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viv-hollande · 1 year ago

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As Promised, The Israel-Palestine Megapost of Doom

Content Warning: This post discusses both the history of the Israel-Palestine conflict and the current Israel-Gaza War. As such, it contains frank discussions of apartheid, war crimes, crimes against humanity, genocides both past and present, racism, antisemitism, colonialism, terrorism and more. As an additional tone warning, I guess: I am by nature a pretty flippant person. I’ve been criticized for that in the past, and probably will be again in the future. I don’t know if it's just who I am, or if maybe I need a therapist. I have tried to reign in some of my worse impulses, especially when talking about the actual events themselves, to try to give due respect to those affected. Nevertheless, if that kind of attitude offends or disturbs you, maybe sit this one out.

This post is brought to you in its current form thanks to the generous actions of Dr. Henry Kissinger, whose untimely death many decades after it was deserved nevertheless brought me joy great enough to drag me out of angryposting mode and into hopefully more coherent essay-writing mode. So here is the partially revised, partially rewritten, and greatly expanded post that I promised.

While I don’t have a cohesive thesis, I have written this with the intention of addressing/responding to the state of conversation around the Israel-Palestine conflict, and around the ongoing Israel-Gaza crisis. I am focusing substantially on the online discourse because it’s the only thing I have even a chance of changing. I’m a soon-to-no-longer-be-teenage college sophomore without a lot of disposable income. I’ve already called my Senators and House Rep. I really don’t have much influence beyond my power to try to persuade random internet users to be less bad.

I’ve tried to restrain my tendency for purple prose, self-righteousness, and gratuitous moral judgements; you can be the judge of whether or not I succeeded. I know that I am definitely not an expert or authority on this topic, but neither is most anyone else on this fucking website. It didn’t stop them and it won’t stop me.

But before that, some brief words on my previous post. Unlike my usual angryposting where I tend to regret everything I say and do while in the anger spiral, I can actually say that I stand by more or less everything I said in that post. I do have one correction and one clarification though. Clarification: the “Stealth Echoes” I am referring to are instances where the word Israel or Israeli are placed in quotation marks specifically. Example: As per a spokesperson of the “Israeli” Defense Forces, “Something something ceasefire violation.” Used as such, the “Stealth Echoes” around Israel or Israeli are used to signal belief in the illegitimacy of Israel. It’s literally just (((echoes))) revived. A few people thought I was talking about the use of quotes in quotation marks. Now, the correction: in my anger, I believe that I overstated the prevalence of the “Stealth Echoes”. I said 20-40%, which upon reflection was too high, brought on by seeing a long string of said posts in rapid succession. I would now say that the figure is closer to 5-10%, jumping up to 10-15% if you include instances of censoring Israeli like I*****i and the use of words like Isntreal. I feel that as a practical matter they are indistinguishable; they serve the same purpose. Whatever the number, it is too damn high and should not be going unchallenged. If you’re using them, stop. If you see someone else use them, either in a tweet or on Tumblr, don’t share them.

That done, on with the post!

To start with, I want to establish some important concepts and ideas that I’m going to expand upon later so that you are aware and thinking about them going in. Some of these will seem pretty basic, but they are important. Trust me.

Words mean things. Seriously. Words have meaning, both in isolation and as part of sentences. Many words have very specific meanings, and it is important to use them correctly. Incorrect usage of words deprives language of its utility and power. At certain points in this essay, you might think that I am being overly pedantic, but that specificity is important.

Humans possess a strong drive to create narratives, especially out of history. This is normal; almost all humans do it. However, the tendency towards narrative creates a pitfall where the narrative begins to supplant the actual events in discussion and popular consciousness. Actual history is reshaped, often through omission or erasure, to fit the existing narrative. It is this narrative, not the actual history, that informs attitudes and debate. This is a problem for all history, but especially with a history as long, divisive, and deeply emotionally effective as the Israel-Palestine conflict.

Pragmatism and idealism are broadly speaking two competing approaches towards making plans and decisions. Pragmatism is generally concerned with evaluating the state of reality and making decisions based on their objective practical effects. Though they are not necessarily incompatible, pragmatism possesses no inherent obligations to concepts like justice, morality, or good. Idealism, by contrast, is concerned with defining what the world should look like and aims to achieve that goal. This ideal world can theoretically be informed by anything, but is usually defined by morality. I generally believe that what is is more important than what should be. Whether in matters of politics, diplomacy, or war, it is better to evaluate the state of reality as best you can and tailor your goals to what is practically achievable rather than trying to force reality to conform to your idealized future.

In general, I will try to avoid ascribing intent to any individual or action, except where I feel that concrete evidence of intent is publicly available. Astute readers may know where I am going with this.

Rivers of ink have been spilled teasing apart the differences between Israelis, Jews, Zionists, Palestinians, Arabs, Muslims, and more, and between Palestine and Israel. This post is long enough without retreading all of that here. Nevertheless, I will do my best to use specific, accurate terminology where applicable.

The past is not the present. There are many facets to this point, and they will come up fairly often. For now, just keep this in mind.

With that over with, on to…

Anti-Colonialism & History

The Israel-Palestine conflict is usually characterized by the pro-Palestinian camp as an anti-colonialist struggle. In isolation, this is not a statement that I would disagree with. The modern history of Israel and Palestine is a history of colonialism, or near enough for government work. However, as I mentioned earlier, the actual history of Israel and Palestine has been reduced to a simplified narrative of righteous anti-colonialist struggle. That narrative erases the genuine complexity and nuance that is present in the Israel-Palestine conflict. I have not the time, patience, nor expertise to explain the 100+ year long history of this conflict; for a reasonably comprehensive, and as far as I know, accurate summation of the origins and course of the conflict, see this video. However, I do want to note some things that I see as important to the conflict or my arguments about it.

The Jews, whether defined as a group ethnically or religiously, have a historical connection to the land of Israel, and thus possess a potentially (we’ll get to it) legitimate claim to the land; this is, in my opinion, an important intellectual and practical difference from other examples of colonialism.

The ideological motivation behind Zionism was and still is complex, but an important and undeniable part was a desire for a safe haven from antisemitism. Keep in mind, Zionism as an idea first began to spread in earnest in the latter half of the 19th century, during an aggressively antisemitic period in European history. France experienced a surge in the popularity of antisemitic, pro-Catholic revanchists, monarchists and proto-fascists after their defeat in the Franco-Prussian War; this would culminate in the Dreyfus Affair. The Catholic Church itself was a powerful institutional advocate of antisemitism. It took until the Second Vatican Council, in the 1960s, for the Catholic Church to declare as official church doctrine that Jews, literally all Jews, past, present, and future were not in fact categorically guilty of the death of Christ, as had been church doctrine for literal centuries. The 1960s. Russia experienced wave after wave of violent anti-Jewish pogroms that lasted well into the 1920s, only really ending after the Bolsheviks victory in the Russian Civil War (though this would not be the end of Russian, and later Soviet, antisemitism). The rise of German nationalism was intimately and irrevocably tied in with antisemitism's rise to cultural ubiquity in the German Empire and later Weimar Germany. Even in the United Kingdom, which in the 19th and 20th centuries was positively tolerant by contemporary European standards, reflected in to appointment of Jews in prominent political positions up to and including Prime Ministers, was facing a resurgence in antisemitism. It may seem that I'm harping on the point for far too long, but a) I want to emphasize the truly dire straits facing the Jewish diaspora even before the Holocaust and b) while I would like to believe that the historical threat of antisemitism is accepted as common knowledge, I have been wrong before. See also: previous angry rant.

This point is possibly the most important: many Zionists, before and after the Holocaust, believed that the only way to secure the safety of the Jews in Israel was the creation of a Jewish majority state. Back when the land that was to become Israel and Palestine was believed to be mostly empty, this would have seemed easy to achieve by simply settling the area with a new Jewish population. However, after it became known that the land intended for a Jewish state was in fact inhabited, and by a substantial population no less, any intelligent Zionist would have known that the creation of any substantial Jewish majority state would require the forced eviction of the land's extant, mostly Arabic population.

I was struggling to find a place for this, so it’s going here. I have thus far avoided the use of a popular term used in relation to Israel; settler-colonialism. I have avoided its use because I see it as overused, poorly defined, and ahistorical. According to Wikipedia, accessed 30 November 2023, “Settler colonialism occurs when colonizers invade and occupy territory to permanently replace the existing society with the society of the colonizers.” If defined as such, I argue that the term settler-colonialism is practically useless because it describes literal millennia of human history. Using this definition, I have compiled a non-comprehensive list of examples of settler-colonialism, in roughly reverse chronological order: Israeli settlements in Gaza, Russification of Kaliningrad, Russification of the Crimean Peninsula, Sinicization in Xinjiang and Tibet, started by the late Qing and restarted by the PRC, British conquest of independent Boer states, Boer conquest of modern day South Africa, Ottoman colonization of Greece and the Aegean Islands, Russian conquest of Siberia, the Japanese colonization of Korea and Taiwan, centuries of successful and failed conquests of Cambodia by Vietnamese and Thai kingdoms, conquests by the Inca Empire, European colonization of the Americas, Venetian colonization across the Ionian and Mediterranean Seas, Turkic migrations into Central Asia and Anatolia, the Mongol conquests, the maritime empires of Indonesia, the Muslim conquests and subsequent Arabicization of North Africa and the Middle East, the entire history of the Roman Empire, any of the dozens of examples of Classical Greek colonies in Greece, Anatolia, Sicily, and southern Italy, the Achemenid conquests. Hell, the Phoenecians were so into colonization that one of their colonies eventually became a colonial empire in and of itself, and if you believe that all of those colonies were established on empty, virgin land then I got a seaside condo in Almaty to sell you. Though I don’t have time to go through them all, all of the above examples have either been cited by academics as examples of settler-colonialism, or share substantial commonalities with cited examples in my opinion. My problem with settler-colonialism as a term is that it is fundamentally based in modern concepts of indigeneity and nationalism. To put it bluntly, applying ahistorical modern concepts to a time and place that knew nothing of them is stupid. The vague definitions and overuse of the term compound these problems and threaten to misrepresent a near-universal human practice as an exclusively Western European phenomenon, and serve to complicate and frustrate conversation around instances where a more specific definition would be useful to meaningfully distinguish between it and other colonial projects; South Africa being a prime example. Specific language used accurately is important. All that being said, modern European colonialism more broadly and the effects thereof are important fields of study, and due to both temporal proximity and geographical reach, colonialism as it was practiced by modern European empires has had an outsized negative impact on the living conditions of billions of people currently alive in the year 2023. Sorry for all that, I just had to get it off of my chest.

So, back to the problem at hand. The point of view that sees Zionism as simply another expression of European colonialism is, in my opinion, oversimplified or even outright wrong. The fundamental problem with viewing Zionism as just another European colonial endeavor is that European Jews were generally not seen as European, but as either foreign invaders or domestic subversives. European Jews were generally excluded from the national identities developing across Europe, with very few exceptions. Where Zionism did recieve gentile support, it was secured through moral arguments and intellectual persuasion, not sinister influence. Zionism, while it was influenced by colonialism, Orientalism, and even aspects of white supremacy, was an intellectual idea and practical endeavor primarily advocated by a subset of the Jewish diaspora. In contrast to European colonialism, which was motivated in part or in whole by a mix of greed, national pride, white supremacy, and the belief in a ‘benevolent’ civilizing and christianizing mission, the intellectual underpinning of Zionism is the belief that the Jewish people possess the most legitimate claim to the land that is now Israel and Palestine as their historical homeland. That belief beggars an obvious question: do they?

Maybe?!

This is a large part of the reason why arguments about Zionism get so tangled and ugly and GAHH!. Zionism is the product of applying late 19th century concepts of nationalism and a people’s right to a homeland to a people exiled from their homeland over a thousand years before. Except it’s still more complicated than that, because the return of the Jews to Israel is an idea that is as old as the exodus itself. So the end result is that who you support is often decided by your personal answer to any number of thorny, complicated questions. Are the Jews indigenous to Israel? Are the Arabs indigenous to Palestine? If a people are expelled from their land, do they have the right to return? If yes, does that right expire? If it does, then how long does it last? Should special privilege be afforded to a people without a current homeland? What about a people who have experienced suppression, violence, and social rejection? Is it possible for a land to have multiple indigenous groups? If so, what about the right to return? Can one indigenous group act in a colonialist or imperialist manner towards another?

These questions do have answers, but even a simple yes or no requires additional explanation, elaboration, and will inevitably conflict with opposing answers. The concepts they rest on are complicated and nuanced. One that I’ve mentioned before, and one that you’re probably sick of hearing about at this point, is indigeneity. The reason I harp on this is because it is another modern idea, overused and poorly defined, that is useful, but whose applicability is less universal that an America-centric conception would suggest. Unlike in the Americas, where the dividing line between indigenous and immigrant is fairly clean cut, the Old World’s long list of conquests, migrations, depopulations, pandemics, and famines make the concept of indigeneity really fucking messy. As an example, consider the Turks. The Turks live in Turkey, or at least most of them do. Turkish nationalism, as it developed in the late 19th and early 20th centuries, considers Anatolia to be the homeland of the Turkish people. Do you know where the Turks are from?

Mongolia.

Or at least that general area. Archeological evidence is a little vague. I had a summary of that whole process here, but it was too long and I cut it. Summary2, the Seljuk Turks came to rule over Anatolia in the 10th century, starting a roughly 1000 year long process of cultural, ethnic, and linguistic conversion. In the late 19th century, the multiethnic but Turkish-ruled Ottomans began to develop and promote Turkish nationalism, partly in response to European nationalism. Because the Turkish people lived mostly in Anatolia when Turkish nationalism was developed, modern day Turkey adopted the status of homeland to the Turks. In conclusion, shit’s wack.

This is just one of literally thousands of examples of ways in which the concepts of nationalism and indigeneity are, seriously, I’m not just saying words here, complicated. They just are. These questions don’t have simple, satisfying answers and the discussion around them should reflect the nuances of the situation, but usually don't.

I have seen people expressing sentiments along the lines of, “Sitting back and debating the inexhaustible complexity of the Israel-Palestine conflict ad nauseam is obscuring the active suffering of the Palestinian people.” This is a sentiment that I understand, but do not agree with. It is important to talk about the abuses that Israel is committing in Gaza and in the West Bank, and to condemn them as criminal and immoral. But the discussion around the Israel-Gaza War does not take place in a vacuum. Discussions of the current war and of the wider conflict inevitably leave the realm of discussing what just happened and enter the realm of why. And the answer to that why? is almost inevitably wrapped up in narrative. There is an overwhelming tendency for the pro-Palestinian camp to reject the idea that Zionism might, in even a small way, have a legitimate argument. For most of the pro-Palestinian camp, the answer to the fundamental underlying question of Zionism, are the Jews indigenous to Israel? is no. Full stop. That is the narrative of Palestinian resistance. That is the narrative of anti-colonialism. That is the narrative that says that Israel is a European settler-colony. That is the narrative that delegitimizes the State of Israel. And that is a narrative that needs to change because that narrative makes negotiation and compromise impossible. Delegitimization is to nation-states what dehumanization is to people. Throughout the entirety of the American Civil War, President Lincoln referred to the conflict as a “rebellion” and the Confederacy as “rebels”, “insurrectionists”, or “traitors”. Direct quotes. A legitimate state possesses rights, can be negotiated with, and once recognized cannot be derecognized easily. An illegitimate entity must be crushed. Regardless of the crimes of Israel, and oh boy, are we going to get into those, an end to the Israel-Palestine conflict will have to be a negotiated resolution, because Israel isn’t going away.

I have my own personal beliefs about all of the above questions and more. I won’t share them because they aren’t important, and it's not really my place. However, to reiterate some of what I have said; I do think that the history of Israel and Palestine can be accurately characterized as a colonialist history, but I feel that the narrative of anti-colonialism papers over the moral complexity of the situation and intentionally delegitimizes Zionism and Israel.

Now, you may have noticed that I’ve mostly been focusing on my problems with the pro-Palestian side, for several reasons. Once again, this essay is supposed to be less about the conflict itself and more about the narratives that I have been seeing online. Since this is an overwhelmingly pro-Palestinian website, addressing that narrative has taken precedence. For that same reason, posting anti-Israeli content does feel a little bit like preaching to the choir. Nevertheless, I have many, many thoughts about Israel and the pro-Israeli narratives, and I clearly have no compunctions whatsoever about screaming my bullshit into the void, so let us now talk about…

Israel & Narrative

And also a little bit more about the Palestinian narrative. Sorry, everything’s kinda interconnected and it's hard to separate sometimes.

So I know that I tagged my last post as “kicking the hornets’ nest”, but this next bit is more like throwing a hornets’ nest at a bees’ nest sitting on the back of a tiger, but here goes.

For at least 90% of the people on this site, the history of the Israel-Palestine conflict is completely irrelevant, except for its utility in constructing narratives.

A bold statement, you say. Well yes, but it’s a bold statement that I will stand by. Most of the discussion on this website, and elsewhere, is being driven by people for whom the history of the Israel-Palestine conflict is either an academic matter, or a cudgel to beat their opponents with. There are, as always, a few exceptions. The Holocaust is one, in no small part due to its scope and relevance even outside Israel-Palestine. The First Arab-Israeli War, and concurrently the Nakba, is another due to its status as as the opening salvo of the Israel-Palestine conflict, due to the immense suffering it caused to the Palestinian people, and due to its close relationship with the right of return, which holds importance both as narrative component and as a practical political issue directly affecting the lives millions of Palestinians. Things are messy and everything has caveats.

Jupiter the nonbinary MCR stan from Wisconsin did not buy an authentic keffiyeh from a Palestinian factory or participate in the local Free Palestine march because they’re intimately versed in and personally affected by the geopolitics of the Six-Day War.

They’re doing all of that because Israel is a colonialist Amerikkkan puppet that attacks its neighbors without provocation, and Bibi’s latest genocide just killed a few 9/11s worth of children.

David, 41-year-old 4chan refugee, closet brony, “Classical Liberal” of the Carl Benjamin variety, born and raised in Buttfuck, Upstate NY, isn’t ranting and raging about the ceasefire agitators over Thanksgiving dinner because he’s thoroughly studied and is greatly aggrieved of the history of terrorism in the Palestinian liberation movement, or because he put the work in to fully understand the 2006 elections in Gaza and wholeheartedly regrets their outcome.

He’s worked up ‘cause the bus-bombing towelheads have done it again, and he doesn’t give a hoot how many Gazans die ‘cause they shoulda known who they was votin’ for.

Tumblr user viv-hollande, pro-incest Kaeluc truther from [redacted] USA wasn’t crouched over the toilet losing his lunch studying the long, tragic history of the Israel-Palestine crisis.

He was losing his lunch because they just bombed a hospital, 500 people are dead, the bastards did it and they’ll deny it just like with Hook and Miller and Abu Akleh, shitting hells it’s never going to end-

viv-hollande jumped to a conclusion that was informed by a narrative, and proceeded to waste several hours angrily arguing with an Israeli Tumblr user and stubbornly denying credible evidence and what he was seeing with his own eyes because of a narrative, much of which he read about but did not live through. There remain many questions about what happened at al-Ahli Arab Hospital, but the preponderance of evidence has fallen on the side of a Palestinian misfire. If you think that the evidence provided by over a dozen governments, media outlets, and independent analysts was all fabricated on the orders of Puppet-master Bibi, stop. You’re being an antisemite. Please learn from my fuckup.

The above statement mostly applies to the world worth of spectators to this conflict and not to Israelis and Palestinians themselves. For those who lived through those events, or who have family who lived through them, there is obviously a direct personal connection to that history which, on a human scale at least, really isn’t that old. There are survivors of both the Holocaust and the Nakba still around.

I also want to re-emphasize, just in case it got lost in the sludge, that the above statement concerns the history of the Israel-Palestine conflict, not current events. Even for those far removed from the conflict, witnessing the ongoing bloodshed in real time is still a traumatic experience that is bound to provoke strong emotional responses and influence people’s position on the wider conflict. Narrative or no, seeing dead children is going to have an effect on you.

With that out of the way, on to the actual pro-Israeli narrative. In no small part due to less exposure, I am less confident in my analysis of the pro-Israeli narrative than I am of the pro-Palestinian narrative, especially as it pertains to Americans arguing online. But, I have divined a few significant main points.

One of the most important parts of the pro-Israeli point of view is that of a siege narrative. The Israeli narrative holds that the state of Israel has existed under the threat of existential annihilation since its inception. I have also seen in many places a direct conflation of the military and political threats to Israel’s existence with the wider history of antisemitism and specifically with the Holocaust. This goes all the way up to Benjamin Netenyahu himself, who falsely claimed, among other wrong things, that it was the Grand Mufti of Palestine who convinced Hitler to order the Holocaust. This statement was roundly condemned by basically everyone, whether Jewish, Israeli, or Palestinian, for good reason. It’s tantamount to Holocaust denialism.

The pro-Israeli narrative fundamentally denies the legitimacy and/or existence of Palestinian identity and a Palestinian state. In many cases, it denies the Palestinian right to a state in Palestine at all. This stance is directly related to the perceived necessity for a Jewish-majority Israel, and serves to facilitate the forced removal of the Palestinians from Israel and Palestine. In addition to being morally abhorrent, this stance represents a fundamental obstacle to a negotiated end to the conflict. While I can’t prove it, I very much suspect that some, especially the loudest deniers of Palestinian identity, are aware of this and continue to do so intentionally to undermine peace and facilitate Israel’s continued expansion at Palestinian expense.

For Americans, especially after 9/11, the narrative of the Israel-Palestine conflict has been folded into the wider narrative of the War on Terror. Israel-Palestine and the War on Terror are connected, but that connection is a lot more complicated than the American narrative, which, in its own racist, uninformed way, can’t tell the difference between Palestians, Arabs, Muslims, Iranians, Afghans, and the completely uninvolved Sikhs, several of whom nevertheless were attacked and killed by racist, overzealous American “patriots”. This conflation degrades the conversation around the Israel-Palestine conflict and reduces the legitimacy of the Palestinian cause. And while this last bit is essentially unfalsifiable conjecture, I suspect that the collapse of the War on Terror, and the changing narratives around it, plays a part in why the reaction to the current war has been substantially more pro-Palestinian than past flare ups.

As you can see, Israel and its advocates are guilty of many of the same tactics and narrative techniques that I criticized so fervently among Palestinians. The biggest, and most infuriating, has been the consistent denial of Palestinian identity and insistence that Jews/Israelis are the one and only true indigenous people in Israel and Palestine, and the consistent delegitimization of any Palestinian state. This attitude has no doubt played a significant role in prolonging and extending the conflict, and with it the suffering of the Palestinian people. For more details on that suffering, let us now turn to…

Israel & War Crimes

“Israel is definitely committing a campaign of forced displacement, possibly amounting to ethnic cleansing, but I remain unconvinced of the crime of genocide,” - viv-hollande

The above statement in my previous post generated some pushback. I expected this, and planned to dedicate a whole section of the longer essay to supporting this claim, and elaborate on my meaning. Here is that. Oh, and full disclosure, this is probably the most pedantic that I am going to get in this, and I fully expect that that will piss people off for eminently understandable reasons. Nevertheless here I go.

I would like to start by recalling the first of my establishing points: words have meanings, some words have very specific meanings, and it is important to use words with specific meanings correctly or else risk the degradation and dilution of the words themselves. Meaningless words are useless. With that out of the way:

Genocide, as defined by the Convention on the Prevention and Punishment of the Crime of Genocide, is defined as any of five acts committed with intent to destroy, in whole or in part, a national, ethnic, racial, or religious group. The five acts are:

Killing members of the group;

Causing serious bodily or mental harm to members of the group;

Deliberately inflicting upon group conditions of life calculated to bring about its physical destruction in whole or in part;

Imposing measures intended to prevent births within the group;

Forcibly transferring children of the group to another group.

So, we’ve clearly seen evidence of four of the five acts which potentially constitute a genocide, so why am I opposed to its use? The answer is intent. This is an issue that has been raised by others online, and the response is always a mix of a) harping on definitions while thousands of Palestinians are being murdered obscures their suffering and allows Israel to act unchallenged and b) here is the evidence that Israel intends to commit genocide. Addressing those in reverse order:

I have seen many posts with supposed evidence of Israeli intent to commit genocide. But when they are coagulated, they look less like an actual argument and more like a conspiracy board filled with singular quotes, out-of-context statements, and tweets from some random Israeli expressing dehumanizing, borderline genocidal sentiments. I’m sorry, but this is not evidence of intent. Neither is pointing to Gaza, saying, “Look at what is going on! This clearly shows intent”. It doesn’t. Is a genocide happening in Gaza right now? Maybe. Its unsatisfying and frustrating, but intent is something that will likely be impossible to prove or disprove without access to Israeli government documents. It is classified meeting minutes that will prove or disprove intent, not tweets from Israeli bloggers.

If you are angry at me for harping on definitions and technicalities, that’s understandable. But remember, words have meanings. I am not convinced that a genocide is happening in Gaza. But d’ya wanna know what is happening?

War crimes. Crimes against humanity. Ethnic cleansing. Forced displacement. Criminally disproportionate military action. Killing and targeting of journalists. Attacks on medical workers and facilities. Attacks on shelter areas. Attacks on UN workers and facilities.

All of these are crimes. In a just world, their perpetrators would be spending the rest of their lives behind bars. They are barbarous acts of cruelty that should be condemned, regardless of whether or not they meet the qualifications of being an act of genocide.

Israel’s attacks on Palestinian water sources is a crime, regardless of whether or not they were committed with genocidal intent.

Involuntary detention of children without charge is a crime, regardless of whether or not they were committed with genocidal intent.

Indiscriminate bombings of civilians are crimes, regardless of whether or not they were committed with genocidal intent.

The Israeli-Egyptian blockade of the Gaza Strip, both before and after the 7 October attacks, is a crime, regardless of whether or not they were committed with genocidal intent.

The word genocide is used on this platform like a fire alarm. Pull here to warn people about oppression and mass slaughter. But genocide, like all of the other crimes mentioned above, is a word that has a meaning, a definition. That definition is imperfect, but it is what we have to work with. Using these terms specifically and correctly is important.

It feels sometimes that discussion around atrocities turns into a matter of genocide or nothing. People treat the usage of more accurate and specific, but ‘less severe’ terms as a form of denialism. It is that attitude that makes discussing these supposedly ‘less severe’ crimes incredibly difficult. ‘Cause guess what!

Every single one of the crimes listed above is a barbarous crime, and you should fight and condemn every last one of them with the same fervor as you should genocide. None of them are tolerable, none of them are lesser. They are, one and all, abominable acts of criminal violence. The overuse of the term genocide makes it harder to effectively fight all of the others and perpetrates a narrative, consciously or not, that its a matter of genocide or bust.

Hamas & Revolution

The Islamic Resistance Movement, more commonly known by its Arabic acronym Hamas, is in my estimation the most militarily and politically powerful Palestinian organization in the world. Although its stated goals have changed several times over the years, Hamas has generally characterized itself as a defender of Palestinian nationalism, an advocate for Palestinian liberation, and an opponent to Israel, colonialism, and imperialism.

Hamas is also an aspirationally genocidal terrorist organization, and every time I see expressions of support for them you should feel sick. I certainly do.

Open expressions of support for Hamas have been rare, but far from zero. Most of those who do support Hamas uncritically accept the premise that Hamas is an anti-colonial revolutionary resistance organization fighting against Zionist occupation. This post is way too long and my deadline is rapidly approaching, so instead of breaking down all of that, let us assume, for the sake of argument, that that statement is true. Even if true, none of that prevents Hamas from also being an antisemitic, aspirationally genocidal terrorist organization.

One of the basic assumptions of the anti-colonialist narrative is that colonized=good, colonizer=bad. This flattens nuanced and complicated conflicts and leads to the excusing and justifying of criminal acts on the basis that they were committed in pursuit of a just cause.

Anti-colonialist struggles are justified according to the right of self-determination. Many of them nevertheless committed criminal acts.

There is a tendency to treat conflicts, past and present, less as actual events and more like culture wars. It has become fashionable to condemn the United States by rote, to shout “Up the Ra”, without actually addressing the reality of the situation one is commenting on. As an example of what I mean, take Morocco. Last year, Morocco was briefly appointed as the symbolic standard-bearer of anti-imperialism for… winning football matches against tHe DrEaDeD cOlOnIzErS. Today, Morocco is imperialist persona non grata and traitor to the Palestinian cause. Neither of these judgments were made because of the practical, on the ground reality of decolonization, anti-imperialism, or the Palestinian cause. These judgments were made because of the narrative of anti-colonialism. If the actions of Morocco, or anyone else for that matter, work in favor of the narrative of anti-colonialism, then they are lauded. If their actions contradict that narrative, they are condemned. Are there important geopolitical implications of Morocco’s decision to support Israel in exchange for support in Western Sahara? Yes, of course. Realistically speaking, they will probably be minor and mostly symbolic. Morocco isn’t sending soldiers to help occupy Gaza, and Israel won’t be sending soldiers to support the conquest of Western Sahara. Does any of that matter to users on www.tumblr.com? No.

To the supporters of Hamas, I don’t have a lot to say here. Hamas has been open about its antisemitism, and both Hamas leaders and official Hamas statements have openly called for genocide against Israelis, and sometimes Jews more broadly. Hamas engages in blatant conspiracism and has gleefully spread stories about a Jewish-controlled globalist shadow government trying to bring about the NWO. While they did officially amend their charter in 2017 to state that their fight is with the “Zionist enemy” rather than the Jewish people writ large, I find it difficult to believe that they are being honest with their intentions, and even if they are, the 7 October attacks show that they consider Israeli civilians as part of the “Zionist enemy” and thus fair game.

River & Sea

In my previous post, I made the assertion that the popular pro-Palestinian slogan, “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free,” is an antisemitic slogan. As I expected, I got some pushback on this, but have no fear, I have a qualified justification.

Slightly modified, I uphold the statement that, as a practical matter, in the year 2023 “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free” is a de facto antisemitic statement.

To fully explain what I mean here, and to address some of the confusion that I have seen with regards to the history of the statement. Shoutout to @starsakura17 and @screaming-weevil for having a conversation about the term and trying to research the history of the phrase to better inform themselves. That’s something we all, including me, should do more often on more topics.

As far as I can discern, the origins of the “River to the sea” part of the phrase are unknown, but Zionist sentiments about creating a state between the Jordan River to the Mediterranean Sea actually predate the First Arab-Israeli War and may predate Mandatory Palestine. The phrase first became associated with the Palestinian cause in the 1960s, when it was used to express opposition to the partition of Palestine and support for a single state in Palestine. How exactly this state was envisioned varied dramatically, but even back then, the 1964 PLO Charter expressly excluded the mostly Jewish immigrants to Palestine from their definition of Palestinians. Gee, where have I heard that before. Now, the PLO do not and did not speak for all Palestinians, and there were many Palestinians and Israelis who advocated for a single state that would be democratic and secular, thus creating a free Palestine between the Jordan River and the Mediterranean Sea. Thusly, if you asked me in the 1960s whether the phrase, “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free” is antisemitic, I would say no, but I would probably note that it is used by antisemites and caution you to be careful with your usage.

However, it is no longer the 1960s, and the usage and users of the phrase have shifted over time. The most important change is the rise of Islamic militant groups, most of whom have adopted the phrase as a call to destroy Israel and purge Palestine of Israelis and/or Jews. In addition, the geopolitical landscape of Israel and Palestine has changed. In the early 1960s, when the land between the river and the sea was under total occupation by Israel, Jordan, and Egypt, and when the idea of a single, secular, democratic state was at least theoretically possible, non-antisemitic usage of “From the river to the sea” was both possible and fairly common. There were individuals and organizations with actual influence on both sides that could have or did try to lead the charge for this exact solution. In 2023, that is no longer the case.

When I see people using the phrase “From the river to the sea”, my first question is how will that happen? Who will end up in charge of the land from river to sea? Remember, words have meaning, and political slogans do not exist in a vacuum. In the year 2023, there is only one organization with the political clout, popular support, and military might even hope to create a free Palestine stretching from the river to the sea: Hamas. Barring an externally imposed settlement, there is no other entity that could feasibly achieve such a state. You saw what they did on 7 October; what do you think their plan is for the rest of the Jews in Israel?

If you object to my connection between “From the river to the sea” and Hamas ruling over the whole of Israel and Palestine, then go ahead. Tell me how, exactly, a free Palestinian state from river to sea can be created without giving Hamas free access to the people they openly want to exterminate.

Regardless of its origin, regardless of your intention when you say it, “From the river to the sea, Palestine will be free” is a statement that has been proudly adopted by the most virulent and violent antisemites on the Palestinian side. Whatever its intention, it is at best a slogan with a confused and muddy history that is deeply linked with antisemitism; at worst it is incitement to genocide.

SO STOP USING IT. Any slogan that has to be regularly qualified with “but not in an antisemitic way” is a slogan that you should not use. There are better, non-antisemitic slogans already in use; you do not need to cling desperately to this one.

While I’m here, I may as well address the phrase “Free Palestine from Hamas”. Like “From the river to the sea”, it's a theoretically neutral or even positive slogan. However, I see it most commonly used by those who vocally support the ongoing, indiscriminate destruction of Gaza and slaughter of the people living there. Whatever your intention, this phrase is associated with those who believe that any action is justifiable as long as it might possibly kill even a single Hamas member.

Conclusion

“If I had more time, I would have written a shorter letter, or at least a more coherent one.” - viv-hollande

If you made it this far, you have my respect. I’ve said a lot here, probably too much. I am sure it means something; I am not sure if it means anything significant.

A lot of people are probably mad at me right now. Some of that is probably fair. Some of it is probably not.

I had someone accuse me of being “fundamentally unserious” under my last post, which is a very weird and kind of funny thing to say to a teenager.

I’m really struggling with how to finish this, ‘cause I am well and truly running low on steam, and I have French homework that I’ve been putting off. I’ve scrapped, like, three entire sections that I either didn’t have time to finish, or that I felt were even more poorly written than the rest of this incoherent mess. Maybe I’ll turn them into dedicated posts.

As a final conclusion: The Israel-Palestine conflict has been saddled with millions of uninvolved rubberneckers who all seem to have a lot to say about every aspect of it. As humans tend to do, these bystanders have created narratives of war and struggle, of oppression and revolution. It is these narratives, shaped by history, but also by biases, bigotries, personal values, and misinformation. We choose a good side, and subsume that side into our own personal in-group. We excuse the faults in our allies, and exaggerate or fabricate faults in our enemies. The Palestinian cause categorically dismisses the Jewish right to a secure homeland. The de facto leaders of Gaza are aspirational génocidaires. The pro-Palestinian cause as a whole doesn’t care to consider the fate of the Israelis, millions of who were born and raised in Israel and have nowhere else to go. Simultaneously, the Israelis deny the suffering of the Palestinian people, wherever they may reside. Many current and past leaders of Israel are war criminals, and few, if any, of them will be brought to justice. Make no mistake, this is not a case of “both sides”. As the stronger party to the conflict, backed by the strongest nation on Earth, Israel has had most of the power to choose the timeline for the end to the conflict. As it stands, it seems more and more likely that that end will result in the final, irrevocable extinguishing of the dream of a Palestinian state. That end would be a tragedy, and it would be a crime.

If you’re not sick of me telling you what to do at this point, you have the patience of a fucking saint. To those still here, I say this: condemn antisemitism, Islamophobia, and bigotry wherever they occur; all conflicts have long, complicated histories that get flattened by the desire to ‘pick a side’; exact language, used specifically, is a delicate, precious thing that must be safeguarded; Israel’s crimes in Gaza, whether they qualify as a campaign of genocide, rank as some of the worst committed in decades, and the western political establishment’s tacit acceptance and endorsement of that campaign of horrors is, in and of itself, criminal and immoral, and both should be fought with as much energy as you can possibly spare.

Fuck Bibi, and all those who enable him. Fuck Hamas. Fight war crimes. Ceasefire now. Free Palestine.

A Message To Israelis and Palestinians

I struggled the most with what to say here. As I’ve repeatedly said, this post is intended not for you, but for the crowds of virtual bystanders to the incomprehensible crimes being committed in Israel and Gaza. As someone with, as they say, no skin in the game, I feel uncomfortable addressing you in a way I generally don’t when confronting my peers. I don’t know if you want or need the perspective of yet another rubbernecker, especially when what I do have to say is so insubstantial. But I would feel remiss if I didn’t acknowledge the people over whose heads I have been shouting for so long. So, for the final time, here goes.

I am so sorry for what you are going through. To the Israelis, to those living in fear of rocket attacks and suicide bombers, and especially to those who lost loved ones in the 7 October attacks, or who are living in limbo hoping and praying for the release of the hostages, I express my deepest condolences. To the Palestinians of the West Bank, who have suffered the encroachment and aggression of Israeli settlers and Occupation soldiers, and who must soldier on through the ever-tightening vice of apartheid, your resilience inspires me and your suffering devastates me. To the Palestinian refugees, who have been driven out of their homeland and now must wait endlessly for a return that may never come, please know that you are in my heart. And finally to the Palestinians of the Gaza Strip, who have been subjected to years of indignity, abuse, and violence, who have endured overwhelming, disproportionate, and indiscriminate retaliation for every terrorist provocation, who have been starved, bombed, shot, beaten, and brutalized in ways that I, sheltered as I am, could never possibly imagine, and who are at this very moment deep in mourning over the thousands and thousands of parents, children, siblings, cousins, friends, uncles, grandparents, nieces, nephews, acquaintances, colleagues, and everything in between, I offer you have my most sincere apologies and my grief at your losses, pale as they must be in comparison to your own. I don’t know if they’ll help, but they’re really all I’ve got.

I wish I could offer you hope. I wish I could offer you a solution. I wish I could do something, anything, that would actually have a meaningful impact on any of this. But I can’t. I’m sorry.

#long post #really long post #israel palestine conflict #i/p conflict #i/p #israel gaza war #antisemitism #islamophobia #war crimes #crimes against humanity #ethnic cleansing #viv lectures #fuck bibi #fuck hamas #free palestine #ceasefire now #kicking the hornet's nest #and the bee's nest

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laurarolla · 4 days ago

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This didn't take very long at all. I don't know how long I was expecting it to take, but there was certainly enough time for the story they were trying to tell. Shadows of Rose is a wonderful final note on the theme that most strongly runs through the Ethan Winters storyline: familial trauma. Spoilers after the break but I'm maybe a bit proud of this post so if you don't mind those, please read on.

Quick comment on mechanics: The new powers are nice to use, and the ability to freeze the very wiggly enemies of a modern Resident Evil game in place is very satisfying. There's just enough combat here, but maybe a tad bit too much stealth. The section that basically feels like "oh, people like those Weeping Angel things from Doctor Who, let's do that" felt more annoying than scary or tense to me. The final boss is satisfying and does leave me wondering what a full Resident Evil game with those kind of powers would actually feel like, but it's probably best to keep it contained. I can definitely see a future where RE9 turns into the next RE6 for the franchise, and I'm sure Capcom wants to avoid that outcome.

Resident Evil 7 centered on the horror associated with a tragedy involving a family and an abused child. The worst events of the story were sparked by the mistreatment of Eveline and the deception of Mia, leading to a tragic outcome for the Baker Family. The irony of the situation is that Eveline could have actually had a family who loved her, but because she wanted Mia specifically as her family, she destroyed the Bakers and, with them, any real chance at happiness for herself.

In RE 8, we learn how Eveline was created originally as a vessel for Miranda's dead child Eva. When it turns out Eveline isn't good enough for her, Miranda seeks to steal away Rose for the same purpose. The tragedy is expanded through the Lords, who Miranda treats as her "children," from the sycophantic Moreau, to the lonely Bienviento, to the rebellious Heisenburg. Even Dimitrescu is essentially following in the footsteps of her "Mother Miranda," kidnapping people to create new children for herself. I am left to wonder sometimes if Eveline isn't actually the remains of Eva, fully aware of the monster her mother truly was and desperately seeking a family far better than her own. That idea drifts pretty far into MatPat territory, so I doubt it.

Ethan exists in stark contrast to Miranda, even though his goal is the same as hers in the most basic sense. He's eager to be present in Rose's life, but he doesn't want to control it. His sacrifice is an acceptance of something Miranda could never understand: our children are not our property. They are people, and we have a responsibility to them. Eva was treated as an end goal, something Miranda sought to possess. Eveline was literally made into a weapon, her humanity and childhood only seen as a shield by her abusers.

Rose was seen and treated as a human being by her family. Her mom, her dad, and her godfather of sorts Chris all did the best they could for her, but the world mistreated her for being different. She suffered mistreatment and abuse, one of the dollhouse scenes clearly evoking the struggles of "Carrie" from the classic Stephen King story. However, despite her fears to the contrary, Rose had people who loved her and who anchored her. Her power was potentially just as terrifying as Carrie's, but she had people who truly cared. She didn't need to burn down the village to feel the warmth. That didn't negate the pain she felt, but it gave her the chance to eventually examine her potential, and choose her own path.

Her journey through the collective memory of the megamycete allowed her to finally come to terms with everything, as well as to put the origin of all this generational trauma to rest once and for all. Shadows of Rose is a triumphant ending to Resident Evil's best story, and I can't recommend it enough.

#backlog resolution #resident evil village #shadows of rose #video games #review #analysis #re8 #re8 village #kind of interesting that both of the Redfields have become important found family to a pair of children who lost their dads to mad science

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dragonsatmidnight · 2 years ago

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So random thing that has been bothering me.

I found this series, amazing series, love it. Compelling, well written, stunning, amazing. Basically, Tales of the Arabian Nights setting, with a trans young woman as a main character. I don’t want to spoil the plot, if you want to know more of the plot, read Stealing Thunder by Alina Boyden.

There’s a straight up hijra (south Asian community term for trans woman) dynasty. No trans men. No trans masc people. No one nonbinary. But lots of trans women. And that’s fine, I want trans women to have rep. It's just that most of the books I’ve read with trans masculine characters are about teenage trans angst, and I lived through that, I don’t need to read about it.

Not entirely the point. I tried to use duckduckgo to find my way around the internet to find a trans masc equivalent for hijra. There isn’t one. Okay, let me try other cultural identities. There are a lot of cultures who have words for AMAB trans people, but nothing for trans masc people.

The closest I found, which was admittedly a really cool history fact, was Inanna. She was the most venerated Babylonian goddess, with the ability to change people’s gender. Her entire clergy was nonbinary folks, and people who presented as neither male nor female. Her temples are some of the earliest examples we have of cuneiform, or written language. Goes back to about 4000 BCE. Trans people have literally always been here.

But trans men don’t often have words. After thoroughly digging into transgender people in ancient history, I can tell you about hijras in India, kathoeys in Thailand, khanith in Arabia, nádleehi of the Navajo tribe, lhamana of the Zuni tribe, and galli priestesses in Rome, Greece, and Phrygia. All of these groups of people are immediately mentioned on the transgender history wikipedia page, where as trans masculine folks have “been referenced,” in texts.

After more digging, I can tell you that an island that is part of Indonesia, Sulawesi, has five different gender identities, including calalai, which is a term for a trans masculine person.

To be very, very clear on where I’m coming from. I’m glad trans women have words. I’m glad they have communities, and histories, and places they belong. I’m super glad this book exists, and I want to give Stealing Thunder to every single teenage trans girl I can find. Phenomenal book, phenomenal story, and a very rich cultural history. Those are all wonderful things.

My only point in comparing all of these experiences to trans men is because trans masculine history exists. We can find references for it, follow trails of bread crumbs, and sort out the “woman who dressed as a man to get ahead” and “AFAB person who dressed as a man because that’s their identity.” But I want words. I want to go back in time and figure out what words people used to identify, what words people used to find themselves.

And more than that, I’m tired of being a foot note. I’m tired of being “ah yes, you exist sometimes too!” I’m tired of feeling pushed out of my own community. I’m tired of finding these cool, amazing, wonderful books I love to reread and not seeing myself in them. Transgender men have existed throughout time. We’ve contributed to the community, been activists and caretakers and people who stood guard and advocated for safety. We’ve donated to ground breaking research, showed up to protests during the AIDS epidemic, thrown bricks at cops during Stonewall, and have otherwise contributed to and supported queer rights.

If you’re not seeing trans masculine voices, if you don’t see us in the community showing up and helping out, well. Either you’re not looking hard enough, or you’re erasing our contributions.

I refuse to continue to feel shame about the trans masculine people who predated me. I’m done believing the incomplete history I was told, that my people went full stealth, abandoned their community, and acted solely for their own self preservation. I show up when it matters. I know so many trans masculine people who show up when it matters, often thanklessly, often while being silenced on the oppression that they face in their day to day lives.

It is hard, and lonely, and I am feeling the centuries, and millennia, of gaps in my history and existence. I am tired of being erased. If you want to heal masculinity, start with the people who love it despite being punished for expressing it. Listen to trans masculine voices, and include us in the narrative of progress.

a lot y’all think it’s Peak Ally to be like “i treat trans men the same way i treat cis men uwu” but that isn’t helpful when u treat cis men like garbage bc u believe all men are biologically evil and don’t deserve basic human decency bc then guess what happens. u treat trans men like we’re evil and don’t deserve basic human decency. which, considering there’s currently a genocide being carried out against trans people (including trans men, bc ik some of y’all need to be reminded of that) in at least one country, maybe that’s like. not great!

#transgender #trans men #trans masculine #transgender history #the t is not for token #I didn't mean to write a ridiculously long essay about trans masc history #but here we are

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theseerasures · 4 years ago

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why is it so hard to defect from Atlas?

Barbara Dunkelmann said during Comic-Con at Home last year that this season’s theme would be “distrust,” but i’m wondering now if the more appropriate word is “discontent.” since Divide, we’ve had arguments big and small, teams splitting up and recombining, and of course, :( and :/ galore at all the war, all the crimes, all the war crimes, and all the general bad decisions (not to be confused with James Ironwood, General Bad Decisions). we’ve now had our first major defections of the season with Hazel and Emerald, which is...interesting to me; they’re both long-runners, certainly, but part of the reason they’re long-running is because their arcs have ALWAYS been on a slow boil. for the defection to happen around the mid-season mark, a lot of things (particularly for Hazel) had to happen very quickly, particularly since they both skipped out the previous season altogether. this is made all the more interesting by the fact that the Atlesian supporting cast who filled the time in season 7 are similarly discontented, but...well, a generous reading of it would be that they’re still “figuring things out,” but we’ve also been watching them “figure things out” for two seasons now, Winter and Marrow especially. why did Hazel and Emerald defect first when they work for the main villain, when Winter and the AceOps--who have taken up more screen time cumulatively during the Atlas arc--are still hemming and hawing to various degrees?

long discussion under the cut--but the tl;dr is: it’s because they live in a (narratively constructed) society

i’m actually gonna start with the discontent that DIDN’T result in defection, which is obviously the Yang-Ruby split. we’ve known that members of Team Protagonist--most notably Yang and Ren--have had doubts for a while now, and sure enough, when push comes to shove they pick a path separate from their implicit leader. as protagonists Yang and Ren are frequently our POV characters, so we’re predisposed to sympathize with them as they doubt Ruby’s agenda, root for them as they bring it up to Ruby in conversation, and...watch as they...regretfully but cordially agree to disagree...

wait, what?

that’s the thing about Team Protagonist, especially at this point in the narrative: everyone feels safe and secure enough in themselves and in each other to communicate openly, even when they disagree. every time Yang felt uncomfortable she talked to somebody about it, and even Ren--Mr. Weaponizing Repression himself--was able to express how he felt. even if it took some prodding from Nora/Yang, even if the direction of his emotions ended up misfiring and hurting his friends--they’re his friends. his family, even. Team Protagonist is able to act and stay together so effectively because they make open communication a priority: they follow Ruby’s lead, but they also trust that Ruby will LISTEN to them, even if she doesn’t always agree.

(the reason they had this disagreement at all is because of the time they couldn’t talk things through, and just had to uncritically back Ruby’s play--when they first entered Atlas. funny, that.)

Team Salem obviously doesn’t work the same way, and this season has made it particularly explicit just how much everyone lives in a state of constant fear and surveillance. what makes solidarity and eventual rebellion possible (though terrifying), though, are two things: first, Salem--being an upstart herself--actually encourages a level of individual initiative in her followers (well. encouraged; i have a feeling with the Hound being a success and Hazel and Emerald’s defection she’s about to change her tune). she’s a master manipulator, and uses people’s individual wants to sway them to her side; but she’s also not a mind-reader, which is kind of biting her in the ass right now.

second, Salem herself is so many LEAGUES beyond everyone else on her “team” that (unless you’re actively trying to be a tit) there...isn’t actually much of a hierarchy beyond “Salem’s in charge.” Watts and Cinder--both Atlesian to varying degrees, mind--are the two who try the hardest to carve out some authority of their own, but even Watts is at least convivial with everyone (except Cinder). to be on Team Salem you have to accept that this is her world and you just live in it, and that ends up equalizing people from very disparate backgrounds with very disparate personalities and skillsets. no one, not even Tyrian, is under the delusion that Salem cares about them, or will listen to their counsel. so when it comes to the least of her followers--Emerald, who (joke copyright @professorspork) is basically Salem’s grandpet, this gerbil who follows her around now for some reason and occasionally makes weird noises (”you mean crying?” Emerald asks, crying)--it’s actually quite easy for her to escape Salem’s notice until it’s too late, while firming up the solidarities that she has (Hazel and Mercury--not Cinder).

to defect, Emerald and Hazel need a degree of narrative interiority, some sense of security with each other (even if it’s just subconscious), and time. time to work things out from their point of view, pull the wool from their eyes. this season’s narrative has given them all that and more.

our Atlesian potential defectors...haven’t been so lucky, and the most recent episode has made that contrast very explicit.

i’m sure i’m not the only one who assumed, when Ironwood first floated the bomb plan, that we’d be getting some kind of Mission Impossible sneaky stealth shit. we’re used to seeing the AceOps do small squad missions, after all, and the timing felt right thematically too, since we left War with Ren literally expositing to all of them that they do, in fact, have feelings. an extended mission to themselves would give them a chance to air out those feelings away from Atlas’ own system of surveillance, figure out what to do together...

but we didn’t get any of that. instead, we got the whoosh laser kapow version of a Sassoon poem, and the AceOps barely talked to each other at all. the only points of view we got were from Marrow, and Winter.

this isn’t the first time something like this has happened to them this season, either--remember the Penny Retrieval mission that wasn’t? there were also hopes that Marrow and/or Winter would turn at that point, but then Salem invaded. Winter and the AceOps have had the potential to defect for a while now, but the narrative has been actively withholding opportunities for them to actualize on any of that potential. it’s been actively withholding opportunities for them to act as a team, period.

it’s possible to handwave this as writerly convenience--everyone can’t defect at the same time, the episodes don’t have room for it--but the ways that defections have been prioritized so that the Atlesians come after also points to a recurring motif with Atlas, which Elm says explicitly in Witch: you can deal with your issues later.

there’s always some kind of delayed promise at Atlas, isn’t there? the Amity project will help. Mantle’s Wall will get fixed (until it wasn’t). when Penny confronts Winter about leaving Mantle to die, Winter says first that they don’t have time, and it seems like they never actually do, except for in this imagined later, when they’ll reckon with every thing that they’ve done.

it doesn’t exist, of course. fascism is only able to remain effective through the engineering of crisis, and Salem might as well be a crisis perpetual motion generator. you can’t conscientiously object if your conscience is constantly stifled by the next emergency.

what the Atlesian scenes in Witch demonstrate is this: Atlas presses down all around them, at all times. even if the AceOps want to stop policing each other and work as a real team, they can’t right now, because they are now officers in a war, because they’re constantly looked to, because they’re part of an infinitely greater machine that demands their service. and right now lasts forever--you will NEVER have time to talk out your discontent...

and even if you steal time and perspective like Marrow does (like Emerald has been doing, thief that she is) with Winter, there is no guarantee of any solidarity. what makes their conversation so simultaneously fascinating and frustrating is that there is clearly some level of rapport, or at least recognition. Marrow goes to Winter because Winter’s in charge, but Marrow also goes to Winter because Winter might hear him out...and she does. Winter does what Winter has consistently done when a person seeks her out and earnestly asks to be heard, and responds compassionately. but at the same time, Winter does what Winter has consistently done when a person seeks her out and earnestly asks to be heard: she turns away. in a conversation that is supposed to be about a shared trust between the two of them, Winter cannot bring herself to trust Marrow. the Atlesian system is built out of these hierarchies within hierarchies, distrusts within distrusts (well i guess Barbara had a point after all), and Winter, abused kid that she is, has played this game all her life. so she defaults to rank and duty--what they have to do now--and the conversation goes nowhere. Marrow leaves it as alone and bitterly resigned as when he’d entered it.

so when is this moral inertia gonna go somewhere? IS it going somewhere? well, i’m still holding out hope that the AceOps will get some time to themselves as part of Bomb the Whale, and i’m certain that even if it doesn’t fall into their lap Marrow will eventually demand it. the fact that they still work well together on the field as partners should mean something. the question is, though: what will it take to bring that later to the present?

and at what point does it become too late?

#rwby #'too late' doesn't necessarily mean 'death' btw #helen writes meta

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pricemarshfield · 3 years ago

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moments like these

A Figayda angst/hurt/comfort fic. Requested by @sapphic-tuesday even though they only requested it because I love Figayda. (ily bestie) Read on AO3 here.

Prompt: Figayda, angst, hurt/comfort, “You don’t need to stay.” “I don’t need to. But I want to.”

The forest is dark and damp and the worst fucking place Fig has ever been, and she's running as fast as she can to get away from herself. She'd point out how it's way too on the nose if she had any breath left, but as it stands, it's all she can do to keep putting one foot in front of the other, slower and slower.

Eventually she has to just collapse into the nearest bush, hope somehow that's enough stealth even as the crack of the branches seems to echo out for miles and miles. There's a long, long beat, where she thinks, just for a second, that maybe she's done it. Maybe the other her isn't too perceptive, either.

She hears an oddly pitched laugh from right behind her ear, as though she isn't lying on the ground, and when did the branches tangle around her leg? Where'd her bass go? Why did none of her friends even seem to care that someone else took her place--

Fig wakes up with a start, sits up, hits her head against her ceiling which is, of course, the living room floor. Her horns scratch it a bit, but thankfully, her mom won't ever see it. Her crystal says it's 3 in the morning when she checks it, and fuck, she's gonna be stuck in here for awhile if she can't pass back out.

She could send a quick text to the Mordred group chat (the manorlings, despite Ragh vying for 'OWLBEAR HYPE HOUSE') and ask if anyone's up to let her out, but then there'll be questions about why she's up, so she just concentrates on mage hand until she nails the chord and the ceiling opens.

The house feels too empty with everyone asleep, too stifling when she can't make any noise, but there's not exactly anywhere else she can go. Her days of sneaking out in the middle of the night to go to concerts aren't nearly as fun now that she misses her friends the whole time. Also, now people recognize her for being one of Solace's biggest stars or whatever, and that's just kind of a hassle when she's not in the mood for attention.

The living room couch is an old, cracked leather thing, moved from Jawbone's apartment. It's not comfortable in any traditional sense, but there's a groove in it that fits her perfectly, and that's nice, in its own way. Sometimes she misses the couch in the old house. It got burned to hell in the attack on prom night, though, so. The whole house did, honestly; when she went home after everything, the window in her bedroom was shattered, glass all over her bed so that she had to pick up each piece, vacuum up what small pieces she couldn't see. She still woke up with a couple cuts on her legs that she didn't have before, but it was home, even if the posters and the pink wallpaper were both singed, even if the purple comforter she'd had since she was a kid didn't smell like it used to.

The old Faeth house never really felt like home after her horns, sure, but Mordred...

She does like it here. Loves it, when everyone's crowded around the table, Adaine arguing with Kristen about some minute difference in casting, Jawbone telling a wildly off-color story to a confused-but-interested Aelwyn, Sandra Lynn making sure Ayda has enough food on her plate while she blinks back fiery tears.

But it doesn't change the fact that she lived here for all of a day before spring break, and right now the hallways and secret passages and tall ceilings all feel ominous, not exciting anymore.

She turns on the light before her mage hand dissipates, scrolls through the games she has on her crystal. Most of them are things she's had on here back when she liked unicorns and glitter and all those girly things that she never got around to deleting.

It's something to do, at least.

The bright colors are nostalgic in just the wrong way, and she makes it through two minutes of matching pop rocks and cake slices before she's scrolling through the games again, on-edge for no goddamn reason.

"Fig?"

Part of her relaxes against the couch before she's even finished processing the voice as Ayda. "Hey! I didn't think you were staying here tonight."

"I wasn't," Ayda says, looking at her with an expression she can't read at all. She's in a deep blue chemise, like she'd been sleeping before she walked through the enchanted door into Mordred. "I--may I sit?"

"Yeah, of course," Fig says, patting the spot next to her. "Always, babe."

Ayda cries a little as she sits, and Fig wipes the tears away. The first time she tried, when she was a normal tiefling and didn't wear the title of Archdevil, it stung a little, like stepping into a too-warm bath. Now, it feels just like the hint of warmth against her hand, uniquely Ayda and not at all painful. (Which is also uniquely Ayda, to never freak Fig out even when she's in this shitty mood.)

"So," Ayda says. "I was in Leviathan, as I needed to--well, still need to, I've merely decided the task isn't as important--I'm getting sidetracked."

"Yeah," Fig says, and when Ayda stiffens, says, "Not bad! Not a bad thing! It's cute."

"Oh," Ayda says. "I--sorry," and bursts into tears again. Fig wipes them away, kisses her cheek just 'cause she can, kisses the other one because she can feel Ayda's face get even warmer.

"No worries," Fig says, too late, because she's not--this is still new to her. "So what's going on?"

"As you know, I am a divination wizard, though not an Oracle like Adaine, our best friend." Fig nods. "But sometimes my dreams have--not prophecies, but looks into the present, or even occasionally the past."

"Okay," Fig says. "Is there, like, a slumbering demon lord underneath Mordred?"

"No," Ayda says. "I asked a ranger I know in Leviathan to check before he left on a journey to Sylvaire. Unrelated to the Nightmare King. I checked, just to be sure, because I am sure none of us want to deal with that again."

"Mmhm," Fig says, willing herself to keep breathing slow and easy and not tense up like she wants to. It's just Ayda talking about preventing further Nightmare King stuff. The Nightmare King doesn't even exist anymore, they're Cassandra, they're cool. "So, uh, what'd you see in your dream?"

"You," Ayda says. "That isn't uncommon. I dream of you often. You're in more of my dreams than not. Is that strange? Should I not have said that?"

"Not strange," Fig says, sure her cheeks are red rather than pink. "Just--I'm flustered, okay, give me a second."

Ayda nods at her, not smiling but face relaxed in a way that suggests the same feeling. Fig grabs her hand just to ground herself, squeezes it once. There's a moment before Ayda squeezes it back, like she's thinking about whether it's the right thing to do.

"Totally normal," Fig says, just in case.

"Good," Ayda says with one long exhale. "I was worried."

"You know, it doesn't matter to me if what you do is 'normal'," Fig says. "I like you whether what you do is normal or not!"

Ayda nods. "I want to finish my thought, but after that I want to kiss you. That was the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me."

"You could kiss me and then finish the thought?"

"I would forget," Ayda says, like she doesn't remember everything, like Fig is enough to distract her. Fig can't quite meet her gaze, then, a smile pulling at the corner of her mouth. She squeezes her hand again. Ayda squeezes back immediately. "Um. I'm distracting myself. What was I talking about?"

"Your dream."

"Right. Thank you, Fig. I dreamed about you, and I think it may have been--it was as though I was standing at your bedside. I know it was a dream and not sleepwalking, because I can't actually stand in your room--it's too short and I don't want to set your house on fire. But you seemed upset, and while I don't know if that was real or a dream or not, I couldn't--I couldn't just sit in my room and Leviathan without checking."

"Oh," Fig says. "Um. I'm fine."

"Hm," Ayda says. "You know, you were the one who told me that if people say they're fine, it very rarely means they're fine. I don't understand the logic of it at all, but I trust your insight."

"It's stupid," Fig says, and then, in a twist, bursts into tears herself. "God. It's stupid, I don't even know why I'm upset? Like, it's literally nothing, nothing is going on, I'm just dumb--"

"You are not dumb," Ayda says, and Fig hates herself all the more for the panic she can hear in her voice. "You have taught me so much, and if it matters to you, then it's not stupid. Fig?"

"Yeah," Fig says, voice embarrassingly choked up. She clears her throat as best she can, which isn't very well, since she's still actively crying. "Yeah, I know."

"I don't know what you know," Ayda says. "But I know that when I cry, you wipe my tears away, and I'm going to do the same for you, unless you want to stop me, in which case I won't."

Fig doesn't move, lets Ayda wipe away her tears even though it makes her want to cry more, someone being nice to her right now. "Thanks."

"Any time," Ayda says with the weight of a promise and not at all like the platitude most people would mean. "Do you want to talk about it? It's okay if you don't. I often don't want to talk about the things I'm going through when I'm still going through them."

"I don't," Fig says, because the idea of explaining the nightmare and Mordred and her old house being destroyed and feeling so, so unmoored and stuck all at once makes her want to tear her own hair out. "I don't--you don't need to stay. I'll be okay. If I'm not--if I can't talk about it, you don't need to stay."

"I don't need to stay," Ayda says, carefully, and Fig grips her hand tighter without consciously meaning to. "But I'd like to. If I can."

"I meant it when I said always," Fig says, still not looking at Ayda because she can't.

"Do you want me to?"

"Yeah," Fig says. "I always want you to stay."

Jawbone walks into the room on his way into the kitchen, sees two teenagers holding hands and crying and slightly-burning his couch, and decides he can just get water from the bathroom instead of the kitchen. He's not one to interrupt a moment.

#figayda #fig faeth the insatiable #ayda aguefort #fantasy high #dimension 20 #sapphic-tuesday #request #my fics

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cdelphiki · 5 years ago

Text

She couldn’t do this.

Damian. Her precious little Damian. The baby with a beautiful smile. Infectious laugh. Adorable babble. Who so sweetly, so gently, pet any stray cat that sat still long enough for him to ‘catch.’ Who hugged anyone that cared for him, and even the random servants who lingered long enough.

That baby. Her baby.

Watching him, at 18-months-old, be taught how to wield a sword. Watching as the trainer smacked his hands, his side, his face, every time he wobbled, or lost interest, or got confused.

Hearing his cry, and seeing his pleading eyes, whenever it happened.

Seeing him look at her, and call for her, then get distraught because she did nothing.

She just stood there.

Next to her father.

And watched.

There was nothing more she could do. Going against her father would only bring more harm on her son. It would only risk Father taking Damian from her entirely.

But she couldn’t do this.

It felt like her heart was being ripped out of her body.

Someone was inside her, with red hot claws, scratching away. Destroying everything. Killing her.

Her stomach was filling with vile acid, and just one move, one word, and it might come up.

Weakness, her father would say.

Useless.

Pathetic.

Perhaps that is why he ordered her presence, for this training session.

She’d hardly been allowed time with her son. Not in nearly a year had she been granted daily visits with him.

Her father had been disappointed in how attached she’d been becoming.

‘He is to be a warrior,’ Father had said, ‘worthy of his station. He cannot become the Demon’s head if he is soft.’

Perhaps it was then she should have done something.

Said something.

But instead, she just bowed her head and followed orders.

Like a good daughter would do.

What use was that now?

Damian whimpered again, as his trainer smacked him on the back with the flat of his blade. He’d started slouching. They were working on form.

Talia resisted closing her eyes. She knew, she knew if she did, she would not be able to stop the tears that followed.

She had to remain strong. Stable. Unaffected….

Unaffected in her father’s eyes, at least.

When she’d lied to Bruce, when she’d told him she’d miscarried…. What was she thinking?

She- she hadn’t wanted to betray her father. Hadn’t wanted to betray the League. This was her life. She’d been raised in this, she owed everything she had. Her training. Her wealth. Her skills. Everything to her father.

But-

But what did that matter?

Was it worth it? Was her son worth it?

“All done,” Damian pleaded, when he fell over and scraped his hands on the hard cement, “all done all done all done.”

The trainer just stood him back up and handed him the sword again, ignoring his cries.

When Damian looked at her and cried, “Mama,” again, Talia could taste the bile.

How could she have just handed her son over to Ra’s like this? What kind of monster was she?

Her son was crying for her, and she was standing by, watching him be hurt.

All because her father told her to.

The fact that he knew to call her ‘Mama’ was all because she snuck in to see him. Ordered his nursemaids to leave the room. Swore them to secrecy.

Had killed, a few of them…

She’s more than sure Ra’s had noticed, now.

As Talia stood there, watching her son struggle to stop crying and listen to his trainer, Talia made a decision.

Because nearly two years ago, when she’d told Bruce about her ‘miscarriage,’ she’d made a huge mistake.

Her father’s influence was toxic.

This training?

It was hell.

Talia loved what it’d turned her into, she loved her skills and abilities.

But if this was the cost?

This?

Her child?

There was only one place on earth where she’d be safe, where he’d be safe. One person able to offer that protection.

And once Talia told him, she knew he’d move heaven and earth to get them away.

- - -

To say Bruce was suspicious would be an understatement.

Talia had broken ties with him two years prior.

On not-so-friendly terms, at that.

She’d betrayed him. Joined her father, and all but stabbed him in the back in doing so.

He’d loved her.

He really had.

She had been- he thought she was-

They were going to spend their lives together. Raise a child. He thought she was-

But that was over. In the past.

And yet, there she was, staring back at him through a webcam, asking for his help.

Asking for help, after hacking into his computer, in the cave, where his son could enter at any moment.

How on earth was he supposed to explain his past fling with Talia al Ghul to Jason?

“Why should I trust you?” he asked, not really expecting an answer.

Because how would he be able to deny her request?

Once upon a time, he would have died for this opportunity. Would have cried, from utter relief, to get her away from the League. To bring her home. Keep her safe.

Yes. She could keep herself safe. Defend herself. Hold her own, against even him, but he could offer his protection of the entire Justice League. If it came down to it.

He’d loved her.

But she’d chosen her father. Chosen a life as an assassin. Rejected him. And it was hard for him to forget that.

“I lied to you,” she said, pulling his attention back to the present, “I lied.”

She said it with such finality, Bruce narrowed his eyes. And just stared.

He was sure she’d lied about many things. Why was this the ‘reason?’ And why would lying be a reason to trust her now?

To give her a chance, now?

“About?” he pressed, ignoring the thought in the back of his head asking whether this was all a distraction so the League could move in on Gotham.

Alarms would be going off, if that were the case. Literal alarms, in the cave.

Besides, the League hadn’t been doing anything in the United States for many months.

They were too busy building up their forces in the Alps. Bruce still had no idea why, but they’d been beefing up their presence there for over a year and a half.

“You know about what,” Talia said, gently. Almost apologetically.

His heart fluttered, a little.

There was one thing. One thing, that had she been lying about, he’s not sure he’d be angry about.

Not right now, at least.

“Bruce,” she pled, “I- I’ve made a mistake.” Her voice cracked, and she rested a hand against the side of her face as she looked off to the side, away from her camera. “Father is so cruel to him, Bruce. I need your help.”

No.

Anger was definitely not the emotion he was feeling. It- it was down there. It was deep, deep down there, and later that night. Or, perhaps, in a few days, he knew he would hit a punching bag until his knuckles were bloody.

But on top? Right now?

On top was hope.

Hope, excitement, and… and utter devastation.

“Him?” Bruce whispered, resisting the urge to rip his mask off and rub at his face. He was on camera, he had to remind himself. He had no idea how many people were watching.

And this could all be one magnificent lie. A trick to get him off balance. So they could strike, while he had his guard down.

While he was yearning for something he’d thought he’d lost, two years prior.

“He’s beautiful, Bruce,” she whispered, her voice catching on the next sentence, “He looks just like you, and I can tell he gets his empathy from you. But,” she paused, a ferocious determination taking over her face. A trait of her’s that had caused Bruce to fall in the first place.

“Father will destroy him if we don’t get him away.”

There would be no ‘ifs.’

If Bruce had ever had a mission that had no option for failure, it was this one.

He didn’t care if Talia changed her mind, ten minutes later. This mission was happening, and he was bringing home what he thought he’d lost.

Bruce has no idea how he got through the following ten minutes, planning out with Talia exactly how and when the pickup would go. Nightwing, Robin and himself would all approach the compound in the batwing, in stealth mode. He’d pulled Clark in on the call, and Superman agreed he would be on standby, watching from afar for anything to go wrong.

If they were spotted, or if the League tried anything, the entire Justice League would respond, if necessary.

Clark promised he’d keep the mission itself classified. No one but the core team would know the details of what they were picking up. The core team being himself, the Flash, and the Bats.

His ears were ringing the entire time, and he felt like an outsider, looking in.

‘He looks just like you,’ Talia had said.

That’s all he could think about.

Bruce had a son.

There-

Was there anything more to say?

He had a son.

“Talia,” he rasped, just before she cut the call with him. After a deep breath, he looked deep into the camera, doing his best to convey his seriousness. His promise, should it be necessary. “If this is a trick.”

With sadness in her eyes, Talia smiled and said, “We will see you tomorrow, Beloved,” and with that, ended the call.

It came as no surprise when, not even a quarter of a second later, the papers on his desk flew up into the air. Each one wafting back down, before Bruce even had the chance to close his eyes and take a breath.

Bringing Clark in on this was necessary.

As much as he hated bringing personal missions to those outside the family, there was no way he could risk this one.

If Talia was telling the truth, and he wasn’t successful on his own. Wasn’t able to take on the entire League while protecting a helpless infant.

Well.

He’d never forgive himself.

Ever.

But none of that meant he had to be happy his best friend was there to witness this.

“Bruce, this is,” Clark started, setting a hand on his shoulder and squeezing, but Bruce cut him off.

“Clark, just,” he said, pulling his mask off so he could finally wipe his eyes. He wasn’t even mortified at the crack in his voice, because there was far too many other things swirling through his head. “Give me a minute.”

He had… so much to do. He hadn’t time for this.

And yet…

It was the only thing he could do.

Closing his eyes, Bruce took a second to recenter himself. Find his strength and embrace his duties. Right now, he needed to be Batman.

But before he was able to complete a single deep breath, he heard from the top of the stairs, “B?”

And everything just became much more complicated.

“Bruce?” Jason asked again, a little hesitantly, as he made his way down the stairs, “Superman? What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” Bruce said, reeling it all in and trying his best to blink back the wetness in his eyes. So maybe he wouldn’t have to wipe his face in front of his son.

His… middle son.

Because, Bruce actually had three…

“Is Dick okay?” Jason asked a little more frantically, because despite his best efforts, Bruce sniffed.

“He’s fine,” Clark soothed, squeezing Bruce’s shoulder a little tighter as Jason hurried his way down the stairs, “Nothing is wrong, Jase.”

“Then why is…” Jason said, trailing off when he finally made it to where Bruce was sitting.

They had so much to do. Bruce hadn’t the time for this.

It was time for Batman.

“Suit up,” he told his son, shrugging Clark’s hand off and squaring his shoulders. They had just under three hours before take off, and there was so much to do. “We have a mission.”

- - -

By ‘a mission,’ Bruce meant they were infiltrating the freaking League of Assassins.

Like.

In the middle of the day. Completely randomly.

Well, they were set to leave in three hours, with a 5 hour flight time. And considering the time difference, it would actually be about 4am when they arrived at Nanda Parbat.

So.

Middle of the night, kind of.

Jason was both super excited, and kind of freaked out.

Especially when Bruce called in Dick.

Those two worked together, sure. Sometimes. But it was always so fucking tense, and Jason kind of hated it.

Bruce also always refused to call in Dick for anything. Dick always just kind of, forced himself in on the mission.

But for this?

Whatever the fuck this was?

It had Bruce calling in not only Dick Grayson, but Superman, too.

Because that’s why Superman had been there. He’d already called the guy in.

Whatever was going on, it was huge.

And whatever it was, Jason actually started feeling very nervous. Because Bruce said he had news to share. And he called Alfred down first, before he shared it.

Bruce paced. Back and forth, back and forth. In front of the conference table for two full minutes while the four of them sat there, waiting for him to fucking say something.

“Do you want me?” Clark asked, and was immediately shot down by a glare from Bruce.

Was Bruce dying?

Were they going to the League to steal some pit water??

Because he said he was okay.

Clark said he was okay, and Clark wouldn’t lie about something like that. Right? Jason wouldn’t put it past Bruce at all to be a freaking hypocrite and lie to him so not to make him worry, but not Clark.

He was way too much a boy scout.

Yet, there Bruce was. Pacing back and forth. Freaking out about something.

“B, you’re freaking the kid out,” Dick said, leaning back in his chair, like he was fucking relaxed during this.

Their freaking dad could be dying and he was chill about it.

No wonder his name was Dick.

“I am not,” he protested, but Bruce quit his pacing and sighed, anyway.

“Honestly, Master Bruce,” Alfred said, from where he sat next to Jason, “Whatever it is, I am confident we can handle it.”

“A couple years ago,” Bruce started, pausing to sigh again before he turned his back to them, but continued, “I got… involved… with Talia al Ghul.”

“Gross. I knew it,” Dick said, pulling a face for Jason to see.

“From the League of Assassins,” Jason said, just to clarify.

So… were they staging this mission so Bruce could go…

Ew.

Gross.

Disgusting.

Jason hated his mind for putting that picture in his head.

“Yes,” Bruce confirmed, apparently uncaring that he’d just put horrible awful pictures in Jason’s head.

He was thirteen. This was probably child abuse.

“It was serious,” he continued, “We had been… discussing marriage.”

“Oh my,” Alfred said, in as close to a gasp as Jason had ever heard from Alfred.

Jason didn’t blame him. Bruce had never really struck Jason as a ‘serious’ kinda guy.

Not with the ladies, at least.

Mostly because he had a different chick hanging off of him at every party.

“She had been with child,” Bruce finally said, nearly stumbling over his words as he spit the sentence out.

The air in the room seemed to still, and they all stared at Bruce.

Well, all of them, except Clark. Since apparently Clark already knew.

“Why… why,” Dick stammered, then stopped.

Jason didn’t really know what to ask first, either.

But apparently Bruce knew what to answer first.

“She told me she miscarried. She, she told me. I thought-“ with another sigh, Bruce turned back around, finally allowing them to see the exhaustion on his face, as he rubbed at it and sat down at the head of the table.

“I thought she’d miscarried. She dumped me, after that. Refused to leave her father and the League, and sent me home. I- I should have checked up on it. Verified her story, but… I was just so-”

Bruce put his face in his hands, and just sat there, for a very long minute.

Dick, to Jason’s surprise, was the one to break the silence, because neither he nor Alfred seemed to be able to find any words. Jason had never heard Bruce so close to tears, before.

He was kind of scared of getting Bruce to talk more.

And if Bruce was saying what he was saying, well…

Jason really had no words for it.

Batman apparently had a baby.

And they were going to rescue it from the League of Assassins.

That was just…

Wow.

Holy.

Shit.

“So,” Dick said, a small smile tugging on his lips as he did, “is it a boy or a girl?”

- - -

Everything was going smoothly.

They had agreed on a meet-up time eight hours from the end of their call, which meant Talia had most the night to figure out her plan for getting Damian out of his nursery.

In the end, she’d decided on using simple tranquilizer darts.

It was dirty, a completely dishonorable way to fight, but Talia couldn’t find it in herself to care.

The very last thing she needed was for one of the nursemaids to notice her break-in and alert the guards.

She’d packed her bag before heading to Damian’s room, so all she had left to do was grab him before Bruce arrived.

Sneaking into his room was painfully easy, and she only had to sedate one nursemaid, who had already been asleep, anyway.

Honestly. It couldn’t have been easier, and it was putting Talia on edge.

Damian stirred, when she lifted him from the crib, so Talia shoved the pacifier into his mouth she knew he’d been deprived of for eight months at that point.

He’d taken to sucking his thumb, in its stead, and Talia had always hated that about her father’s rules.

Why was it so difficult to indulge her son in one simple comfort.

The pacifier worked like a charm, and Damian latched onto it with one hand as he sucked away, curling into Talia’s hold as she wrapped the cloth around them both, creating a make-shift carrier.

Out of everything, the hardest part was getting him tied to her securely. Because with the pacifier, he was as quiet as a lamb, not making a single peep of protest. She wasn’t even sure if he’d woken enough to see who had been holding him.

After the day he’d had, Talia was grateful he could still find peace in his sleep.

Climbing up to the roofs was a little more difficult. Damian did whine, a little, when she had to press herself up against the wall of the third floor, to hide from a patrolling guard below.

She closed her eyes and held her breath, begging every deity she could think of to keep Damian silent as the guard paused and looked around. After adjusting her grip, so she could hold them both with one hand, she placed her newly free hand on his head and tried to soothe him.

Damian shifted against her, even though he was pinned rather tightly between her and the wall, then stilled. His little pacifier bobbing in and out as he grasped tightly to her blouse.

The guard looked around, up and down the narrow courtyard below where she was climbing, but after a long minute, turned around and continued on with his patrol.

Talia didn’t allow herself a sigh of relief.

With three more moves, Talia reached the edge of the roof and pulled herself up, without scraping Damian against the edge. He didn’t notice in his sleep.

Soon, he’d be able to pass all his nights in such peace.

His days, too.

She had no doubt in her mind that Bruce would offer them the sanctuary they needed, to allow Damian to grow up without fears.

But, if he didn’t, she’d find it anyway.

This child. Her child, would never know the pain he’d experienced that day again.

As silently as she’d been trained, Talia raced across the rooftops to the pickup location. Bruce was promised to be there in two minutes, and she needed to be three buildings over.

“Shh,” she whispered, hugging Damian tightly as she ran. The movement was, apparently, disrupting his sleep, and he’d started to stir, “sleep, my prince.”

“Mama,” he mumbled, snuggling against her.

“Yes,” she choked, preparing to make the last jump to the roof where Bruce was to meet them, “Mama is here, baby.”

She’d given Bruce the coordinates of the highest roof in the complex, in hopes that he could simply swoop in and grab them, not needing to stop or interact with anyone.

He was bringing his team, though. He was bringing Superman.

Talia had never had any sort of admiration for the alien. His technique was abysmal, tending to toss around his unearthly strength, rather than exhibit any skill during his fights.

But knowing that, if it came down to it, she could likely just shout ‘Superman,’ and in an instant he’d be there, ready and able to take Damian to safety… It helped keep her calm.

Father would not be expecting the help of a Kryptonian. Bruce had never been one to ask for help, so it was unlikely Father would have his kryptonite within reach.

The final jump was a little longer than comfortable, and Talia had to land in a roll to avoid injuring herself or falling off completely. She rolled on her back, using her arms to keep Damian from making contact with the roof at all.

Her heart was hammering when she finished the roll on her feet. She had thirty more yards to go, and she’d been at the exact coordinates she’d given Bruce.

Thirty more yards, and one more minute.

Talia shook, as she stood in the exact spot. Damian was fully awake now, and wriggling against the cloth wrapped around him.

“Be still, my dear,” she whispered, hugging him a little tighter as she searched the night sky for any sign of their rescue, “Just a few more moments.”

“Out,” Damian cried, not quite at a normal level, but much louder than Talia felt comfortable with, as he started struggling against her arms, “Down.”

“In a moment,” she whispered desperately. Her arms felt like rubber, as the adrenaline that had kept her running started to ebb.

It was a minute past pickup, and Batman was no where in sight.

If he didn’t show…

Damian whined out again, this time loudly.

“Be patient, my love,” she whispered, now fighting back tears, “Your father is coming for us.”

He had to be.

“Mama,” Damian cried, pulling his pacifier out of his mouth completely to whine at her more efficiently.

She looked around frantically, making sure no guards were near enough to have heard him.

When she didn’t see anyone coming at them, she bounced Damian some and tried to force the pacifier back into his mouth. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” she repeated, over and over, really unsure, at this point, if it was for Damian or herself.

Because if Bruce weren’t coming, was any of his team?

Was she just standing on a roof, risking the life of her son for nothing?

Father would not take lightly an attempted defection.

What would he do to Damian?

Probably take him away from her forever. She’d never see him again. Never know the pain he was in. Never be able to hold him, after a hard day, and comfort him. Remind him of her love.

She’d lose him forever, and-

Talia’s knees nearly buckled when, without warning, a jet materialized out of nowhere not ten feet above her.

His technology was amazing. She hadn’t even felt it coming, much less heard it.

And before she even realized it, tears were streaming down her face.

A hatch opened, right on the underside of the jet, and Batman himself leaned out, reaching a hand down to her.

“Talia,” he breathed, shaking his hand, as if desperately begging her to grab it.

She’d never accepted an offered hand so fast in her life.

As he pulled her up into the jet, swiftly and effortlessly, as if it were nothing, Talia felt herself relax. All the adrenaline leave her body entirely as she collapsed right onto the ground of Bruce’s jet.

She didn’t even care who all was there to see.

Because for the first time in her life, Talia felt like she could breathe.

- - -

She hadn’t been lying.

That was the only thing circling through Bruce’s head as he pulled Talia up into the jet, them stopping barely long enough for him to do that before Dick was turning around and racing away.

As far as they could tell, they hadn’t been spotted until they turned off the craft’s cloaking system.

If all went to plan, the League would not be able to respond quickly enough to catch them. Nightwing was supposed to take them on an indirect route back to Gotham, completely in stealth mode.

Ra’s al Ghul could search the skies all night and never find them.

He hoped.

But all that was for Nightwing to worry about. That had been the plan. If Talia was telling the truth, he’d agreed, Bruce could focus on that, while Dick handled keeping them hidden and taking them to safety. Jason could give him backup, if necessary.

Bruce trusted Dick with his life.

And he was so thankful for that, because he wasn’t sure he’d be able to do much beyond what he was currently doing.

Which was watching as Talia collapsed onto the floor, clumsily freeing a baby from a carrier as she cried into his hair.

“Tal-“ he started, reaching an hand out to her, really unsure about what he was going to do. But he froze, when the baby squirmed and twisted out of the cloth holding him.

Because Talia was right.

He was beautiful.

His bright green eyes were mesmerizing, and Bruce felt his heart seize as the baby looked at him, ever so briefly.

It wasn’t until that very instant did Bruce realize his life had been incomplete.

There had been a piece of him missing, and he hadn’t even realized it.

The baby turned back to his mother and said, “Mama,” reaching up for her face.

“Yes,” Talia sobbed, grabbing his hand and holding it to her cheek, before she wrapped him up into a tight hug. “I’m so sorry,” she said, squeezing him tight, “I’m so sorry.”

Bruce watched helplessly as Talia devolved further and further into incoherence, as she whispered her apologies and proclaimed her love for the very confused looking baby in her arms.

The baby didn’t protest, though. He leaned into her hug and stayed there, like he understood his mother needed a hug back.

How old was he?

If he’d been born on time, by Bruce’s estimations, he’d be about…

Seventeen months old?

Eighteen?

He didn’t know much about baby development, but he did know that it was during the first year they turned from basically babies to tiny, outspoken little people.

How developed was his son? How much had Bruce missed?

Bruce knelt down in front of Talia and sat there, waiting for her to recover.

What she had been through, he had no idea.

It had to have been a lot, for her to reach out and actually ask for help.

She was stubborn, like that. Never asking for help. Never even expecting it.

And her reaction to being pulled into safety, well.

He was afraid to learn what she’d been through.

Jason caught his eye, lingering just on the outskirts of his vision. He looked up and tried to offer a reassuring face, but probably fell flat, because Jason frowned at him. But Jason held a thumbs up at him, both letting him know they’d flown into the clear and Superman had been informed of the successful mission, and asking if Bruce was good.

With a single nod, Bruce thanked him, and turned his attention back to Talia.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, looking at him, now, but still hugging the baby tightly to her.

“What happened?” he asked, resisting the urge to reach out and touch the baby.

Touch his son.

Bruce had never been one to want to hold babies, usually perfectly content to just observe them, but his arms yearned for the weight of this baby in his arms.

He didn’t even know his name.

“Father,” she said, her voice almost squeaking with the effort.

Bruce hadn’t seen her in two years, and he still wanted to pull her to his side.

Never had he seen her like this.

But he kept his distance. Let her recover on her own. He wasn’t sure how he felt about her, in that moment.

At all.

“Father,” she said again, this time much more confidently, one hand absently combing through the baby’s hair.

The beautiful baby who had twisted in her hold, just enough, to stare at him.

“Started his training.” There was so much pain in her voice, Bruce could only imagine what kind of horrors that meant.

Who trained a baby?

“Bruce,” she choked out, squeezing the baby again, “it was so bad. I- I just stood there and watched. I couldn’t- I couldn’t do anything else. He would have harmed him more. Or taken him from me.”

“What happened,” he repeated, trying to keep his voice as gentle as possible.

Any anger he had about whatever ‘training’ implied was being pushed down. Buried deep into the recesses of his brain.

No one needed his anger right now.

When the baby continued to stare at him, Bruce realized he still had his cowl on.

What kind of introduction was this? Being presented to his son as Batman, first.

Hopefully he hadn’t scared the kid too much to want to be held.

Talia started crying again, and shifted so she was sitting criss-cross, the baby still cradled in her arms as she blubbered out, “They hit him so many times, Bruce. I’m so sorry,” and before Bruce could even respond. Could even think of how to respond, she turned her face down to the baby and repeated, “I’m so sorry, Damian. I’m so sorry, my love. I’ll never let- I’ll never-”

But she didn’t complete the sentence, because she’d lost it again, and the baby… Damian?

Damian.

That was the most beautiful name he’d ever heard.

Damian looked very confused and concerned for his mother’s mood.

“He’s safe now,” Bruce tried, scooting over to her side to set a hand on her back, “He’s safe.”

“I’m so sorry,” she repeated, curling further onto Damian.

“Mama,” Damian said again, this time pointing at Bruce when Talia opened her eyes and gave him her attention.

“Yes,” she said, smiling for the first time as she wiped her tears away, “Yes, dear. This is-“ she paused, looking up at Bruce, then said again, “This is Daddy.”

Bruce could cry.

He was not going to cry.

“Do you want to hold him?” Talia asked, apparently seeing the intense desire plastered all over his face.

All Bruce wanted to do was hold him. There was nothing on earth he wanted more.

“May I?” he asked, almost afraid to even try.

What if Damian didn’t like him?

What if he started crying, when Bruce took him?

“He’s your son, Bruce,” Talia said, lifting Damian from her lap and offering him over.

After hesitating for only a second, Bruce reached out and held his hands out to Damian, who looked at him appraisingly, like he were judging Bruce and determining if he was worth his attention.

But then, before Bruce could even hold his breath, Damian leaned toward him, and Bruce could definitely cry.

Because then Damian was in his arms, looking straight into his eyes as he let Bruce hold him close.

And-

And.

Bruce had no thoughts.

“Hi, Damian,” he choked out, trying his hardest not to cry, “I’m- I’m your-“ but he couldn’t get the word out.

Couldn’t get anything else out.

Damian didn’t seem to care, because he smiled at Bruce and said, “Hi,” back.

And Bruce was definitely crying, now.

Just a little.

But he didn’t care.

He didn’t care, because he had the son he thought he’d lost two years ago cradled in his arms, and nothing could ruin the moment.

- - -

Jason was thankful that the jet was large enough he didn’t have to hear Bruce talking to his new baby son.

He honestly had no idea how to feel about all of this.

Bruce had apparently done it with the daughter of one of their most dangerous villains, and he was now probably definitely crying tears of joy while he held the son of said villainous daughter.

But Jason wasn’t jealous.

How could he be?

The baby was just a baby. It’s not like the posed any sort of threat to Jason.

Except.

By… stealing away Bruce’s attention.

Jason was not being jealous of a baby. The baby deserved his dad’s attention. Especially since he had a dad as great as Bruce. Jason would know. He’d been playing the role of dad for him for a year.

Now, though… now he had a real son.

He was not jealous.

“Stop worrying,” Dick said, from where he was flying the jet, sitting in the seat next to Jason.

Jason had taken the spot of co-pilot just because it was the farthest away from Bruce he could be. He wasn’t really helping Nightwing fly.

Mostly because Nightwing didn’t need help flying. He actually had the auto-pilot engaged.

“I’m not worrying.”

“You’re right,” Dick said, laughing a little as he leaned back in his chair, “You’re freaking out.”

Crossing his arms, Jason tried his best to look completely and totally unaffected by everything ever as he said, “Am not.”

Apparently he was unconvincing, because Dick gave him a shit eating grin and ruffled his hair.

Like the asshole he was.

“You’re right. You’re the epitome of calm and collected.”

“Fuck you,” Jason snapped. Dick should mind his own fucking business.

They still weren’t, like, friends or anything, either. Dick had been clear about how happy he was Jason existed. Sure, they’d kind of made up some in recent months. And Dick even offered his blessing for Jason to be Robin, but that didn’t mean they were friends.

Apparently Dick didn’t agree, because he kept being an asshole and talking to him by saying, “Look, this isn’t going to change anything between you and Bruce, okay?”

Through a pout, Jason mumbled, “How would you know?” Bruce getting a son was going to change everything.

“Because this happened to me, remember?”

Jason rolled his eyes. Just because Bruce adopted him didn’t mean Dick knew what it was like to have his adopted dad get a biological child and not need him anymore. If anything, Dick should be freaking out, too, because they were both the adopted kids and the baby was the real son.

Except Dick didn’t live with them, so he wasn’t at risk of being homeless again if Bruce kicked him out. Since, well, Bruce couldn’t kick him out.

Maybe Dick should fuck off and leave him alone.

“Did Bruce adopting you change how he felt about me?” Dick asked, nudging Jason’s arm as he did.

Asshole.

“Fuck you, it’s different,” he snapped. In fact, they all knew Dick was the favorite child between the two of them, so it was completely and totally different.

Maybe Dick should be worrying more. He wasn’t going to be the favorite anymore.

Bruce was so happy about having a biological son he was crying about it.

Bruce had never been that happy about Jason.

“Not really,” Dick said, sighing some, “I thought he was writing me off completely when he adopted you.”

“Bruce never shuts up about you, it’s always ‘Dick this’ and ‘Dick that’ whenever I do anything, so shut up. But we’re both adopted, and that baby over there ain’t.”

Dick cocked a head at him and then let out a huff of a laugh. “Bruce never even told you. Wow.”

“Told me what?” Jason demanded, crossing his arms harder, because he didn’t want to storm off. Mostly because that would mean facing Bruce with his stupid new baby.

“I knew he was terrible with communication, but geez.”

“What, Dickface, just tell me.”

“Jase,” Dick said, offering a softer smile than before, “I’m not adopted. Bruce never adopted me. He was simply my ‘guardian’ until I aged out of the system. He has no legal obligation to me at all, now.”

“He-“ Jason started, because there was no way that was true.

No. Fucking. Way.

Bruce cared about Dick way too much for that to be true.

And why would Bruce adopt him, but not Dick? That also made no sense.

Dick was the favorite.

“You’re lying. He calls you his son all the time.”

“I know,” Dick said softly, still smiling like an asshole, “Because even if he’s never said it, and probably never will say it, he loves me. Just like he loves you.”

“Shut up,” he said, because he couldn’t figure out anything else to say. Obviously he knew Bruce, like, loved him and shit. But they didn’t have to talk about it.

But… Dick was kind of right about one point. He was adopted.

It’s not like Bruce could go back on that.

So kicked out probably wasn’t on the table.

“I promise, Jason, this isn’t going to change anything between you two. So don’t worry too much.”

Jason was stuck trying to come up with something to respond with that was more witty than 'fuck you' when he was startled by Bruce’s footsteps approaching the cockpit.

If Bruce saw him pouting, there was no doubt he’d be able to read Jason as easily as Dick Fucking Grayson had read him, and that would not be good.

He wasn’t ready for that.

“Jason,” Bruce said, sounding like he was smiling wider than Jason had ever seen him smile.

Except.

Maybe.

On his adoption day. When Bruce hugged him and said ,“Welcome to the family, Jaylad,” with his stupid dopey smile…

And… and…

“Dick,” Bruce continued, now inside the cockpit, with the little baby in his arms, “I want you boys to meet your little brother, Damian.”

And maybe…

Maybe Dick was right.

Jason had nothing to worry about.

He’d always wanted a little brother, too.

#Talia Al Ghul #Damian Wayne #Bruce Wayne #Batman #Batfam #Baby Damian #batfamily #Redemption arc?#sort of #Probably definitely #good mom talia #good dad bruce #Robin #Jason Todd #nightwing #Dick Grayson #cross posted to Ao3 #under the name Second Chance #c writes

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floridakilo · 3 years ago

Note

My mothers partner is female but everyone mistakes her for being male because of the way she looks, she doesnt like using the womens bathrooms because of that reason (she must get stares or just feel uncomfortable with it idk) but I dont think the solution to that is for her to use the mens bathrooms considering she isnt a man or trans or anything? I just think regardless of how you look or present you should use the correct bathroom because duh thats the whole point? And if there’s a disabled bathroom or gender neutral one use that instead of coming into spaces you dont belong

frankly there are very few people who are genuinely of undeterminable sex/gender so most of the time this is a non issue. like tbh i’m a rare case as someone who is 24/7 stealth and legally “female”, literally less than 1% of the population fits this description, and all of the problem scenarios arise when it’s someone obviously visibly male with a diqq walking into the women’s bathroom causing a scene. i don’t think there need to be laws saying “everyone has the right to go into the women’s bathroom regardless of outward appearance” that’s pointless and counterproductive and literally impossible to enforce. in terms of single occupancy gender neutral bathrooms my school has a couple of those (in place of segregated ones) and to me that solves all problems including privacy/cleanliness/disability access

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solalunar-eclipse · 4 years ago

Text

Scars You Can’t See - Chapter 9

Chapter title: Final Blow

Word count: about 4000 words

Author’s Note: This was originally just going to be an apology for posting this chapter a week late, but now. Now @khinesthetic has made this wonderful, amazing piece of fanart for SYCS, so. This chapter is going to be their appreciation chapter. (Also, please check out the rest of their blog for more cool art!)

Warning for another panic attack on Shadow’s part. If I’ve written something badly in that section, please let me know.

First | Previous | Next

...

Rouge paced back and forth in the old, tacky motel room that served as the current residence of Team Dark, the worn carpet muffling the clicking of her boots as she moved.

Shadow watched her through vaguely glazed-over eyes, thinking over the basic rudiments of a plan that the bat had laid out for them for the tenth time. The fortress they had in their sights was less than half an hour away- an easy drive compared to some of their extensive cross-country trips. Omega was given the job of getaway driver, despite his protests...unfortunately, a giant five-foot-tall robot was not exactly equipped for this level of stealth.

The two Mobians, then, would have to sneak into one of the most secure facilities on the planet, hack into some of their most secure files without tripping any alarms or otherwise having anybody notice, download all of those files onto their tablet, also without anyone realizing, and get out of said building alive.

This would have been an easy task, usually- the team would have taken it without reservations had it been an assignment from G.U.N. But now, Shadow and Rouge were both heavily underprepared and undersupplied, to say the absolute least. No briefings, no special equipment, and no backup besides Omega. Just them, their wits, and their powers.

And even assuming they survived and escaped capture on the spot...none of them dared to think about what their lives would be like afterwards, if everything went exactly as planned.

As it was, they had tried to get a full nights’ sleep, but they probably wouldn’t be able to get much more rest time than that if they hoped to stay ahead of G.U.N. and successfully complete the mission. So today was the only day to do it.

Right now, the team was just killing time until late afternoon. They thought (or rather hoped) that the guards would be a little more tired by that point, and if the mission took the right amount of time, they might even be able to escape into the night with relative ease. Rouge had planned it all out on the drive over, and sometimes Shadow was truly impressed by her level of tactical skill- especially since she had never had any sort of formal training throughout her line of work.

Rouge really knew what she was doing.

As time passed, the team tried their best to remain sharp, but it seemed that even resting could become tiring after a while. Eventually, Omega stood up and looked down at both of them. “I have run some calculations. Your mental faculties will continue to deteriorate at a rapid pace if we remain in this room for much longer. This will in turn lower our possible chances of success. We must leave immediately so that our success rate does not fall further, considering it is already dismally low compared to most of our usual missions.”

Shadow frowned, rubbing his brow. Ordinarily, he would have responded to Omega by now, but at the moment, half of the robot’s words had barely even registered. Yet he shouldn’t even be able to get this tired, let alone suffer such consequences from a week or two on high alert.

“Ugh…” Rouge groaned, hauling herself upright. “Let’s just get this over with. I’m too worn out to worry about this anymore. We just do it, and what happens is what happens.”

“Agreed.” Shadow said simply, still trying to ignore the effects of his weariness.

Omega’s eyes turned into their ‘angry’ shapes, but it didn’t seem to be directed at them. “Your cortisol levels have been far above normal for over a week. This level of exposure is highly unhealthy. We must remedy this as soon as the mission is over.”

“Yeah.” Rouge muttered quietly. “If it’s ever over.”

“Studies show that negative thinking precludes negative results. The reverse is also true, for strange reasons unknown to me, as I am not organic. Cease your pessimistic comments, and we will drive to the G.U.N. Fortress immediately.” Omega said firmly, walking out the door. Shadow vaguely realized that the E-series robot had been taking charge more and more over these past few days, and that he’d also become a lot less...enthusiastic around the same time.

While the hybrid didn’t know if Omega could be worried, the idea that he might be was just a little bit flattering.

…

The drive there was short, barely enough time for Shadow and Rouge to work themselves up into ‘mission mode’. All of the adrenaline that the former had felt last time was barely present now, replaced by a sort of frazzled sensation that made it feel as though every nerve in his body had been overused until it was barely even functional.

They parked a long ways away to avoid the notice of its various high-tech security measures and just sat there for a second.

The team had been here so many times for various reasons: meetings, briefings, work parties...but this was going to be the first time they entered it illegally. (Or at least, it would be for Shadow. They both suspected that there wasn’t a well-known building in the country that Rouge hadn’t broken into, for kicks if nothing else.)

The robot left the engine running in case of an emergency, switching on his communicator. “Alert me if there are any problems and I will come help you. I will happily destroy this building for a distraction. Or to find you. Or even just for fun.”

It seemed that Omega had still retained all of his violent tendencies, at least.

The two rushed over to the entrance, making sure that the guards wouldn’t see them- a practiced maneuver at this point. Rouge carefully turned the two security cameras so that they faced the sky, all without setting off any alarms.

Shadow tucked himself into the niche that held the metal sliding door while Rouge tapped away on the holographic screen near the doorway. His suspicions about the bat having infiltrated this building in the past were confirmed when she whispered to herself, “Let’s see if the backdoor I left is still there...a-ha!”

She typed in a code on the keypad: 4-8-6-7-8-9. At this point, the entire system automatically let her in- she even had the highest clearance to go with her fake account. Within moments, the door was unlocked with a quiet ‘whoosh’. (Ordinarily, there would have been at least five different checks to pass after this point to get inside, including fingerprint and retina scans.)

Rouge smirked at him before entering the building. “The code is ‘GUN SUX’, in case you’re wondering.”

Shadow could almost have laughed.

They didn’t need to sneak through the halls as much this time, since Shadow decided that it would be better to utilize a few Chaos Controls to get them past some particularly crowded sections. They couldn’t have made it past the ridiculous amounts of security measures- including automated gun turrets- otherwise. This fortress was one of the most protected places on the planet. There was a reason the President had been held there during the Black Arms invasion.

The twisted tangle of halls was specifically designed to confuse intruders, there were cameras to cover nearly all the blind spots, and guards passed every area by in two minute intervals. The hybrid thanked his lucky stars that he was with Rouge, since she seemed to be aware of every tiny flaw in the system, from a glitchy camera that hadn’t been replaced to which guards tended to slack off. He became more and more impressed with his friend’s skills each time she offered him a set of directions that worked without a hitch.

Once, they were nearly discovered, though. A pair of loud footsteps echoed around the metal corridors, sending both Rouge and Shadow into high alert. Quickly, the bat tugged him into an empty room, tucking them both behind a plain desk and out of sight.

“I guess G.U.N. actually switched up the guards for once, ‘cause this guy always used to be paired with another slacker,” she whispered as they walked by, completely oblivious to the two Mobians less than fifteen feet away. They were completely silent, unlike the guards at the old information warehouse- the fortress was much more important to G.U.N. and required a higher level of training and sophistication to maintain its security.

As soon as their steps had faded, the hybrid teleported them both to Rouge’s next location, which was even deeper in the complex. By now, they were several levels below the ground, but they still needed to travel farther to reach the secure servers that comprised G.U.N.’s major database.

Ordinarily, they would have used the elevator, but those didn’t have keypads, just card scanners. If any of the three had attempted to use their cards (which they wouldn’t have anyway, since the system kept track of who scanned their cards at what time) the entire complex would likely have gone into complete lockdown and they would have failed their mission.

Unfortunately, the excessive teleporting left Shadow’s Chaos stores running low, to say the absolute least. He dropped to his knees the second that they entered the main computer room, panting slightly as he leaned his head against the wall while staying out of sight. “You still gonna be good to take care of the rest, honey?” Rouge asked gently, brushing her fingers through the fur on his head. For a moment, he wanted nothing more than to pass out on the floor and remain like this forever, but then he paused, bewildered.

“Why am I so tired? I was literally just resting half an hour ago, and now look at me.” he groaned, looking down at his power inhibitors. He hadn’t had access to a Chaos Emerald in ages, so maybe that was the problem? His fingers brushed over one of the golden rings as he considered taking them off- that would provide him with a boost of power…

“No.” Rouge said decisively, holding his wrist so that he couldn’t release the inhibitor. “I’m not having you passing out on me in the middle of our escape, alright? It’s too risky to do that right now.”

“Either way, I’m going to run out of energy soon- wouldn’t it be better to get some more strength?” Shadow asked, his eyes narrowing.

She tightened her grip on his wrist briefly to make her point before releasing him. “As much as Omega wants to come in and blow this place up...no. There’s so much more that could go wrong, Shadow, and I’m not willing to risk that.” The bat folded her arms, asserting herself as the one in charge...which she always was.

Shadow glowered, frustrated both with himself and the general circumstances. However, he forced himself to listen to her orders, since she usually knew what she was doing- an impressive sign of respect for him. “In that case, I’ll barely be able to do more than a couple of Chaos Spears. You’ll have to move quickly, Rouge.”

They walked among the stacks of black plastic and tiny flickering lights, searching for one specific computer to link into. Within a minute, the bat had discovered exactly what she was looking for and plugged in a cheap second hand tablet that she’d bought with some more of their spare money.

This tall black piece of hardware was part of a stack all the way at the back of the room, shoved into a corner and covered in dust. It looked completely useless and outdated.

At least, if the viewer wasn’t one who could recognize that these models were actually newer than the rest. The dust, the placement, it was all designed to let the computers pass underneath the average person’s radar and keep G.U.N.’s most secret files under high security, multiple firewalls, and the latest in antivirus technology.

Rouge, however, was by no means an average person.

Meanwhile, Shadow thanked any member of the pantheon that might be listening that they were getting the job done now. Their resources were running low, so he hoped that after this they could go hide somewhere and get a job to survive. Hiding wasn’t ordinarily his preferred reaction (it had never been his preferred reaction, honestly) but it was starting to sound an awful lot better than the current ball of stress that was his life.

“Alright, we’re in.” Rouge whispered quietly, having used her ‘all-access’ password to enter the system yet again.

The hybrid peered over her shoulder, curious to see what kind of documents she would discover...only to find that most of it was very confusing, to say the least. There seemed to be no sense of organization, to the point where he could barely tell if it was on purpose or just done badly. As a relatively organized person himself, he quickly grew frustrated by the complete lack of any sort of pattern among the various files.

There was at least one part done purposefully, though, because the folder Rouge wanted to access (labeled ‘requisition forms’ in the middle of a video section...suspicious) was blocked by a passcode. The first two tries- TOWERS and CMNDR- didn’t work.

The bat closed her eyes and bowed her head. To the untrained eye, she might have seemed like someone in defeat, giving up at the first sign of a struggle.

Shadow knew that she was just trying to focus and tap into her skills.

Eventually, she sighed resolutely. “Let’s give this one a go.” She typed in five familiar letters.

M-A-R-I-A.

It seemed that his sister had touched many lives forever, since it worked. Rouge clicked through a few of the files, her eyes widening with each one. Shadow was certain that his own were equal in size, watching as G.U.N. detained people for weeks without trials, arrested innocents doing perfectly legal things, and pulled many others over on the street and forced them to submit to searches without reason.

In short, hurting ordinary people who they were supposed to protect.

It truly felt as though something sick and twisted had taken root inside of the organization, indeed, that it had been allowed (even encouraged) to spread and grow until it choked the life out of every positive reason that had ever been part of G.U.N.’s founding. All that seemed to be left now was a paranoia-ridden, overly-violent military force with little to no conscience or accountability for its actions.

Eventually, the bat closed the folder, downloading the entire thing onto her device. “Let’s go already!” Shadow hissed, hating the idea of staying a moment longer than was absolutely necessary.

“No.” Rouge whispered. “We end this here. Now. Today.”

Then, she maneuvered the folders into a different part of the server, and smiled bitterly. “They can’t claim it’s faked very well if it comes from them.”

And then the master thief uploaded that entire section of their database onto the Internet, through G.U.N.’s website and every single one of their social media accounts, with one short sentence to accompany it: Doesn’t seem like you’re very good at your job, ‘Guardian Units of Nations’.

Shadow grabbed her by the arm as soon as she finished. “Alright, now come on! We have to go, they’ll figure it out soon enough!”

Rouge logged out and unplugged the tablet, and the two of them rushed to the door and peered out of the glass, waiting until the guards had passed. As they rushed outside, the bat remembered to close the door in absolute silence. Then they hurried down the hall, moving as quickly as they could. Rouge flew and Shadow skated to keep the noise level as low as possible, the faint hiss of Chaos energy and the occasional flap of wings the only sound they made as they ran.

They took basically the same route as before, only using a slightly longer path due to the hybrid’s low energy. It still went well at first, as they kept hidden whenever any guards came near. At any rate, there were no shouts of “intruders!” going off as they rushed upwards, through the halls, and towards the exit.

About halfway up a stairwell, though, several things happened in quick succession.

Alarms began to blare throughout the entire building, and red warning lights began to flash all over. The complex began to go into high alert, although the doors remained open to allow the soldiers to get from one place to another quickly. Although the two former agents couldn’t see it, they knew that all important rooms (including the main server area) would have a set of steel guards placed over them by now, so it was good that they had already completed most of their mission. “How did they figure it out that fast?” Rouge gasped, startled.

That was when they heard the stomping of guards entering the stairwell, heading downwards towards the computer rooms- and their position.

Shadow stumbled on the stairs, the alarms and lights and those sounds triggering his most horrible memory of all. The raid on the ARK had already been brought forcibly to the surface recently, so it was still a particularly raw spot for him. He faintly felt his friend clasp his arm and begin to drag him forward and up, trying to keep him safe despite the walls of his own mind closing in around him. Remembering that he had to flee, the thought across both past and present situations of get out get out get out RIGHT NOW powered him enough to hold on back and even begin to pull her along.

A pair of guards heard him stumbling on the stairwell and began to fire at them as they ran, forcing the two to dodge bullets as they rushed up the stairs. Rouge flew the hedgehog directly up a level of steps before letting him drop and hit the stairwell running, since they didn’t have enough time for her to properly set him down. The gunfire only added to Shadow’s confusion- that and the dark metal walls of the next hall left him blinking and dazed, struggling to recall where he was...or when he was.

This...this is the Fortress, right? No...but that wiring on the walls…

He grabbed someone’s hand- Maria? Rouge? didn’t matter, he had to keep her safe either way- and rushed faster, faster, through the halls and up more stairs, dodged the gunfire, kept running- look there are some doors, why are there doors on the ARK? It looks like Mobius outside- doesn’t matter- we have to get out so let’s go-

They burst through the double doors, Shadow breaking the sound barrier as he did so while Rouge tried to ride the air currents he created as well as she could. It took all of her strength just to cling to his hand so that she wouldn’t be completely blown away by the force of his movement.

Shadow vaguely heard the screech of car tires and heard Omega shout “I AM ON MY WAY. RUN.” as they blew past him.

His heart was pounding in his chest and his ears and he felt too hot and he could barely breathe, but he had to keep going. His legs were shaking but he pushed onwards through the difficulties, barely even thinking.

He couldn’t even see the mountains or the sea. His entire world was just the ground ahead of him and the hand in his own.

He had to run.

Eventually, Shadow heard a whirring noise, turning his head to see a helicopter bearing down on them in the sky. The sight of something even more obviously impossible on the ARK than the doors or the grass shook him out of his confused memories slightly, only to leave him out of focus and disoriented.

Figure it out later, right now you have to move!

Bullets began to spatter across the grass, blasting from double machine guns mounted on the helicopter, and he heard Rouge- yes, it was Rouge, not Maria- yell something along the lines of “What the actual hell?!”.

Shadow didn’t want to know how anyone had ever decided that chasing down two rogue agents, one of whom could break the speed of sound, with a helicopter spraying the entire area with deadly, aerodynamic pieces of steel was the right way to get them back. Or the smart way, honestly. Already, the helicopter’s fuel was running low, considering that their engine had to be supercharged to keep up even for this long.

He rushed into the nearby woods as it fell back, not stopping until they reached the base of the mountains nearby. They crouched underneath a rocky overhang, and Shadow slowly worked to come back to himself fully.

He had escaped with his companion this time…

His unfocused eyes slowly blinked and he shook his head slowly, trying to drive the lingering images from his head. “I’m here, hon, I’m here.” Rouge said softly, and his ears twitched, trying to shake the nagging feeling that this entire situation should be completely different.

“I gotcha, Shadow, but we’re going to have to move eventually...I can hear them starting a search party.” She scoffed. “Stupid of them to be so loud when they’re hunting a bat.”

The hybrid took one deep breath, and then another. “I’ll be alright.” he said quietly, his unwanted thoughts finally receding into the background enough to allow him to focus. He saw Rouge smile at him faintly, squeezing his shoulder once before giving him some space.

A minute or two later, a stick snapped to their left, and both of the highly skilled, rigorously trained Mobians shrieked (in an impressively high register for Shadow especially) and whirled around, ready to fight. Both relaxed, though, upon seeing that it was only Omega, who in turn gave them a quick once-over. “You are both a mess and G.U.N. will be here at any moment. They will begin to sweep this area soon and we must be far away when they do so.”

“Where do we go now?” Shadow asked quietly, his mental capacity strained nearly to its limit.

“Somewhere. Anywhere out of the way, where we can hide out until things quiet down.” Rouge sighed, her eyes downcast.

None of them were looking forward to what came next- a long wait until G.U.N. gave up searching for them, cut off from all of their friends, where they couldn’t go by their real names or enjoy their usual pastimes….

….and that was if they were lucky.

They got back into their car, again, and set off down the highway, again, looking for a place to hide.

Again.

(Shadow was tired of hiding. Sometimes he found himself wondering, as Rouge kept an eye out for nothing more than a sheltered area to pull their car into for the night, if it wouldn’t be better to just give up entirely...but the sheer idea of G.U.N. winning, especially of being put back into stasis, was too horrifying for him to bear.)

He’d rather suffer a lifetime of fear and of looking over shoulders if it meant he could spend it with Rouge and Omega than return to the endless frozen quiet of a stasis pod.

And as they pulled into the woods and began to cover their car with a decent amount of brush and leaves many hours and two states later, he almost felt a sort of resigned peace. Knowing that they had done what was right and that he would get to be with his two closest friends for a while longer was...not bad, all things considered. Sighing, he lay back in his chair, one hand linked with Rouge’s and Omega’s hand resting next to his ears.

They could hide together, at least.

…

In the morning, he woke up to shouting.

“This is the Guardian Units of Nations! Surrender peacefully or we fire!”

Rouge stared at him, her eyes wide.

Shadow was frozen in place- he didn’t think he could have moved had he tried.

Oh, chaos.

#shadow the hedgehog #rouge the bat #e 123 omega #scars you can't see #sycs #team dark #ugh part of this got deleted twice so sorry if any of it's weird #i had so much i was going to say here but now i can't remember it :(#anyway #hopefully this chapter turned out well it was supposed to be the big important one #despite the cliffhanger the next chapter should be less stressful #i've been looking forward to chapter 10 for a long time #and please. if you haven't already done so then check out khinesthetic's blog. please. it's so cool.#(also shadow would never voluntarily go back to his stasis pod. if sega says so then they're wrong and that's just a fact.)#sol’s fanfiction

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missfinefeather · 4 years ago

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I Am My Monster

Okay, got my emotional support bear in place. Hope that helps me through this.

Starting this the night before, but I may not even finish this post the same night.

Just getting a head start so we can start the final episode too.

Alright, into the fray!

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

0:41 - Well, that’s a very pink kaiju 0.0; Hope no one was crushed in that transformation.

Gog, so Steven can just, turn into that? Weird.

0:54 - It’s a little late for breathing exercizes... then again, what do I know?

1:18 - Jegus, just casually destroy the temple statue like that? That thing has been in the show forever and it feels like to goes down without much fanfare 0.0;

1:35 - Sigh... We can’t exactly get steven on the couch!

We’d need for a pretty big couch in that case.

2:02 - I mean, Steven was probably attacking blindly in the first place, not sure if blinding him is doing him much good.

2:05 - Oh come on! Wesley survived like, 3 of those when Andre the Giant did that to him!

2:21 - Oh yeah, did we every find out why Lapis is so OP compared to other Lapises? Kind of felt like there was a mystery going on there.

2:29 - Yeah, a good old fashioned mind meld would be nice about now...

2:35 - ...yeah, that’s usually Steven’s job, isn’t it?

2:41 - Ooof, I dunno if you four could really help here.

I mean, you have the powers for the job but, at the same time, it’s you four.

Literally all of you have tried to kill him at some point.

2:54 - PFFFFT!

Yeah, there always seems to be an event happening when they show up. That’s a good point xDDD

3:17 - Yeah no. You’re using the power of a diamond against another diamond who’s resisting.

Hey, couldn’t you like, connect with him in the spirit realm? Like what Steven did for you in Reunited?

Hey, what even was that? I think Steven only used it like, twice and it never came up again.

3:26 - In comes Blue with the Anti-depressants.

4:02 - OH GOG!

JUST BLASTED WHITE’S MIND!

4:23 - OH FUCK!

DAMN YELL SHOCK WAVES!

4:33 - I thought the diamond ship was going to fall on the house...

Well, Steven is free. I hope Connie is evacuating the town. He might head there...

It’ll be Ocean Town again before we know it...

4:43 - Oh gog, even Garnet unfused...

Jegus, everyone was decimated in this fucking battle! I’m surprised we didn’t get any poofings!

REALLY hope Connie is evacuating the town!

4:55 - THE CLUSTER!

I know you can’t defeat him but, I hope you can hold him down at least! keep in him one place for a while...

5:08 - “DON’T HOLD ME BACK, BRO! I CAN TAKE EM!”

5:28 - How many horrible futures is Sapphire seeing right now...

5:42 - Is Greg actually stepping up?

I wonder if he’s going to live up to the father Steven actually wanted.

Or maybe not, I dunno. I have NO idea how they are going to save Steven here.

5:53 - I mean... Yeah... yeah, pretty much...

Well, at least the diamonds recognize this at least. To some extent.

6:26 - Again, at least they are acknowledge it!

6:44 - Damn, Connie got a point! They are just making it about themselves!

Connie’s taking a level in badass here!

Then again, it’s easy to be a badass when you didn’t have to fight Steven just now.

7:06 - I LOVE this speech! Gog, I missed Connie.

It’s so fitting this is coming from her! She understood Steven the most out of all of them!

Ah, gog damn, am I actually enjoying this episode? I guess it helps that Steven can’t speak right now and the other characters aren’t being sidelined in favor of Pink Diamond’s the Wall.

7:19 - You do, Garnet? You have a plan?

Huh, I guess you just needed to uncloud your mind a bit.

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

There’s, 4 minutes left in this episode. That’s... a lot of a time for a cliffhanger.

Are they really going to save Steven by the end of this episode?

Am i wasting the climax on a Stealth Blog?

...I am so wasting the climax on a stealth blog.

You know what? We can’t do this like this.

Present Missfinefeather will pick this up when she’s ready! See ya then!

Past MissFinefeather, out!

#suf17 #Steven Universe Future #Missfinefeather Liveblogs #Missfinefeather watches Steven Universe Future #Steven Universe #SU #SUF #Steven Universe Liveblog #puts the SUF into suffering #Steven Universe Future Liveblog #blacklist Missfinefeather

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crowsent · 4 years ago

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a fuckton of things i want in da4

a few words censored bc tumblr will swallow this in the void if i dont. long ass fuck list ahead

a romanceable dwarf

more romanceable elves/qunari

more elf/qunari/dwarf companions

consistent writing for once

more nb representation

good hair. please just give me good hair options. give me long hair. give me luxurious flowing locks. give me braids. give me good fucking hair options

let me shittalk the chantry

dalish elf npcs that impact the plot in unique ways

dalish elf companions that are proud of being dalish

if it is set in tevinter maybe uh. maybe address the issue of systemic oppression (and slavery) of elves???????

a return of the friendship/rivalry system in da2 but improved. maybe instead of a friendship rivalry sliding scale its friendship/rivalry/animosity sliding scale. bc rivalry is more like. two people pushing each other to be better than they were before. friendly competition. hes an idiot but hes my idiot kind of deal. animosity would be just regular disapproval. i liked the crisis cutscenes in dai so high animosity would be the same as low approval and might make the companion leave still, but theres more variety with high approval. high approval “friendship” would be the “were best friends and we share many opinions and agree on almost everything” while high approval “rivalry” being “we disagree on almost everything but goddamn it youre my friend and ill follow you into the fade if i have to” so you can have a high approval with someone instead of being a kissass

actions and choices having consequences again

multiple endings again (epilogue slideshows dont count)

dialogue wheels with descriptions that match what you actually say

characters from rivain, antiva, anderfels, etc

gifts. bring back the gifts. i want to give my companions gifts

maybe. maybe a focus of non-andrastian religion for once?

let me shittalk the chantry

i know its a stretch, but maybe. diverse skin colours. please?

nd characters that are written respectfully and treated w dignity

please bring back the talent wheel from dao and da2

more bi romance options

more wlw romance options

more mlm romance options

ace romance options

nb romance options

background romances

let me shittalk the chantry

far fetched but maybe a polycule?

i lowkey LOVED the fast-paced feel of da2s combat so maybe bring that back in some form? maybe improved to mesh with the tactics of dai to give players absolute freedom of playstyle whether they want to be like me and rush into every encounter or play more strategically

companions with unique companion abilities

would be nice to explore cities

would be nice if the open world were a little smaller so it doesnt feel empty all the gd time

more mage spells. mages felt like just another class of fighter to me in dai. they dont really have any awe-inducing wow factor like in dao or even da2. if the narrative wants me to believe that mages are powerful and dangerous and that it takes multiple templars to hunt down an apostate, maybe show that? give me strong mages

remove the jump ability. its pointless

a narrative that addresses the oppression that the chantry and templars perpetuated please

bring back the attributes

make the choices in dai matter. mages governing themselves? i wanna see that

let me shittalk the chantry

please bring back the healing magic for fucks sakes

multi-class system between rogues and warriors?

multiple specialisations that feel like specialisations and not just skill tree+

player-only skill trees

hardening

companion quests that affect their abilities and further dialogue

actual morally grey choices instead of this stupid mage freedom vs templar oppression narrative that is in no way morally grey but is presented as such and thus leaves the conflicts and narratives set up by dao and da2 to be fucking meaningless

bring back the tactics

would be nice to have an origins-esque prologue again. maybe one that would determine future events in game just to give your character better narrative cohesion with the plot

an approval/disapproval system but for companions with other companions. bringing certain companions together may bring them closer or make them pissed off with each other which affects banter maybe quests maybe combat

give me a fucking mabari bioware. give me back my fucking mabari

day/night cycle

a nightmare mode where you have to finish the main quest on a time limit. it is absurd that dai expects me to believe that i have all this time to do wartable missions that can take literal real life DAYS to finish and still thwart corypheus’ plans in time. bullshit

that said. no more wartable missions. waiting for a countdown to finish isnt very fun

let me shittalk the chantry

kal-sharok. ive been hearing about it since dao let me fucking see kal-sharok

dwarven politics

politics in general. my fav dao quest was the succession crisis plotline in orzammar/the landsmeet and wewh in dai

npcs i can talk to. even with generic dialogue like in dao. makes the world more alive

using the environment to your advantage. far fetched but i would love to be able to pull down boulders if were in the mountains or freeze water to get to places as a mage

home base customisation but the customisation choices you make actually. mean something. and do something. or at the very least give more companion dialogue/banter/approval change

laconic and ergonomic codexes. like. sorted by what kind of codex it is, etc etc but then you just get a brief summary of the codex and the option to read more about it so i dont spend eternity scrolling through cards looking for a specific codex entry. cool aesthetic dont get me wrong but real irritating to deal with. also. maybe. the pc making comments about the codex if you do read more about it? like a dalish elf saying “they got it all wrong” when reading a codex about dalish elves written by a human??? that would a) give character to the pc b) incentivise people to actually read the codex to see what was so wrong about it c) summarise the codex for people who want to learn the lore but dont want to spent the entire game reading text

maybe have the merchants in your home base close to crafting stations so you dont have to take a fucking hike if you miscounted the amount of elfroot you need?

let me shittalk the chantry

avvar companion maybe??? interesting lore right there

bring back stat requirements for weapons and remove the class restriction for most shit. obviously a dagger would be better for a rogue than a longsword and a mage would do better with a staff than a sword and shield but its not about efficiency. its about the roleplay. its about the options. give me the option to make a mage with wildly inappropriate stat distribution

bring back sustained mode abilities

traps. bring back traps. bring back the option to stealth into an area, trap the fuck out of it, and go from there

have the three available classes in kind of a rock paper scissors scenario. warriors do real well against rogues who do real well against mages who do real well against warriors. so you can plan your party depending on who/what youll face AND how much their approval will change during the quest you take them on

let me shittalk the chantry

actually resolve the plot points introduced in dai

a more threatening villain. the inquisitor thwarted every attempt made by corypheus in dai. he was not threatening at all

queer characters. background, companions, etc. queer characters

mounts were meh in dai. maybe. make them faster? or less cumbersome? or have your companions on mounts too so theres still banter?

i liked the armour tinting. let me have armour tinting from the beginning

i would really like mages to move and attack at the same time bc lowkey standing in one spot is uhhhhhhh kinda boring

let me check companions friendship/rivalry levels

would be nice if the narrative acknowledged that elves suffered greatly at the hands of the chantry and stopped victim-blaming them

more taverns. specifically like tapsters in dao where theres a dwarf just reciting something in a language i cant understand and if you look its a ballad/poet about dwarven culture and that was a real nice touch let me have that

dalish elf clan. dalish elf clan that does not get murdered please and thank you

meaningful quests. more cinematic dialogue

make found gear / quest reward gear more valuable than crafted gear

game modifiers like in dai were real nice. i want more

let me shittalk the chantry

quests that can be resolved in multiple ways. like connors fate in dao. and for those ways to impact further quests

companions with varying moral alignments

companions that are mutually exclusive (like alistair and loghain) but are both good companions so itd really make you think

a pc that IS NOT a “chosen one” vanilla da2 is my fav dragon age game for one reason and one reason only and that is because hawke is just some random refugee who escaped lothering. no chosen one magic at all. just an ordinary person who is a real good fighter. and that appealed to me more than this “you are the only one who can do it” narrative

let me meet more elvhen gods

if the setting is in tevinter, GIVE ME FUCKING ARCHITECTURE. give me the high spires, the archways, the buttresses, give me statues lining city gates and magic infused into the buildings. tevinter is a land ruled by MAGES give me magical architecture. give me floating buildings. give me fire floating as orbs above the streets like lamps. GIVE ME ARCHITECTURE

SHALE

let me shittalk the chantry

PIERCINGS GIVE ME FUCKING PIERCINGS BIOWARE

more main quests, longer main quests

if it is set in tevinter maybe. maybe address the fact that tevinter has been at war with the qunari for a while? on and off war is still war. and maybe give us the option to influence the outcome of that war?

more voice options. instead of just american voice or british voice, do the thing in dao again where there are multiple voices of different tones to further cement the pcs personality

more armour designs

biased but uh. can. can taliesen jaffe va a character?

i already said qunari companions but specifically saarebas companions

blood magic

FINISHING MOVE ANIMATIONS

please do not let it be as long as inquisition. inquisition was a SLOG in later playthroughs

body sliders. what if i want a tall but lanky qunari? what if i want a buff as shit elf? body sliders

more eye options

let me call out companions

btw bioware. if you really wanted cullen to be a good guy. maybe handle his fucking redemption arc a little better instead of retconning all the terrible and creepy shit hes done in the past k thx

can female walk/run animations not have. so much swaying hips? no one moves like that

personality dialogue that affects future dialogue like in da2 but meshed with the wider range of emotions introduced by dai

keep the race/s*x lock on romance candidates like in dai. keep the fact that some characters can only be romanced by certain races or s*xes

nb and genderqueer options for the pc

cutscenes of companions interacting

ngl i lowkey liked the random encounters of dao so maybe bring that back

my fav quest in dao is the landsmeet / orzammar succession crisis questline but you know whats my second favourite? the rescue mission if the warden gets captured and you have to play as your party members. give me that again

more creepy/dark shit. dai was too lighthearted for me esp after da2 and dao

let me shittalk the chantry

broodmothers. in hd.

red lyrium broodmothers. in hd

companions with different backgrounds. different faiths. different statuses. different families. etc

maybe make the pcs appearance make an impact on the story? like how bull says he likes redheads, but even if you are a redhead, he says nothing about it????? maybe keep track of which slider the player picks so that can affect the story?

i love my inquisitors but maybe. dont. bring the inquisitor in as anything more than an advisor/npc in this game? let me fall in love with a new pc???

if theres gonna be a homebase like skyhold where youre not in armor. maybe give us better clothing?

a kind of gear skin mechanic similar to ac:odyssey where you can change how the gear looks but keep the stats. so you can equip that higher level armour and keep the look and aesthetic of your old armour and you unlock the skins/looks of the armours you discover/make so you can be both powerful AND aesthetic

i enjoyed the nobility/underworld/arcane/etc knowledge in dai unlocking more dialogue options so maybe keep/expand on that but make it more accessible by side missions or companions or something that isnt the abysmal perk system in dai

let me shittalk the chantry

customisable walking animations. does the pc walk straightbacked? slouched? with a swagger? please

since there will undoubtedly be an obligatory fade sequence, maybe have an option for nightmare demons that ARENT spiders. thank you

slap on subtitles and conlang some languages. i want to hear elvish. i want to hear tevene. give me the languages

more dragons. esp if they look vastly different

more bard songs

i am completely biased here, but i would like to hear laura bailey as a va for a character. preferably a voice option for the pc

hey maybe have the true ending actually included in the base game and not in a dlc (tresppasser cough cough)

better val royeaux

please remove the had to do it to em idle animation tis distracting

on that note, more idle animations. maybe some unique to companions?

very trivial but. unique stair climbing/descending animation

bring back talking to companions on the road. maybe with some dialogue that can only be said on the road???

if banter is interrupted, make like rdr2 and pick up where the banter left off

more vallaslin designs please?

if theres another formal scene like dai maybe. give us. decent clothing. or better yet, decen clothing OPTIONS. i wanna decide how i look in a ball full of haughty orlesians

mage vs templar conflict resolved and addressed please. it is NOT resolved in dai. what we got was sequel bait and a slideshow. resolve it please

let me shittalk the chantry

a pro-mage anti-circle circle mage companion like anders

religious person who doesnt victim-blame elves in the codex or in game or anywhere please

characters more like leliana who question the chantry and acknowledge its corruption and greed

unapologetically sapphic companion

idc if its tevinter i dont want to fucking see queer people being disrespected

a true tal-vashoth companion, one who escaped from the qun

have quest decisions affect whether or not a companion will turn hostile to you or not

if IF solas will be redeemed, please do the redemption arc right

more horn options for qunari

an apostate mage who doesnt use me for their personal agenda whilst hiding something from me (morrigan, anders, solas) thanks

i really dig the whole “leader of an army” thing dai was trying to go for. but you didnt actually. lead. anything. would be nice to have that option. command soldiers. send them places that affect further quests. would even use the wartable for its intended purpose. planning wars. battles. like. you get sent word that there are bandits harassing villagers. you can set up an ambush with your soldiers or confront them headon, and theres a new mini-location on the map like the manor you meet vivienne in where you can go deal with the bandits and depending on your choices, there are actually soldiers with you in a field, or traps in a narrow pass, or even in a city. id rather the wartable shit dont return but if they have to, at least this way youre not just waiting real life time for a bunch of text to appear

i am real fucking excited for the possibility that da4 companions can just fucking die on you. good shit. give me that angst

missions that certain companions would refuse to go with you to. you know. so you actually have to use other members of your party instead of the same 3 (three) people all the goddamn time

disabled characters (i want a character who suffers from the same chronic bad leg disease as i do is that too much to ask)

kinda touched on by the da2 combat point but let me do close combat damage with the staff

no multiplayer. and if there is a multiplayer, dont tie it with achievements

let me fucking explore weisshaupt

(i dont think solas will be the endgame villain of da and i dont think da4 will be the last da game but still) again. for emphasis. resolve the plot points dai brought up

full-body scars and tattoo options

companions and npcs changing their opinions about things over time. eg: a pro-circle mage wanting instead for circles to be abolished after a specific side mission or a main quest decision etc

keep the multiple companion quests. and maybe change what kinds of companion quests are available further down depending on choices made in previous companion quests

please for fucks sake give us more characters of colour

let me shittalk the chantry

#dragon age #dragon age 4 #da4 #long post #its 3 am and i am once again putting on my clown wig bc bioware will fucking disappoint me again

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wickedmilo · 4 years ago

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IT’S NOT NOTHING | MILO & ORION PART 2

PLACE: Orion’s house TIMING: 11:48 AM SUMMARY: Milo treats Orion to breakfast as an apology for not leaving before sunrise, and the two make the best of their day together WRITING PARTNER: @3starsquinn CONTENT WARNINGS: Mentions of addiction, drug abuse, drug manipulation, self harm, physical abuse, emotional abuse

There was a pain in Orion’s back as he slowly woke up. He stretched his arms, slowly realizing that he wasn’t on his bed at all. He paused for a moment, noting the smell of grease and noise from another part of the house. He finally poked a single eye open, taking in the view of his living room. Rio could vaguely recall dozing off the night before. He couldn’t remember the end of the movie either, must have been completely gone by then.

Rio sat up on the couch, a lone piece of clothing acting as a makeshift blanket falling off of him. He grabbed the hoodie and picked it up, looking at the front and remembering that it was the same one that Milo had been wearing the night before. How had that ended up on him? Rio pulled himself off the couch and onto his feet, wrapping the hoodie around his waist and moving towards the noise in the kitchen. Though he knew exactly who was there, he hadn’t completely figured out why yet.

Standing in the kitchen and working with the small amount of food that Rio actually had was Milo, no longer wearing the hoodie he had before and still here despite the daylight. “Morning.” Rio muttered, still trying to wake up and figure out what he had stuck around for. “I didn’t expect you to still be here.”

Milo felt more than a little guilty about staying with Orion. Sitting beside him on the couch, slowly watching the sun rise through the small gap in the curtains, he had found himself on multiple occasions questioning whether he was doing the right thing. Sure, it felt wrong to leave Orion so vulnerable, especially without saying goodbye. But staying with him meant staying. If he didn’t leave before the sun came up then he quite literally couldn’t leave. Rio would be stuck with him for the entire day, and was that fair? Was he crossing a line? Ultimately, he had taken one look at his sleeping friend, and found himself unable to move. It felt good to be trusted, but so meaningful to watch over him while he rested. Realistically, he knew nothing bad was going to happen, but in a way he was repaying him for keeping him safe. Maybe they could keep each other safe.

When the sun had fully risen, he finally, begrudgingly pushed himself to stand. The expression on Orion’s face was so genuinely peaceful, he was terrified of startling him, but he had things to do, things that would hopefully make up for the fact that he was essentially forcing his company. He was careful to be quiet, attempting to tap into his apparent ‘supernatural stealth’ as he cleaned up any evidence of their movie night. He wasn’t entirely sure how long it had taken him to complete the short list of chores, but when everything had been washed and put away, it only made sense to make a start on breakfast. Having never been much of a cook, he settled on scrambled eggs. One of the first things he had learned to make as a student. He had no idea whether Orion even liked eggs, but if they were in his kitchen it felt like a safe enough bet. He was so distracted by the task at hand, that he didn’t notice Orion had woken until he was standing in the doorway, commenting on his unexpected presence. Looking up, he offered his friend a sheepish smile. “I’m sorry… I couldn’t bring myself to leave, not while you were sleeping.” He admitted. “But I’m making you breakfast.” He added, lifting the pan a little to draw attention to the eggs cooking inside it. “Y’know… because now you have to deal with me for the day, and I know that wasn’t the plan.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m not mad about it.” Orion smiled. He couldn’t believe he had somehow slept through Milo moving about and starting breakfast. Beyond that, he couldn’t believe he had slept so long at all. Usually, he found himself tossing and turning all night, jumping awake at every small sound and lying in the dark trying to get back to sleep. Yet for some reason he had managed to get what felt like a full night’s sleep on the couch with another person making noises. His body had gotten so used to minimal sleep that the deeper sleep might actually be causing the grogginess that Rio was feeling. “It smells amazing. Thanks, you didn’t have to do that.” It certainly wasn’t what he had been expecting.

The idea of more time not alone was a bigger benefit than Milo could possibly know. The fact that it was him was an added bonus. “Sounds good to me. I’m sure we can survive for the day.” Rio slid onto one of the stools and propped his elbows on the kitchen island, resting his chin on his knuckles, “So then, what’s the big plan for today? Movies? Games? I have a pool that hardly gets used. If you like swimming at all.”

“You’re not?” Milo felt his heart warm at the sentiment, he only hoped Orion was being genuine, and not polite for the sake of protecting his feelings. He felt as though they might be past that, but that didn’t stop the small spark of doubt. It seemed to settle in the back of his mind, and he did what he could to ignore it. “How did you sleep?” He asked, turning his attention back to the food. “You looked so comfortable, I thought about waking you up but honestly, it would have been cruel.” He admitted, a quiet laugh escaping him. “I also thought about taking a selfie, but you’ll be pleased to know I refrained.” Shaking his head at his friend’s insistence, he did need to do this. If he didn’t then what was he offering? What was he doing to make his day more bearable than it would have been if he had left like he was supposed to? Rio had been expecting a quiet day alone, and his plans had been dashed. He wanted that to be okay. He wanted Rio to be okay. “I had a feeling you might skip breakfast if I didn’t make it for you.” He said, only half teasing. “So it’s like self-care, only Milo is forcing it on you… It’s Milo-care.” He grinned at his own ridiculous joke, pouring the eggs out onto a plate before setting them down in front of Orion on the counter. He was strangely proud of himself, it had been a long time since he had last tried to make eggs, and they had turned out surprisingly well.

Finding a fork to hand over, he began the process of turning off appliances, and washing up the pan he had made use of, only glancing back up when Orion spoke again. “Are you sure?” He asked, raising his eyebrows. “I think we both have a habit of getting into trouble.” Possibly the understatement of the year, and far too romanticised considering the context of the ‘trouble’ they usually found themselves in. But it felt good to be light-hearted, he wasn’t about to put a downer on the conversation by reminding Rio he had shunned his life as a Hunter and turned Dani against him. In the same way he wasn’t about to remind himself he had quite literally died and was now doomed to spend his days as a vampire. His eyes shining as he was presented with a list of possible ways to spend their time, he was so grateful to hear it. Clearly Orion hadn’t felt obligated to say his company was welcome, clearly he really did want to spend time with him today. “Shit, I forgot about the pool.” He admitted. “Do you think your sugar daddy would mind a stranger swimming in his pool? I would hate to upset him, you know? What if he lowers your allowance?”

“Of course not. You’re always welcome here.” Orion stated casually. To him, this was common knowledge. He was slightly surprised that Milo didn’t realize that by now. “Surprisingly well actually, considering I fell asleep on a couch.” He supposed he shouldn’t be surprised that he could fall asleep somewhere slightly uncomfortable. He practically lived at the Scribrary for months and nobody had slept on those mattresses since the eighties. “Wow. I appreciate the self control” Rio laughed attempting to motivate himself to get and and move towards the fridge to pour a drink. It wasn’t working so far. “You could have woken me up though. I would have just moved to the bedroom. No harm no foul.” He couldn’t guarantee he would have gotten back to sleep, but at least it would have taken some pressure off of Milo. Rio narrowed his eyes at Milo’s breakfast skipping comment and folded his fingers together, “As much as I appreciate the ‘Milo-care’, are you just saying that because you think I’m scrawny too? You know everyone in this town calls me that?” He pouted, sticking his bottom lip out and sighing heavily. Still, Rio couldn’t help but feel a little emotional at the idea that someone was cooking breakfast for him. It was something small and yet so thoughtful. “Thanks. Seriously.”

Rio finally convinced himself to slide off the seat, pulling out a gallon of orange juice and pouring a cup for himself, raising the bottle towards Milo as an offering, “Not sure if you like… still drink this stuff?” He hadn’t thought about how little he actually knew about vampires. Though it wasn’t his specialty, he still felt like he should know more. For Milo’s sake if nothing else. “Yeah. Duh. This is way better than being alone all day.” Rio found found his seat again and wasted no time digging into the eggs. “These are delicious” Rio spoke mid mouthful, almost satisfied enough to overlook Milo’s continued comments about a sugar daddy Almost. “I hate you. You’re actually the worst you know?” Rio continued to giggle though, despite his words implying otherwise. “Someone might as well get some use out of it. I don’t really ever go swimming.”

Milo smiled, really smiled, holding Orion’s gaze for maybe a second too long. “Not many people say that to me and mean it.” He admitted, his voice barely louder than a whisper. After leaving uni, he had developed a habit of couch surfing, anything to avoid going home to his parents. There had been an abundance of friends, or friends of friends, willing to lend him a place to crash. But he had never necessarily been close with these people. They had begrudgingly put up with him, usually because they shared a vice and it made things easier to have connections. Nobody had ever made him feel welcome. “Hm,” his smile growing when Rio mentioned being comfortable on the couch, he was glad going to so much effort not to wake him had been worth it, had genuinely meant something. “I wasn’t about to kick you out,” he said, remembering looking down at his expression, peaceful and soft, realising he couldn’t bring himself to be the one responsible for removing it. Laughing suddenly at the mention of being scrawny, he shook his head, his eyes shining. “No, you dork. I’m saying it because even though it’s like, in vastly different ways, I have a feeling we’re both as self destructive as each other. You basically never sleep, you know? And you’re literally always working, so I figured you skip meals for the convenience? Am I right?” Of course, there was a very big chance he wasn’t right, but until Orion corrected him he was determined to feign confidence. ‘I’m making you breakfast because you probably don’t eat much’ was far less lame than ‘I’m making you breakfast because I really give a shit about you and I want you to be okay.’

Raising his eyebrows, he leaned back against the counter, observing him to try and see what the town supposedly saw. “They call you scrawny?” He asked. “Who does? I’ll fight them for you.” His expression faltering briefly as he was offered a glass of orange juice, he considered the question, unable to help himself. The popcorn had been passable the previous night, but that had been habit, a comforting action. He wasn’t thirsty for orange juice. Besides, orange juice was expensive, he wasn’t about to waste his friend’s stock for the sake of playing pretend. Not when Rio was already so accepting of his new situation. Shaking his head with a gentle smile, he hesitantly caught his eye. “I mean, i can… it’s just, nothing tastes the same. It’s not bad, I mean… it doesn’t taste bad. It’s more like my tastebuds have gone from a ten to like, maybe a three? Or a four?” He stumbled over his words, realising he had never talked about it before. He barely talked about any of it. Chewing on his bottom lip, he knew a blush would be creeping to his cheeks if his body still worked in that way, so he fell silent, watching quietly as Rio began to eat the eggs he had made.

After a minute or two had passed, and he hadn’t dropped dead over his plate, he figured the meal could be considered a success. His standards weren’t exactly high considering his track record of abject failures. Apparently Rio agreed. “If I was really the worst, then you wouldn’t put up with me.” He pointed out, his heart warmed by the thought of Orion genuinely enjoying his company, genuinely enjoying their friendship. It meant so much that somebody was willing to forgive what he was, especially after losing Dani. “I don’t swim really, either. Far too much exercise when your lung capacity is thirty percent.” He teased. “Wait… was thirty percent? Past tense?” How did smoking affect his lungs now? Would his healing abilities somehow repel the tar that once used to coat them? “I’m down for swimming.”

It was slightly concerning that Milo was that surprised over Orion saying something and meaning it. Or maybe it had less to do with that and more to do with being happy to spend time with him. Either way, it didn’t bode well for the typical friendships he must have. “I don’t like lying. Not if I can help it at least.” Rio attempted to chew his food completely before talking. He forgot when he wasn’t eating alone he needed to have manners. “We got all the hard truths out of the way already. I’m going to be honest with you about things.” Even if he hadn’t wanted to wake Rio up, Milo still had no obligation to stay. As Rio stabbed at the eggs on his plate he wondered what had made him stay. There had been no obligation to do so. “I wouldn’t say that I necessarily ‘skip’ meals” Rio hesitated, putting emphasis on the word as he tried to figure out exactly what he meant, “I just wouldn’t say I have the healthiest diet, y’know? Instead of having breakfast I eat a few snack cakes. Or I’ll skip dinner and run by a bakery and stuff my face with stuff. I don’t think it’s any better.”

Rio laughed at this threat, “Pretty much the whole town. I don’t know that you’re ready to fight everyone.” The scrawny comments didn’t bother him much anymore, admittedly. He had gotten so used to them that it almost felt endearing now. It was almost odd, feeling noticed when he had spent so much of his life feeling nothing but invisible. When he finally was noticed, he wasn’t mad that it came from a place of worry instead of contempt. “It’s fine. I mean, they’re not wrong.” They just didn’t quite get that could Rio rip a door off of it’s hinges. “Hmm. That’s interesting. Does blood taste any different then?” Rio found himself curious. He had never had the chance to casually talk with a vampire before. Now seemed like the best time. “Like, does it still taste like iron and that just tastes good now? Or is it a different taste entirely?”

“Oh please, I’ve spent my entire life putting up with people that were the worst,” Rio waved away his comment dismissively with a laugh, but quickly backtracked on that, “However, I’ll admit that I like you more than those people.” He knew Milo would understand that it had been a joke, but Rio felt the need to backtrack regardless. Mostly because he didn’t like the idea of his parents and Milo being compared in the same sentence, even sarcastically. “Well, I told you smoking was bad for you.” Rio shrugged, a smug smirk spread across his face. “I guess technically it can’t be that harmful anymore.” He finished off the eggs and hopped up, abandoning the plate in the sink. “Pool is this way. It’s all yours.”

“Good to know.” Milo smiled at Rio, it was a casual response, one he knew wouldn’t carry too much weight, but his friend’s words were undeniably comforting to hear. “If I ever do dumb shit though, I will need you to lie about it and save me the embarrassment.” He added, unable to help himself. His smile fading as the conversation became serious again, he hummed quietly in response. Orion was right. What did they really have to hide from each other anymore? In a way, Dani had exposed them both, made them both vulnerable. And neither of them could take that back. He wasn’t sure either of them actually wanted to. It was nice, being so open. For the first time in a long time it felt as though he wasn’t trapped inside his own mind, wasn’t overthinking, or trying to correct himself after making a comment that was a little too close to the truth. “I’m not going to lie to you either, you know…” He said, feeling the cold weight of guilt beginning to settle on his chest. He was being honest, he wasn’t going to lie to Rio. But there was information he had yet to divulge, information he was terrified might push Orion away, or make him realise Dani was right about him being dangerous. There would be a time and a place for that particular admission, it could wait because it needed to. “Okay, well I wasn’t totally off-base.” He countered, when Rio began to insist he didn’t ‘technically’ skip meals. “Unhealthy habits are unhealthy habits.” He added, as though there was no longer any room to argue against him.

Grinning at the sudden laugh, he resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “Thank you for your faith in me, I could take this town with my eyes closed.” A blatant lie considering how easy he had apparently been to kill. And he still hadn’t really tested his new strength. He could barely even keep Dani away, he was only standing here now because she was continually interrupted in her various missions to kill him. “I don’t look at you and think scrawny, though.” He assured Orion, his smile growing as he prepared to follow up his statement. “Dork, maybe. Nerd, loser… not scrawny.” Glancing back up to catch his eye, surprised by the question, it didn’t take him long to lower his gaze again, almost embarrassed by the topic. “It doesn’t taste different…” He admitted, thinking on the sharp tang, the rich taste of iron as it filled his mouth. “Just better. Think of the best meal you ever fucking had, and times it by a thousand.” He hadn’t considered the fact that his sense of taste had changed specifically to complement blood as a food source. His tastebuds had shaped to it, bent to its will until it tasted better than any human food he could ever remember tasting. “You know, if we ever walk by an iron railing or something, I vow to lick it and test your theory.” He framed his words as a joke, he knew they were utterly ridiculous. But he was curious in the same way he felt sure Orion was. And where was the harm? It wasn’t as though germs, or toxic metal paint would be able to kill him these days, anyway.

“I should hope so.” He feigned indignance, letting Rio see in his expression that he wasn’t genuinely offended. He understood it was meant as playful. Laughing too, he couldn’t help himself. It felt so strange to be talking about the non-damage he was now doing to his lungs. “Yeah, it wasn’t the thing that killed me though, was it? So I kind of feel like I win in some totally fucked up way. Look at me now, everyone who ever told me I was destined to OD on some bathroom floor in a stranger’s apartment.” He raised his arms in mock celebration, turning on the spot to acknowledge the non-existent crowd. “Killed by a vampire, nobody saw that one coming.” Lowering his arms again, it was the first time he could ever recall actually mentioning his death, at the very least the specifics of it. Rio didn’t know about the drugs, or the fact he had been attacked while he was barely conscious. He only knew the person who had turned him decided to abandon him, rather than stick around and help. Spinning to face his friend again, he was grateful for the sudden distraction. “Isn’t swimming on a full stomach supposed to be bad for you?” He asked, following Orion as he left the kitchen, forcing a smile back onto his face. “Does this count as a form of self-destruction?”

Orion scoffed at the man, feigning offense that Milo would even consider that Rio would lie. “Sorry. This is a one way street now. You’ll only get the truth from me, embarrassing or not. Sucks for you, dude.” Rio pretending to frown and shrug away the sentence, “But not literally sucks. Sorry to burst your bubble.” It felt odd, making jokes about vampires. Wrong, almost. Considering he was closer to a slayer than a supernatural creature himself. But Milo knew he came from a good place. The place of someone who wanted to do good. “Unhealthy habits are unhealthy habits.” Rio repeated, nodding in agreement. His life was full of them.

“I just told you I was going to be honest, and now you want me to lie to you?” Rio grinned. Of course they both knew Milo couldn’t take the whole town. Rio wasn’t convinced Milo could take a single slayer, at least not without some prepping beforehand. The right answer was just to laugh in agreement. Sarcasm wasn’t a lie if the truth was obvious, right? He was just getting ready to thank his friend for not thinking of him as scrawny until Milo kept talking. “Woooooow” Rio held the word out for long as possible for peak dramatic effect. “I was this close to thanking you. Glad I held out for a few seconds.” Rio pinched his pointer finger and thumb together and narrowed his eyes at Milo. He let it go though, instead choosing to think about his description of the taste of blood. It wasn’t something Rio thought he would be particularly interested in learning about. These days though, Rio was interested in learning about pretty much anything the supernatural could teach him. “Good to know. Please test that iron theory for me. I’m curious.” Rio tried to stay as casual as possible, hoping that Milo took it seriously instead of as a joke.

Even heading towards the pool, Rio had time to pause and shoot a quick look of concern back at Milo. For how close the two had gotten, there was still a surprising amount that Rio didn’t know about the man. This comment about overdosing in a stranger’s apartment. It concerned Rio on a lot of levels. What business of his was it to comment on? So he didn’t. “Depends on who you ask, I guess.” He chose instead. A lot of this town would probably take a guess that a vampire would kill someone. Especially an easy target. Rio pushed the doors to room open, immediately hit with the smell of chlorine and humid air of the pool room. It was surrounded by windows, but all had shades that could be closed if desired. For the sake of Milo not getting boiled alive, he would keep them closed. “I think that’s just for cramps” Rio laughed, finding a spot next to the pool and sitting cross legged in front of it, “What are you going to do? Drown?” Rio laughed in spite of the morbid joke and then laid back fully, his back against the tiling so that he could drop an arm and run his finger along the edge of the water, “It’s all yours. Knock yourself out.”

“Then I might just have to terminate our friendship.” Milo countered with exaggerated sincerity. “My reputation is already shaky, okay? I don’t need somebody like you telling everybody about the trouble I get myself into.” A sudden laugh escaping him, he could think of more than one way to make the joke less about vampires, and more about something suggestive, and potentially inappropriate, but after his teasing the previous night, and his very recent comment on sugar daddies, it felt like maybe he might be taking things a little too far. “I like being able to joke about it.” He admitted, deciding to be honest instead. “It makes it feel more… normal.” Another laugh escaping him when he realised Orion was pointedly not addressing his offense, he shook his head. “This is unbelievable, you know? You’re supposed to support me, tell me I can do anything… what about my confidence, Rio? What about my self-worth?” His grin only growing when he finally managed to elicit a reaction from his friend, it was made even funnier by the knowledge he had been about to thank him for his words. “Sorry, this is a one way street. It’s the truth only from me now.” He echoed the sentiment, eyes shining with mischief. “You think I won’t lick a railing? I mean it. I’ll lick a railing.” Honestly, he had probably done far worse when he was drunk, or high, or both. But Orion didn’t need to know about that. Hell, even he himself didn’t need to know about that. Some things were definitely best forgotten, lost to the familiar haze of inebriation.

As they began to approach the pool, the smell of chlorine crept up on him. And by the time Orion threw open the doors the smell was almost eye wateringly strong. He knew from experience that prolonged exposure would lead to him forgetting about it, but that didn’t stop him from instinctively wrinkling his nose. “Yeah, I guess the context is important.” He admitted, entering the room with his friend. He didn’t want to consider how many people in his life knew of the supernatural world and had simply failed to mention it. Jeez, how many people had let him walk oblivious into danger? How many times had he come close to death before finally being chosen as a victim? Maybe it was inevitable. Maybe in a town like White Crest it was always going to happen. “Kind of depressing, huh?” Glancing back at Rio before finally allowing himself to take in the room, it was larger than he had been expecting. It made the thought of living in the building alone seem even more isolating somehow. So much space for just one person. Watching with a gentle smile as his friend moved to sit at the edge of the pool, he held back for a brief moment. “Hilarious.” He muttered, already kicking off his jeans. He had always struggled with his confidence, but somehow that had turned him into somebody who didn’t care. Instead of hiding his body, he was relaxed about who saw it. Instead of shying away from situations that may draw attention to him, he revelled in them. Because why did it matter? If the way he looked was average, at best, and if who he was could barely pass as a good time, then why did anything matter? This wasn’t a stranger, though. This wasn’t somebody he would never meet again, or somebody whose opinion lacked any value. This was Orion.

Standing in his boxer briefs, he tugged at the long sleeves of his sweater, contemplating the marks that lay hidden beneath them. Not just the track marks, but the marks at the base of his throat too. The ones obscured from view by his collar. They would be made visible, and he wasn’t sure what was worse; Orion seeing the evidence of what he had done to himself, or Orion seeing the evidence of what had been done to him. Either way, not taking the sweater off felt incredibly awkward, it didn’t feel much like he had a choice. “I, uh-” He swallowed his sudden discomfort, unsure how best to raise the subject. Taking a deep, unnecessary breath, he forced himself to hold his friend’s gaze, moving to take a seat beside him at the edge of the pool. “I have some scars…” He admitted, his voice barely louder than a whisper. It almost echoed in the tiled room, reminding him he was alone with Orion. They were in a safe space. “I mean, scars people usually judge me for, and I know you wouldn’t- I know you aren’t like that but… you might not expect them, I don’t know.”

“Wow. Who knew not lying would be the downfall of my friendships?” Orion questioned, a playful tone to his voice despite the very real implications. He had always walked a fine line, trying to befriend the supernatural while not exactly wanting to disclose his own questionable path. It had very nearly ruined his friendship with Ariana, which would have been a loss far greater than Rio could imagine. He was thankful that things hadn’t ended at that for the two. “I only agreed to not lie to you. Not for you.” Rio finally compromised. “Yeah, well nothing about any of this is normal. So I guess I’m glad we are at least able to joke about it.”

It had only been a few seconds and yet Milo had somehow managed to turn Rio’s own words against him. Never before had he felt so betrayed by a vow to tell the truth. “I deserve better than this.” Rio stated simply, crossing his arms in defiance. “Lick a pole then. Won’t bother me at all.” In fact, it might actually make his day.

Lying on the tile, Rio quickly glanced away once Milo began removing his pants. Suddenly, everything in the room became suddenly interesting, like counting dust particles in the air or intently listening to the sound of the water filter. It didn’t seem right to stare at Milo like this. After all, they were friends. It felt weird admiring any part of Milo when the two were getting so close. This wasn’t the same as just objectively noting that he was pretty when Rio used to walk into Towers and steal glances towards the counter as he flipped through comics. At the mention of scars, Rio immediately perked up. Pushing up onto his elbows, Rio met Milo’s eyes. He was absolutely sure to keep his eyes exactly there, focused on Milo’s face and nowhere else. “It wouldn’t bother me.” Rio breathed, suddenly aware of just how dry his mouth had become. How had one word changed his mood so drastically? His own arms began itching on instinct, and Rio found himself scratching at them through his hoodie sleeve. He wondered what the scars were from. How much of his skin they covered. He wasn’t hoping to compare. He wanted nothing more than to know that Milo’s scars were nothing like Rio’s. “Seriously. You’re good here. Swim away.”

“Oh, so it’s about the technicalities?” Milo teased. “Then I might need to get that in writing. My lawyer can look it over for me.” Offering Rio a genuine smile, he knew his friend was right. Nothing about this was normal, which was why joking about it, turning their situations into something trivial, something light-hearted, made it feel so much easier to deal with. “I guess my whole life was kind of a joke anyway. Makes sense my death is also… you know, a joke.” A laugh escaping him when Rio insisted he deserved better, he shook his head. “Maybe having to put up with me is a punishment for something you did in a previous life.” He pointed out, grinning at the way Rio petulantly told him to go lick an iron pole. It was ridiculous that they were even discussing it, but it reminded him of the childhood arguments he used to get into with Dani. There was something so fun about the innocence, about leaning into the absurd nature of it all. “I will!” He insisted. “Just you wait.” He made a mental note so that he wouldn’t forget, although he found he didn’t need to apply his usual level of focus. For the most part, especially after staying the night, he was sober. Whatever he had taken to get him by was still ghosting his system, not affecting him in any way, but keeping him safe from a comedown. And he realised he almost, almost didn’t care.

Watching with an amused sort of affection as Orion decided to lay back against the tile, he followed his gaze to the ceiling, wondering if there was anything interesting up there to look at. Apparently not. Feeling his shoulders drop as relief washed over him, he hadn’t been aware just how much tension he had been holding in his body while he waited for Rio to react. Of course Rio wouldn’t mind, he knew that. But it still felt strange. These weren’t random marks from falling off of a bike, or getting into some accident when he was a kid. These were intentional, and obvious. They could only ever have come from a single source. Before he could change his mind, or regret his decision, he pulled off his sweater, dropping it to the tile beside him. He wanted to feel comfortable, he wanted to be able to sit, and not care about how much of who he was ended up on display, but it was instinct to hide, if only to protect himself. So before Orion had any real chance to see his arms, he slid into the pool, allowing himself to sink to the very bottom of it.

He hadn’t considered how strange it would be, settling underwater knowing he didn’t need to come up for breath. His descent felt slow, but he enjoyed it. The lack of sound, the lack of light. No scent to overwhelm him, or remind him of his heightened senses. Lazily pulling his knees to his chest, he glanced up towards the surface, seeing the lights from above, blurred, and inconsistent. Experimentally, he breathed out whatever air was currently trapped inside his lungs, watching as the bubbles escaped his body. There was no tension in his chest, no desperate urge to breathe in, no burning lack of oxygen. It struck him that he could stay where he was, sitting on the tile, surrounded by water, for the entire day and nothing would change. Absolutely nothing. But that wouldn’t be fair on Orion, who he realised was still sitting at the edge of the water. So he kicked off from the tile, needing to use more force than expected without any air in his lungs to keep him buoyant. When he finally broke the surface, he took a deep breath, pushing his hair back out of his eyes as he moved to hold onto the side of the pool. His arms tucked against his chest, safely below the water, he was very aware of the fact that he could do nothing to hide the scars on his neck. “Hey, are you not coming in?” He asked, gently prompting his friend to join him. “This was your idea.”

“Yeah I’ll make sure to jot that down” Orion rolled his eyes towards Milo, “The least thing I need is to be legally bound to you. Who knows what trouble that would cause?” Though Rio didn’t love hearing Milo call his own life a joke, Rio couldn’t say much to refute it. He had referred to his own life as a joke multiple times himself, or some variance of the word. “Can’t really speak for my past lives, but I think you’re right.” His life before last year felt completely different than the twenty leading up to it, and Rio had plenty to make up for. Even if he had never taken a life, he had been too afraid to do anything about the ones who were. His family, the hunters they knew and the ones they didn’t had all been getting away with murder for Rio’s entire life while he just cowered in a corner and let them get away with it. It made him guilty by association. So maybe this was some sort of divine punishment, cursed to care so deeply about the very thing he was raised to hate. “Can’t wait” Rio spoke casually now, as if whether or not Milo licked a pole didn’t matter to him at all. He’d only feel slightly bad if Milo actually did it.

Milo had his top off and was in the water before Rio ever saw any scars. It didn’t Rio, he wasn’t looking for them. In fact, the best choice right now would be to avoid looking at Milo at all. At least not for too long. He didn’t want his eyes lingering, not when Milo might think he was staring because of the scars. Milo stayed underwater for a long time, and Rio found himself glancing towards the blurred blob floating along the bottom of the pool in between the phone he was using to distract himself. But eventually, Milo came back up to the surface. And asked the exact question Rio was hoping to avoid. “I don’t really swim.” Rio shrugged from his position on the ground, still staring at his phone. “I just suggested that you swim. I never said anything about me.” Rio had never hated swimming, though he rarely had the chance to do it anymore. “Nobody wants to see under here. I’m super pale and…” He paused, just barely glancing over at Milo before darting back to his phone, “... and you’re not the only one with scars.”

“I think I’d quite like our friendship to be legally binding.” Milo pretended to contemplate the idea. “But you know I wasn’t being serious…” It worried him that Orion was so ready to believe he deserved to be punished. “Right?” Of course he wasn’t being serious, referring to his company as some kind of curse, but he knew that wasn’t the part Rio had decided to focus on. Grinning at the deadpan response to his determination, he was more than willing to let the conversation move forward. If Rio didn’t want to talk about something then he would make that clear, and he would be incredibly selfish if he didn’t respect those boundaries. Especially when he was always offered the same courtesy by his friend. “I’ll be sure to take a selfie as proof.”

Allowing the water to keep him afloat, using the tips of his fingers to grip the ledge of the pool, he looked up at Orion, unable to hide his curiosity. If he didn’t swim then why would he suggest the pool? The last thing he wanted was for him to feel left out, or as though he couldn’t be a part of the fun he was having. “I mean… this is true.” He admitted, thinking back over their morning together. Rio hadn’t specifically said anything about swimming himself. But that careful choice of words only made him more suspicious that there might be something more going on, something being left unsaid. “And I’m not?” He asked pointedly, raising his eyebrows at the mention of pale skin. “Besides, isn’t that like… insensitive to say in front of a vampire?” He was hoping to draw a laugh from his company, but Rio’s following comment had the smile fading from his face. “Oh…”

So they both had scars. What kind of scars did Orion have? Surely not the same scars he carried himself? The admission could mean so many different things, all depending on the context, and he wasn’t entirely sure what to say. The last thing he wanted to do was pressure him, though he needed him to know he wouldn’t mind. In the same way Orion never made him feel judged, or scrutinised, or anything other than a person, he wanted to offer the same sense of security. “Like… Hunter scars?” He asked, noticing the way his friend was purposefully avoiding eye contact. “It’s okay…” His voice was quiet, and soft, as he attempted to comfort him. “We don’t need to talk about it… but you shouldn’t miss out on this, not because of something outside of your control, you know? It’s only me here.”

Orion had gotten lost in his own train of thought that he didn’t consider Milo might take the statement seriously. “What? No, of course. I’m just distracted.” He waved the comment aside, quickly moving forward to dig himself out of the mental grave he had surrounded himself in. There was a time and place to worry about his past, right now didn’t seem like the best time. “Can’t wait for that picture to come through” Rio snickered, picturing the event in his head, trying to imagine the looks on people’s faces if they witnessed him do it.

Orion couldn’t remember the last time he had swam around other people. The closest he had come was helping Skye into the ocean shortly before she left town. That hadn’t exactly been a normal situation, and Rio never once considered taking his jeans or hoodie off before helping lead her into the water. “I know. Because I don’t usually swim.” Rio nodded, knowing that he had said exactly what he had meant. He had invited a couple people over to swim in the pool, but never planned on swimming in it with him. Milo’s usual jokes fizzled out quickly and Rio felt bad almost immediately for ruining the mood. He had a bad habit of that. Still, despite how sure he had been, he found himself sitting up off the ground and actually considering the idea.

“Um. Something like that.” What actual hunters considered hunter scars and what Rio would consider hunter scars would differ greatly. Rio’s definition was a bit more literal. They were reminders of the lineage Rio refused to align to. The footprints he wouldn’t follow. Rio hesitated for a moment longer before remembering that this was Milo. A friend that he could trust. “Just… you don’t have to apologize. Or say anything.” Rio warned last time before he pulled the hoodie over his head. Though the majority of his scars were hidden beneath his tshirt, his arms left little to the imagination. There were a few inches above the wrist before it started, but it rarely stopped after that. Bruised skin that had never quite returned to the right color because of intense trainings that Rio wouldn’t participate in. Long scars from old cuts and broken skin. Old burn marks leaving darkened shades of red and purple along that snaked up and under the sleeves of his shirt. Almost immediately, Rio found himself rubbing at the exposed space, unaccustomed to it being visible to others. Rio pulled his socks off and considered going further, but fell short. He was left in a tshirt and his track pants he had fallen asleep in the night before. The only people to have seen him completely shirtless since childhood were Winston and Ricky, and even that hadn’t been by choice. He trusted Milo, he just didn’t trust himself. “This is as good as it gets. So uh, guess I’ll get in.” The shirt and pants would dry eventually. He lowered himself onto ground and dunked his legs in first, immediately feeling off because of the track pants separating him from the water. But he kept lowering himself in, his now submerged clothes clinging against his skin. “This is awkward I know. Sorry.”

The moment Rio insisted he was distracted, Milo realised he had been right. There was something more to this. Whether his friend was willing to elaborate, he wasn’t sure. But he didn’t mind being patient, not if that helped him to feel safe. A brief smile tugging at his lips, he was glad there was still space for humour, but as the conversation turned back to a less comfortable subject matter, a topic neither of them had ever really discussed, he fell silent, serious again as he listened. He was curious to know whether Orion didn’t swim because he chose not to, because he didn’t enjoy it. Or because he wanted to hide his body, to avoid the scars that were apparently marking his skin. His heart sank just a little at the confirmation of them being Hunter related. He didn’t know enough about being a Hunter to be able to guess where they might have originated from. But he did know how Orion felt about Hunting, and that was enough for him to understand they were tied to bad memories. His own scars, the track marks, they were self inflicted. As far as he was concerned they were remnants of a good time, a price he was more than willing to pay for a killer high, a brief stint of euphoria. But not everybody saw them that way, which was why he so often made an effort to hide them. The scar on his neck, however, the way he felt about that scar was far closer to what he imagined Orion must feel.

Part of him wanted to assure Rio that he wasn’t going to apologise, he wasn’t that person. But he also didn’t want to sound false, or draw attention if it wasn’t necessary. So he watched as he carefully removed his hoodie, unsure whether he should look away. He didn’t know what he had been expecting, but definitely nothing quite as dramatic as what lay beneath his friend’s shirt. He wasn’t disgusted, or even horrified. He was morbidly fascinated. He didn’t know what he had survived, but it was incredibly clear to him that Rio was far stronger than anybody gave him credit for. “I…” He trailed off, remembering his decision to stay quiet. Instead of finishing his sentence, he pulled himself slightly to the left, allowing Rio to sink into the water, almost fully clothed. Catching his eye, he offered him a gentle smile, unable to put into words how much it meant that he was being trusted like this. Surely that gesture was more important than anything he had to say. “It’s not awkward....” He murmured. “I mean, only if we make it awkward, right?”

Taking a deep breath to steel his nerve, even now he couldn’t understand why that worked when he didn’t need oxygen, he began to pull himself out of the pool, choosing to sit where Rio had been only moments before. “Wait,” he said, encouraging Rio to look at him before he could move too far from the edge. “I mean… it’s only fair.” Pushing his wet hair back away from his face, he carefully held his arms out in front of himself, displaying the track marks that looked dark, and angry in the blue light of the pool room. It felt strange, asking somebody to look at them after so long of keeping them hidden, especially after working to make sure Rio didn’t get a chance to see them. But he knew he was doing the right thing. It made sense, and if it would help his friend to feel more secure, then it would be worth the sacrifice, the vulnerability on his part. “I thought maybe with the whole vampire thing, they might just disappear, you know? But your old scars… they stay. And so does the one from...” He swallowed, a frown creasing his brow. It shouldn’t be this difficult to talk about, but it was. It made his chest feel tight with anxiety as the hazy memories of his death began to resurface. Reaching up with a shaky hand, he pressed his fingertips against the marks at the base of his throat. He knew from countless hours of staring at his phone screen that the scars were pale, and white. Barely visible if you didn’t know they were there. And he also knew, had discovered with a sickening jolt, that you could make out the individual teeth. See where his attacker had quite literally torn into his throat. “The others I did to myself, I just don’t like the way they make people see me. I’m not a junkie, Rio, I swear.” He insisted, needing his friend to believe him. “I just- I like drugs. People make that into something it’s not. But these…” He lowered his hand so that Rio would be able to see the bite, see the evidence of his death, the thing that had essentially made him what he was. “It makes me feel… violated.”

The water felt different with all these clothes on. Even when alone, Orion usually swam with a shirt on, but swimsuits were light and thin, made for swimming. As soon as water soaked into these pants they got heavy and tried to weigh him down. Luckily for him, he wasn’t nearly as terrible of a swimmer as the Doctor seemed to think he was. He was half tempted to send her something as proof, if he took selfies fully clothed in a pool. He barely took selfies in regular situations. Still, Rio smiled back at Milo, kicking off and floating across the water, putting in the extra work to keep his legs from sinking. “Are you kidding? This is me we’re talking about. Making things awkward is kind of my specialty.” That wasn’t even a self dig, it was just a fact. He had a habit of nervously rambling and mixing up his words, or saying something too quickly. For someone who constantly second guessed and questioned every single thought in his head, his filter seemed to be pretty lackluster. “You may want to be nice, but you know I’m right. Just think about me trying to talk to you at the comic book shop at first.”

The two were barely in the pool for long before Milo was already climbing out of it. Rio paused, legs fully sinking and putting him back in a standing position as he watched Milo adjust on the side of the pool. When he realized what the man was doing, Rio pushed through the water to get closer. He was playing fair game. Despite the implications of both, Rio enjoyed this game of i’ll show you mine if you show me yours. At least, until he saw the scars along his friend’s arm. They looked familiar, and Rio felt his stomach shifting as his random comments and signs fell into place. Still, Rio looked at them, only looking away when he was looking up to meet Milo’s eyes. “Unfortunately, no. Super healing doesn’t protect against everything.” If it had, Rio might be a little less inclined to swim with pants and a shirt on. He hated the way that Milo talked about what other people thought. “I don’t see you any differently.” Rio began, following up with “And I don’t think you’re a junkie.” He bit his lip. He wished he could end it there, but just like they had agreed earlier, Rio wanted to be honest. The truth was, this was concerning. “But it is dangerous. I’ve seen just how dangerous it can get.” It may not have been the only reason Rio was down a roommate, but it had been the final straw. “I just want you to be safe.” That’s all there was to it. Past those, Milo moved to his neck. Rio could see it immediately, the two imprints. A horrible reminder of what had been the end of Milo’s life as he had known it. Instinctively, Rio’s hand raised out of the water and towards Milo’s neck, but he cut himself off halfway up and curled his fingers, “Sorry.” Rio shook his head, unsure of what had possessed him to reach for it in the first place. “I wasn’t- I didn’t know the bite mark stayed. After you turned. I’m sorry.”

Humming quietly in amusement, Milo thought back on the first few times Rio had ever spoken to him. He didn’t remember the conversation being awkward, but then that was never something he paid a whole lot of attention to. If he liked the person, if he enjoyed their company, it didn’t matter if they were stumbling over their words. “I’m not going to argue with you.” He insisted, offering his friend a grin. “But only because I literally don’t remember you being awkward, I mean- I remember thinking you were pretty cool. Obviously my dork radar wasn’t working back then.” It wasn’t lost on him that his arms were still very much on show, but he reminded himself the worst was over. He didn’t have anything to lose or to gain by trying to hide them at this point, so he should relax. He should make the effort to try and fall back into their usual banter. His smile fading as Orion caught his eye, making a comment on how healing abilities didn’t always protect from new scars, it was clear he was also bitter about that fact. “No shit.” He muttered, absentmindedly rubbing at the crook of his left arm. “That would have made it worth something, at least…”

Falling silent when Rio insisted he didn’t see him differently for the marks, when he told him he didn’t think he was a junkie despite the evidence in front of him very strongly implying otherwise, it was everything he could do to stop tears from blurring his vision. He wasn’t sure anybody had just listened like that before. Nobody had ever taken his word for it. But before he could enjoy the feeling of being trusted, before he could get comfortable, Rio was dragging them both into painfully familiar territory. He set his jaw, defiantly holding his gaze at the mention of danger. “I’m fine.” He snapped, a sudden edge to his voice. “I can take care of myself, Rio. Apparently it’s not the drugs you need to look out for, it’s the vampires who want to get you high so they can drain you of your blood, and leave you for fucking dead.” Feeling guilty the moment he reached the end of his outburst, he closed his eyes, allowing a few beats of silence to pass before speaking again. Rio didn’t deserve his anger, he was the last person he should be taking things out on. The spark of irritation remained, burning quietly in his chest, but he forced it down, doing everything he could to dampen its strength. This wasn’t about Rio. “I’m sorry…” He mumbled, opening his eyes again, opting to glare down at his hands instead of face how unfair he had been. “I’m just tired of being told I’m putting myself in danger, especially now. Like, why should I care anymore, you know?”

He chanced a glance upwards, hoping to prove to himself that he hadn’t upset Orion, and realised his friend was reaching towards the scar left behind by his killer. He flinched, unable to help himself. Considering he could barely recall the details of his attack, it managed to stay with him. That feeling of helplessness, of pushing back against a stranger as his life was quite literally drained from his body. Laughing quietly at himself, he shook his head, offering Orion a weak smile as he withdrew again, apologising for being so forward. “You don’t need to apologise.” He insisted, his voice quiet, and unsure. “It’s okay, I just… wasn’t expecting it. I mean, it feels like any other scar, I guess. It’s nothing special.” Chewing thoughtfully on his bottom lip, he thought back on everything he knew. Everything he had been told thus far. “Not always… I don’t think. I’m lucky like that.” Carefully lowering himself back into the water, he took Orion’s hand in his own, raising it so that he could press his friend's fingers to the base of his throat. If his heart wasn’t cold, and still, it would be pounding in his chest for so many reasons. Orion was the first person he was letting near his neck since he had woken up as a vampire, the first person he was trusting unconditionally, with every fibre of his being. “See?” He swallowed, trying to play off the action as casual, doing everything to hide how incredibly exposed he felt behind a nervous, and hesitant smile. “It’s just… It’s nothing, really.”

It didn’t seem possible for someone to not notice how awkward Orion was on first impression. He didn’t grow up with the social cues or ease that his mother and sister had. But he did have the thoughtful or stoic nature of his father either. He had always had a sort of quiet indignation about him that made conversations short and concise, but not awkward. Rio had landed somewhere in the middle, too talkative to be stoic, too awkward to be charismatic. He had always been the type to stumble through a simple sentence and make up for it by accidentally over talking himself into embarrassment. “You didn’t notice I was awkward and you thought I was cool? There was definitely something wrong with you.” There was no way that Rio wasn’t awkward the first time he finally mustered the courage to have a conversation with Milo in the comic shop. The only explanation was that he had been too distracted to notice the social blunder that Rio was. “Yeah. Exhibit A.” Rio raised his arm as an example, “I’ve had hunter healing since I was a kid. It doesn’t fix everything.” He wasn’t sure if it made him feel more or less human. He wasn’t indestructible, but now he had countless reminders.

Rio recoiled at Milo’s sudden tone shift. He jerked backward, not by much but just enough to be noticeable. He didn’t mean to do it, but it reminded him too much of his own mother’s affinity to switch from perfect suburban soccer mom persona she put on in public to the cruel, ruthless hunter that he knew. It wasn’t fair to compare Milo to her, Rio knew that. He recovered from the jerk reaction quickly, settling instead on a deep look of concern. “It’s really not my business. But being dead isn’t indestructible. There are drugs that-” Rio paused. How much did Milo know about the supernatural world? And how much more danger could he be in if he found out about those? “That worry me. I can’t help being worried.”

“No. Seriously, I wasn’t thinking when I reached for it. I shouldn’t have done that.” The little space Rio had put between the two when he had flinched away was lost when Milo jumped back into the water. Rio felt his hand being grabbed before he looked down to see it being raised up to Milo’s neck. His neck was colder than expected, though Rio should have realized it before. Just another reminder that he had never met a vampire before him. He definitely hadn’t been this close to one. He hadn’t been this close to anyone besides Winston. It heart was exploding in his chest, and he was sure Milo could feel that through his fingertips, if he couldn’t already hear it. The tip of Rio’s fingers ran across the scar, barely a bump to show for it. Just the feint reminder of what was probably the worst night of his life. “It is though.” He stated simply, slowly pulling his hand away as he realized he had still been touching it. “If it’s something to you, it’s not nothing. No matter how small the scar, it can mean something big.”

“Look, I’m not saying you weren’t awkward.” Milo clarified. “I’m just saying I was more focused on enjoying the conversation, you know?” There were definitely times it became more noticeable than others, he could still remember the first interaction following his colleagues making him aware of Orion’s crush. He had noticed it then, been endeared by it even. But it never jumped out at him, he had never seen Rio as somebody lacking in social skills. “Oh, for sure there was something wrong with me.” He teased. “Probably still is…” Bringing himself back down to Earth, pulling himself out of his memories, he allowed his attention to be drawn to Orion’s scars. It was the first time he was actively being asked to look at them, he could only hope that meant his own admission was making his friend feel more comfortable. “Do you think if I hurt myself now, it would leave a scar?” He asked curiously. He hadn’t actually tried, and intravenous drugs felt like a waste of money when he didn’t have a heartbeat to actually carry them.

Noticing Rio’s sudden response to his shift in tone, he remained silent, not wanting to startle him again, but also not wanting to acknowledge his own defensive behaviour. For a brief moment he wondered whether the reaction was in any way related to the injuries he had sustained. He sincerely hoped not, despite the sinking feeling in his chest forcing him to admit that was incredibly likely to be the case. Pleased to hear Orion say it wasn’t his business to comment on, he opened his mouth to agree but promptly closed it again, narrowing his eyes as he processed what he was hearing. It sounded as though Rio had decided not to say what he truly wanted to, as though he might be backtracking, or intentionally withholding information. “Drugs that what?” He asked, his voice slow, and deliberate. He made it clear he didn’t believe the end of the sentence was the one he had been supplied with. “What were you going to say?”

Still suspicious, but also worried about Orion, he begrudgingly allowed the conversation to move forward, aware of the hand still gently being held against his neck. “It’s okay to be curious, Rio…” He assured his friend. “Really, I don’t mind… this is as weird for me as it is for you.” Lingering tension aside, he would much rather talk about this with somebody he knew he could trust. They both had questions, and asking them together, finding answers for them together, was far more appealing than going through this alone. He could hear Orion’s heart, beating hard and fast inside his chest, and wondered whether he felt the same way. Was he nervous? Maybe scared of him? Or was it the intimacy of the moment that was causing his BPM to steadily rise? It is though. He glanced up at the ceiling, before staring pointedly at the wall behind Orion’s head. It was so much easier to be honest when he was avoiding eye contact. At least then he didn’t feel like he was putting himself on display, laying out his mistakes, and misdemeanours, ready to be judged for them. “I don’t know.” He murmured quietly, a frown creasing his brow. “Sometimes I want to forget it, just pretend it isn’t there… sometimes I feel like it’s important. But someone did this to me. They offered me a hit, took me to a room… and when I was high, when I couldn’t fight back, they killed me.” His voice was barely louder than a whisper, cracking with emotion as he struggled to hide his genuine fear. It almost felt as though the more he talked about this person, the greater the chance was of them walking suddenly into the room. He wanted to find them, he needed to find them. But he was also terrified by what they were capable of.

Then again, wasn’t he capable of the very same? His first kill, his only kill, hadn’t been premeditated. It had horrified him, had made him feel entirely out of control. But he had been responsible. He had taken somebody’s life, torn out somebody’s throat. The thought made his stomach churn uncomfortably. Taking an unsteady breath, he blinked tears out of his eyes, shaking his head as though he could force himself to stay grounded. The only way he had been able to move past the guilt, and the shame, was by repressing the memory. By pretending it had all been some terrible dream. “Sorry,” he laughed at himself, bitterness lacing his tone as he hurried to brush away his tears. “I haven’t ever talked about it… not properly.” He wasn’t sure he wanted to continue, but he was in too deep now. He could finish the story, or he could tell it another time, and make himself suffer twice. “I woke up maybe thirty hours later, just... in some building, I don’t even know where. The person helping me… they said you’re not supposed to do that- turn someone, and leave them. But sometimes people do it for fun.” Finally removing Orion’s hand, he caught his eye, allowing him to see how badly affected he was by what had happened to him. “Someone did this to me, Rio. They left these scars on my neck, and I might never know why… their teeth are just- just permanently branded into my skin, and I have to live with that. I don’t know how I’m supposed to live with that.”

There was an embarrassing amount of pride hearing that Milo enjoyed their conversations, even back then. Orion had enjoyed them too, though it had always been so trivial and happenstance that he never figured much of what they talked about stayed in Milo’s head once Rio left the store. It had been just a short time of reprieve from the reality of the world. “Well, thanks.” He didn’t know how else to reply. There didn’t seem like an appropriate reply. Milo had spoken very matter-of-factly. There was no way for Rio to refute it even if he wanted to. “There seems to be a little bit wrong with everybody, in my experience” Rio whispered, as if this was some well guarded secret. “If your healing is anything like mine, it depends on how bad the wound is. If it’s deep enough or lasts long enough it’ll scar regardless. I’ve had plenty of more surface injuries that completely disappeared. More than have stayed probably. I don’t think it helps if you keep getting injured in the same area.” Rio certainly wasn’t an expert on it. He remembered his dad talking about it once. Being a doctor and a hunter made him what Rio would consider the expert on hunter physiology.

Rubbing at his temples, Rio wished he hadn’t said anything at all. This had been the only hiccup in what had otherwise been the closest to a perfect day Rio had had in a long time. “I’ve heard about other drugs. Supernatural ones that are very very dangerous.” That stomach sinking feeling was making Rio slightly nauseous, probably a combination of the smell of chlorine and the conversation he really did not want to be having. “My friend got really messed up on one. It wasn’t good.” Rio rubbed the tip of his finger against the small scar on his palm as a reminder. “I can’t have someone I care about go through that again.”

Listening intently, the feeling of dread and empathy built as Milo explained the experience. Not wanting to interrupt, he instead nodded periodically as a sign that he was still following along. He found himself looking at Milo’s face now, only to find that it was the vampire’s turn to be avoiding eye contact. Funny how that worked out. “That’s horrible” Rio finally spoke quietly, still processing everything he had just heard. Rio thought about how cruel it was to take a life so quickly and casually. To take a life at all was bad enough. It must have been so confusing to wake up afterward, his entire world completely changed when he couldn’t even remember having died in the first place. “Thank you for telling me.” He added on, genuinely happy that he was the first person that Milo had told. “It’s not fair,” Rio agreed, “Your life was taken from you and that’s not fair. But you will live on. Metaphorically at least.” Rio laughed nervously this time, hoping that he sounded sincere in spite of the poor joke, “You’re strong and you don’t want to do the things that Dani accused you of. You’re a good person. And that’s why you’ll get through this.”

“Hm, I guess that’s probably true.” Milo smiled, amused by Rio’s observation. Ignoring the discomfort that seemed to settle in his chest, the concern over the fact that his friend had so much information on the healing process, he pushed aside the question of how. If Rio wanted to tell him, then he would. And it may take some time to earn that level of trust. He needed to be content, to listen to what he was being told rather than wonder about what was carefully being hidden. “I think my parents would be fascinated by that…” He admitted, a frown creasing his brow as he thought about his mom and dad. “They’re doctors, you know? They live for this kind of medical shit.” Watching as Orion began to rub at his temples, it didn’t take a genius to realise he regretted raising the subject. But there could only be one possible reason for that. If he believed him when he said he wasn’t an addict, then why should he care? What could he possibly have to be so hesitant about? Feeling a surge of annoyance, he forced himself to remain calm. He didn’t want to snap again after his friend’s previous reaction to his attitude, but he had so much he needed to say, so much he needed to make Rio understand.

“You think I’m so out of control that the second you tell me about a new type of drug I’m just going to go out and- I don’t know, fucking take my body weight or something?” He asked, fighting to soften the edge to his voice. If he got too angry then Orion might not let slip where he could find these drugs, or explain to him what their purpose was. There were supernatural drugs out there, substances he had yet to try, highs he had yet to experience. He could already feel a spark of excitement igniting within his chest. Why had nobody told him this before? “So... they’re recreational?” He attempted to frame his question as casual, as innocently curious, although he had a feeling that wasn’t going to fly. Would Orion have answered him if he hadn’t seen the track marks on his arms? He had no way of knowing, but the voice in the back of his mind, the one responsible for his doubt, and anxiety, was telling him yes. Telling him Orion wouldn’t feel the need to censor himself, or warn him of the danger, if he didn’t think he might have a drug problem. So much for not seeing him any differently. “I know what I’m doing, okay?” He attempted to assure him, leaving no room for him to argue. “It’s always under control.” Making a mental note to find out more when he was able to, it felt smart to drop the subject, if only to avoid arousing any suspicion. The last thing he wanted was for his friend to interfere if he found out he was trying to pick up.

Not expecting Orion to sound so genuinely grateful for his honesty, he faltered in his frustration. Horrible felt like an understatement, but to even have his suffering acknowledged meant more than he could possibly know. Dani wouldn’t listen, Dani had no empathy for him, no will to understand what dying might have been like. And here was somebody telling him his trauma was valid, that it was okay to hurt, or to still feel confused by it. “Metaphorically.” He echoed, his smile growing as he finally caught his friend’s eye. Holding his gaze, he realised how right it felt, as though things were finally falling into place. They had crossed another impossible hurdle, become closer than they had been only minutes before. “I don’t know if I’m a good person.” He admitted. “But I don’t want to do those things, Rio. I don’t want to hurt people…” Taking a breath in an attempt to steady himself, he brushed away his tears, grateful that his dripping hair helped to disguise the tear tracks marking his cheeks. “Come on,” he gestured towards the centre of the pool, shrugging off the weight of the conversation. “Enough of the depressing stuff. Hey, I bet I can hold my breath for longer than you.”

Orion vaguely remembered Milo telling him about his family while the two talked online. It had been a brief moment of recognition before he shoved the thought out of his head completely. He had been so excited to be talking with Milo again that he hadn’t let any pervasive thoughts about his family ruin the mood while he laid across his bed and texted back. “Oh yeah. My dad was too. They probably knew each other.” Rio suggested before adding in, “I mean, before he died.” It made it as casual as possible, dropping the knowledge in before trying to move on completely.

“What?” was all Rio could ask at first, trying to figure out how the conversation had gone from bad to worse. “No.” He shook his head, ignoring the intruding thoughts warning him that he was ruining this. The good moments the two had managed to have were basically draining down the pool filter. “I didn’t say that. You know I don’t mean that.” Unless Milo did think that he meant that. That his words had somehow been warped and misshapen as some sort of accusation. It didn’t seem to matter that Rio’s concern came from a place of genuine concern. Realistic fear, even. “No. They’re not. She almost died. On more occasions than one. And I didn’t even know about it until she tried to impale me.” Not that he blamed her for it at all, but he certainly remembered how awful Skye had felt the next day. Milo’s insistence that everything was fine was only more concerning, but talking about it now was only going to make things worse.

At least Milo seemed just as eager to change the subject. Perhaps it was for the best that the two stopped getting so deep for a minute. Neither of them seemed to have especially optimistic pasts. There wasn’t much space for them to dig without hitting something dark and depressing. “I don’t want you to hurt people either. So let’s prove her wrong.” He insisted, using it as the last words before Milo suggested a severely rigged game to break the tension. “Wow. Doesn’t exactly sound very fair.” Rio laughed, pushed away and swung his arms to pull himself away from Milo and create some space between the two. “Can’t imagine who’ll win this one”

“Oh, shit, no way.” Milo wasn’t sure why it was such a surprising revelation. His parents had been close with Dani’s, after all. They probably still were, although they had no idea the Edwards had made it a family mission to rid the world of vampires. White Crest was a small town, everybody knew everybody. If Orion’s dad was a doctor then it only made sense he had crossed paths with Allison and Oliver Summers. Once or twice at the very least. “I guess that’s probably true… weird, huh?” He chose not to react to Orion mentioning his father’s death. He hadn’t been expecting it, exactly. But he didn’t talk about his parents, and it was something that hadn’t escaped his notice during the time they had known each other. He could only hope his passing hadn’t been complicated, or traumatic. But in the same way he secretly knew Rio’s scars had a terrible story, he suspected there might be far more to this than he was being told. It was very obvious Rio wanted to move on from the subject though, so he shelved the information for a possible later date.

Listening to his friend as he began to insist his words were being taken in the wrong way, he wanted so badly to be angry. He was angry, but he was also determined not to let his attitude ruin this day. He had pushed so many people away by getting defensive, even an idiot could see the patterns in his behaviour, but Orion was the one person he wanted by his side. Swallowing his frustration, his longing to point out how ridiculous it was to tell him he was trustworthy and then lecture him on the danger of drugs, iiIt was something his parents would do, one of the many reasons he found them insufferable to live with. But Orion was different, just the fact that he was attempting to backtrack told him that much. It was definitely an issue, but an issue for another time. And he knew the faster he dropped the subject, the less likely Orion would be to try and hide new information from him, or watch him closely for any reckless decision making. “Sounds like she was tweaking to me.” He muttered, brushing off the mention of violence. It wouldn’t be the first time an addict lost their cool, but that didn’t mean their drug of choice couldn’t be considered recreational.

Offering Rio a smile as he struggled to put the conversation behind him, he was grateful he apparently wasn’t the only one trying to do so. It had been a surprisingly deep discussion, and neither of them had been prepared for it. He was incredibly grateful for the understanding, for the support, for the fact that Orion had been so willing to listen. But he also wanted nothing more than to slip back into their light-hearted banter. “Yeah, let’s prove her wrong.” He agreed, his smile growing when his friend reacted to his suggestion. It was too easy to laugh, to let go of the awkwardness, and the tension that had come from allowing themselves to be so vulnerable. “Winner gets to pick the next movie.” He said, throwing himself into the water before Rio could respond. He couldn’t remember feeling this close to anybody other than Dani. And it felt good. It felt so good to have someone. As the water closed in around him, pressing in on him from all sides, he realised the warmth spreading outwards from his chest had nothing to do with the pool heaters, and everything to do with Orion Quinn.

#milo and orion #c:orion #drug manipulation tw #addiction tw #self harm tw #physical abuse tw #emotional abuse tw

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