guys always lose” and “accept the lot life has cast you.” And Tomura is having none of that.

Tomura was an outsider to society for almost all of his life- and he couldn’t remember ever being anything else until he recalled his past. Now, he knows what it’s like to have been a child in society- and what it was like to be at the bottom of the barrel.

What Tomura didn’t say is that he would or would not forget- because again, Nana’s words are to him about how he lives and defines himself, not whether or not he remembers. I don’t think Tomura will forget- he’ll always love his mother and sister and grandma and grandpa, and he’ll always hate his father. But he doesn’t have to define himself by their deaths. That is what he’s refusing to do, in refusing Nana’s request.

What I find striking is what Tomura said to Nana as he walked away-

“Don’t reject who I am.”

It’s not a threat, it’s not a refusal, it’s not a vow, it’s not even a plan or a goal of what to do next. “Don’t reject who I am” is merely a fact.

Nana, as a symbol for hero society, is the last thing that tries to bury Tomura in his past. More than his love, more than his hate, society itself judged him for his past and let him rot for it. Before he was found by AfO, society itself defined Tomura by his past- it held him back, because it gave him nowhere to go.

And this… this is something Tomura saw in his friends before he even remembered how it applied to himself- Spinner even gave a whole speech about society pushing him down. Hell, I’m willing to bet that it’s because he’s been hanging out with people who say society fucked them over that Tomura realized how society itself caused him problems. Arguably in destroying Nana, Tomura takes on the goal that the rest of the league has had for a good long while- tearing down the world that held them down.

He tells her, “Don’t reject who I am” because that’s what society has done to him and his friends over and over again. Because to Tomura, this entire dream is about letting go of his past. Not letting love, hate, or the opinions of society as a whole keep him from moving on. Every single aspect of the dream contributes to this theme- as far as he’s concerned this dream is entirely about recovering from his trauma.

To Tomura, the family that holds him back are manifestations of grief, hate, and finally societal rejection. Three factors that are all telling him he needs to die. It’s not a moral statement he makes when destroys them- it’s a thereputic one.

Any salvation for Tomura Shigaraki will come from his friends, and it will blindside AfO because AfO has been seeing Tomura’s journey in terms of ‘good and ‘evil,’ when in truth his journey has always been about ‘suffering’ versus ‘fuck the suffering, and fuck whatever caused it.’ The question is whether or not AfO will become a cause of suffering for Tomura’s followers- because AfO knows better than to turn on Tomura before the final blow is certain. The only way I can see AfO being surprised by Tomura is if he does something to hurt Tomura’s friends, thinking that ‘evil’ Tomura won’t care or will help, and then being shocked when Tomura turns on him in rage. Because fuck the suffering, and fuck whatever- or whoever- caused it.

[loquaciousquark]

Hey, all, I’m probably not going to be around much for a few months aside from queues & TM posts.

Work stress has taken over my life in a way it never has before. A very long story short, my closest coworker (both friend-wise and workload-wise) took another job that began at the end of April. While she knew from November she was going to take this job, she did not inform administration until the very final contractual required moment of 30 days out. This means there has been no chance for admin to be looking for long-term qualified candidates to replace her position, since to get hired on at the school even on a temporary faculty basis takes about six-eight weeks.

(She told me about this job in November, but made me promise at the time not to tell anyone because she was going to tell them soon. Then, as schedules were being planned out for this summer and her time was being allotted under the assumption she would be there, she deliberately said nothing and made me answer the emails so she wouldn’t be “lying.” I have known this hell has been coming for me for five months and haven’t been able to do anything about it because I gave her my word.)

In addition, while not her fault, three other administrative support employees and two other faculty members have left/will be leaving in less than a month as well. One employee’s family member died unexpectedly, one employee was grossly incompetent (although I can’t remember the last time we actually fired someone for that), and the other faculty members are leaving for really good jobs elsewhere. Just very unfortunate timing that means we are all spread excruciatingly thin for now.

This all comes at a time where I am actively beginning that Service Director position for the primary care clinic on top of everything else. This position, while I think a great fit for me, what else I teach in the school, and how I plan/organize/relate to the students, has come at a terrible time because it in and of itself is a massive amount of work, especially getting it off the ground. If I’m going to implement all these new policies and changes I’ve been dreaming of for years, I need to do it at the beginning of my tenure--to try and keep everything going the way it has been and change later once everything calms down would be infinitely more work at that time & have a bunch more pushback from both the students and the faculty I now lead as part of this clinic, many of which have decades of seniority on me.

I’m doing the work of two-and-a-half full-time faculty right now. I do still really love this job, but right now I can’t handle it.

I’m grinding my teeth at night and clenching my jaw during the day. My dentist suddenly wants me to get a bite plate when before a few months ago, I’d never ground my teeth in my life. I’m getting excruciating stress/tension headaches almost every other day from how tight every muscle of my face and neck is. I’ve gained over ten pounds in the last two months from eating like crap because anything that requires more than two steps of prep is mentally, physically, and emotionally impossible, which has the added effect of making me want to cry every time I look in a mirror and see my stomach so far away from my mental “normal,” because I was already seven pounds or so more than I wanted to be. I’m only getting three or four hours of sleep a night despite melatonin because my mind is just reciting checklist after checklist of things I need to do to keep all my sudden responsibilities on track.

I saw my psychiatrist today (which in and of itself was overwhelming--I thought until I was leaving for the appointment that today was my annual physical, and it wasn’t until I was checking the auto-filled address that I realized it was in the wrong building for that. Turns out I’d independently scheduled both the psych follow-up & the physical within a few days of each other, and I’d missed the text appointment reminders for the physical because the psych ones were more recent. I have never straight up no-showed an appointment in my life before this.)

I only had about thirty minutes with her, but part of the problem is that I haven’t taken my meds regularly in over a month because even such a little thing was too difficult. I’m going to try to start back on that, but...

I told her it doesn’t feel like I’m trying to keep plates spinning in the air. It feels like I have them all under control at the moment, they’re just excruciatingly heavy. The only way I’ve been handling this sudden pressure of doing basically two and a half jobs with no margin for error in any of them is being ruthlessly, relentlessly organized. Which is fine, except that I can feel how that changes my personality when I have to go so hard and regimented, and I hate how it feels to have both no margin and no grace.

I had a student the other day email me about a flight she booked for a Memorial Day vacation at 6pm on a Friday, not thinking about how clinic does not always end on the dot at 5pm. We (both students and faculty) are required to stay until the patient’s exam is complete. Sometimes that’s at five. Sometimes that’s at 6:30. On rare occasions I’ve stayed until 9pm in clinical care because that’s what was needed at the time for that patient.

She wanted to get out of clinic with an excused absence. We require three weeks’ minimum notice because when a student leaves without coverage, we have to reschedule all the patients they were meant to see. Her schedule was fully booked, and I had to say no, because right now I have nothing left to try to find an alternative for her. I hate saying no to students, especially when it’s something I truly could help them solve with some investment on my part, but right now--I’m sorry, but I can’t. Why on earth did you schedule a flight for 6pm on a day you have clinic until 5, especially when the airport is a 20-minute drive from the school even without traffic? I can’t fix this for you, not right now. You have to show up to clinic or find your own coverage. I don’t care how you do it, but someone has to be there, and I don’t have anything left in me to help you figure out how to do it.

My mom listens to a guy who sometimes talks about how you have to have a margin in your life to manage your stress. A margin in your work helps you enjoy your leisure time; if you don’t have that margin, even scheduled play feels stressful because you have work playing through your head the whole time.

I’m out of margin. I’m ten feet over the line in every direction I’m so out of margin, and I am constantly being asked by students and other faculty, “How are you doing now that the person who you shared 90% of your work life with is gone? Who’s going to help take over [year-long highly-intensive Methods course] now that Dr. So-and-So is gone? Who’s going to help you teach it since we all know what a gigantic course it is and how it’s always required two people to run full-time, and now you’re down to one who’s also taken on a bunch of other responsibilities at the exact same time?”

and they’re laughing when they say it. and i’m laughing when i tell them the truth, which is “no one.” and we all laugh together and inside my head i am ripping apart under the pressure.

Even if they hire someone by August, it’s not going to mean any relief until September due to onboarding, and even then it won’t be what I really need. This woman I worked with and I had both taught this course together for years, and before that we’d both taken it as students. We knew how it ran inside and out. We knew what the responsibilities were. We had the workload divided evenly and didn’t have to consult over every decision that was made--it just got done. Even if they do hire someone at lightning speed, I still have to train them. I have to show them where the group drive is on the faculty intranet. I have to teach them how it’s organized. I have to show them how to upload quizzes and how to grade them and how to edit the Excel practical documents and the timeframe we expect the grades back and why our grading standards are the way they are and what to say to guest graders and guest lab instructors and show them where the file folders are kept and where the .docx’s are kept and the way things are sorted and how the tests are written and how to extensively edit a PDF file and give them the contact information for faculty IT support (which still ends up being me half the time) and the manual printer and the woman who orders office supplies and the woman who orders clinical equipment and the man who orders building maintenance supplies and when you go to one and not the other and how electronic testing works and how to grade it and how to upload a document with all the specific little requirements the program wants to make sure it imports correctly and how to deal with the errors this program will inevitably throw back because it’s niche software for a niche school and that means it’ll never be user friendly.

It took me almost two years to really feel comfortable being co-coursemaster for this course because it is so unbelievably massive. Even if they hire someone by August, I still won’t have a full-time coursemaster pulling their weight until 2021.

The other metaphor I used with my psychiatrist is that I’m holding on to a cliff’s edge with my fingertips. Right now, I’ve got a pretty decent grip, but that doesn’t change the fact that if you put another pound on my back it might pull me right off the rock.

I don’t see practical relief coming any time soon. “What can we do to help? We want you to know you are very supported right now. You let us know what you need.” What can you do? Hire someone tomorrow who already knows how our computer system works, who can troubleshoot their own IT, who can look at a list of tasks that need to happen to get this Methods course fully ready every single semester of every single year and do them without any handholding from me. Hire someone with as much attention to detail as I’ve had to have because it’s the right way to do the damn job. Hire someone I won’t have to clean up after because to them “the cart in the closet” is the same thing as “the specific place on the labeled closet shelf where the equipment belongs.”

I’m clenching my teeth so hard they’re hurting, so I guess I have to stop. If you see me in-game somewhere, believe me, it’s not because I’ve caught up. It’s because I haven’t and I can’t bear thinking about how much I still have to do.

[dotthings]

SPN 14.09

*does the called it dance*

There’s a dance party going on, I know a lot of people called it. I am un-shocked, but filled with evil glee. Er...I mean this is very painful and going to be painful and it’s going to be a lot of suffering but this is also a mood

All right who wants actual character thoughts now that I’m done flailing around screaming.

Is Cas...eating the cookie cereal? He’s eating the cookies. He’s making contented crunching noises. Cas doesn’t need to eat, but he’s eating. I feel like I said something recently about Cas becoming more human, slowly, oh right, it was about him actually being drunk in 14.07 on a few bottles when back in S5, even at low power, he needed an entire liquor store. Now he’s eating cookie crisps cereal. That scene was cute af, btw and ties back to what I’ve been saying about Jack’s increasing emotional IQ. He talked about worrying about his mom because of the threats to Heaven, and then brought up Castiel’s deal, because it worries him. 

Oh, yes Sam and Dean can know about the deal but Cas doesn’t want them to so it won’t “burden them.” CASTIEL WINCHESTER YOU ARE NOT A BURDEN. Only no wait, but it is a burden and Cas realizes it and why it is a burden, because THEY CARE ABOUT HIM A LOT AND CAS KNOWS IT AND THAT IS WHY HE DOESN’T *WANT* THEM TO KNOW. As I said in my sneak peek commentary, it’s not anger or being caught out Cas fears. He simply doesn’t want to make them worry, make them sad, or scared, for him. He doesn’t want to be a burden but it’s too late, they all love him. 

We’re inching more and more here towards Cas realizing just how much or he wouldn’t very specifically and deliberately be hiding this secret because he knows how much it will worry them and Sam and Dean will scramble to find a way out for him and fix it and it’s almost like Cas hates being the center of attention and worried over. He has to be the strong one, not the one who needs help. This is how Cas keeps going.

Dean and Cas in an actual junk-yard scene (ok technically a recycling facility), I am still not over this and never will be and all the things I already yelled about after the sneak peek was released. Dean and Cas starting far apart with the Impala as negative space between them, but not negative space because that’s one of the show’s biggest symbols of home, then moving closer and closer like magnets until their shoulders are brushing. Screw you Dean and Cas and your acting married body language. 

Cas talking to Dean about how happy Dean seems, Cas looking super uncomfortable about not!telling Dean about the deal. I already posted about this but let me recap now that I’ve seen the whole ep--the “win” thing went right over Cas’s head because he doesn’t know, but the audience does. But Cas is mainly all about not!telling Dean about the deal and wow all my pre-game meta on this about Cas not wanting them to worry and that’s why he’s secretive got vocalized in the cereal eating scene in the kitchen. So. There you go.

Dean talking to Cas about what Sam and Cas went through when they were possessed in relation to his own experience, thank you Robert Berens for openly vocalizing, finally, Sam and Dean and Cas’s shared trauma, I have been waiting 84 years. 

(Pausing to scream about the January promo which shows Sam and Cas going together into Dean’s mind. I LOVE SEASON 14).

Which btw now that I’ve brought that ep, Cas’s worry about Sam touchstoned several times in this ep gives me feelings. Dean and Cas were both worried about him...and then Sam and Cas are going to team to save Dean. 

TFW and TFW 2.0 are both running concurrently strong in this season. There’s the interplay Sam, Dean, and Cas have, with its long seasons of history, and there’s the Sam-Dean-Cas-Jack, which is newer territory but slowly getting its hooks into my heart. They’re all valid, with their various relationships therein. 

Garth, awww. Admittedly I was not warm on this character when he first showed up upteen seasons ago but he’s turned out to be a really great part of the SPN world and a good friend and thank goodness SPN didn’t kill him. 

Sam and Garth friendship *draws hearts*.

Garth saying he’s doing this for his little girl is interesting,  it’s him talking as part of his cover, but has a double meaning because it’s also 100% true he’s just lying about which side he’s really on. He is going dangerously undercover to help stop Michael, thinking of his child’s future, to protect the world. While we had Cas just last week sacrificing himself to save his son. Which echoed back to Jimmy Novak sacrificing himself for his daughter. 

I like Sam and Jack working together, with Jack having taught himself lock-picking on the internet. For a moment I thought Jack was going to say Dean taught him and I was a little sorry it wasn’t that, but interesting Jack said “I like to keep myself useful”--that’s the Cas part of him talking. He is still trying to prove himself without his powers. Skipping ahead here as relevant--back to Jack’s slowly increasing emotional IQ and his character development. Because I was wondering if things would get to that, with Jack on strong enough footing to start looking after his dads, and it’s starting. He talks to Cas about the deal. Then when hyper-charged Garth knocks down Sam, Jack tackles him to save Sam. Which was stupid and brave, nobody hurts moose dad when Jack is around. Having been saved, and sacrificed for, Jack’s now moving more into a position of being part of the team, looking after others. 

And not, note, taking on a parent role, but he is looking after his dads as they look after him. I am really curious in fact how Jack is going to talk about possessed Dean now. The arc about Jack’s knee jerk comment about Michael Dean early in the season has been addressed and resolved before this ep, and they’ve bonded a lot closer since...so I’d really like to see how Jack is going to deal with it. 

I’m completely distracted by Dean and Cas inside the recycling facility looking for Dark Kaia and the spear, all of it, the way Dean and Cas move together, work together out in the field, which we don’t get to see enough of, I am transfixed. They have this silent rapport we’ve seen all the way back to late S7 at least and the BAMF power couple vibe going on, what with Dean’s strength as a hunter and Cas’s powers and warrior attitude and I’m just going to sit here and scream quietly to myself about that whole sequence for a minute.

And then they’re BICKERING oh my god so married shut up, until oops Kaia sticks the spear against Dean’s back and Cas just says “Dean” as a warning and he goes so incredibly still holy shit--with the point of that spear threatening Dean. Cas wants to surge forward and Dean waves him down. *yells a lot about Dean and Cas and their thing* Cas is so very protective of Dean here it’s doing things to me.

Dark Kaia’s little face is tugging at my heart. Who is it she’s protecting? Yes, why is she there, I need answers, I need to know what’s the link with her and Kaia. I need more of this please. S14 being what it is I think I’ll get it, just not right now.

The TFW 2.0 power walk set to Ode to Joy. I FEEL SO CALLED OUT RIGHT NOW.

Badass Dean having the moves with that spear, after being a goofball with it in the garage...I think there really isn’t a weapon Dean can’t use, pick up quickly how to use, plus he’s used similar weapons and adrenaline, he instinctively could use the spear. He’s not as good as Kaia, and guess what people, it is 150% okay he’s not as good as Kaia with that spear, he’s not supposed to be. Kaia has thousands of hours with that spear and Dean doesn’t, but look how good Dean is instinctually. 

Ouch my Dean feelings. Well I’ve been saying and saying the Michael Dean story wasn’t over and here we are and like many people ran with the sleeper agent/back door hack theory and here we are. The snap. Good god damn Jensen is excellent. And TFW 2.0 looks as ragged and stunned as the last Avengers standing.

So Michael has access to all of Dean’s memories. And Dean just “wouldn’t stop squirming.” Because of his ties to his family.

To you...to all of you.

For me and Jack, and family.

You’re going to bring him back...you’re going to bring ‘em all back.

I love you...I love all of you.

And you really can’t dismiss Destiel here while saying w*ncest is valid, because then you’d have to say the Destiel is valid. But the fact of the matter is these are different kinds of relationships, in canon. It makes sense that Sam got a more singular shout-out but then Michael adds the “all of you.” Sam is the most constant figure in Dean’s life and he is closest to Sam on a lot of levels. There’s bound to be a lot of Sam in Dean’s brain. But it’s not just about Sam. 

This is something SPN keeps underscoring in triple day-glo yellow highlighter. Nor does it fit to claim that because of this scene, therefor it proves Sam is the only most important one because in other storylines, Cas has also been demarcated out as different/unique in how Dean feels about him. BTW, seeing a romantic reading for Destiel doesn’t mean having to then say oh w*ncest is then therefore canon, because it’s just not, and those relationships are written completely differently. The canon undercurrents are completely different. Sam and Dean’s bond is what it is, and it’s strong, it is platonic and intended as platonic, while Destiel is...ambiguous in intent, in canon. For non-shippers, say the relationships are brothers, and like-brothers, and leave it there. It really is more complicated than that on the Destiel front, but I talk about that plenty in other posts, right now, I’m really thinking uppermost about Dean and his family. Sam isn’t the only one tethering Dean and keeping him fighting inside Michael. That was for all of them. So this was a bro bond shout-out that landed at TFW 2.0. 

And look what’s in the promo...Sam and Cas going together into Dean’s mind to try to save him. Dean’s closest to Sam, Cas is close to Dean in other ways. They both have a bond with Dean that is unique and strong and I’m just going to have to go sob in the corner that SPN is really going to do that and have them go in together and poke around in Dean’s mind to pull him out of this. Using the same method Dean used to go into Mary’s mind. *small keening noise*

Also I refuse to accept Dean is really as down and out in there as Michael claims. But maybe he’s buried himself deep in some sort of happy mental spaces. Which is something I was thinking about before the season started, and then they didn’t show us and I let it go but maybe it’s going there after all. 

[niskrp]

:// SEARCHING OPERATIVE …

… searching for AGENT 006 / KING OF SPADES. classified files indicate that they go by KO YURA. born in SEOUL, SK, in 1986/30/01, further investigation makes it clear that they joined the agency FIVE YEARS ago. they are a CLANDESTINE AGENT who specialize in MARKSMANSHIP. higher clearance is needed to access further information…

… ENTER PASSWORD TO ACCESS THE COMPLETE FILE.

:// ACCESSING BACKGROUND FILES …

rumour has it they were happy back in the day.

her father owned a successful business which meant a large home, an array of expensive gifts, not to mention a pristine reputation. they were apparently a family envied by many for being seemingly perfect; hardworking husband, pretty wife, prettier daughter.

but then they crash and burn in spectacular fashion, a glittering empire crumbling in a matter of weeks; a fall said to be inevitable for a multitude of reasons.

from here the details become murky, truth lost among the gossip and rumours. people preferring to offer their own side of the story rather than seeking out the exact details on what went on behind the scenes.

bankruptcy. rival business. gambling addiction. shady connections. plain greed.

their standard of living takes a dive—and so does she, dragged face first into a world absolutely nobody wants to be a part of.

/

sometimes home is a cramped one bedroom apartment on the outskirts of seoul. sometimes home is the living room floor of an acquaintance. sometimes home is the backseat of the family’s car. never pleasant, never comfortable. never hers. somehow they manage: father, mother, and her. a miserable trio scampering from one dilapidated house to another, desperately clinging onto any hope that they’ll make it through another day. which they do, barely. she doesn’t question it. grows accustomed to finding bills hidden beneath old newspapers and waking to the landlord’s demand for rent at 1 am. believes it’s normal to live on three day old rice and whatever else her mother can prepare from a near empty fridge. doesn’t blink an eye when her father announces they have to move somewhere else for the second time that month.

too young to understand the reasons why they’re subjected to this hellish experience. not young enough to realise that she deserves better, they deserve better.

/

poor girl. dirty girl. sad girl. it’s the norm to address yura by anything but her name. not that she minds—or more specifically, not that she has any say in the matter when classmates are adamant on frowning upon her very existence anyway. poking fun at her lowly status and tarnished reputation, like it’s her own damn fault that the world has it out for her at every turn. so she feigns ignorance, redirects her attention to her studies and other activities where her questionable family history isn’t the main topic of conversation. no easy feat when everyone is insistent they know more than she does. bad girl. violent girl. bully girl. she can’t be blamed for snapping when a “joke” crosses the line and hits a nerve. word spreads fast of an incident involving her fist and the jaw of a popular upperclassman, and previous judgemental looks quickly turn into that of disgust, of borderline fear.

as much as yura despises the way her name is dragged through the mud, she begrudgingly admits it isn’t too bad. it’s better, maybe, to be feared than pitied by complete strangers. those who don’t even care.

/

they say she shares a lot of similarities with her father. don’t you see it, they ask. by the way you both smile and laugh, they point out. no way anyone can ignore the fact you’re his daughter, they tell her. but she struggles to see it. only associates him with helplessness and failure, both traits she’s certain they don’t share. perhaps they’d been similar once, at a time when they weren’t burdened by the need to make ends meet. laughter would’ve come freely then, and she might’ve been able to revel in the very details that brought them together as a father and daughter pair. for now they couldn’t be anymore different. him, regularly found in a drunken stupor, mourning his fall from grace with the assistance of cheap soju. her, reading outside a nearby restaurant when the electricity is suddenly cut off at home, trying to avoid following in his footsteps.

her mother tires of their situation and never hesitates to threaten walking out. makes a scene of packing her bags and announcing her imminent departure before quietly returning hours, days later.

normally she refrains from asking why. pretends nothing has changed and goes about her usual routine, except she’s ever curious today. thinks the whole packing and unpacking business is more trouble than it’s worth.

“it’s because i love him.” “that’s sad.” the words roll off her tongue, and a single glance over to her mother is enough for yura to regret opening her mouth in the first place. the answer she receives is only confirmation of that. “yeah.” a long pause. “it really is.”

/

graduation will be it. better life, better pay. money to buy an actual home that’s free of mould, creaky floors, and disgruntled landlords. maybe there’ll be enough to relocate to a high end suburb she’s read so much about and forge a brand-new identity, a sought after fresh beginning. study hard, this will be hers. knows it can be, sees it to be true by the amount of stories she’s heard of people like her. bottom of the rung folks who’ve worked their way up and now lead a life starkly different to what they started with. an escape can be granted if she tries. uses her brain for more than breaking the landlord’s locks (out of necessity, obviously) and wandering the streets with a ragtag group of friends in tow.

alas, normalcy doesn’t bode well for her.

she dreads the daily grind of day-to-day life. climbing up the corporate ladder isn’t as appealing as others make it out to be, nor is abiding by what society insists is in order for a young woman like her: marriage, motherhood, filial piety until death. even now, with nothing to her name, the prospect of settling for stability is amazingly out of the question. if it means sacrificing her own enjoyment for the sake of fitting in and catering to what’s expected of her, she’s happy to go without it. teachers tut over her eventual choice, as if she’s making a massive mistake over signing her name to join the police. maybe she is, maybe she isn’t. either way, she doesn’t think it’s anyone’s business but her own over what she chooses to do with the rest of her life. then again, why should it?

/

safe to say, training brings her to her knees. meaning: she really, really likes it here. potential bad habits are all but crushed beneath the heel of superiors eager to see what she’s worth, what she can do; this gangly thing with a smart mouth and chip on her shoulder. if anything, the reason she provides for joining the force (“the uniforms, i’m a fan”) simply gives them the incentive to run her ragged. which they certainly do, in an almost sadistic fashion, except to their surprise, she manages to flourish—and then some. strict discipline is all she needs and it does well to shape her into a deadly weapon. talents are already there: dogged determination and reckless sort of fearlessness. they just need to polish each and every one of it up until she emerges gleaming, shining; much like the framed college degree on her wall.

an uncanny knack to remain cool under pressure becomes the draw card for many. throw her into the most difficult of situations and she’ll pull through. slightly battered, a little bruised. but most importantly: alive. it’s commonly assumed that she simply thrives in chaotic environments such as these. the type who isn’t distracted by irrelevant details and can be solely focused on the task at hand. capable of adhering to instructions while simultaneously preparing a plan b for when things don’t quite click.

kinda stubborn, kinda risky. all round lethal.

she supposes she only has her tumultuous home life to thank for getting this far.

/

he’s impressed.

“i think you should apply though.”

“is this your way of getting rid of me, sunbaenim? i’m hurt.”

it used to be perceived as an ominous sign whenever the superintendent bursts out laughing, though she’s long come to see it as a reassurance of sorts. that, she hasn’t completely fucked up in his presence and her body won’t be thrown into the han river at dusk for ruining his usual foul mood.

a very, very good sign indeed.

”you know what i mean. you’d do well elsewhere, with them.”

“guess i’ll think about it.”

“is that a yes?”

“it’s honestly a ‘i have to compare salaries first and get back to you’ kinda yes.”

“yura.”

she grins, decides to cut back on the jokes before he dumps her in the river for real. “i’m kidding, i’ll do it. want to see if their coffee is as good as ours, too.”

god knows what the coffee tastes like at nis. they could be drinking the elixir of life and she’d still be reluctant to relocate, uncertain of what they could possibly offer her when she has everything she needs over here. a steady career, wide social circle, glowing reputation.

can’t say the hesitation is enough to deter her from completing an application out of plain curiosity, though.

/

after much deliberation, the application is sent through without dwelling on what might occur if she’s accepted. doesn’t hold much of a hope she’ll make the cut when there are bound to be others who would be better suited for the role. candidates who are more experienced and fulfil the criteria nis have set out, whereas she may fall short somewhere along the lines.

she prepares for rejection. reality, however, has another thing coming.

training puts her through her paces once again, but she digs deep and holds on in the exact same way she’s been taught to do, learned to do over the years. rides with the punches until she adheres to their lofty expectations, leaving nothing to be desired—besides keeping her smartass comments to herself.

experience is taken into consideration when they ultimately usher her to the role of marksman, and it’d be a lie to say she isn’t somewhat perplexed by their decision. it’s not what she initially had in mind, especially with the position she’s just left behind, but she bites her tongue and accepts the offer anyway.

we need someone like you here though, they explain. someone focused, someone calm, someone with a damn good aim.

can you do this for us?

she can, and she does.

:// ACCESSING PSYCHOLOGICAL EVALUATION …

they deem her bright, diligent, ruthless; a woman in possession of a sharp mind but sharper tongue. such ferocity is hidden beneath a calm and collected demeanour, only resorting to violence in situations where negotiation is no longer on the cards. rumour has it her anger is especially volatile, bloody even, though no one’s been fortunate enough to bear witness to such a scene to be able to confirm.

despite her line of work, yura manages to maintain a happy go lucky approach in regards to delegated tasks and interactions with colleagues. first to crack a joke, first to suggest heading out for a round of drinks, first to distance herself from serious and stressful situations. it’d be far from beneficial to be constantly preoccupied with either past or present missions, and she never fails to emphasise the importance of being able to ‘switch off’ once the job is complete.

many frequently mistaken her laid back nature to be that of pure laziness instead, what with her tendencies to move around at a leisurely pace and taking things in her stride. could be seen as not caring enough, or half heartedly doing whatever necessary before quickly shifting her focus elsewhere—which couldn’t be further from the truth. she’s always watching, always listening, and always willing to defend when the time calls for it.

rest assured that the success of the agency is a main priority, and yura has every intention of ensuring the safety of those involved won’t be jeopardised.

… END OF FILE. CONTACT THE AGENT DIRECTLY FOR MORE.

[missanthropicrn]

Akio, Predation, Trust, Victimization, and the Black Rose Saga

This came up in the Discord, and I wanted to take the opportunity to expand on it and develop the idea. I was trying to articulate how, especially on repeat viewings, Akio's scenes in the BRS manage to create a mounting unease despite appearing less openly predatory than similar moments in the Akio Arc and beyond. I pulled random screen caps from these scenes into one place, and looking at them this way, it's a lot plainer why. 

**** I guess I should note, that this is spoiler heavy and discusses in detail Akio’s...well..predation of Utena. So if that, and the disgusting shit it pertains to, is a trigger for you, stay away. I mean for this to be a serious exploration of something that is absolutely horrifying, and my primary argument is that it was deliberately set up by the creators of the series to be that way. I feel like I shouldn’t have to say this, but I’m in no way endorsing Akio’s behavior, trying to shift blame, or do anything to distract from the damage it does and how sickening it is that it happens. Kind of the opposite. Not only is it sick, the show made a concerted effort to make it even worse. This became a huge wall of text. Sorry. If I thought the uncomfortable wasn’t worth exploring, I doubt I’d still be running an Utena website after 15 years.

When we first meet Akio, there are four people in the room, it’s brightly lit, and Akio impresses on Utena that he’s 1. *just* the deputy Chairman, 2. an airhead that likes the stars, and 3. oblivious to the dueling game. He’s sitting back, Utena’s sitting back, and the whole thing appears offensively innocent, though seconds before he was making out with the woman he’s more or less ignoring right now.

In episode 15, they’re alone, but the room is brightly lit. Utena sits back. Akio leans forward. This is not a suspicious pose in itself, and is generally accepted as one a person would use to seem relaxed. However by this point, we already suspect absolutely everything Akio does, because we know what he’s like outside of this innocent little scene. Also...

A shot splitting off Akio’s space in the room focuses instead on the picture (that faces away) of him with his sister, as though to establish she’s there. The conversation focuses on Anthy, as well. 

But what we see on Akio’s side isn’t Anthy. Not just a vase full of roses, but wrapped roses also, as if they’ve been delivered to him. This is the first time Akio and Utena are alone, and something else is on his mind. We see wrapped roses like this again, after all, in episode 33. His seduction starts here.

In episode 17, we don’t see the picture again--Anthy is gone. The room is now dark. Utena leans forward, becoming more comfortable in his presence. Akio is looking up, though Utena is not, and while he does so, he’s talking about Utena herself, comparing her to Ganymede, and warning that her innocence can be hurtful to others. This is the first time he talks about Utena in an abstract, *who* she is rather than that she just is, and what he says is both flattering and clearly not appropriate in the capacity of a Chairman. The pretense of his status separating them has been pulled down, and for those of us listening from the outside, his addressing of her innocence at all is foreboding. It’s made worse by an assumption I’m having that Utena is unfamiliar with Ganymede, who is a beautiful youth abducted by Zeus for his pleasure. A story that’s taken as an endorsement of the predation of young boys by adult men. Utena not being a boy is fucking irrelevant. 

Though visually there’s no progression in episode 18, in this scene, Utena tells him about the Prince she dreams of, suggesting she’s now comfortable enough to look past his age, gender, role of authority, or any other of the number of reasons you wouldn’t say such a thing to him. She then doubles down and asks him if it means she’s not an adult. Akio tells her that stars lose their brilliance as they age, and this is not a veiled answer: “You’re a child, and I like that about you.” Utena registers on some level a wrongness about this comment, and she immediately diverts the conversation and brings up Kanae and him. His answer leaves her unsettled, and without a conclusion that would help establish her role when she’s with him, nevermind make it safe one.

Episode 19′s scene is all about the mounting tension between Akio and Anthy on Utena’s account, and her total obliviousness to it. At this point, that the siblings are locking horns over the issue establishes his progress as much as any scene we could have been shown with him and Utena. His body language has become very casual, especially with the arm slung over the back of the couch. This isn’t an unusual thing to do for a guy, but consider that we repeatedly see him pose this way when we’re shown his sexual relationship with Anthy--more than once, by this point. It accompanies the “Come here, Anthy.” line in this arc, as well as being how he’s posed in episode 32, when Nanami finds them. The dialogue in this scene is also rich:

Akio:  But, Tenjou-san... The inside of a person's heart is like something veiled in silk. Ahh... It seems like you could see through, but in fact you can't. The prince people hold inside their heart...is surely something that others wouldn't understand. But, I envy young people who are in love. Akio:  I hope you, too, will find your own prince soon, Anthy. Anthy:  Yes, Onii-sama.

We’re supposed to think he’s talking to Utena, but Akio and Anthy have their eyes cut off from the frame in succession, because the real conversation is literally going over Utena’s head. What Utena takes home as a deep thought about the complexities of the human heart, that he is sharing with her because he thinks she’s ready for such insights, Anthy is hearing as a reminder that Utena doesn’t know sweet fuck all about her, him, or what’s important to either of them. It is, after all, perfectly fine for him to sexually abuse this child, but not for her to give a shit or care about Utena in any serious way.

In episode 20, we’re alone, the room is dark, and we’ve abandoned the couch for a different kind of intimacy: idle comfort. Utena is stretching, going about the business of what’s important to her because being in Akio’s presence no longer constitutes a visit, but simply hanging out. It’s the difference between friends you sit at the table and talk with and friends you make help cook first and then sit in the living room watching cat videos with. (What?) Akio has positioned himself similarly, on his back lying down so he can comfortably watch the stars. Utena is no longer a visit to him, either. 

This growing comfort allows him to say things to her, about her, that she would have found uncomfortable back in episode 18. He says her lack of self-consciousness is a special trait she carries from birth, that separates her from others, who are mostly without any personal trait of value themselves. This is an invasive, flattering thing for an adult to say to a teenager. It’s also implying an expectation about how she will act, assuring that her behavior continue to suit him. 

Us poor viewers get even more from the scene. He says this while she’s stretching, so that when we see her do a great deal of the same in episode 33, we are called back to this scene, and her apparent lack of self-consciousness. We see then a comfortable, familiar behavior being retreated to in her nervousness, her special trait diminished under the press of his attention.

In episode 21, the last of these scenes in the Black Rose Saga, Akio is not even initially present. However, he very much is there, and this scene is something of a mirror of the first time Akio and Utena are alone. In episode 15, Anthy’s presence is created partway through by her being in the photograph, and here Akio’s presence is only established well into the scene. (The elevator dings right at the beginning, so he’s in the room the entire time.) In episode 15, the topic of conversation was about Anthy to begin with, and in this scene, Utena is repeating things Akio has said, so that in both cases, the sibling is present from the get go. Utena now has established, separate relationships with the two.

Utena focuses on what he’s taught her about the stars here, which feels almost like revisionism at this point, as if to make sure we know he actually bothers to. What we’ve been shown up to this point isn’t their astronomy and mythology lessons, but rather the progressive establishing of intimacy between Akio and Utena. A deliberate and focused effort to build her trust, by appearing to physically keep a proper distance, while verbally doing anything but. Framed as discussions about the various goings on Utena experiences in the school, Akio tells her hopeful things, cynical things, and most often, things about herself. He flatters her, but also reinforces her childishness. He makes invasive observations about who she is, and then implies an expectation that she not be self-conscious around him. And now we see he lets her use his prized projector when he’s not around, which is not a thing most adults would let a child do. 

The unease these scenes create is deliberate. The show goes to great pains to introduce Akio as a sexual creature; we first see him in the context of the story making out with Kanae, and by the end of that episode, we know he’s sleeping with Anthy as well. Several episodes in the arc, in fact, end on this note. We’re reminded over and over that Akio is not only sexually active, but is so by way of an extremely taboo relationship that doesn’t appear to bother him in the least. Taken apart from that (if one could ever really do so) these scenes aren’t nearly as suggestive as they feel; Akio never leers at Utena, and in fact doesn’t even touch or go near her until much later, in episode 25. He says flattering things but they dance a fine line between flattery with a sexual end, and just encouraging things an adult (unwisely, perhaps) might say to a child to drive their self-esteem. 

Utena is elsewhere in the show often oblivious to the subtext of events going on around her, so it’s not surprising she never seems suspicious of Akio. What we take to be extremely concerning, she has no reason to. What we see as the unambiguous predation of a child by an adult, she has no reason to think of in that way. She has no previous history to make her suspect (the way Touga would) and he does nothing that would be obvious to her to shift her reading of his actions away from Anthy’s friendly brother to sexual predator.

As naturally suspicious viewers that have watched an arc of Touga draped weirdly on beds, we probably would have been concerned anyway. Maybe we’d bring very real, very rational points of view to it, and be worried on her behalf because he’s an adult man in a position of power over a young girl. Instead, the show makes a concerted effort to make us suspicious from the moment Akio appears, sacrificing what could have been a slow, dramatic reveal (his relationship with Anthy) for what we get instead: unambiguous awareness that what he’s doing is predatory. That his end goal, from the moment Utena is in a room alone with him, is sexual in nature. Their first meeting, and the culmination of that effort, are marked by the wrapped roses that have been delivered to him. The show makes sure we know, every moment, what is happening here. 

By the shift in tone he takes in his own arc, Utena has been made comfortable and familiar enough with him that her impulse isn’t to run. Her violent reactions to Touga’s invasions of her space in the first arc are nowhere to be seen. Akio’s slipped just far enough past her boundaries to mute the alarms that should be going off. He can sit close enough to her for body contact, and her embarrassment at the intimacy appears totally apart from any fear of it. She can retreat into discussing Kanae when he declares a trip to the hospital is a date, but in the aftermath of their kiss (that Akio watches, lest we forget), her reaction is guilt and interest. She’s been groomed past directing that concern at the proper target, and instead blames herself. A sad but common side effect of this kind of predation.  

But you know what? I expect nothing less from SKU. This is a series that builds up all of this creeping tension and disgust, and cashes it in on an episode framing the act entirely from Akio’s point of view. It isn’t enough to spend several hours watching with horror his stalking of this prey, we’re forced also to watch what it does to her, her discomfort and awkward rambling, and how he sees it: as beautiful. The sequence in question in episode 33 is long, meticulously animated, and makes Utena look more feminine than she looks at any point prior. There’s a massive disconnect between how sexual she’s drawn, and how she behaves. And we know why.

This isn’t an easy topic to discuss. Revolutionary Girl Utena isn’t an easy show to watch. And this isn’t an easy thing to ignore, and shouldn’t be. The show cares not for what experiences we’ve had going on. Whether we recognize Utena’s position immediately, or have to extrapolate from the information given. Whether we know or not how she feels, we’re forced to watch it with all the cards already on the table. We’re forced to watch Akio, knowing it’s his goal, before watching from his perspective the culmination of his efforts. 

The experience is an assault of its own. The meticulous cultivating of Utena’s willingness and our dread occur simultaneously, so that when we’re finally put in that hotel room, only her face in frame, we’re as trapped in the moment as she is. Even if we look away, we’ve already seen everything leading up to it, a turning of talent and skill to horrifying ends. Our heroine’s trust is gained and abused. Her youth and her innocence is preyed on. And by the vantage point we’re given, and the force with which we’re made accomplices, we’re preyed on as well. The small comfort experiencing it alongside her would have given our peace of mind is denied to us. We’re forced in horror into Akio’s point of view instead, knowing acutely how much it pleases him. Because of course we are. Haven’t we been watching all along, knowing what he was doing? Peeking through squinted eyes at each step closer, expecting, dreading, but anticipating the same thing he has?

It’s not hard to imagine that Akio, aware of his audience, would be pleased to an excess with what’s done to us. And I wonder...perhaps that is the point of the care and cruelty with which his seduction is portrayed by be-Papas. It’s not just righteous anger on Utena’s behalf that we feel, but righteous anger on our own as well. He is an absolute abuser, and every character he meets is a target of that. Perhaps it only makes sense that us, viewers from a great distance divided by reality, manage still to be his victims also. 

[chasholidays]

Hi first thank you second here is a very loose prompt idea: Bellamy talks to himself/someone else in Tagalog and Clarke w/ her huge crush wants to know what he's saying so she can maybe start a conversation and he'll notice her except it turns out he's talking about her in Tagalog

Italics indicate conversations in Tagalog!

Bellamy tells his grandmother about his cute neighbor for two reasons: one, she keeps asking if he’s seeing anyone right now, and two, he figures the odds of said neighbor ever finding out about it are fairly low. She has, occasionally, been in the hallway or at the bus stop while he’s talking to his grandmother about her, but he can’t imagine she knows Tagalog, and if she does know, she’s never reacted to anything he’s said, up to and including things about how she’s cute and he’s working on talking to her.

And, okay, that second one is a lie, but, again, this is his grandmother. Who is very concerned about him since he and that nice girl Gina broke up, and hasn’t it been a while, and anyone would be lucky to have him.

He loves his grandmother, he does, but he��s kind of glad he only has one of them. He doesn’t need any more people pressuring him about his love life.

“We’ve never even spoken,” he’s telling her, one morning in April, as he walks to the bus stop. “I only know her name from her mailbox.”

“Why not?” she asks. “You live next door to each other, you must have things to talk about.”

“If I ever need to borrow an egg from someone, she’s the first one I’ll ask. But I’m good at just buying my own eggs. It’s fine,” he adds, before she can protest. “The buses here aren’t great. I’m sure sooner or later ours will be late and I can start talking to her about that.”

“You usually talk to me when your bus is late,” she points out, not unreasonably. He likes to call her on his way into work. It’s a nice time for both of them to chat, and there aren’t a lot of those, considering the time difference.

“I’ll hang up on you and talk to her next time if you want.”

“That would be the smart thing to do.”

He does hang up on her not long after that, but not to talk about how the bus is running late, even though it is. The bus is always a little unreliable; it has to be a lot later than this to be worth remarking on.

So it’s up to his neighbor to say, “Hey, can I ask you something?”

Bellamy’s never actually spoken to Clarke Griffin before. He just knows she lives next door to him and is pretty and still reads physical books, so he can see she has good taste and seems like someone he’d get along with. It’s nothing deep or profound or anything; at best, it’s safe. She’s someone he can idly think about without any danger of anything happening.

Or she was, until she decided to start a conversation.

He stops halfway to putting his earbuds in and smiles at her. “Sure, what’s up?”

She worries her lip. “On the phone, is that Tagalog?”

He makes himself not react, which isn’t that hard. She was behind him walking, so she might have overheard the whole conversation, but this doesn’t feel like a trap, the gotcha moment where she reveals she’s secretly been eavesdropping on him for the last three months.

It’s still dangerous territory, but at least he feels safe saying, “Yeah. This is when I call my grandmother. She’s in Manila, so it’s just after nine at night for her.”

“That’s cool,” says Clarke. “I pretty much just talk to my grandparents on holidays and birthdays.”

He doesn’t have a particularly good response to that, but he also feels as if he doesn’t need one. He doesn’t have to justify how much he talks to his grandmother to her. “Yeah,” he says instead.

“So, this is weird, but–I’ve been wanting to learn another language. Would you maybe be willing to teach me some Tagalog?”

Weird feels like something of an understatement. “You just want to learn a foreign language? Any foreign language?”

“Pretty much.” Her smile says she knows what he’s thinking. “I took Spanish in high school and then forgot everything as soon as I wasn’t required to do it for a grade anymore. I tried to pick it back up on Duolingo but when I don’t have someone to talk to I have trouble with actually keeping up. But I like knowing other languages? I like using that part of my brain. Again, I know this is completely weird, you can just say no, I won’t be offended.”

“That really is weird,” he says, but he finds himself smiling. “I’m trying to figure out what actually happened here. You overheard me on the phone, decided hey, he speaks a foreign language, cool, then researched what I was speaking and decided to ask me to teach you?”

“Obviously it sounds bad when you actually just say what I did,” she says, and he laughs.

“Obviously, yeah.”

The bus shows up before he has to answer, but when they get on, Clarke claims an empty pair of seats, cocks her head at him in invitation, and she is really cute. He should definitely be working on talking to her, even if she’s totally weird.

“I’ve never actually taught anyone Tagalog,” he says. “I just grew up speaking it. I wouldn’t know where to start.”

“I was thinking I’d buy a book and we could just practice once a week, maybe? It’s also possible I’m kind of new in town and don’t have a lot of friends yet,” she adds, when he doesn’t say anything.

“You don’t say,” he teases, and she gives him a somewhat sheepish smile.

“The first step is admitting you have a problem.”

“I feel like in this conversation alone you’ve admitted to having way more than one problem.” He pauses, thinking it over. “You know, if you just want to hang out, we don’t have to learn Tagalog. That’s not a requirement for friendship.”

“But it’s more efficient,” she says. “Make friends and learn a new language.”

“Or we could start with friends and go from there,” he says. “I’m doing drinks tonight with some other people, if you want to come along.”

“You don’t have to–” she starts, and he figures if she can ask him for Tagalog lessons because she’s been eavesdropping, he can admit he’s checking out her reading material.

“Did you like The Fifth Season?”

She doesn’t miss a beat. “Yeah. I’m on the waiting list for the second one but I’m thinking about just caving and buying it.”

“I’ll bring it for you tonight if you come.”

Her smile is always beautiful, but he’s never had it turned on him before. “Yeah?”

He shrugs. “What are friends for?”

*

“My neighbor asked me to teach her Tagalog,” he tells his grandmother, the next week.

“I hope you said yes.”

“Then how would I tell you about her?” he teases. “I told her to come to the bar with me and Miller, and she did. We talked about books.”

“And are you going to talk more about books?”

“I think so, yeah. She only moved here a few months ago, she doesn’t know a lot of people yet. And I think she wants to chat. She just sat down next to me.”

“I see how it is. Now that you have a girl you like to talk to in the morning, you don’t want to talk to me anymore.”

“That’s exactly how it is,” he agrees, with a smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep you posted.”

*

Bellamy has to admit, he likes his new routine a lot more than his old one. Not that his old routine was bad, but it’s nice, following up his morning call to his grandmother with a chat with Clarke. They aren’t doing actual Tagalog lessons, but Clarke does seem to be pursuing the language on her own, and she’ll ask him about vocabulary and grammar, not actually based on his conversations, just on her own, independent study. She doesn’t seem to be getting any closer to understanding what he’s saying.

Then they talk about books and work and their lives, whatever comes to mind. They always sit together on the bus, and they even start leaving the apartment building together. After a few weeks, he explains how his grandmother half-raised him, back in Manila, and Clarke shares details of her own family.

It feels like they’re on their way to being friends, which is cool, albeit a little terrifying. She was supposed to be a safe, unrealistic crush, and now he talks to her every day, likes her as a lot more than just a concept or a construct. He likes her, the real one, and it’s nothing he was ever prepared for.

His grandmother tells him he should just tell her, before it gets worse, and the idea does have some appeal, but he doesn’t really know where to start.

“All you have to do is tell her you’d like to go on a date with her,” says his grandmother. “Watch out. If you don’t do it soon, I might tell your sister about this.”

“That’s just cruel,” he says. “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

As usual, once he’s ended the call, Clarke closes her book and turns her attention to him. “How do you guys have so much to talk about?”

“What do you mean?” he asks.

“I call my mom about once every two weeks and I never have that much to say to her.”

“You manage to talk to me every day,” he says, and to his surprise, she flushes.

“It’s not easy.”

She clearly says it without thinking, and he has to laugh. “You don’t have to, you know.”

There’s a pause, and then she leans forward, wetting her lips. When she speaks, the words are deliberate, purposeful. “I couldn’t figure out anything to talk to you about, so I figured I could ask about Tagalog. It was the only conversation starter I could come up with other than knocking on your door and asking to borrow some sugar.”

He has to laugh. “Yeah, I was going to borrow an egg from you if I had to.”

“Yeah?”

He looks over at her, feeling half his mouth tug up at the corner. “You know what I’m talking to my grandmother about most days? You. She thought I needed to start dating again, so I told her my neighbor was cute. I thought it was pretty safe. I didn’t think I’d ever actually talk to you.”

“Did you tell her we started talking?”

“I did, yeah. She thinks I should ask you out.”

“I have to say, your grandmother sounds like a very intelligent woman,” says Clarke, and he grins.

“She likes the sound of you too. I told her you had good taste in books.” He wets his lips. “So, are you busy tonight?”

“I’m not. And you need something to talk to your grandmother about in the morning, right?”

“Right,” he agrees. “She’s going to love this.”

*

It’s about a year before he and Clarke can coordinate a trip out to visit. His cousin gives his grandmother a ride out to meet them, and Clarke’s language studies have progressed far enough that she can say, “Hello, it’s so nice to finally meet you.”

They’ve spoken on the phone, so it’s not as if it’s really the first time they’re talking, but meeting in person always feels different.

“She is pretty, like you said,” his grandmother tells him, once she’s given Clarke a hug. “And good taste in men too. Did you get all that?” she adds, to Clarke.

“Not quite all,” she says, picking her words slowly. “Bellamy says my book is–less good.”

“It is,” he says, and switches to English. “I’m hoping we can find something better here. She just bought one online.”

“Well, I said you’re very pretty and my grandson has good taste,” she tells Clarke, linking their arms. “And now you can tell me all the things Bellamy won’t when we call.”

“I’m going to regret this, aren’t I?” he asks, with a somewhat overdramatic sigh. The whole effect is probably spoiled by the way he can’t stop smiling, though. Octavia will be here the day after tomorrow, and then he’s got two whole weeks to spend with all his favorite people. It’s hard to be anything but excited about the whole thing.

“You always say that,” says his grandmother. “But we all know you’ve been looking forward to this for months.”

“I have,” he agrees. “But now I’m going to have to learn a new language so I can say nice things about Clarke behind her back.”

Clarke laughs. “Well, there are worse problems to have, right?”

He takes his grandmother’s other side as they head back to the car, feeling warm and fuzzy and content in spite of–or perhaps somewhat thanks to–the jetlag. He’s here and Clarke’s here and they’ve got a whole vacation for her to get to know his family. He’s never gotten this far with anyone else, and he’s hoping Clarke’s the only person he ever brings home, now.

“Yeah,” he tells her. “It could definitely be worse.”

[rilenerocks]

I’m not exactly a nautical type. I’ve been in a variety of boats. I’ve paddled a canoe and rowed a row boat. Someone taught me how to come about on a sailboat many years ago. I’ve driven a motor boat, one of the few positive benefits of having my in-laws who owned one. I’ve traversed lakes and rivers on paddle boats, pontoon boats and riverboats. I’ve been on a hydrofoil and a whale watching boat. I’ve been on a cruise ship a couple of times and the smaller tenders that transport you from ship to shore and back. I’ve even been on a faux submarine that felt like being in a washing machine, plus one retired battleship. These were all good and interesting experiences but truthfully, I’d rather be in the water than on it.

I try thinking back to what led me to think about trying to keep an even keel. Maybe growing up close to the lakefront in Chicago had an impact on my marine-themed psychological reference for stability. I can’t count how many times I traveled on both south and north Lake Shore Drive. I remember always having my eyes glued to the water which was endlessly interesting to me. Full of life and  mystery. That’s the place where I learned to swim. Maybe I’m somewhere in that black and white photo, trying to copy those people who actually knew what they were doing. My family wasn’t big on swimming. Usually on steamy summer days, when we were broiling in our un-air-conditioned third floor apartment, we headed to the beach and set up camp in the grassy park area. After a while, I always fled to the water. 

My high school had a marine theme because of its proximity to the lake. South Shore High. The athletic teams were called The Tars. The yearbook was The Tide and the newspaper was The Shore Line. Deep blue and teal green were the colors I associate with that school, thinking particularly of my senior yearbook. When I attended my 50th high school reunion, I had some temporary teal streaks put in my hair, just for fun.

I’m not exactly sure whether the origin of my goal of keeping an even keel is important. Thinking about it is typical of my internal process as I always seem to be pondering something. Sometimes when I wake in the morning with a subject already on my mind, I wonder if I’ve really been asleep. I’m not sure my brain is ever empty despite my intermittent meditative efforts. I have to laugh. From the beginning of our relationship, I was always asking Michael what he was thinking about. Frequently, he’d say “nothing.” “What?” I would shriek. “That’s impossible. You have to be thinking about something.” He’d smile and say, “Some day toward the end of your life, you’re going to realize that all the mysterious thoughts you believe I’m concealing really were never there. You’ve just spent your life with a basically shallow guy.” Of course I never believed him and of course that wasn’t true. But it was a point well taken. Everyone isn’t afflicted with thinking all the time.

I’m pretty sure all this perpetual  cogitating began when I was a little kid. I was always tuned in to the emotional currents going on around me. I found them alarming and uncomfortable. I wanted to be a step ahead of everything. My family seemed to constantly be responding to crises which for me, as a little child, was just plain scary. As I got older, I developed strategies for getting ahead of the curve. I believe control is the operative word here. I wanted as much control as I could get. None of this aimless bobbing like a cork in the water, buffeted by random waves and currents for me. I figured if I thought hard enough I could keep an even keel, no matter what I ran into along my course. Obviously, that wasn’t entirely possible. Anyone with feelings can’t get away unscathed by those waves that ram into most people at some point or other in their lives. But trying to hold steady has been a good life strategy for me. I gravitate to my center and move forward from there. I’m not fond of operating from positions of weakness. So if I stay focused, I can manage. Most of the time.

Last week, I gave myself a special event. Pete Yorn was doing a livestream acoustic guitar performance of my favorite album of his, Musicforthemorningafter. In addition, there was new and unique merchandise to go along with the show. Part of the proceeds were going to Covid19 relief, particularly in the way of food. I was so excited. I decided that after Michael died, I was going to go to as many concerts, plays and places as I could afford. The intervention of the virus has put a big hitch in my plans. Sometimes I wish I could be less conscious of the considerable risks it poses to my health and then, obviously, to my family and anyone else whose path I might cross. But I can’t. I’m constantly reasoning with myself, trying to stay rational instead of being impulsive. I don’t believe that most of the people who are breaking all the science rules are being deliberately malicious and uncaring about public health. Mostly I think they’re either not able to conceive that one bad move can be enough to change their lives or someone else’s. Having constant awareness of vulnerability is hard and exhausting. I think my life made me good at this heightened awareness. I often remind myself that everyone is just a phone call away from life-altering tough news. Frankly, it’s not my favorite thing to be self-aware. In my coronavirus dream journal, I’ve noticed an interesting pattern. Mostly, I’m in unfamiliar places, but I’m almost always with Michael and our kids. Usually it’s between 15-20 years ago, so our little nuclear family is intact. But there’s always something threatening near us and I’m trying to protect one person or another. Invariably, I’m required to navigate a dangerous area, usually a narrow walkway, bridge or balance beam-like path. Water is on both sides of me and it’s usually active, with waves lapping over my feet. So far, I’ve always gotten to the other side. I’m thinking this subconscious process is a metaphor for this time.

The world around me can be simultaneously simple and complex. I’m my best self when I’m in my garden, listening to music, watching the behavior of the insects, birds and little mammals out there in my habitat that I’m still trying to improve every day. Part of the reason for that is to do my share of being a healthy influence on nature as it groans under the weight of climate change. I also am trying to help my future self as the work around here will only get harder. Maybe I’ll have a healthy decade in my 70’s or maybe not. If I design my outside for as little maintenance as possible, my chances of staying uninjured improve. That project is keeping me occupied in the dance of staying balanced. There’ve been 50 bird species that have shown up here this year. I’m working on my list of butterflies now. I finally got a few photos of the speedy goldfinches and an amazing first, a video of monarchs mating. The simple part of life.

This piece of my life is satisfying. I wander around for hours, headphones on, listening to music, old and new. But there’s a darker side. I’m worrying about lots of people I know and ones that I don’t. I have friends dealing with cancer, their own or their loved one’s. That’s a road I can walk with them, albeit carefully, as I’ve learned well the limits of my abilities. Friends’ parents are dying in this lonely time when the virus separates people when they should be together. Many people I know are depressed and lonely. The incessant alone time gives many who weren’t satisfied with their lives too much time to reflect on their negatives. That’s another road I can walk partway before stepping back. I’ve experienced a lot of loss, both parents, a sibling, a best friend, a former lover and of course, my life partner. Sometimes I think that I’ve already experienced the worst thing that could happen to me. But then I remind myself that for me, the loss of a child could overwhelm all my internal resources. So my private inner dialogue continues.

Then there are all the people on the streets. I’m seeing more of the homeless and the hungry. I buy sandwiches and hand them over but it’s so terrible to know how insignificant is that act which only provides the most temporary respite. I’ve handed out water bottles on hot days. But I feel helpless and overwhelmed and angry. This is a rich country and the economic gaps between the top and the bottom are just wrong. I rail away on social media about everything. Then I feel guilty that all I share is anger and rage. So I go to Instagram, a most peculiar place indeed. I follow scientists and nature photographers so I can share some beauty instead of simply vitriol. I also check on a variety of news outlets and conservation groups. I confess that I do the fan girl thing, following Roger Federer, musicians and the television character who reminds me of Michael, at least the  Michael he’d have been as a Scottish Highlander in the 18th century. But Instagram’s a weird place with all these influencers who seem mostly vapid to me, and then the lonely souls out there who send me private messages and ask to follow me them though my account is private. My profile photo is flattering but do these mostly middle-aged men think that anything substantive could develop in this peculiar forum? Maybe that actually happens for some people. I delete all those requests. I do wonder about them. But I’m sticking with my Outlander hero who reminds me of my guy, absent the kilt.

So, up and back I go, or rather I shift from side to side, trying to hold steady in the midst of this strange time. I hope I can keep that keel firmly centered, while knowing full well, I can be knocked off my course in a split second. You know, that’s really how it always is but thinking that way round the clock is too hard – taking a break from dwelling on the uncertainty is necessary for survival.

The Delicacy of an Even Keel I’m not exactly a nautical type. I’ve been in a variety of boats. I’ve paddled a canoe and rowed a row boat.

[marshmallowgoop]

I don't know if you're still taking prompts, but if you are may I request a Satsuki and Ryuko fic (sisters bond) in show, except that in this au Ryuko was adopted by the Mankanshokus when she was a child.

If asked, Satsuki Kiryuinwould deny, quite quickly, quite calmly, that she’s keeping an eye on herlittle sister.

“Matoi is more than capable oftaking care of herself,” she would say to any such accusations, without even amoment’s hesitation, and surely, certainly, she would believe her words. Thereis, she knows, little in the universe that could bring her baby sister down.

But maybe Satsuki can’t help theknot of worry building deep inside her, even as the sun droops down low andSoroi’s tea grows cold and Matoi shows no sign of strain. How could she help it, really, Satsukijustifies to herself, when it had only been mere hours since this girl beforeher had been drenched in her own blood and had ripped away her unbearable burden and Satsuki had to imagine scenario afterscenario of all her efforts being for naught and her sister falling to theground and suffering and screaming andchoking out her last breath as she herself stood useless and powerless even aftereverything she’d fought for and everything she’d done and—

Okay, so maybe Satsuki looks Matoi’sway just a bit. Just a bit. You can’tblame her.  

But Matoi, Satsuki sees, seemsperfectly fine, even for all that had happened. The girl’s smiles are wide, herlaughter genuine. She plucks croquettes from her plate and eats with the kind of vigor that any growing teenager should have. No matter Satsuki’s own mistakes andall she had done wrong, the sight before her tells her, wordlessly, that Matoiis happy.

The knot deep inside loosens. NowSatsuki can’t help her own smiling, or the strange, bubbling warmth that buildsand builds, and bashfully, uncertainly, she lets the feelings stay. They’rebeautiful, she thinks. They’re incomprehensible. They’re not distractions. They’restrength. If Matoi had taught her anything, it’s that.

But no matter the happypicture before her, Satsuki still knows that it’s not exactly a surprise whenMatoi’s big, eager grins fall into something more subdued, something tired, asthough the day’s events finally catch up to her and she finally feels theexhaustion of everything that had occurred. Matoi stretches her arms over herhead, a plate half-filled with croquettes still in her lap, and says, with ayawn and a groan, “I’ll be back in a bit.”

Matoi stands, yawning still,and it seems for a moment that she’s going to explain where she’ll be wanderingoff to on this ship, but Mankanshoku doesn’t let her, rushing to her own feetwith a knowing grin.

“I got it, Ryuko!” she cries. “Afterbeing apart for so long, you need to spend some alone time with Senketsu!”

Even in the darkness thatsurrounds them, Satsuki doesn’t miss the bright-red blush that comes overMatoi’s cheeks. “Um…” Matoi says, awkwardly, a crooked smile on her face, “Ithink you’re misunderstanding…”

Mankanshoku shakes her head,offering Matoi a wink as she piles croquettes from her own plate onto Matoi’s. “Takethese, though!” Mankanshoku says. “You need to build up your strength! Huah,huah!” Mankanshoku punches the air, scowling, as though attacking an invisibleenemy. “Got it?!”

Matoi softens. She looks downto the croquettes Mankanshoku had given her, smiling a timid smile, and thenshe says, quietly, instinctively, automatically, “Thanks, Sis.”

And Satsuki can’t help it. Shestiffens at the word, her grip on her own plate of croquettes tightening justas much as the knot deep inside does. She turns her eyes away, but she’s notfast enough, catching a bashful, embarrassed look come across Matoi’s facebefore she lets her attention fall completely to the half-dozen croquettesstill littering her own plate.

“So, uh, see ya,” Matoi says. Shewalks away, and Satsuki sighs. The croquettes that once seemed so delicious nowseem to taunt her, and she can’t say that she feels all that hungry anymore,either.

But Mankanshoku won’t let herdrown in self-pity. The girl plops down next to Satsuki quicker than Satsuki wouldhave even thought possible, piling croquettes off her plate and onto Satsuki’snow.

“You know,” Mankanshoku says,without giving Satsuki the time to react or respond, “the best part abouteating croquettes is eating them with family!”

As though to demonstrate,Mankanshoku takes one of the many croquettes she somehow still has left andstuffs it in her mouth, mmm-ing and ahh-ing as she chews. 

“See!” Mankanshoku says,her mouth still half-full. “These croquettes wouldn’t be nearly as good if I were alone!”

Satsuki manages to smileagain, just a little. “I’m sure you and Matoi have shared many good memoriestogether, eating croquettes,” she says. She ignores how the knot insidetightens at her own words.

Mankanshoku doesn’t make anynote of Satsuki’s discomfort, either. She stuffs three croquettes into hermouth at once, nodding her head as she chews and swallows, looking quite deepin thought, and with nothing more to say herself, Satsuki takes to poking at herown croquettes with her chopsticks, watching blankly as the greasy meat balls rolland flip over.

Like a child! Satsuki thinks,and she curses her ridiculous feelings. She doesn’t have time to waste mopinglike this, and yet—

“Mm-hmm!” Mankanshoku burstsout. She jumps to her feet once more, and Satsuki wonders for a moment if allthe croquettes she has piled high will fall to the ship’s deck.

But they don’t, simply shudderingwith Mankanshoku’s quick steps, and the girl holds a hand out to Satsuki,smiling wide.

“Won’t you come walk with mefor a bit, Lady Satsuki?” she asks.

Satsuki takes a look around. Jakuzurelooks to be arguing with Mankanshoku’s younger brother, Mrs. Mankanshoku can’tstop piling croquettes onto Gamagoori’s plate, Sanageyama seems preoccupied inegging them on, Soroi is fixing more tea…

“All right,” says Satsuki,sure that she is unneeded here for the moment. She stands herself, stillholding her plate full of croquettes that she’s hardly convinced she’ll be ableto eat. Mankanshoku beams.

The two walk along the ship,taking care to note the rhythm of the sea. Where they’re going Satsuki hasn’tthe slightest clue, but the destination seems of little importance toMankanshoku, and Satsuki can’t say she minds the distraction. Mankanshoku skipsalong and eats croquettes as they go, talking with her mouth full the wholeway.

“You know, Lady Satsuki,” shesays, as the stars begin to glimmer in the sky, and after relaying quite theincomprehensible tale about her favorite pajamas, “the first time Ryuko atecroquettes, Mom thought there was something terribly, horribly wrong with them!Ryuko just started bawling at the table after she put them in her mouth! Likethey were poison!”

Mankanshoku swallows, only tostuff another croquette into her mouth. “But there wasn’t a problem at all!”she goes on. “Ryuko just thought they were so good that she couldn’t help buttear up and cry!”

Mankanshoku swallows again,just as loudly and unseemly as she had been doing all evening. Satsuki managesanother smile, sort of. “Is-is that so?” she asks.

“Yup!” says Mankanshoku. “Ryukowas so itty bitty that I don’t know if she remembers it, but I do!”

Mankanshoku has sped up, andso Satsuki quickens her own steps as well. “I see,” Satsuki says, unsure,because there’s a part of her, deep inside, that can’t help but wonder why inthe world she’s devoting so much time and energy to such meaningless, frivolousconcerns, and why it is she walks alongside Mankanshoku at all, and why shewould ever think she has the time for any of this when the fate of the world isstill in her hands, as it always has been.

But the greater part of her istwisting the knot tighter and tighter inside, and that greater part is saying,loudly, that today, tonight, there is nothing more meaningful than hearing of her little sister’s life without her.

The knot only tightens furtherat the thought.

“All right!” criesMankanshoku. She stops quite suddenly, popping the last of her croquettesinto her mouth. Satsuki very nearly knocks into her, but manages to stillherself right before her own plate of croquettes topples onto the sleeve ofMako’s sailor uniform.

If Mankanshoku notices thenear-collision, she certainly doesn’t seem to mind. She turns to face Satsukistraight on, her eyes alight with excitement. “Anyway, Lady Satsuki,” she says,so bubbly that it seems she’s holding back laughter, “sisters should sharecroquettes together, don’t you think?”

Unfortunately for Satsuki, sheis not allowed the time to respond. Mankanshoku places her hands on Satsuki’sback and gives her a great push forward that surprises even Satsuki, and Satsuki quickly findsherself stumbling towards the sea, a few croquettes tumbling off her plate andonto the deck with gentle thuds thatare just loud enough to draw theattention of the girl who sits right before her, at the edge of the Sol, herlegs dangling down towards the water, an empty plate of croquettes beside her.

Satsuki swallows hard as sherealizes that Mankanshoku had deliberately led her right to where Matoi went. She feels her face burn red as Matoistares her way.

“I,” Satsuki starts, in amanner that is most undignified. “Iwas simply wondering if I might join the two of you.”

Satsuki holds up her plate. “Ibrought you some more croquettes,” she adds, as though they were truly the reason she stands there. Satsuki sighs infrustration when she steals a look behind her and notices that any last traceof Mankanshoku is long gone.

Matoi frowns, looking down—toSenketsu, surely, Satsuki knows—before nodding her head. “Sure,” she says, andher own face burns a bit pink as she stutters, adding, “S-S-Si-Satsuki.”

Somehow, Satsuki manages tosmile at that, as she sits beside her sister on the deck, her own legs hangingdown towards the water. The knot inside twists and twists tighter.

“It’s okay,” she says, thoughshe knows that with the way she says it, it certainly doesn’t sound okay at all. “You don’t have toforce a sisterly bond with me, not for my sake.” Her smile only widens. Hergaze falls to the sea.

“After all,” she says. “Youalready have an older sister.”

Satsuki can’t say she knewwhat she expected in response to such a statement, but it certainly wasn’t alaugh and a shake of Matoi’s head. But that’s exactly what Matoi does, and toSatsuki, it could almost be a month ago again, in the burnt remains of Osaka,their weapons pressed up against each other’s throats. 

“Hmph,” Matoi says after amoment, sounding disgusted, disappointed. “Still acting so high and mighty,even with your own little sister?” She pauses a moment, looking to Satsuki’scroquettes, and then right into her eyes. “Who says I’m doing any of this for you?”

Satsuki does not know what tosay to that, and so Matoi continues, “How much of my story do you know, huh,Satsuki Kiryuin? Did that computer-geek Inumuta give ya all the dirt on mylife, huh? Did you look into every last, little detail you could about me soyou could better use me as your precious little asset? As your weapon?”

“Ryuko…” Satsuki thinks shehears in response to Matoi’s words, but the voice is fuzzy and hard to make out, and shefigures it must just be her imagination, or tiredness.

She shakes her head, lookingtowards her sister—

“I don’t want to hear it,Senketsu!” Matoi snaps. “This is between me ‘n Satsuki.”

Matoi returns Satsuki’s gaze. “So?”she asks.

Satsuki sighs, long and deep. “Ididn’t know much, Matoi,” she says, truthfully.

“Well,” says Matoi, “did yaknow that my dad dumped me ‘n Senketsu off at Mako’s house when I was five,huh? Did you know that he said it’d just be a little while, and that he’d beback for me in a week? Did ya know that he nevercame back, even though he damn well could have, but his fucking research always mattered to him morethan me, and I never heard from that shit sack again until the day he fuckingdied?”

Matoi turns away. Satsukifeels her mouth go very dry. “No,” Satsuki says. “I didn’t know any of that,Matoi.”

But Matoi is not finished. Shespeaks louder now, her words coming faster and faster. “Did ya have any idea,”she asks now, “what it felt like, to grow up in a place you knew you didn’tbelong? Did ya ever think about what fucking hell it was to hear your mom and dad arguin’ about what to do withyou, while you kept tryin’ and tryin’ to find your real dad and kept comin’ up with jack shit?”

Satsuki is quiet, and for amoment, Ryuko is, too.

Then, much more restrained thanbefore, she says, “It was never a walk in the freaking park, Kiryuin. I knewthat Mako’s family wasn’t mine. Iknew she wasn’t really my sister. Iknew I had no right to call her Sis.”

A bitter smile comes overRyuko’s face. “But the lot of them… they always tried so hard to make mefeel like I belonged. Like I really could be part of a normal family like that, even though I knew damn well that my real family was fucked up.” She shakesher head, drawing her arms around herself.

“And now…” Ryuko says, “well,it’s even more—I’m even more—fucked upthan I coulda ever guessed.”

Ryuko looks Satsuki right inthe eyes once more, her gaze just as piercing and passionate as it was the daythey first met.

“So fuck you, Satsuki Kiryuin!” Ryuko says—shouts, screams. “Fuck you if you think I don’t care about finally having someone else who understands where the fuck I’m comin’ from.”

Silence falls between them,the air thick with the intensity of Ryuko’s words.  

“Who’s just as fucked up asyou, isn’t that right?” Satsuki manages to say, quietly, after a moment.

Ryuko laughs, turning awayfrom her sister. “I s’pose so. Two fucked-up-as-shit sisters, right here.”

“I didn’t know you felt thisway, Ryuko,” Satsuki says.

Ryuko flashes a cocky grin. “There’sa lot you don’t know about me.”

“You’re right,” says Satsuki,and she pushes her plate of croquettes closer to her sister. “But I hope you’lllet me learn more.”

And right before Satsuki,Ryuko’s cocky smile shifts into something almost soft, her eyes wide with whatSatsuki can only think of as hope.

Ryuko pokes her own chopsticks into the offered croquettes.

“Of course,” she says, taking a bite.