#cw for brief reference to school shootings

[miss-oranje-disco-dancer]

but the fighter still remains

pairing: leon kennedy x chris redfield

cw: homophobia, dubious (at best) consent during past experiences, childhood trauma, referenced spousal abuse, use of homophobic slurs by unnamed characters, smut and angst, anal sex

summary: Leon struggles with his sexuality until he sees Chris after the events of Vendetta, and has his first consensual sexual experience.

a/n: This story does include homophobia by unnamed characters and internalized homophobia. It's meant to be an accurate depiction of the overt homophobia of the 90s and 00s. While Leon being gay/bisexual is a headcanon of mine, this story was never solely about Leon for me. Leon's sexuality crisis and realization of both his own queerness and the dubious (at best) consent of his past experiences is based on my own journey of accepting my own identity as a lesbian. That is to say that some elements in this fic might be uncomfortable to read, but it is not my intention to endorse or make light of the homophobia and other struggles that come with the queer experience.

also, the title is a reference to a lyric from the song "the boxer" by simon and garfunkel (you should listen to it if you haven't)

wc: 6.3k

i. Raccoon City was the second worst beating Leon’s ever taken. The first was from his father. Leon felt guilty for secretly being happy about his father’s death. He’d never tell his grandmother that, but he’d also never tell her about when his father punched him so hard he couldn’t see out of one eye for a week. 

Leon’s not gay and that’s because he isn’t allowed to be. 

It was against his parents’ rules and their religion too. He doesn’t remember when he stopped believing in God, but that may have been the last straw for him. If my father is a good, god-fearing man, who’s on the right track to heaven, then who am I? Can I pray to the same god my father does after he hits me?  

Leon met a nice girl at church camp one summer in his early high school years. His parents liked her. They insisted that she come over for dinner to meet them. The first time they held hands was at the table when they prayed - Thank you God for this food, this family, and Leon’s new friend . The way his father chuckled after the collective “Amen” was foreign. He was happy his son found a girl, a hand to hold, a vacant ring finger. His father was more pleasant with the rest of the family than he had been in a while. 

Leon’s father didn’t hit his mother often, but in retrospect, the bruises on her arm weren’t from the car door like she told him they were. Leon’s father was lucky Leon didn’t see any marks on his mother by the time he was in high school. Maybe he knew Leon had been lifting. Maybe he knew why. Leon would’ve stood up for his mother in the way that he didn’t for himself. He would’ve come in armed - with a bat, maybe a kitchen knife - if it were his mother. His father had a gun and he wouldn’t have hesitated to shoot the son he never wanted. 

Leon’s dad thought he wanted a son until he met Leon. It took him years to accept the fact that such a pansy of a boy could be his offspring. Leon wished he’d never heard his father’s talk with his mother that night. It wasn’t that his father degraded him or was humiliated to have him as a son - what hurt Leon most was the fact that his father was convinced his mother must’ve cheated on him “‘cause that sissy isn’t my son”. The sound of a belt buckle sent Leon across the hall to his room where he could cry his mother’s muffled tears into his own pillow. 

Church girl was appropriately named “Faith”. The only “Faith” Leon ever had gave him a handjob in the pews. They sat in the chapel after bible study and she kissed him, joking that they should practice at the altar. The sounds of their lips smacking echoed off the tall ceilings. Leon felt a brief sense of relief when his zipper got stuck, protesting Faith’s deft fingers, thought to be already tainted by the french tips her mother hated. Her pale skin was painted by the light that passed through the stained glass windows, jewel tones that formed the image of the Virgin Mary. Aside from her hand stroking his length, Leon felt nothing at all.

When they got caught kissing in the basement, Leon got a stern talking to and Faith got sent home. It was when he got caught with a boy who lived down the street that he got the black eye, and the boy was also sent home. Leon begged his father not to call the other boy’s parents, and that was the one ounce of mercy his father gave him that night. 

The next day at school, the boy came up to him at lunch. “Your dad-” he said softly, gesturing to Leon’s eye. 

“No, I hit my head on the car door this morning. I was exhausted and out of it I guess.” Leon couldn’t look him in the eyes while he lied through his teeth. 

“I know that’s not the truth, but I won’t tell if you won’t say anything about what happened between us. I liked it, I like you, but-”

“Just don’t, please, just don’t,” Leon said, putting his hand out to stop him from talking. Anything that could come out of his mouth would only hurt Leon more.  

They couldn’t see each other again, so it wasn’t worth agonizing over it, was it? He caught Faith cheating on him with another guy and he pretended to be upset. He wished there was a non-offensive way to say “it’s actually better this way. I’m not mad at you at all.”, but there isn’t. 

When Leon mentioned off-handedly at dinner that he wanted to become a cop, the look his father gave him was the closest one to pride he’d ever seen. 

“I think that’s a great idea, son,” he said. The only other time his father called him son was when his application to the police academy was officially accepted. 

Leon knew that if his father had figured out why he was so interested in law enforcement, he wouldn’t have been so keen on the idea. “I want to fight crime. I want to make sure criminals get locked up, and I want to keep civilians safe,” he told a superior officer, who seemed to find his enthusiasm cute. 

I want to make sure criminals like my father get locked up, is what Leon meant. I want to learn how to shoot a gun and be able to bring it home just in case he goes too far and I need to defend my mother. 

ii. When Leon entered the police academy, he remained certain of his heterosexuality. Sure, he sucked dick at least a dozen times, but he wasn’t actually gay. He pretended not to like it, and sometimes he actually didn’t like it because a bunch of single guys stuck in dormitories aren’t great at washing their dicks properly. 

Plus, it was nothing more than blowjobs. One, he’d never been fucked before, and two, he hadn’t kissed anyone since that guy in high school. Well, he hadn’t kissed any guys since then. He’d made out with a few girls, mostly motivated by peer pressure. It was a path to popularity because popularity required normalcy. Or the illusion of it. He’d never been the one to come onto a girl, but he rarely backed down either. It was like a challenge, like the exercises they did in the academy. These hookups were exercises in composure and mental fortitude. Distress tolerance. 

During his time in the academy, Leon found out that it’s actually cool to not have a girlfriend. Leon’s “ a player ” and he’s “ not ready to settle down ”. The other guys were jealous that he fucked around. He didn’t fuck around that much, and when he did, he tried to be polite about it. He might not have been particularly aroused by the activity, but he was indifferent to it after a few beers. Once he got into liquor, it was just “whiskey dick” when he couldn't get it up. It’s not you, it’s me. It is him, he comes to find years later when he finally accepts it. 

When he was younger, Leon was easy. Reverse glory hole of sorts. He let any interested woman ride his dick. Physical interaction was nice, and if he closed his eyes, it wasn’t hard for him to get off. He lasted longer than most guys, which just gave women another incentive to fuck him, and men another reason to envy him. Oddly enough, being gay was one of the things that other men - unknowingly - envied him for. But, he’s not gay. Bicurious at best. If he were gay, he would never cum from a woman riding his dick. Having the girl on top was his favorite position. Drunk sex is easier when your job is to just lie there. 

Leon was a firm believer in ass over tits because tits lie too close to the face, and being face to face with a girl means letting her kiss you. Kissing was too romantic, Leon decided, and that’s why he disliked it. Lipstick tasted gross and it was hard to get it off his face. “It’s cute,” a girl once said, “It’ll be like a reminder of me”. And it was a reminder in the same way that a scar is. The lipstick remark came after Leon asked her not to leave a hickey on his neck. “We’re not in high school,” he said. It’s juvenile, we’ll look stupid, we should act like adults. A hickey is just a bruise like any other. Why do you have to hurt me for me to remember? Why do you have to leave marks? If you like me, why do you hurt me? Why does being together hurt? Can you like someone so much it pains you? I think it’s just butterflies in my stomach. I like you so much that I’m nervous. I’m not scared. I’m a man. It’s heartache, so it hurts. I’m lovesick, so it hurts. 

iii. Life was different post-Raccoon City. Training under Krauser was a paradoxical Hell. You had to get fucked in the ass literally - not necessarily by him - if you didn’t want to get fucked in the ass metaphorically. On the other hand, you were worse off liking it. You cannot be a fag in USSTRATCOM. 

So, he liked Major Krauser in a way that one is supposed to like their mentor – he looked up to Krauser. It was nothing more than that until they were both a few drinks deep. Like everything with Jack, it all went down like punishment. Krauser liked when Leon put up a fight – he liked when Leon used the skills he taught him for the never-ending “mission” against him. 

But, Major Krauser got too used to bloodshed and it started to look as sexy as anything else which is why everything went down the way that it did in Spain. Leon won the fight for the first time by willpower and luck. It was the fact that his mother was blonde like Ashley and there was finally a woman in front of him that he could save. After all the years he wasted fighting an endless war against Umbrella and whoever their successors were, he’d finally get some sort of justice for himself. When Ashley arrived home safe it was one of the only times he felt like he’d “won” anything - not the princess, but the pride of being the knight. The slight self-esteem boost was enough to keep him alive.

At this point, Leon considered the possibility that he might like guys, but he’d never fallen in love with a guy. It was nothing more than lust, possibly the pull towards romance, but he never let himself go there. Gay men fall in love with other men. Leon’s not gay.

If he were gay, he wouldn’t cry during sex. (It only took him a few weeks in the barracks to learn to save his tears for later. Crying in private would save him his last shred of dignity or self-worth. Everything else had been taken, nothing remained untainted). Leon considered the possibility of prepping beforehand to avoid the physical pain, but then they’d make assumptions, so he took it like a good little soldier. Bit the bullet while he got ‘raped’, as his therapist would later claim. Leon never trusted her, though, because she tried to tell him that women were taking advantage of him, but he assured her that he’d never said ‘no’. 

She was obstinate, too. “Have you always known you were gay?”

“I’m not gay.” Fucking invasive, repetitive questions. He would never have seen a therapist if the DSO wasn’t up his ass about it. 

He could give her a list of women he'd had feelings for - Ada, Ashley, maybe Claire, Shemei for a minute, but mostly she just reminded him of Ada (not because she was Chinese - Leon’s not sure that Ada is Chinese, or even named Ada for that matter - but because he could sense the betrayal before it happened and for some reason, it made the whole dalliance sexier). 

He realized later that the feelings he had for Ashley and Claire were mostly a strong platonic affection. Ada remained a mystery, as always. 

iv. In retrospect, the first guy he felt anything real for was Chris Redfield. Not STARS Alpha Team point man Chris Redfield, whom he would’ve met if Raccoon City hadn’t been blown to smithereens, effectively terminating his position as a cop on his first and only day. Leon caught feelings for Claire Redfield’s older brother, Chris Redfield. 

Leon and Claire shared a unique trauma bond, and he wondered at first if she asked him to hang out with her because he was the only one who she could relate to anymore, or if she actually enjoyed his company in any way. It took him years to accept that it was the latter. Leon didn’t have many friends, not many he really felt connected to, so he was surprised to have a certified cool girl want him as part of her posse. Claire already had a support system in the form of her brother, Chris, who had gone through hell more than once. 

When Leon met Chris on a night out with Claire, the first thing he noticed was the way Chris looked - hot. Leon assumed it was envy, when all along it was lust. “I want to be him” turned out to be a facade for “I want to be with him”, but it took well over a decade for Leon to come to that conclusion. 

“Claire told me you’re in STARS?”

“Yeah, I mean, I was.” Chris laughed, but grief hid behind his smile. “STARS doesn’t really exist anymore, since Raccoon City doesn’t really exist anymore.”

“Oh, yeah, slipped my mind for a sec,” Leon joked. He wished he could forget.

“It’s not all bad. That fucker Irons is dead.” Leon recognized that look. It was the one he had on his own face when his father died. 

“I had no idea he wasn’t a good guy until Sherry…” Leon couldn’t finish the sentence. He didn’t know the details of what did or didn’t happen. Leon never dared to ask. 

“The kid?” Chris confirmed.

“Yeah, I’m sure Claire mentioned her.”

“She didn’t mention Irons. Kinda sad he’s not dead. I wish I could kill him myself.”

“I’m glad I didn’t have the chance to meet him.”

“Anyway,” Chris said, “Let’s not damper the mood with all this morbid shit.”

“Amen to that.”

They shot the shit for a while and Chris taught Leon how to play darts - or how to play right since Leon couldn’t aim for shit until Chris helped him get his arm in the proper position. 

“How’d you learn that?” Leon asked. 

“We had a dartboard in the STARS office. We had more downtime than you’d think, you know, especially with your first day at the RPD being the most chaotic in history.”

Leon didn’t realize that to an onlooker it might’ve seemed like they were flirting because it felt so natural to him. When Chris went to have a cigarette outside, they were mid-conversation so Leon followed him. Leon was never a smoker, and quite frankly, hated the smell of cigarettes, but liked Chris' company enough to put those feelings aside.

A group of a few drunk guys started hollering at them, throwing around various slurs and making lewd gestures. Chris ignored them until they walked closer, clearly trying to start a fight. 

Chris gave the leader of the pack a look that said "what do you want?" and that was the last thing Leon remembered before Chris had one of the guys pinned to the wall while another tended to a likely-broken nose and the third was nowhere to be found. 

“Are we done here?” Chris asked. There was no response and he let go of the guy’s collar. He looked to Leon who was standing by in shock and nodded towards the door. Leon walked back into the bar and tried to wipe the look of bewilderment off his face. 

“What? Never seen a fight before?” Chris asked, in a more joking manner than one would expect from someone with bloody knuckles. 

“I have, but that was impressive. Does that kind of thing happen often?”

“More than I’d like it to. I don’t tend to start fights, but I don’t hesitate to finish them either.”

Before Leon could say something stupid, Claire stumbled over to Chris, practically falling into his arms. 

“Claire?! What the fuck? I told you one drink.”

“I only bought one,” she slurred. “Some guys bought me more.”

“Where are those guys?” Chris asked with a face that said he was ready for another round in the ring. 

“Oh c’mon, Chris,” Claire said, “You don’t have to be so ‘protective’. I’m not a little kid anymore.”

He sighed and took her by the hand, leading her towards the door. 

“Where are we going?”

“Home,” Chris said. 

“Want me to help?” Leon offered. 

“Be my guest.”

Claire ended up with one arm over each of their shoulders, and slumped over Leon’s lap in the backseat. Chris drove because it was his car and he was the most sober. 

Chris put a cassette in the tape player before he started the car. Leon could identify Freddie Mercury’s voice but he didn’t know the name of the album. He didn’t ask lest he embarrass himself. Freddie Mercury is gay and that’s why his parents don’t listen to Queen in the car anymore, he thought to himself. 

They got Claire situated in bed with a glass of water and two ibuprofen on her nightstand. Chris decided to sleep on her couch, and Leon went home for the night. 

“Need a ride home?” Chris asked. 

“Nah, I’ll call a cab. Wouldn’t want Claire to get into any trouble if you left her alone.”

“Fair enough.” Chris’ smile was warm under the porch light and Leon assumed it was no different from Chris’ regular smile. It was no different from the way he ever smiled at Leon . 

Leon felt his heart rate rapidly increasing when Chris gave him a hug goodbye. It was a friendly hug, but not the type that’s half-hearted, accompanied by a pat on the back that’s equivalent to saying "no homo".

v. The first time they kissed it was barely even real. It was a game and it was for the amusement of others. That’s what spin the bottle and truth or dare are - games, nothing more. Never back down from a dare. Leon was invited by Claire to another get-together, which was attended by a handful of people who would become long-time friends of Leon’s - including, and most notably, Chris. 

They sat in Claire’s living room, all a little buzzed when the master-of-ceremonies, Claire Refield, suggested a game of truth or dare, which most of the group was less than enthused about since it’s a game for teenagers. Barry set a rule that he wouldn’t take on any dares that would make him cheat on his wife and the group agreed unanimously with a collective “aww” at the rare good man. 

“I wish I could have a loyal man like you, Barry,” Claire remarked. “You will. Don’t settle for less.” Leon didn’t learn until years later how Barry was there for the Redfields after their parents’ passing. 

Claire was the one who dared Leon and Chris to kiss. It shouldn’t have been unexpected after she dared Jill and Carlos to kiss about three turns prior. Leon didn’t notice the tension in the room when he leaned in. It’s nothing, but it feels like something. The feeling of Chris’ lips against his that night was something that stuck with him for well-over a decade. His freshly-shaven face, his breath like beer and cigarettes since there was no time to disguise the taste with a breath mint. The tips of their tongues brushed ever-so-slightly and Leon only pulled away because he was worried he’d embarrass himself if he didn't. 

Leon tried not to think of Chris when he jerked off later that night. It was a futile effort. He successfully covered his mouth before he moaned Chris’ name when he came. He lived alone, but he didn't want to hear it come out of his own mouth. 

Straight women get off to lesbian porn all the time, so when Leon gets off to gay porn, it seems normal to him. Straight women don’t talk about watching lesbian porn, just like how Leon doesn’t talk about watching gay porn. 

It was the next century when Chris made a move on Leon. “Would you ever wanna go out sometime?”

Shockingly, Leon didn’t take the hint. Chris waited, teeth on the lip of the beer bottle, slowly regretting his words. 

“Go out where?”

“I mean, anywhere you want…” Chris is rarely nervous. However, he also rarely asks anyone out. He almost never gets asked out, either - at least, not by men. 

Leon cocked his head to the side like a fucking idiot. “Like, hanging out… or-?”

“Or…”

“Oh . You’re asking me on a date.”

“I was trying to.”

“I would, but I’m not gay.”

And that was the truth in his mind. 

“Oh. Forget I said that then. I assumed you were ‘cause I’ve seen you brush women off who are flirting with you. Now, I know you’re just oblivious.” Chris said the last bit with a laugh, hoping the friendly jab at Leon will lighten the mood, but internally he was beating himself up.

They parted ways and it was awkward. Chris confided in Claire, who went on to tell him an hour-and-a-half’s worth of awful dating stories. She’d had her share of times where she embarrassed herself in front of guys. 

Leon struggled to get off, sleep was nowhere in sight, and for the first time in years, he decided to pray. God didn’t respond. It was the last time Leon even tried.

vi. It was years later when they saw each other again in China. They fought over a woman, well, kinda, but it was still ironic enough that it made Leon laugh in hindsight. It was not the way Leon had imagined Chris’ hands all over him. They didn’t do that in China. 

Leon was too focused on 70,000 civilian deaths and the fact that he shot the president. It was not a John Hinkley Jr/Ronald Reagan situation. Leon knew the man as “Adam” not President Benford. It was personal. It wasn’t the first time Leon had to shoot someone he knew and it wouldn’t be the last. He was found “not guilty”, but he felt very guilty. About everything. 

Leon was way too focused on the fact that Ada may or may not have died - information he got from Chris Redfield himself, a fairly reliable source. We both want the same thing. Leon meant that in the realm of bioterrorism. They both wanted the other’s touch in a way that was hot, sweaty, rough enough to leave marks, but entirely differently from the way they ended up in the aforementioned tussle.

vii. They didn’t see each other in person again until ‘14, Colorado. Leon was the worst he’d been in awhile. The man he’d been lusting after for over a decade in secret walks into a bar mid-morning to find him deep in the bottle. Of course this shit would happen to Leon. They yell first, makeup later. After all the killing is done and the blood is off their hands. 

It’s easier to be angry than anything else. You don’t have to bare your soul to yell. Vulnerable, from the Latin vulnus - wound. Somehow new bruises are easier. Leon didn’t notice the ones on his knuckles until the next day. His headache was worse. The purple marks make him feel guilty, but they'll fade. They always do. 

Chris caught Leon with a flask in his hand the moment the op was “over” - nothing is ever really over in Leon’s life. Even the dead come back to life - undead on Earth, ghosts in his dreams, whatever the fuck Ada is and has always been to him. 

“Hey,” Chris said. It was neutral but Leon could hear pity in his voice. He fucking hated it. He didn’t want to be someone who deserves pity. Someone pitiful. 

“I almost pity you,” his father said. Leon was pitiful, but his father was cruel. 

“What d’ya want?” Leon said, not turning towards Chris, though he could feel his gaze boring through his frail figure. How funny it was that Leon was deteriorating. He should’ve been in one of those body bags. 

“I don’t want anything.”

“Then why are you talking to me?”

“I’m worried about you.”

Leon scoffed. “Don’t be.”

Chris stood over him and reached for the flask, but when Leon dodged his grasp, he didn’t force his hand. “You know it’ll hurt in the morning,” he said. 

“Think I can handle a little headache.”

“You think I don’t understand, but I do.”

“What?” Leon met Chris’ eyes. “You wanna have a sweet bonding moment? This isn’t an afterschool special. You can save your breath.”

“Why can’t you accept that people care about you?” Chris was indignant. 

There wasn’t much to say to that. I don’t care about me, he wanted to say. Leon sighed. Chris looked at the spot next to Leon, then at his face. “Can I sit?”

Leon nodded reluctantly. He set the flask down next to him, and put his head in his hands. Chris didn’t say anything. Instead, he placed his hand on Leon’s back. It wasn’t a pat on the back - empty, friendly, platitudinous. He didn’t rub in soft circles like Leon’s mother did when he was little - nurturing, familial, pitying. It was just his hand, placed firmly, not letting up, not pressing down - grounding, steadfast, sincere. 

Leon sniffled, wiped a tear from his eye with the back of his hand, and tried to half-laugh it off. 

“Just let it out.” I won’t say anything. 

The tears fell. Commanding officer even in friendship - or whatever this was. Leon leaned onto Chris’ shoulder, meeting him halfway. Chris pulled him into a hug. 

“This is pathetic,” Leon said into Chris’ shirt. 

“Only because you’re so resistant to it.”

“You’re gonna blame me for my own patheticness?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“I thought you were supposed to be cheering me up.”

“I never said that.”

“Then why are you holding me like I’m a fucking child?”

“Because you’re acting like one.”

Somehow crying turned to laughing. 

“I really am,” Leon said, lifting his head. “I even got snot on your shirt.”

“Not the worst thing that’s gotten on my clothes in the last 24 hours.”

“Glad I’m not as gross as a BOW.”

“Far from it.”

“Thanks.”

“I didn’t say how far.”

“What? Are you calling me ugly?”

“You’ve looked better.”

“So have you!”

“I know I have. I’m 40 fucking years old. But you look-”

“Pathetic?”

“Yeah, and somehow you still manage to make it work for you.”

“How’s it ‘working for me’? Am I wooing you right now? Do you enjoy watching a grown man cry?”

“You don’t have to ‘woo’ me. You did that a long time ago.”

It took Leon’s drunken brain a minute to wrap his head around the words. 

“When?”

“‘98.”

“That was…” Leon did the mental math. “Sixteen fucking years ago. And you never told me?”

“I asked you on a date, Leon. I thought it was clear.”

“Maybe I’m just an idiot.” A date doesn’t mean anything, he thought, I’ve been on plenty of dates just for the hell of it. 

“I think you might be.”

“Fuck. I’m ugly and stupid.”

“Just stupid. You’ve never been ugly. That’s how you get away with it.”

“Hey, fuck you!”

“I’d prefer to fuck you, but…”

Leon shook his head, snickering - mostly at himself. He took them both by surprise when he kissed Chris, hard on the mouth. It only took a few swigs from the flask to get him here. He was nearly sober, too sober in his mind. Chris’ hands were all over him and Leon’s dick wanted this, but something in his brain stopped him. 

“Wait,” he said, catching his breath. Nerves had taken over. “Maybe we should have a drink first, you know… to-to loosen up… metaphorically…”

Chris stared at Leon, trying to read his mind. “We don’t have to do anything. I’m not going to do anything if you don’t want to.”

“No, no, it’s not that I don’t want to- believe me, I want to,” he said, “but, uh, this isn’t really the kind of thing you do sober, right? Not like, entirely…?” It only sounded weird when he heard the words come out of his mouth. 

A moment of silence passed as Chris processed Leon’s unintentional admission. “You… don’t do these things sober?”

“No…?”

“Never? You’ve never done anything more than kissing sober?”

“I guess, yeah, but it was a long time ago… in high school, I had a girlfriend and,” he laughed, somewhat ironically, “she gave me a handjob in the pews of the church we both went to.”

“That’s it? Nothing since high school?”

“Well, there was some stuff at bootcamp, back in STRATCOM, and at the police academy, too…” he winced before he said, “it wasn’t exactly my choice. I would’ve preferred to not be that sober.”

Chris’s mouth moved, but he didn't speak at first. “I’m sorry that stuff happened to you,” he said, choosing his words carefully. 

“Why?” Leon said with such genuine confusion that it pained Chris.

“I mean, it doesn’t sound like you’ve had any good experiences… maybe not any completely… consensual experiences…” The last part sounded like a question, though he was pretty confident that his assumptions were true. 

“Are you gonna try to get me to “process my trauma” or are you gonna fuck me?” Leon said to avoid the awkwardness. Nothing like trauma to ruin a perfectly good moment. 

Leon captured Chris’ lips in a kiss, but Chris pulled back. “I have to know that you actually want this.”

“I’m the one who started it, aren’t I?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Yes, I want this.”

Leon was ready to tear Chris’ clothes off, but again,  Chris stopped him. “We’ll go slowly,” he said, prompting Leon to sigh. “Or,” Chris continued, “I won’t fuck you at all.”

“You’d never turn down the chance.”

“Oh? Mr. Pity Party’s feeling so confident all of a sudden? Try me.”

Chris crossed his arms and stared at Leon, who eventually gave in. “Fine. Do you have more terms and conditions? Or can we get on with it?”

“Why are you so insistent on “getting on with it”? Why do you feel the need to rush things? Why not let yourself experience some enjoyment for once?”

“I enjoy it fast and rough-”

“No, that’s just the only way you’ve ever had it.”

The truth cuts like a knife. Leon didn’t know he was being defensive. Chris was right. He’d never had it slow or sober. He closed his eyes and nodded, trying desperately to accept the revelation he’d just been forced to have. 

Chris grabbed Leon by the back of his neck, seemingly pulling him in for another kiss, but he whispered in Leon’s ear, “I wanna make you feel good.”

The words sent a shiver down Leon’s spine. Chris’ voice was low in pitch and in volume, and Leon knew every word was for his ears only. It’s no longer reassurance, it’s flirtation, bordering on dirty talk. 

Then, Chris went in for the kiss with more confidence, dedication turned devotion. Chris was gentle when he pushed Leon onto the bed, so much so that Leon tried to find a joke somewhere in his foggy brain to avoid the fact that he felt like a virgin in the face of such tenderness.

“Any chance you have any lube?” 

“No, but I bet you five bucks that concierge does.”

Chris scoffed in disbelief. “Deal.”

Approximately five minutes later Leon returned with a bottle in his hand. 

“No fucking way.”

“Pay up, Redfield,” Leon said, holding out his palm. 

“Really? I don’t even think I have cash.”

“There’s an ATM downstairs.”

“How about I offer you something else, maybe another form of payment will suffice…?”

“Just this once. I’ll let you get away with it… because you look hot even when you’re all covered in blood.”

Chris’ lips curved upward into a smile so genuine that it was foreign to him. Leon realized that maybe he didn’t get complimented very often, and surely not enough. Leon didn’t have time to compliment Chris to the extent that he deserved - that would take a lifetime. 

Chris pulled Leon by the hand so that Leon was straddling his lap. Leon leaned down to kiss Chris with less force in the absence of haste. This time he melted into Chris’ lips. 

It wasn’t Leon’s first time being penetrated, but it was the first time someone cared enough to prepare him before shoving their cock inside him. Chris’ fingers, slick with lube, made him tense due to their gentleness. It was a novel thing to Leon. 

“You’re tensing up,” Chris said. 

“I’m not trying to,” Leon said, lashing out at Chris, though he was upset at his own inability to relax. 

“Just relax.”

“It’s easier said than done.”

Chris pulled Leon into a kiss and it seemed to help him, taking his mind off the fact that Chris’ fingers were inside him, slowly stretching him out. Leon’s breath quickened and he grunted into Chris’ mouth. 

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” Leon’s voice was shaky. “It actually feels… good.”

“Yeah? Like this?” Chris curled his fingers to meet the same spot, making Leon moan louder than this time.

“Yeah, right there. It feels really fuckin’ good.” Leon didn’t need to say it for Chris to know - the way his dick twitched told him enough. 

“Think you’re ready?”

“Hope so. I want it.”

Chris removed his pants and upon seeing what he’d been hiding under them, Leon changed his mind. “Maybe I’m not as ready as I thought.” He was wide-eyed and hungry for it, but more nervous given Chris’ size. 

“I’ll go slow,” he promised. “And we can stop whenever you want.”

For many years, Leon struggled to pinpoint his exact feelings for Chris. Was it lust? Affection? Connection due to their similar circumstances? The one thing he'd known from the start was that he trusted Chris. 

Leon gulped down his anticipatory nerves and nodded, giving Chris the go ahead. Before entering Leon, he was diligent enough to lube himself up, giving Leon a nice view.

Leon hissed at the initial stretch. “I knew you’d be big, but not this big.”

“Sorry, nothing I can do about it.” Chris laughed a little, forced to take it as a compliment. 

“It’s fine,” Leon said, though his words were beginning to slur. “It’s hot. Just gonna take a minute to get used to it.”

Leon learned that Chris likes to makeout during sex and he would’ve thought it was too romantic if Chris’ lips didn’t feel so good pressed against his. Eventually, they both were running short on breath, so they fucked forehead-to-forehead until they climaxed - Leon first, shortly followed by Chris. 

Chris collapsed next to Leon and Leon sunk further into the mattress. His eyes had fallen shut and his hands laid on his stomach, unsure of their place. Someone is supposed to leave now, he thought. That was the way it had gone every other time Leon had done this before.  

“You okay?” Chris’ voice called him back to reality. 

“Yeah,” he said. And, besides his confusion, he was. Very okay, which confused him more. It was the first time he'd felt truly at ease lying naked next to someone. He might be sore the next day, but only physically.  

“You look… awkward.”

“I’m not used to… this part.”

“Oh, yeah. It’s pretty easy. It’s similar to lying down alone. You just have another person there.”

“Thanks, asshole. I got that much.”

“Do you want me to leave you alone or…?”

“Are you asking me if I want to cuddle with you?”

“Yeah, I am.”

“If that’s what you want.”

“No, if that’s what you want.”

“I don’t care either way. I want whatever you want.”

Chris pulled Leon towards him in a way that would be startling if it were anyone else’s hands. 

“I knew you were too stubborn to say ‘yes’,” he whispered, answering the unasked question. 

“How are we supposed to do this?”

“I don’t think there’s a right or wrong way.”

Leon sighed, and Chris took it as a plea for directions. 

“I can hold you from behind like this,” Chris offered, manhandling Leon. “Or, you can lie on top of me.”

Leon rolled over and put his head on Chris’ chest. 

“C’mon,” Chris said, “You can’t crush me.”

Leon pretended to be reluctant when he wrapped his leg over Chris so that he was sprawled halfway across his chest. He admitted, accidentally, the next morning that it was the best sleep of his life. Leon locked eyes with Chris and noticed the way the corners of his eyes wrinkle when he smiles, how the demarcations have made their place more permanent over time, the subtle reminders of happiness becoming more prominent with age. 

It was about an hour later when Leon looked at himself in the bathroom mirror and noticed his own smile. His expression was so unusual it almost made him suspicious. He was under the impression that the previous night’s experience would’ve brought about some change within him. It was only then, that he realized he’s exactly the same as he’s always been. The only new thing was the certainty he felt when he stared at his own reflection. Denial was just a phase. 

[milfglupshitto]

Shadow of the Sith review

spoilers for the book below:

I’m not sure how best to format this, but I’ll try and list positives first, then negatives, and lastly summarize my final thoughts.

things I enjoyed:

- Luke and Lando as a team! the pair have a vastly underrated dynamic we don’t get to see often.

- ironically enough, Ochi of Bestoon. maybe it’s because I haven’t been keeping up with the comics which I’ve heard have been inundated with his presence, but I thought he was a perfectly miserable character and I had fun seeing him fall apart.

- the TIE Defender my best friend the TIE Defender. the implications of the ship being designed from the beginning to mimic Sith architecture are deeply fascinating to me.

- also on the subject of Sith designs: I really enjoyed the presence those artifacts had in both the narrative and the actual prose. the seeing stone sequence was particularly well done.

- Rey’s family. While some parts frustrated me (more on that below) I enjoyed Dathan and Miramir as characters, and even knowing where their path ended I was still kept in suspense wondering how they would get there.

things I wish were better executed:

- This book was very cameo-heavy. Not necessarily a problem, but if a reader can’t identify if information about an object is being given because it will be helpful later in the book or if it’s meant to remind them that they know this thing already from another source… let’s just say I got a few things spoiled because I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to know them already or not.

- Some of the dialogue and characterization choices felt very… off to me. The guard droid on Polaar spoke in a very human way that had me checking dialogue tags frequently, and many of the elements of Zargo Anaximander’s description and speech patterns had me skeptical at best of authorial bias. The whole scene from Mico Haswell’s perspective where he details prejudices against most of his colleagues and then in the next scene Luke senses all the love and concern those colleagues have for him came off as just too over the top (and at least to me, slightly reminiscent of the “Walk Up Not Out” campaigns they introduced at my school and others to prevent gun violence by encouraging students to approach peers who seemed isolated, blaming horrific violence on mental health issues and placing the onus on the students to solve it rather than the adults who ought to be responsible for the minors in their care), especially given that it’s never made clear if the student he attacked under the influence of the Sith artifact actually survived?

- Lando’s treatment by the story. One of my favorite aspects of the post-ROTJ stories in the EU was the way that the team from the films was able to come together for new missions, unlike in Disney’s sequel trilogy. When I first began reading these stories I was pleasantly surprised by the way that Lando was included just as fully as Han, Leia, and Luke, with his strengths and insights allowed to flourish, which I had unfortunately rarely seen in most of the fanon for that era. While I thought it made since for Lando to be jaded and off his game in this story, after the tragic loss of his child, it seemed that too often he was simply along for the ride, with his contributions dismissed or rendered unimportant by the characters with higher training or more powerful abilities. The idiot’s array scene near the end of the book was refreshing, but I wish he had been able to have more of those moments throughout, moments that make it clear his instincts are correct but in his grief he’s terrified of being wrong and allows doubt to hold him back.

I’m sure there are other positives and negatives I’m forgetting, and I’ll add those later if they come to me. Overall, I enjoyed this novel, and can appreciate what it was trying to do in terms of leading into the sequel trilogy. However, there are certain elements of the story which simply sat the wrong way with me. If I had to rate this book I would say maybe 7/10? As always I’m happy to provide more detailed information and answer any questions for anyone considering whether or not they should read this book.

[cornfarm]

afterschool digression

saiki kusuo x reader

word count: 2.2k

synopsis: you and saiki screw around afterschool

cw: n/a

genre: fluff, sfw

reader is gender neutral!

=======================================

notes:

none! just kissing!

=======================================

Saiki's leg bounces up and down, foot tapping rhythmically against PK Academy's linoleum floors. He was going to do it.

School isn't about learning anymore, it's about waiting. Every single second spent not getting a chance to be around you was another second Saiki spent trembling in anticipation. You're so cruel, making him feel this way.

He has the ability to peer into your thoughts, and read your deepest desires. He knows what you yearn for, what you want from him, the occassional carnal thoughts that would rack through your brain.

He suspects his nerves lie in the execution of your domestic wishes. He'd certainly be lying if he wasn't intrigued by them; you've always been imaginative, much more than himself, but you think about simply just kissing him. He finds himself with a cross expression on his face, his hand covering his mouth with his index finger extended over the bridge of his nose.

He shouldn't be referring to your thoughts as your desires, they've penetrated his mind, and refused to leave. They're his as well. Has he been so starved that the simple vision of domesticity sends him into a frenzy?

He doesn't have an answer, he's never been so discomposed in his life.

He is going to do it. It will be easy. As soon as the bell rings, he'll wait for you, and you'll walk to the shoe locker together, and he'll slip out a subtle "hey, my parents are out of town, want to come over?" and then you'd come over.

It's a bulletproof plan as long as nobody gets in the way.

Kaidou peers a few seats away, watching Saiki's face contort in discomfort. He's never seen him fidget so bad before, he lets out a small breathy chortle and smirks. He wonders what's got his friend so antsy.

Saiki frowns even more at his amusement. Can't Kaidou see he's suffering? That's precisely why he's laughing.

It's not like Kaidou knew about you. Nobody did, except perhaps Aiura, but if she knew, she would have made a big deal about it by now.

You were his little secret, and he wanted to keep his secrets to himself. He winces at the thought, mentally rapping his knuckles with a ruler. He can't believe he actually thought something so gross about another person. His stomach continues to do somersaults.

Yet the sentiment was true, he does want to keep you to himself, but it's also only been a week since he asked you out. He's not ready to share his new relationship status, which you were very compliant in his wishes. You're very nice to him.

He keeps finding himself stiff in the shoulders, and his hands keep shaking, and all when you look at him, all the thoughts in his brain scatter, and he can barely come up with ways to continue conversation.

He looks up at the clock, only another ten minutes. Perhaps it's too soon to ask you to come over? He shouldn't mention how his parents are gone, he doesn't want you to get the wrong idea. Not yet, at least.

He's very troubled.

But he can't help but feel giddy, and a infuriatingly pleasant simmer in his stomach. He can't shake it, everytime he forces his focus back to the chalkboard, his thoughts quickly reassmble to think about you. You're a monster. He knows you'll accept his offer, and you'd come over with that stupid smile on your face, and it's sending him over the moon.

The bell rings, shooting Saiki out of his daze as he grabs his stuff. Reel it in. Take a breath.

You're seated a few seats adjacent to him, so you're closer to the door. You quietly pack your things and exited first, glancing back at him as he followed. You stilled in the hallway for a brief moment before he caught up with you.

Neither of you say anything.

Head turned down, you stare at the floor a little nervous. He can tell, you're carrying your bag extra close to your body, a bit more than usual. Both hands wrapping around the strap on your shoulder- typically it was only one.

Your tongue poked out to wet your lips, and you turn your gaze a bit upward, meeting his eyes. You look up at him like you want something from him.

He feels like he's been shot.

"Is something bothering you? You seemed really uncomfortable in class today."

You noticed? Of course you did.

His face finally broke from his deadpann, a subtle look of shock raising his brows and parting his lips, yes, I'm fine.

Awkward. Despite the physical pronunciation of his words not being an issue, his words seem to always come out clunky and stiff. his phrasing was weird, he kept speaking too formally.

"Um," you begin, but Saiki cuts you off prematurely.

Do you want to come over?

"Huh? Really?!" You exclaim, his hand comes and clasps over your mouth.

Be quiet! I don't want anyone else knowing. You know how they are! It's a, a- you know, after all. His voice is a bit urgent.

"Sorry, I just didn't expect you'd ask me, I thought I'd have to plan all of our, our-" you cut yourself off this time. He knows what you're trying to say, and he's a bit thankful you're so timid and can't push the words out.

But he doesn't want you thinking he doesn't care. Curse his shyness, how can he communicate that he also thinks about going on, on- you know- as much as you do?

I won't make you do all the work.

You smile, "do you think about that sort of stuff a lot?"

He supposes so.

"I won't bite you, you don't have to feel nervous around me."

He frowns, I can't help it. He doesn't want you one-upping him. He takes a step closer to you, arms awkwardly bumping as your eyes cast down once again. He's a bit too close to you.He gets it, you're blushing.

What, he begins, smirking, nervous?

you begin to pout, "not really."

His composure returns only because of a few students passing you while you cross the halls. If he wasn't reminded you weren't alone, he doesn't know what he would've done. Pause- Where the hell was he getting this confidence?

Turning down the stairwell, you reach the second floor landing. You pause. He pauses too, turning to meet your gaze, which you're barely keeping.

"I'd like to come over," you're still pouting, "if the offer's still up."

Why are you looking at him like that? What do you want?

You take your lip between your teeth and gnaw at it. He watches as the skin breaks, pricks of blood rising and staining your tongue and teeth.

He reachs over. Stop that, you're hurting yourself, his hand comes up to your lip, gingerly pressing it against the breakage. He seals the wound, skin closing up as the bleeding stops, not without noticing the small gasp that escapes your lips.

You pray to yourself that he didn't hear. If he hadn't, he'd known you done it anyways- your thoughts don't conceal much.

Yeah, the offer's still up, he finishes.

You nod to the best of your ability. Saiki glances around, you were so attentive, he wonders why. Both sides of the staircase were empty, nobody was coming down, and the halls were relatively quiet.

That was strange, school just got out-

It hits him. He lead you to a back staircase. It wasn't on purpose, but you wound up alone, back pressed against the small landing wall, with Saiki's thumb still gently resting on your lip.

That explains the panicked frenzy of dialog in your head.

He feels hot, that simmering, bubbling feeling sitting in his stomach.

He really shouldn't, anyone could come this way and spot the two of you together, and he'd have to deal with the humiliation of being caught doing something like this at school. He should stop, he should pull his hand away, take a step back, and continue walking down the stairs with you trailing behind.

He just doesn't want to. His hand moves, the back of his index finger brushing away the flyaway strands of hair that covered your face, tucking it behind your ear.

He shouldn't. He jostles his bag up a bit higher so he can let go of it. The hand holding onto it came up to cup the other side of your face, thumb right under your eye.

He was blinking rapidly, resetting his xray vision so he can properly see you. Your skin is so soft. He wonders if you're always this warm.

Oh, you're blushing all the way to your forehead. This is new.

He takes another slight step forward, his torso finally meeting yours and pressing against your chest. he can feel your heart pound, a loud thump against his own body.

He flushes when he realizes you can also probably hear his.

He should be reading your mind right now, but even if your thoughts were coherent, he wouldn't be able to focus on the words.

"Saiki?" Your voice is nearly a whisper, it's trembling and small.

He remembers where he is. He shouldn't be doing this.

Can I?

You nod with haste, your hands coming up to rest on his shoulders.

He presses into you, putting a bit of his weight on your chest as he leans down just a bit, his lips meeting yours. Your arms wrap around his neck and hold him tighter.

For a moment, it's quiet. Your lips are soft, slotted perfectly in between his own. His heart flutters, his heart beat synced with yours, you exhale together. Sparks run down from the back of his neck to his tailbone. You taste sweet, must be from the bit of chocolate you had eaten with lunch.

He's lightheaded; he didn't think that kissing was so pleasant. He wishes he had spent the last two weeks kissing you instead of just thinking about it. It was tranquil, he wasn't wearing his ring, but everything was silent. His senses, each and every one of them, is focused onto you.

He feels warm, a pleasant hum in his chest; he's so happy.

He pulls away, resting his forehead against your own, his fingers threading through your hair. You tilt your head up again, he leans back down, a content sigh escapes his lips as they meet yours. He feels like he's floating, and when your knees bump his own awkwardly, he realizes his center of gravity has shifted.

He pulls away to realize the two of you are floating, literally. He must have lost grip of his powers, your books and pencils in your tote bag floating a few feet in the air above the two of you, his own cellphone and bag rising upwards.

You're off your feet, arms clinging around his shoulders, you haven't seemed to notice, you're still just staring up at him, waiting. He presses his lips against yours again, a small yelp escapes your own. Multitasking when using his powers wasn't ever too much of an issue, but right now, it'd take a lot of mental energy, and he almost doesn't care.

But he has to, so he manages to push through his mental fog to use telekenisis to put everything back into place, gently landing both of you back on your feet. Landing a bit away from the wall, he leans on you again, causing you to stumble back. Your back hits the wall, and upon the collision, your lips part a bit, and his teeth bump into yours.

He pulls away, lips staying parted to mutter a "sorry" under his breath.

He adjusts his left arm, bringing it up against the wall, forearm pressed firmly against the concrete. His hand flexed into a fist.

He leaned back down, your hands coming back to press against his chest.

"Saiki, someone will-" he cuts you off, another sigh leaving his lips as they touch yours. The little gasp you let out sends shivers down his spine. He pulls away to take a breath, "we can't," your hand comes up, fingers tentatively landing on his lip.

"Someone will catch us, we shouldn't."

You- he cuts himself off.

Your eyes are watery, and that look of want on your face hasn't gone away, in fact it's more prominent, and God it's killing him. But you're right, every second where you two aren't spotted is a second closer to being seen. He pulls away, taking a few steps back and giving you space.

Your legs are trembling, how cute.

He begins his decline down the steps, making sure you're following closely behind.

Was it okay? he asks, turning around to meet your gaze.

You nod, "yeah, it was good. You're good, really good."

He lets out a shaky exhale, one he didn't know he was holding.

You still want to come over?

"Will you kiss me more?" You're practically out of breath.

He flushes, but manages to nod. You beam at him. God it's so embarrassing. He turns his back to you, briskly walking to the shoe lockers.

How cute.

==

Toritsuka jogs behind you two, and nudges Saiki when he catches up, "you two screwing around on the staircase?"

"Huh?!" You leap back

He burst out into laughter, "well I'd be damned, who would've thought you'd get some action before me! At school too? You two shared your first kiss at school?! Freaks-"

Toritsuka is promptly sent flying.

[zerolostwalks]

Wintry prompts! "I lost my jacket" Reggie ship of your choice!

(TW/CW: Implications/References of Abuse)

Alex nervously tapped his drums, normally drumming would help ease his anxiety. However, it’s harder to lose himself in his drumming when they were very obviously down one member. Truthfully he was still the only one who was even attempting to pretend like practice was happening. 

Julie sat at the keyboard but she was fully facing the studio door. Luke leaned on the other side of her keyboard and was also staring at the door. Although he would intermittently shift his concerned gaze to check on the others around the room.

Flynn paced at the back of the studio, frustration clearly growing as her repeated attempts to text and call remained unanswered. Willie was no longer there, he’d been the one to volunteer to go look. 

They’d also insisted everyone else wait, just in case. “We wouldn’t want Reg to show up to an empty studio.”

Alex honestly has no idea how long either of them have been gone at this point and it was eating a hole in the pit of his stomach. Although it was significantly worse as far as Reggie was concerned. 

The last time any of them had heard from him was as school ended. When he’d insisted, via text, he had to go home really quickly before practice. He further insisted he would be fine and they should all get started without him.

The idea unsettled everyone. The boy had been going home less and less over the past few months. While more and more of his belongings had been found squirreled away in the studio. 

He refused to openly admit what he was doing or tell anyone why. Though they all had their own suspicions. 

“Fuck this.” Luke finally growled as he put his guitar back on its stand. He had his tawny fleece halfway on when the studio doors slowly creaked open. 

All heads swiveled, and the tension in the room lessened as Willie walked in. They had Reggie-who was hugging himself tight inside his flannel-cradled under one arm. The dark haired boy's head was ducked down and nuzzled into Willie’s side so no one could clearly see his face. 

Alex exchanged a look with Willie, he had never seen the skater's eyes so icy before. That was all he needed to see to know he was never letting Reggie anywhere near that house again. Hell he shouldn’t have let him go back there today. 

Willie and Reggie settled onto the couch and everyone hesitated, not wanting to overwhelm him. Julie moved first, gingerly sitting on Reggie’s other side, a gentle hand placed on his back. He shifted, pulling Julie in closer to wrap himself tight around her. That’s when everyone else moved closer, settling where they could around him. 

“Reg?” Luke tentatively asked as he and Willie switched places. Alex bit back his hiss as he swears he saw purple in the brief moment Reggie’s face wasn’t buried in either Willie’s hoodie or Luke’s flannel. 

“I lost my jacket,” is all anyone can get Reggie to say, and even that came out through broken silent sobs. 

Eventually, they all convince him to let Julie talk to Ray. Although, it’s more formality, to help Reggie feel like he was part of the decision. Alex is certain the rest of them had already decided the same thing he had. 

As they shift to go to the house proper, Willie breaks off from the group.

“Where are you going?” Alex asks as he lingers behind with Luke. Julie and Flynn have already guided Reggie inside with promises of pizza and a movie night. 

“Isn’t it obvious?” He shoots back with a wry smirk, board below his feet, phone in his hand. “I��m getting Caleb, then we’ve got a jacket to find. You two should go help our girls make sure our boy is ok.”

Alex’s jaw falls open at that, but wishes Willie luck as he drags Luke inside to do just that. The four of them spend the rest of the evening comforting Reggie and getting him settled in the Molina guest bedroom. Ray even lets Luke and Alex stay over, with the same caveat he has for every sleepover, doors remain cracked open. 

The next morning, Willie proudly returns with Reggie's jacket.

[pumpkin-spice-whump]

All His Fault

CWs: bbu, OCD, anxiety, school shooting mention (like... he heard about it), home invasion, guns, child endangerment, brief emeto, references to noncon

this is apparently what the kids call a chaos post (which is to say that i only read over it once and if you find anything wrong then shhhhhh)

Masterlist

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

An elementary school a few towns over had an active shooter situation a week ago and Jesse hadn’t been able to relax since. He would go though every day checking the news every second he could, his stomach in such tight knots that he made himself sick when he tried to eat.

What if there was a shooter at Abi and Eva’s schools and something horrible happened to them? Jesse wouldn’t be able to save them, he had to stay home with Harper and care for her. The constant thought that they could be being hunted down and terrified at any moment made his skin hot and prickle.

So, to make sure nothing bad happened, Jesse avoided all mirrors until nine in the morning and twisted his collar around four times while holding his breath. If he saw his reflection or breathed at all while twisting his collar, then something bad would happen. He could feel it deep in his bones, but couldn’t explain why. It was just true.

But Jesse didn’t do it right today. He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror before nine in the morning and as soon as he did he felt his heart drop. He had froze in place and closed his eyes, immediately trying to convince himself everything would be okay. It was Saturday, he told himself, he shouldn’t have to worry about their wellbeing at school on a Saturday. It didn’t count today because they were at home. But what if he needed to do it everyday for it to work? What if now something bad would happen on Monday because he didn’t do it good enough over the weekend? Oh, it was getting hard to breathe.

Mr. Bakeman wouldn’t return until Sunday afternoon, so Jesse was (thankfully) allowed to keep his eye on the girls all day long. Mrs. Bakeman had left Friday night and hadn’t returned, and he was scared that maybe she or Mr. Bakeman would get hurt, too.

He tried and tried to convince himself that everything was alright, but he still spent the entire day terrified that his mistake would end up fatal. His chest burned with the heavy fear that weighed him down every minute of the day. No matter what he did he couldn’t feel better, twisting his collar and cleaning four times and flicking the lights and turning the locks -- his painful mistake was still in the back of his mind, the panic just waiting to break through.

The end of the day couldn’t come soon enough, but it was eventually time to put the girls to bed. Jesse felt he might be able to relax once he knew they were all safely asleep.

Abigail had worn herself out pretty quickly, having spent the whole day showing Jesse the new dance she learned at school, so she went to sleep without him even having read a story. Eva was in her bed, although he wasn’t sure if she was asleep or not, and Harper just went to sleep in his arms.

Jesse slowly lay Harper down in her crib and switched on the nightlight and baby monitor before quietly closing the door. Eva stood in her doorway, quiet eyes on Jesse.

“Eva, you’re supposed to be in bed. Do you need something?”

“I gotta go potty.”

“You can just go potty, you don’t need to tell me, okay? Just let me know if you need help. Then go back to bed, you’re supposed to be asleep.”

Eva nodded, heading down the hall. She seemed to have totally gotten over her fear of Jesse, and she now told him anything and everything she thought he needed to know. Which was a lot, but Eva didn’t want to play, she wanted to talk. So Jesse always listened.

He stayed in the hallway until Eva came out of the bathroom and headed back to her room, but she paused at the door.

“Do you want me to sit with you?” Jesse asked.

“No.” She still didn’t move. Jesse knelt in front of her.

“Are you okay?”

“Uh huh. Are you okay?”

He smiled, pushing back her messy hair. “Yep. I am.”

“You weren’t acting okay earlier, Jesse. Do you need help?”

Jesse felt his smile falter. Eva talked and listened and watched and learned too much. He needed to do better at hiding his fear. If a four year old noticed it then his owners most definitely would have if they were home. He forced a smile on his face again, taking a few calming breaths before speaking again.

“I’m just fine, Eva. I promise.”

She yawned. “If you need help you can ask someone, Jesse. Daddy would help you.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, thank you, Eva. Can you go to sleep by yourself?”

She nodded. “Goodnight, Jesse.”

He waited until she got back into bed before closing the door and heading to his room to take the baby monitor before going to check the locks and do the dishes.

Nothing bad would happen right? Even though he messed up? He’d done everything else right today, the girls had fun and seemed safe. Maybe if he did it right tomorrow it would erase his mistake and everything would be alright on Monday. Maybe he didn’t need to worry at all … or maybe he did. How would he know if the girls would be okay? He needed to know, he needed to feel better, he needed someone to tell him how to feel better, because it wasn’t working on his own. He wanted to scream. He took a deep breathe in, held it for a few seconds, and --

What was that? He choked on his air, freezing up. He exhaled slowly, quietly, trying to listen for it again.

Did he lock the door? He stayed completely still despite the urge to go check, to go run and check on the girls. He waited.

It happened again. The sound of hushed voices coming from the baby monitor.

Jesse ran to the stairs as fast as he could, adrenaline pumping. He didn’t hesitate before pushing the door open, heart pounding as he looked in her crib, expecting the worst but praying for the best -- and there she was. Sleeping soundly. He sighed, relieved.

Then he had a moment where he totally doubted himself. Did he imagine the voices? Was he making things up? Was he losing it? He knew that some of the things he did were weird and irrational, but he didn’t think he was crazy. If he was crazy he would get sent back, he wouldn’t be allowed around the girls. He didn’t even know what would happen to him at the facility if he was labeled as insane or crazy… Would he be refurbished? Put down? Oh he couldn’t, he didn’t want to be, he can’t be crazy --

Jesse noticed the opened window. Floorboards creaked behind him. And he felt cold metal press against his neck.

“Don’t say a word. Grab the kid.”

Jesse’s brain screeched to a halt. The buzzing and confusion and desperation melted away, and the fear magnified, becoming all-consuming. It filled him up from his toes to his hair. His face felt numb, hot. He reached down and took Harper in his arms, adjusting her head on his shoulder so she continued to sleep.

“Turn around and go downstairs.”

He very slowly turned around, holding Harper tightly against himself. Two men stared back at him, faces covered by ski masks. They both held pistols, and the taller of the two was pointing his right at Jesse’s head.

“Are you the only one in the house?” he asked.

It took Jesse a moment to remember how his body worked, but when he did he nodded, one hand coming up to rest on Harper’s back. He could get this over with quickly. He could be good, and they would leave, and Eva and Abigail would never have to know.

The short man said something and Jesse stared blankly at him, the words not filtering through his deafening terror.

“Wh--?”

“I said move, pet! Get downstairs!”

Jesse flinched at his harsh tone, his eye on the gun as he stepped forward. They needed to be quieter, or they’d wake the girls. He moved, stepping into the hallway and down the stairs, sitting on the couch in the living room when told to.

He wasn’t allowed on the furniture, he wanted to say, but was too scared to speak up.

Harper breathed peacefully on his neck as she slept, hopefully to not wake up until this was all over. He couldn’t let himself think about what all this was or he knew he would lose it.

The shorter man started to pick through the living room, putting anything of value into a large backpack. Tall stayed put, gun on Jesse. He turned sideways, shielding Harper from view.

“Your owners leave you here alone? What are you, their sex toy?”

Jesse felt himself flush red. He cleared his throat, trying to comply. “I’m a Platonic,” he murmured against Harper’s hair. “I’m a caretaker for the -- their daughter.”

The man scoffed. “Yeah, sure. You don’t keep something like you around without trying to screw it.”

Jesse looked away, face burning. Was it always that easy to see right through him?

“Where’s the office?” Short asked.

Just comply, Jesse told himself, taking a breath. Just get them out as fast as you can. You can deal with Mr. and Mrs. Bakeman later.

“Down the hall to the right.”

“Hmm.” He reached forward and roughly pet Jesse’s hair, ignoring how he flinched and hunched over. “Now there’s a good boy, isn’t--”

“Jesse?”

Jesse’s face paled when he heard the small voice at the top of the stairs. Oh no. Oh no no no, he wouldn’t be able to hold them all, he wouldn’t be able to keep them all quiet, all safe. If anything bad happened to them … well Jesse couldn’t even think about it, his chest felt like it would burst with the guilt of even considering the girls being injured because of him.

Eva, hair a mess and little hands rubbing her eyes, leaned against the wall, taking a step down the stairs. “Jesse, I had a bad dream. Can you …” she trailed off as she noticed the two men who were not supposed to be there. He could see the little cogs turning in her brain as she paused, drawing her arms close. “Jesse?”

Jesse looked back at the two men, guns in hand. He tried to beg them with his eyes, tried to ask them without asking to not get Eva involved, to just let her go back to bed. But instead the tall one only reached forward, taking a handful of Jesse’s hair and pulling him back.

“You told us there was no one else in the house!”

Jesse didn’t even have time to flinch before felt the man’s fist connect with his face. He cried out as something cracked in his nose, blood pouring down his shirt. Harper began to cry, waking up at the sound of Jesse’s distress and the impact of his face hitting her small head.

“Jesse!” Eva began to run down the stairs, tears shining in her eyes.

“No!” Jesse pushed away his panic at being injured and placed a hand on Harper’s head, instinctively checking for injuries. “No Eva, just go back to your room --”

Tall swung the gun around, pointing it at Eva. “No. She’s coming down here.”

Jesse’s eyebrows shot up. “Okay! Stop pointing it at her, you can point it at me -- not the baby -- please, just not at her!”

He paused for a moment, then complied, pointing the pistol back at Jesse. Eva rushed down the stairs, climbing on the couch and burying her face in Jesse’s free shoulder.

“Do not lie to me again,” Tall said, his voice quiet and deadly. “Is there anyone else here?”

Jesse opened his mouth, unsure what to say. He couldn’t risk putting Abigail in danger if she didn’t have to be. But how mad would they get if he lied to them again? Mad enough to hurt Abigail when they found her? Or Harper or Eva? They were only children…

The intruders took Jesse’s silence as a yes. Tall nodded to Short, who headed upstairs down the hall.

Alarm bells went off as he watched the stranger enter Abigail’s bedroom. “Wait, no I can get her, please don’t--” he tried to stand up, but fell back when he heard the man already returning.

“No,” Tall said. “You sit.”

Abigail was only just waking up in the man’s arms as he dropped her on the couch next to Harper. She gasped awake and Jesse wished he had another arm to hold all of them. Someone needed to hold all of them.

Her eyes landed first on Jesse, widening at the blood covering him, and then went to the strangers threatening them all.

Jesse spoke first, wanting to get ahead of it. “It’s okay, Abi, I have --”

“Who are they? They can’t be here!” Abigail said, fear showing on her face as she sat up, holding onto Jesse’s arm.

“I know,” Jesse said. He thought he might throw up. Short went somewhere down the hall, the sound of things breaking and papers rustling making Jesse nervous. He shushed Harper and Eva, who were crying. “Just stay with me.”

Abigail looked up at Tall, her eyebrows drawn determinedly together. “This is illegal. You can go to jail!”

“Abi, do--”

The man stepped closer, the gun trained on Abigail. “You shut her up. And shut the baby up too!”

“You don’t need to point the gun at the girls, please, not at them. Please, she’s just scared. They’re all scared.” Jesse felt tears fill his eyes, but he wouldn’t let them fall. He couldn’t cry in front of the girls, he needed to be strong for them. “Why don’t you let me take them upstairs and I’ll --”

“Stop talking!” He suddenly reared back and smacked Jesse in the face with the pistol, making him fall back against the couch. He felt the awful familiar sensation of open air hitting a fresh cut, blood soaking his hair and running down his temple.

“Jesse!” Eva cried, putting her hands gingerly on his face.

“Don’t hurt him!” Abigail yelled, her real fear showing through as she began to cry as well, shrinking back. Jesse felt a few stray tears fall down his own face.

“SHUT UP!” Tall screamed, shushing the whole room save for the sounds of all three girls sobbing and Jesse gasping for breath.

Short appeared down the hall, backpack nearly full. “Hey, man, quiet down! You want the neighbors to call the cops?”

Tall took a deep breath as Short disappeared once more. He wiped the blood off the gun and spoke to Jesse. “You. Over there. On your knees. Now.”

Jesse didn’t hesitate, standing and pulling Harper off of him. “Abi, take Harper, please. Shhh, it’s okay, Harper, you’re okay.”

“Jesse no, I wanna be by you!” Eva cried, standing up.

His breath caught as Tall pressed the barrel of the gun into his forehead. His hands shook as tears slipped down his face, but he still found himself grateful that it was him who was being threatened.

“No, Eva, just sit by Abi, I’m just right over there. Just stay there and be quiet girls, it’s alright. You’re safer over here.” Jesse followed the man and knelt in a corner of the room.

“Please don’t hurt him,” Abigail wept. “Please don’t hurt Jesse!”

“Can you just… shut… UP!” the man screamed, cocking the gun and waving it in her direction.

A sudden burst of rage bloomed in Jesse’s chest as he witnessed the girls he was charged with protecting be threatened. He jumped up, body shaking with adrenaline and protectiveness. “Hey don’t point that at them! Don’t touch her!” He needed to be near them, he needed to save them he needed to --

“Get down!”

The gun whipped around so fast Jesse didn’t even see where it was pointing when he heard the gunshot.

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

The girls.

Where are they are they safe what happened are the men gone did they hurt the girls are they okay are they alright where are they --

It was only after that first thought that Jesse’s consciousness registered the pain he was in. He groaned, opening his eyes. The lights made his head throb.

“Ab… A -- Abig…” he tried to speak, but his mouth wouldn’t cooperate.

Abigail Eva Harper the girls the girls where are the girls are they safe Harper Eva Abigail where are they where are they where is Abigail Ev--

“He’s awake!” Abi’s voice cried in relief.

Jesse immediately sat up, then doubled over and vomited as the dizziness overcame him.

“Oh, he’s sick.”

“That’s alright, the paramedics can help when they get here.”

Jesse forced his eyes open at the sound of the new voice, hands reaching out instinctively for the girls.

A face he’d only ever seen from afar looked back at him. She smiled. “How do you feel, Jesse?”

It was Mrs. Perez, the older woman next door who Jesse had never directly interacted with. She was holding Harper tightly, the baby girl somehow back asleep.

“Are they okay?” he asked.

Mrs. Perez smiled. “Yes, the girls are fine. You, however, hit your head pretty hard. You might want to lay back down.”

The throbbing got worse. “I’m fine,” he said, reaching for Eva and Abigail. They both crawled into his lap, tears falling. He held them close, breathing in the smell of their hair. “The robbers…?”

“I saw them leaving. I heard the gunshot and rushed over. I called 911 not long ago, they should be here soon.”

Jesse sighed in relief, repositioning himself so he could slump against the wall. “Thank you.” His voice was shakier than he wanted it to be. “Thank you so much.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Jesse stared at a hole in the wall. Probably the gunshot.

“You did good, Jesse,” Mrs. Perez said quietly. “You did really good.”

Her words warmed his fast-beating heart. Sirens sounded in the distance. His throat grew tight, tears blurring his vision. Mrs. Perez probably thought he was crying from the adrenaline, or the exhaustion or pain.

But Jesse cried because he knew he didn’t deserve the praise. He didn’t do good. The house was trashed, he was injured, and the girls were traumatized and terrified more than any child should be.

He cried because the guilt was eating him from the inside out. None of this would have happened if he hadn’t messed up in the morning.

It was all his fault.

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

Taglist: @mylifeisonthebookshelf @boxboysandotherwhump

[codevassie]

Fantasy TS Fic Recs

[***Let me know if I’ve missed anything on the Content Warnings!]

[**Do Not Ask Authors for Updates!]

[*Leave these authors Comments, please and thank you!]

Put A Spell On You by LostyK

Status: Complete

Summary: Roman sighed, trying to figure out how best to explain it. “I think everyone’s in love with me.” Virgil rolled his eyes. “How do you walk around under the weight of that ego?” Everyone is acting strangely around Roman. Thank god his best friend (and crush) Virgil seems to be unaffected, because he's going to need all the help he can get to figure out why everyone is confessing their love to him.

Relationships: Prinxiety, Minor Logicality 

CW: Love Spell, Nonconsensual Kiss, Toxic jealousy, Sexual References, Potentially Disturbing Imagery, Manipulation of someone under the influence of a love spell, Violence and Blood Mention, Spider Mention

My thoughts: I stumbled on this fic by accident and that may have been one of the best accidents of my life. It’s so cute and funny and the characters are right on--not to mention the urban fantasy setting. It’s the perfect setting for this plot, with the fantasy element of magic and the normalized element of a school campus. And Remus has a relatively small part, but he’s absolutely brilliant in this author’s style. Roman and Virgil’s relationship throughout the whole thing is also Very Special to me and my heart. Really really good. Please go check this one out!

Broken Wings by proxxima

Status: Incomplete, Work In Progress

Summary: Virgil, once one of the greatest thieves ever known, ended up in poverty. In order to survive, he has to accept what one would call a suicide mission: stealing an extremely valuable jewel from a mysterious nobleman. However, his wings fail him and Virgil finds himself alone and injured in a foreign kingdom, not sure who he can trust. 

Relationships: Prinxiety, Picani/ Sleep(Remy), past logince, intrulogical

CW: Swearing, Unsympathetic Remus, Unsympathetic Deceit, Blood, Alcohol, Death and Murder Mention, Kidnapping, Manipulation, Blood and Violence, Anxiety, Injury, Implied Sexual Content, Innuendo, Past Abuse, Mental Breakdown, Character Death, Implied/ Referenced Torture, Threats, Mourning, Abuse, Abusive Friendship 

My thoughts: This! Fic! Y’all!! I’ve been keeping up with it for a while now and every week is like a brand new adventure. There’s always so much going on here and so many things that I can’t wait to figure out. The author, An, is so good at revealing little by little so we’re always on our toes. They also make the cutest Prinxiety, the most suspenseful situations, and the best freaking characterizations for all of them. I would die for all of the characters. It’s pretty intense right now because there’s only a few updates left and everything is going down. Go check this out in its final stretch and I’m sure you’ll love every bit!

Of Forests and Kings by Avery_Kedavra

Status: Incomplete, Work In Progress

Summary: Roman loves to save the day, but when he ventures through the forest to topple the reign of the evil king, he gets a lot more than he bargained for--a tired king, a deadly forest, and a terrified crown prince. Logan would have been perfectly happy letting Roman run off on his own, but Patton insists they go rescue him. With the ever-annoying Daniel, they chase him through the forest, hoping to reach him before trouble does. Trouble, however, waits for no one.

Relationships: Prinxiety, Logicality

CW: Death, Fantasy Violence, Weapons, Arguing

My thoughts: Classic fantasy in a not-so-classic way. Roman is not the prince here, nor is he a dashing hero or knight. He is quite the character though, and he is so entertaining to read. His and Virgil’s banter is to die for. And, on the other end, Logan, Patton, and Daniel(Deceit)’s journey is just as entertaining. I honestly can’t get enough of Daniel--his characterization is quite on point. It’s surprising and interesting and fun and I can’t wait to see where the heck it’s going!

My Dreams Made Music In the Night by coconutcluster

Status: Complete

Summary: Virgil never believed in shooting stars - not really, anyway - but when one crosses the sky one night, he makes a wish (if you can even call it that) on impulse, and soon finds himself waiting for it again, night after night. (Or, rather, waiting for the golden figure in his dreams that always follows.)  

Relationships: Prinxiety

CW: Mention of Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Anxiety

My thoughts: This fic... magical, dreamy, ethereal, beautiful. It has dreams and stars and dancing and a setting that takes you away from the real world. It’s just very peaceful--quietly happy--a small reprieve from the trudge of daily life that pushes it far away, makes you forget for a while. I remember I was on the bus when I read this, on a morning after a long car ride and little sleep and too little schoolwork done and too many hours at a job that I gave too much to. It gave me peace that morning, so it’s stuck close to me. I just love this fic a lot. 

Of Trying and Towers by parsnipit

Status: Complete

Summary: “Then there’s Princey. He always wants to go haring off after these impossible, grandiose dreams.” “Like breaking the Queen’s Stone, stealing all of her power, and freeing the entire kingdom from a rule that’s lasted well over five centuries?” “Yeah,” Anxiety said. “Like that.” After (grudgingly) attempting to overthrow the monarch of his country, Anxiety finds himself the sole survivor of a curse that takes Thomas and the other sides away from him. To make matters worse, he’s trapped in a tower with his own self-loathing and cowardice, and he finds himself guarded by an unusually polite dragon. What’s a guy supposed to do? Break out of the tower, finish overthrowing the monarchy, and save Thomas and the other sides. Obviously. (Ugh. He really doesn’t feel good about this.) 

Relationships: Prinxiety

CW: Anxiety and Panic Attacks, Hunting, Blood and Violence, Minor Medical Procedures, Injury, Death, Mild Gore, Self-Loathing, Brief Self-Harm, Allusions to NSFW, Ableist Language, Mentions of Torture, Execution, Drowning, Murder

My thoughts: And, of course, I couldn’t do a fantasy list without this one! This was one of the first fics I ever read for this fandom, which probably explains my taste in fics for this fandom (aka addicted to prinxiety. i’m sorry. one day i’ll rec more than prinxiety and lamp). I really like this because they’re all still aspects of Thomas’ personality, but it’s in a completely new setting--so canon with a twist. I thought it was a pretty great intro to fics in the fandom too because it considers all four core sides and it’s wonderfully written. I really want to reread it now, actually. It’s been a while. If you’re new or old to the fandom, I’m sure this will be one you enjoy. 

[attemptingthoughtfulness]

if you don’t want to talk about racism in media, you shouldn’t try teaching racism through media

(or: using minority exploitation and suffering to teach minority exploitation and suffering by appropriating a movie that appropriates minority exploitation and suffering.)

(CW: brief discussion of rape in the movie “Gran Torino”, also spoilers for said movie)

I’ve recently been having a lot of flashbacks to elementary school, kindergarden and I am still pretty much scarred from high school, so let’s talk about the usage of media in high school and the utter lack of care or competence on the side of some of my teachers.

We watched Clint Eastwood’s “Gran Torino” in English class and thinking back at it, there’s a lot of stuff that we didn’t talk about which would have been very fundamental to understanding media, so let’s start with that.

Who are hero and villain? The hero, Walt, is a old, white veteran played by Clint Eastwood. He starts off as a racist and “learns his ways” by interacting with a Hmong minority that moved in next doors. He helps the youngest son to “man up” and eventually dies in a crucifixion pose saving that family. If you wanted to be cynical you could say he’s the manifestation of a white saviour complex and toxic masculinity... The Hmong family next doors basically consists of a mother, a son and a daughter. The son is a little bit of a nerd and his cousin (named “Spider”) tries to force him into joining a gang but he refuses. That conflict culmulates in the gang shooting at the house and raping the sister.

So, as we go on to discuss several rather problematic aspects, keep in mind that we talked about none of this in class even as I asked the teacher about it. Before we even start off: Walt constantly refers to minorities with a racial slur and it is never addressed. Neither in the movie or in the classroom we watched the movie in. And maybe that makes sense within the movie’s internal logic but your main charachter, who you, the writer and teacher, chose to portray as a hero still uses a whole bunch of racial slurs and it’s frankly amazing that you don’t talk about that a lot. Like, the really stupid analysis would have been “Oh, he uses a lot of racial slurs in the beginning but then stops using it as he becomes less racist, it’s character development!”, but he never once apologizes for them, he never once gets corrected or gets told how hurtful those are. Why not talk about it?

And ultimately this is a lot about the choices you make when telling a story, who you decide to be a hero and frame in a fucking crucifixion pose, who gets to be the villain and what means become important. 

Speaking of the villain: The villain is literally a part of a Hmong family, like the gang is framed in the most ridiculous light as they drive their pathetic car while listening to “fuck the police” but they get very cruel very fast as Spider shoots the house of his aunt and rapes his cousin with his friends which makes them quite abominable and barbaric. There is deep cutting sexual assault but it’s nothing but a means for Walt and his little apprentice to get upset and seek revence. You could probably substitute a literal gang rape for like burning a house down, or stealing some precious thing, it’s just weird that they chose to make it sexual assault. The sister, throughout the movie, takes a role in the background and kinda just naggs her brother, teases him and tries to banter in the most annoying way possible. And then she gets raped and if you think too hard about it, it seems a lot like her character was developed to serve that narrative purpose.

The movie also talks about the problems this Hmong community is facing, but it also kinda shows them as comically evil, there is no question who the good guy is - and who the bad guy is. What I am getting at is: why is the villain a Hmong gang and not.. I don’t know, the police? Gang violence is a huge problem for minorities - police violence is too and one kind of doesn’t frame an entire ethnic group as in need of help or barbaric. And yes, gang problems do exist in real life, but the active decision to depict it instead of the inherent flaws in the socio economic system that has enforced centuries of discrimination, is the important point. Interestingly, the movie does address the utter uselessness of the police briefly and kinda advertises the anarchist “taking things into your own hands” approach. As real as gang violence is, such is racial profiling or the fraud system - why not talk about it? Because that makes the black and white distinction of heroes and villains get a little fuzzy and who would want nuanced and complex themes?

Masculinity is used in connection to power tools, weapons and old but fancy cars. The son of the family (I forgot his name) is smart, he wants to go to university, he helps his mother, he is emotional but that doesn’t matter. And maybe that’s a very self aware take on “all of these qualities don’t matter but as soon as he has his own tool belt, he gets validated from society” but for that to be the take, they focus way too little on the validation or the previous value of his person - the validation becomes implicit and he is mostly validated through Walt. With that: there is not a single strong female character except for the sister in there and that would be generous considering what happens. Thinking of it, here are like three whole female characters in the entire movie.

Let’s get to the weapons. It’s no secret that Clint Eastwood is a conservative and it’s also a huge gimmik of the movie that “the only thing that can stop a bad guy with a gun, is a good guy with a gun” - no question asked about gun control. Guns are the cause for a lot of pain in the movie, but the hero is constantly glorified for his use and ownership of weapons, so there is absolutely not critical thought towards that one. Since Walt is a veteran too, there is a dash of at least value in military accomplishments too.

You could definitely argue that not all of these things are explicitly in there or that it probably wasn’t the intention of the screen play writer - but it still matters for media understanding to be aware of all of that. Of the fact that decisions are actively made and those are inherently political. Whose story you chose to tell is an observation that is incredibly crucial. You could also ask why I even bring these complex topics into English class? I mean, it’s high school. And I definitely agree that these questions cannot be talked about in a usual English class - but then tell my why my teachers wanted to talk about them soooo bad. The whole overarching theme of English finals was “belonging”, especially in contrast of its opposite of discrimination. They try so hard to make English skills about important social issues - they just fail doing so.

I am fully aware that the movie “Gran Torino” is just a means to teach the English skills necessary to pass English finals. They want you to learn about the history around the movie, cherry pick their way through topics they can get into 90 minute sessions, mostly avoiding debates about the movie tiself. I am fully aware that discussing racism in English class doesn’t aim to talk about these problems but to teach you the skills you need to pass finals. And that makes me cringe very hard because that means they’re quite literally using painful experiences to do that without having put a lot of thought into that.

One of my worst ethics teachers couldn’t tell me why I should care about Immanuel Kant’s work when he was this massive racist and sexist. He couldn’t tell me. And it is important to reailze that either he doesn’t have the capacity to think about that or he didn’t care enough to ask himself that question and I don’t know which one is worse. The same goes for chosing a movie that glorifies masculitiny and a white saviour to teach about belonging. Why not talk about the fact that nearly 50% of all homeless youth in the US is LGBTQ+? You need to be able to justify the decisions you make and the reasons why you don’t talk about certain things - and if that reason is called what the ministry of education tells you to do, they should have come equipped with an answer!

So. Why care? I love taking examples a ad hitlerum because that makes people realize the importance of the situation. If we were to read Mein Kampf in class, you would want the teachers to be a) able to understand the underlying problems of the material and talk about it to students and b) able to justify why the fuck they are reading Mein Kampf in class. I’m not saying Immanuel Kant’s ethics and Clint Eastwood’s “Gran Torino” are as bad as Mein Kampf, I’m saying that these are the kind of questions you have to ask yourself as an educational institution when teaching and chosing things worth teaching.

[thecasperanfamily]

Past and Present: A Casperan Family Oneshot

The fic about Lin's inhibitor cuff that I promised I'd post six months ago and then completely forgot about. Bear in mind that this does include some reference to another one of my fics, A Shot in the Dark, but I don't think prior reading of that one is necessary to understanding this. Basically all you need to know from that is that Douxie had a very bad experience with an inhibitor cuff when he was in New York with Nari and Archie.

I hope you all enjoy, and I am so ridiculously sorry about the absurdly long delay.

CW: Injury and brief mention of past torture (the former is not too graphic and the latter is only implied, but thought I should warn you just to be safe)

~~~~~

The front door gave a familiar squeak as Douxie shouldered his way in, a bag of groceries in one hand, his phone in the other as he skimmed over a text from one of his wizarding associates currently situated somewhere in the highlands of Mongolia (HexTech’s magical cell service had remarkable reach).

“Shoes off,” Zoe called from the dining room without looking up from her latest project, which was strewn across the table in the shape of various bits and bobs of magical gadgetry.

“Hello to you too,” Douxie chuckled, stepping back onto the welcome mat and levering off his high-tops as instructed. He joined her in the dining room afterwards, dropping his groceries on the bartop that separated it from the kitchen. He stood behind her chair and leaned down to kiss her cheek. “Is Lin with Archie and Nari?” Zoe gave an affirmative hum and nodded. “New project?” he asked, reaching out to poke at a piece of circuitry. Zoe slapped his hand away before answering.

“Sort of. HexTech manufactures these things large-scale for the underground wizarding community, but I wanted to do some tweaking to the standard model and make a custom job.”

“...and what thing are you tweaking, exactly?” Douxie asked, watching curiously as she fiddled with a few multicolored wires, alternating between using her wand for its intended purpose, and as an impromptu screwdriver.

“It’s an inhibitor cuff for Lin.” If she noticed the way Douxie’s hands suddenly tensed on her shoulders, she didn’t say anything about it. “HexTech doesn’t actually produce any models small enough for a baby--I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anyone’s magic surfacing that young--but lots of young hedgewizards and witches have to wear a cuff to keep from having magic outbursts in public.” She stuck her wand between her teeth and reached for a small plate of metal engraved with restrictive sigils.

“I...uh...” Douxie cleared his throat. “...I don’t think he needs one of these, love.” Zoe finally glanced up from her work long enough to shoot him a disbelieving look as she took her wand out of her mouth. He tried not to shrink under her penetrating gaze. “His...outbursts haven’t really been very serious. Maybe a few books knocked off their shelves, the odd static shock here and there, but nothing worth--”

“You said he shattered a lightbulb on the other side of the room just two days ago,” Zoe cut him off incredulously, brandishing her wand at him as though to drive her point further. “And as someone with electric-based magic, I can assure you those ‘little static shocks’ are going to become a major concern as his powers mature. Plus, what are you planning to do about doctor’s visits? And school? The kid can’t stay cooped up in your house for all eternity, Douxie, and we can’t risk--” She stopped short with a sharp inhale. Douxie froze as the air around them seemed to suddenly press down on them like a cold, heavy hand. Zoe met his eyes just long enough to share a glance of knowing dread.

“Douxie!” Archie’s voice rang with terror as it echoed down the hallway, but the wizard was already halfway there, catching himself on the doorframe of Nari’s room as his feet slid across the floor. Zoe slammed into him from behind and the two of them fell into the wood nymph’s room in a panicked heap.

Dark blue flames were crawling across the floor, spreading out in a fierce, protective barrier around the quivering, crying child curled in the center of the room. Nari was huddled against the far wall, clutching her left arm against her chest as Archie crouched over her, wings spread open protectively. Douxie felt nausea turning in his stomach--while Archie seemed to be unhurt, Nari’s aura was practically screaming with pain and fear, though she herself was frozen in silent panic. Lin’s aura was a chaotic storm of confusion and anxiety, along with something Douxie couldn’t place, though it felt unsettlingly familiar. And it was growing stronger.

Douxie reached out with his own aura and grappled with the magic swirling around the room for a moment, feeling like he was trying to subdue a raging dragon with nothing more than his bare hands. He managed to part the wall of flames just enough to let Zoe dart forward and snatch Lin up off the ground. He curled into her and grasped her shirt with a small, trembling hand, his aura beginning to calm.

“Get him out of here!” Douxie barked, taking advantage of Lin’s momentary relief to smother the flames with his own magic.

“What good is that going to do?” Zoe argued. “It’s his magic, it’ll just follow him!”

“I think he’s reacting to Nari’s aura--maybe to all of us, I don’t know! Just get him out and calm him down! And whatever you do, don’t be afraid!”

“As if,” Zoe scoffed, and Douxie once again found himself thanking the gods for her near-supernatural sense of calm in the face of danger. She swept out of the room, clutching Lin close to her, her warm, steady aura wrapping around the child closely and brushing against Douxie as she passed. It was like a plug was pulled, and the heavy feeling in the air, along with the bone-rattling thrum of magic, immediately drained away. Douxie heaved a sigh of relief as the last of the fire flickered and sputtered out, leaving nothing more than a bluish scorch mark on the floor.

“Nari!” he gasped, streaking across the room and falling to his knees in front of her. She was trembling like a leaf, tears streaming down her cheeks. Archie moved aside, and Douxie felt his stomach turning again--Nari’s left arm was covered in a web of burns, the patterns crossing over her skin like cruel, artistic brush strokes. He moved to put his hand on her shoulder, and she flinched, her aura flaring up with panic. “Hey, hey, it’s me,” he breathed. He reached out and carefully brushed against her aura with his magic. “You’re safe, I promise.” He felt some of the tension leave her spirit as she finally registered his presence.

“...S-sorry,” she sobbed breathlessly. “I’m so sorry, I should not have--”

“It’s not your fault he scared you like that,” Douxie cut her off, his voice quiet but firm. “Let me see your arm.” Still sniffling, Nari gingerly held out her left arm, the burn marks catching the light like hideous gemstones. Douxie swallowed, pushing back the wave of guilt threatening to crash over him as he gingerly cradled her arm in his hands. “...What happened?”

“...I don’t think he meant to hurt her,” Archie said softly. “His powers just seemed to...flare up on their own. It didn’t reach me--I was on the windowsill--but Nari was right next to him, and the pulse struck her full-force. I believe her shock and pain must have frightened or confused him--whatever it was, his magic quickly became defensive, as you saw.” The Familiar paused and shook his head. “...At any rate, we should tend to Nari’s injury before anything else. I’ll fetch some bandages.” He rubbed against Nari for a moment before leaving.

All of sudden, Douxie was keenly aware that everything in him ached. Fighting against Lin’s magic had drained more of his reserves than he could have ever anticipated. Grief and anxiety were warring for dominance in his chest, as the dreaded truth washed over him: Lin was dangerous. Sensing his distress, Nari shifted towards him and curled into him, angling herself so that her arm wasn’t pressed against him. Douxie’s hand came up to cup her head against his shoulder out of habit, his other arm wrapping around her carefully.

“...Douxie,” she whispered. “There was something about Lin’s magic. Something ancient. It...” She trailed off, taking a deep breath and pressing closer to him before she finished. “...it reminded me of the Arcane Order.”

“...I know,” he replied in a hollow voice. “I felt it too.” Archie slipped back into the room, padding up to them silently and dropping a roll of bandages and a tube of burn ointment beside Douxie’s knee.

“...What are we going to do?” Nari asked softly as Douxie began tending to her arm. He didn’t answer her right away. “...Douxie?”

“...I don’t know.”

It was only a half-truth at best. Douxie knew exactly what needed to be done. But everything in him was recoiling from the idea as though it burned him the same way Lin had burned Nari’s arm.

*****

He wasn’t sure how long he spent tending to Nari, only that it was probably far longer than necessary. Even as he began to wrap her arm, he could feel her magic humming and gently pulsing, mending skin and soothing pain. She would be perfectly fine by morning. But he still lingered, mind running in circles as he tried to forestall the inevitable decision he had to make. He could tell Nari sensed his unease, but she didn’t press him for it. After a while though, she became more and more insistent that she was alright, which was her way of telling him to stop avoiding the problem. He reluctantly took the hint and left her with Archie, steeling himself as he stepped back out into the hall and closed the bedroom door behind him.

Zoe was back in her seat at the dining room table, the mess of wires and circuitry now gone. In their place was a small, innocent-looking iron band, covered in runic engravings, lying in the center of the table where he couldn’t miss it. Lin was sitting on Zoe’s lap, drowsily suckling on a milk bottle as she gently bounced her leg beneath him. She looked up as Douxie came in, her eyes drifting over to the cuff for a moment, then back at him.

“...How is she?” she asked, avoiding the subject of the cuff for now.

“She’ll be alright,” Douxie sighed, running his fingers through his bangs tiredly. “Lucky she wasn’t human, though. A burn like that would have seriously messed up her arm otherwise.” He collapsed onto one of the chairs next to her with a sigh, propping his elbow on the table and resting his forehead against his hand. Zoe glanced at the cuff again, then down at Lin, who was clearly moments away from falling asleep altogether.

“...It won’t hurt him, Douxie,” she began. “All it does is--”

“I know,” Douxie interrupted a little too quickly. “I-I know what it does. And I know it doesn’t hurt, I just...” He trailed off with another sigh.

“...So then...what’s your deal here? Why does that little thing scare you so much?” Douxie shook his head wearily and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Stripping him of his only defense doesn’t feel little to me, Zoe. I’ve had my magic suppressed before, and I was--” He shook his head again, as though clearing it of the unfinished thought. There was a long, weighty silence. Lin’s bottle slipped out of his grip as he nodded off, and Zoe caught it before it fell.

“This isn’t about what happened to you, Douxie,” she insisted as she set the half-empty bottle on the table. “This is about what’s best for Lin--for everyone around him, too. Look,” she continued, her voice uncharacteristically gentle. “I get that there’s something going on with you here. Something happened that you don’t want to talk about. Everybody has crap like that, especially when they’ve been around for as long as we have. But you can’t push your issues onto Lin. That’s not fair to him, and in this case, it’s downright dangerous.”

“I know,” he said again. “And I’m not trying to....push my issues on him, I just...I don’t know.” Zoe regarded him for a long moment, her piercing gaze sweeping up and down his hunched figure critically.

“...How about I take him for tonight?” she suggested. “His travel crib is still in my car and I’ve got some spare supplies at my apartment. You’ve clearly got some stuff to think about, and if your guess is correct, and Lin can sense emotions as strongly as that, he would probably feel safer at my place while you’re dealing with this.”

“...Yeah, okay,” Douxie quietly agreed. His gaze finally landed on the inhibitor cuff, and he swallowed. “...Better take this with you.” He pushed it across the table towards her. “...Just in case he needs it.” Zoe’s hand hovered above the cuff for a moment, before passing over it and coming to rest on Douxie’s.

“He’s going to be okay, Douxie,” she murmured. “I promise. Nothing is going to happen to him.”

*****

He was back in the warehouse again.

It had been a long time since he’d been here, but he still knew it the moment he saw it. He’d never forgotten the shadowy walls, the ice-cold concrete beneath his feet, the incessant buzzing of the electric lantern. He couldn’t move. Of course he couldn’t. He never could. He couldn’t see the ropes that held him fast, binding his wrists behind him, but he knew they were there, knew there was no use in struggling against them.

That didn’t stop him from trying though.

Where is the forest-child?

He was screaming, he always screamed no matter how much he tried to keep silent. He strained against his bonds, fingers clawing at the iron band around his wrist. He needed his magic, he needed to get out before he broke. And he always broke. He always failed. The words burned like molten lava on his tongue, hot tears streaming down his face as he tried and tried and tried to summon his magic--but the cuff around his wrist was secure, sucking his powers out of him like some kind of horrifying metal leech. He could taste his inevitable betrayal in his mouth, feel himself giving in to the fire that raged in his veins.

No. NO. PLEASE, NO.

It was over. He could feel it. He hadn’t heard himself say the words, but he knew he had. He felt the fire grow cold and leave him, felt the ice of horror creeping in to take its place. Archie’s body lay at his feet, but he still couldn’t move, couldn’t take his friend into his arms and beg for forgiveness, couldn’t rush to Nari’s defense as she screamed his name, over and over again, pleading for him to save her as the Order ripped her away... He couldn’t find her, the world was covered in blue flames. Blue like Zoe’s eyes, blazing with ferocity as she stood against the Order without him, doomed to failure but refusing to back down. Blue like Lin’s magic as he wept in the center of it all and Douxie could do nothing for them--

“Douxie!”

He bolted upright, gasping for air as Nari’s voice pulled him from his dreams. He felt her hand on his shoulder, cool and soothing against his heaving back, while Archie’s familiar warmth pressed against his legs. Instinct drove him forward as he pulled both of them in, hands trembling as he clung to them like lifelines. Archie pressed against his neck, the Familiar’s purrs vibrating through his body and anchoring him in the present. Nari’s hand stroked through his sweat-drenched hair as her aura swirled around him, breathing her innate calmness into him.

“S-sorry,” Douxie croaked. “M’sorry...”

“Shh...” Nari whispered, coaxing his head down until it lay against her shoulder. “Let your aura uncoil--there...” He shuddered as his magic began to settle, and winced at the sound of a few books and knick-knacks clattering to the floor. He hadn’t even realized he’d been keeping them aloft.

“Been a while since you had a nightmare that bad,” Archie observed gently. “...Do you need to talk about it?” Douxie shook his head without bothering to pick it up from Nari’s shoulder.

“...S’just the same one I used to have a lot back in New York.” He felt Nari tense, her hand going still against his hair. Douxie only clutched her tighter. “...You know that wasn’t your fault,” he murmured. She gave a noncommittal hum, but at least she didn’t try to argue with him. Archie settled down on Douxie’s lap, purrs never wavering as the wizard’s hand stroked across his back. Nari pulled back enough to look Douxie in the eye, ignoring his huff of protest when he was forced to lift his heavy head.

“You have been troubled since this evening,” she observed quietly.

“Been a bit of a troubling day,” Douxie replied.

“I do not believe Lin meant to harm anyone, Douxie,” Nari asserted. “I do not understand his powers, but I can feel his soul just the same as yours, and I can feel that he would never wish to hurt any of us. He is not evil.”

“That’s....not really what’s been bothering me.” Nari tilted her head inquisitively, and Archie shifted under Douxie’s hand to look up at him with curious eyes. The wizard heaved a sigh and reluctantly began to explain himself. “...Until he can learn to control his magic, it will have to be suppressed. It’s....pretty normal for young wizards these days, but...” He took a deep, frustrated breath. “...When Zoe told me he needs to wear an inhibitor cuff, all I could think about was what happened to me when I was....forced into one. In my head, I know she’s right, that this is what’s best for him and for everyone, that it’s nothing like what happened to me, but... I just keep remembering that feeling of being completely helpless, cut off from the only thing that could keep me--us--safe. I’d been scared plenty of times before that, but that was the most terrified I’d felt in centuries. I don’t want to do that to him. I don’t ever want him to feel helpless.”

Silence fell between the three of them. Douxie’s hand had stopped stroking Archie’s back, though his thumb continued to rub back and forth idly against the cat’s shoulder. Nari’s hands were clenched in her lap, her aura pulled in tight around her as though out of shame. Douxie put his hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently.

“It wasn’t your fault,” he repeated in a firm whisper.

“I-I know,” she stammered, raising one of her hands to cover his. Her statement echoed the one he had given Zoe earlier. The wizard’s heart twisted in his chest.

“...You seem to have forgotten one crucial detail, Douxie,” Archie mused. Douxie looked down at his Familiar in bewilderment. “You were not so helpless as you believed. If I recall correctly, you were walking free again before the day’s end.”

“...Only because the two of you saved me,” Douxie reminded him, wondering what he was getting at.

“And you do not count your friends--your family--as one of your strengths? Oh, I can only imagine how well Zoe would take that,” Archie smirked.

“Archie!” Douxie yelped. “That’s not what... Of course I... If you say anything to her...!”

“Then what makes you think Lin would ever be helpless?” Archie interrupted his stammering with a pointed look. “He has all of us just as much as you do. Regardless of whether that boy has access to his magic or not, he will be protected. As will you.” The Familiar gave a short huff of finality, a draconic way of saying that Douxie did not have permission to argue with him right now. Douxie gave a sigh that shifted into a soft laugh after a moment. He glanced over at Nari to find her smiling gently, and she gave him an affirming nod.

“...Of course I know all of that, Arch,” he murmured. “It’s just....It’s hard to forget how I felt in that moment, that’s all.” He returned to methodically stroking his Familiar’s fur. “...But Zoe was right. Regardless of how I feel, this is what’s best for him. I guess it’ll just take some time for my heart to sync up with my head.”

“Well...as immortals, time is certainly something we have a lot of,” Nari reminded him. “For now, I believe the most pressing matter at hand is that of getting you back to sleep. You expended a great deal of magic today. You need your rest.”

“Always playing the Mum, aren’t you?” Douxie chuckled.

“Gods know you need it,” Archie grumbled.

“Archie is correct,” Nari said. “You do not exactly have a history of proper self-care, Douxie. So, while you look after Lin, we will all be looking after you.” She gave him a gentle push, and he fell back onto his pillow with a dramatic huff. Archie moved from Douxie’s lap up to the space between his neck and shoulder, settling there with a purr. “I will stay and guide your spirit into restful dreams,” Nari whispered, as though she had sensed Douxie’s apprehension. Which, knowing her, she probably had. She laid her hand over his heart, and he felt her aura flowing within him, bringing rest to his tense muscles and silence to his troubled thoughts.

He was asleep within just a few moments.

*****

Lin was his usual, cheerful self when Zoe brought him back the next morning. The inhibitor cuff on his wrist was glinting in the morning sunlight drifting through the windows. Douxie forced himself to ignore the jolt of unease that shot through him at the sight of it. Lin reached for him as soon as he saw him, leaning out so far that he almost fell out of Zoe’s arms.

“Were you a good houseguest, young man?” Douxie inquired, balancing the baby on his hip and taking his travel bag from Zoe.

“Yeah, he slept like a log,” Zoe reported, tossing her keys onto the kitchen counter.

“Mm. Evidence would suggest otherwise,” Douxie commented, taking note of the dark circles around Zoe’s eyes and the way she was stifling a yawn as she dug around in her seemingly bottomless purse.

“Hmm...? Oh, no, he’s not what kept me up. I was working on... Dammit, where did I put it? ...Ah, this.” She pulled a very large and somewhat battered-looking sketchbook out of one of the dozens of interior pockets and spread it out on the table with a flourish.

“Another one of your projects?” Douxie asked, unable to make sense of the hastily scribbled equations and sketches that covered the pages.

“You said you didn’t like the idea of him not being able to access his magic at all. But he obviously needs a way to suppress, or at the very least, weaken it. So I was up all night drawing concepts and potential schematics for a custom inhibitor cuff. See that little monitor there? I was thinking he could use that to adjust how much magic the cuff actually inhibits. Now, a project like this would probably take a few years to finalize, but I bet HexTech would be more than happy to fund it. Hell, they might already have some unused blueprints for something like this somewhere in their archives. I can’t imagine this is the first time that--” She was abruptly cut off as Douxie pulled her into a hug, burying his face in her shoulder and squeezing her tightly with one arm (the other was still full of Lin).

“You’re amazing,” he whispered. “You’re brilliant, absolutely bloody brilliant, and I don’t know what I ever did to deserve you, but Zoe I swear--”

“A-alright, alright, easy, Doux!” she blustered, though she made no attempt to push him off. “It’s not even done yet. I can’t even promise that this is possible. But....I think it’s worth a try. That is, if you’re okay with it.”

“I’m more than okay with it, I’m... Gods Zoe, I love you.” He felt her give up the pretense and relax into him.

“...I love you too,” she murmured. One of her hands came up between them and caught hold of Lin’s. He cooed contentedly as his fingers wrapped around Zoe’s. “...We’re going to be okay. No matter what comes next, we’re going to be okay.”

“...Yeah,” Douxie breathed. “Yeah, we are.”

Thank you so much for reading. ✨

[kayleepetey]

Hic Sunt Dracones: Chapter 2: Into the Breach

Hello, readers! I’m so sorry I’ve been so absent, real life has been a mad house. Work had me running around like crazy, then my mother and I had to move me, and I immediately thereafter started law school. I’m heading into finals, but with the bit of time off from Thanksgiving I was able to finally finish this chapter and I wanted to post it since it was supposed to be a birthday gift for @agentsassydirewolf way back in August, plus for a Thanksgiving gifty, and for Olicity Week. So, it’s long, but not a lot of action, sorry for that. But I hope it’s still good! Happy Thanksgiving! :-D

 To my dear dartie, Sassy, you are just the BEST and I’m sorry this took so long to finish!!!! ;-*

Disclaimer: I do not own Arrow, Constantine, or Flash, they are the property of CW, WB, DC, Berlanti, etc. No profit is being made off of the production of this work.

Fandom: Arrow, Constantine

Pairing: Oliver/Felicity, Olicity

Chapter Summary: You’d think that finding someone in their  own mind would be a piece of cake… Yeah, right.

 >>>------------>

 Into the Breach

 You’d think that finding someone in their  own mind would be a piece of cake…

 Yeah, right.

 Felicity and Constantine had been tromping through the jungles of faux-Lian Yu for what felt like hours—though according to the Dark Arts Master the passage of time is deceptive in the “mindscape”.  Also,  nothing  was where she remembered it to be from her two, admittedly brief, forays onto the island; she was so turned around and utterly confused.  Constantine had explained that in part it was Oliver’s mind protecting itself from invaders, by making the familiar landscapes more like a labyrinth so that the parts he wanted to keep safe were harder to find. Also in part it was simply that a person’s mind will place locations in positions that, while not geographically correct, made sense to them and connected in their mind, and that sizes and distances will be thrown off by the person’s perceptions of them.  The explanation rang bells, reminding Felicity of the episode of Fringe where they went into Olivia’s mind—the mirroring of the situation was not lost on her: Oliver. Olivia. She'd almost find it funny if she wasn't so damn terrified of losing Oliver to this...thing forever.

 The eerie silence around them, not a  single bird chirping, along with the shadowed and ominous forest was  truly disconcerting.  And while they did not see a  single  person, there was this eerie, undeniable feeling of being watched, as if eyes stared at them from every shadowed, veiled corner of the forest.  While this might be Oliver’s mind, it didn’t feel…right to Felicity, it didn’t truly  feel  like the man she loved, it was so blindingly obvious that something was  wrong.  Like Oliver was  here but something else had   infected  his mind, something  else had taken over, but the emerald archer was still trying to hold on. If only they could find  where  he was.

 "Everything looks the same.  I mean it all looked the same in real life, but now it looks even more...same...ish." Felicity spun as she walked—admittedly probably not the best idea, a point reinforced when she stumbled and nearly fell but managed to keep her feet—taking in their surroundings. "How are we supposed to find him? Especially  when everything looks the same?"

 "That's up to you, love."

 She rolled her eyes, glaring at Constantine's back. "You keep  saying  that. You're real specific on the how, but not so much on the how  to  do." Because Felicity had been looking down at that moment to watch her footing over a log she didn't realize Constantine had stopped, and she ran into his back, letting out a soft "oof."

 "Well, love, I think you've gotten it started at least." He was looking out ahead of them, somewhere she couldn't see from behind his back. "Unless you think  he's  really here for me?"

 Felicity leaned around him to see who he was referring to.

 Al Sah-him.

 Her breath caught in her chest. She could  feel the menace, evil, and utter cruelty rolling off of the tall, dark figure. Even though his hood was drawn up, the mask was on, and his eyes were completely obscured, Felicity  knew  he was looking  right at her.

 Fuck.

 >>>------------>

 Felicity wondered how she could begin to tire from running when she didn't have a body. How was that a thing?! She and Constantine were running as fast as they could through the foliage—praying she didn't step on an Oliver-mind-version of a landmine—persistently hunted by the shadowy figure just behind them, shooting black arrows and swiping his sword when he got close enough. She had  never  dreamed that Oliver's fighting skills would be turned on herself, certainly not in a mindscape.

 Finally they ran out of space to run, a sheer cliff rising up around them, caging them in.

 "Fuck!" Constantine slapped the rock of the cliff-face, as if looking for a way through—not unreasonable, Felicity would realize when she had time to think about it, when considering they were in a non-corporeal mindscape—to no avail.

 They both spun to face their advancing attacker.

 "Love, any sort of help you could get him to give us would be much appreciated." Constantine kept a weather eye on the dark figure while also trying to find something that could help them against him.

 "What the  hell  am  I  supposed to do?!" Felicity hissed, her back pressed against the rock alongside his; eyes never leaving the twisted, dark version of the love of her life.

 The dark arts "master" was digging around in his pockets. "You're  his fucking girl! Let him bloody well  know  you need his help!" He pulled out a lighter and a flask; he began pouring some of the alcohol over his hands.

 The tech-genius let her head momentarily fall back against the wall, eyes staring at the sky...which was the  exact blue of Oliver's eyes. She closed her eyes for a moment, holding onto that vibrant blue, drawing on the memory of Oliver gazing at her with such utter  breathless  adoration while he made love to her. Felicity clung to that image before opening her eyes and returning her gaze to the  creature  before them. Just as Al Sah-him raised his sword, angled to strike off her head, she took a deep breath, swearing  she could smell  Oliver, and slowly releasing it, breathing his name. "Oliver."

 The sword whooshed through the air towards her naked neck.

 The whistle was the only warning before a green arrow buried itself in Al Sah-him's sword-arm shoulder.

 Felicity whipped around, searching in the direction from which the arrow had come, she thought she might've seen a green hood ducking behind a rock, but she couldn't be sure.

 A hiss of pain escaped the figure and he drew back.

 "Nicely done, love," Constantine muttered to her as he flipped his lighter open.

 Felicity turned back, just in time to see Al Sah-him rip the arrow out of his shoulder and casually toss it aside. She backed up further against the rock face, eyes wide. “Yeah, it helped…for all of  ten  seconds.”

 “Ten seconds that we didn’t have before,” he countered easily. “Time enough for me to do  this.” Flicking the lighter on Constantine ignited the alcohol on his hands, drawing one hand back and then throwing  a  fucking  fire ball  at the dark figure.

 Al Sah-him ducked the ball, and rolled out of the way of the second one Constantine immediately threw, the minute pause between that and Brit’s next throw was just long enough for the assassin to draw back, aim and fire an arrow.

 It all happened so fast Felicity only had a heartbeat long enough to realize that the black projectile was aimed right at  her. She instinctively tried to step back, even though she was already pressed against the rock behind her—

 And fell  through the rock.

 “Oof!” The breath whooshed out of Felicity as she landed flat on her back…staring up at a pristine white ceiling, perfectly coifed with rich mahogany crown molding. Once she’d caught her breath she slowly sat up, looking around her at the antique wood paneled walls; her fingers sunk into the decadently thick, Oriental rug that ran as far as she could see down the eerily familiar hall.

 It was Queen Manor. Specifically the upstairs hallway in the “family wing”—how had her life come to where she was friends with people who lived in houses with  wings?!

 Felicity pushed herself to her feet, eyes scanning around her for any sign of Al Sah-him, but the dark-clad assassin was nowhere to be seen. In fact, for the first time since entering Oliver’s mind, it actually felt  wholly and entirely  like Oliver, as if the  taint  hadn’t reached this place.

 “Oliver?” she couldn’t help calling out; it felt like he was truly, literally surrounding her, like the rare occasions where he’d hugged her, when he’d held her on the zipline, clung to her as they swung across the elevator shaft, and the one time he’d carried her during Slade’s attack on Starling. There was no audible answer, but then Felicity felt something brush past her and she whipped around, calling his name again. “Oliver!” But no one was there, instead she was faced with one of the many dark wood doors that lined the hallway. Her brow furrowed slightly at the feeling that she was being urged toward that door; she clasped the handle.

 Before Felicity could open it the memory of Constantine popped into her mind—how had she forgotten about the man trying to help her save Oliver?!—she looked back around her, trying to find the snarky Brit, but there truly was no one else there. She bit her lip, torn; she was worried about Constantine, but the need to go in that room and look for Oliver was overwhelming.

 “Felicity…”

 Her head snapped back to the door, that was Oliver’s voice, she had  no  doubt, even though it was just a breath, like wind, she  knew that it was Oliver who had called to her. Felicity right then decided that since she had no idea how to find Constantine, but it felt like Oliver was  so  close, who better to find Constantine in Oliver’s mind than Oliver himself?

 Finally decided on her course of action—and perhaps ignoring a little voice in the back of her mind saying that her reasoning for wanting to find Oliver first was much less altruistic than she was making out—Felicity turned the doorknob and pushed it inward, cautiously peeking around the edge of the wood—this  was  Oliver’s mind and it had already proven to be a dangerous place.

 The room was  definitely  not one in Queen Manor, the building itself bordering on run-down, the room  far too shabby for a place Moira Queen would’ve ever stepped a toe into, much less ever had in her home.

 An Asian couple were off to one side of the room, the woman cooking—Tatsu, the name was whispered into her mind—while the man—Maseo—cleaned a gun. They were a striking couple and an abiding love and peace flowed between them—though Felicity swore she could feel a current of grief and guilt, not theirs but Oliver’s, flowing through the air—an aura Felicity longed to grow and share with Oliver. But what drew her attention was Oliver himself, sitting at a low table with a little boy—Akio, Maseo and Tatsu’s son, a fond affection threaded the thought of the boy, but was quickly chased by stabbing grief and guilt. She couldn’t hear exactly what they were saying, just Oliver’s familiar rumbly tones, and the lighter, higher pitch of the pre-pubescent boy, but whatever the child said had his parents bursting into hearty laughter, and Oliver gaping at him before he did his familiar duck, grin, and huff-laugh, which caused Felicity to smile—God, she loved Oliver’s smile and laugh.

 Why couldn’t I save him?! Why did  he have to die?! Oliver’s tortured tone weaved through the air.

 There was a flicker to a different memory: a destroyed store, the bloody, mutilated body of a man in fatigues, Oliver sitting nearby, the hammer in his hand still dripping with blood. A woman, Tatsu’s, ghostly voice saying, “What he did was  monsterous.”

 How could I do  that  in your name, Akio?! Please, forgive me?!

 Felicity’s heart  shattered. “Oliver…”  Somehow she managed to choke out his name around the lump in her throat.

 The memory—because that’s what it was she realize—around her dimmed and faded until the only thing she could see was another door, drawn inexorably towards it. This time she was less wary moving through the door, somehow knowing, deep in her bones, that she would be safe, that this was the way to Oliver—though perhaps “the long way ‘round.”

 She pushed the door open.

 A fire crackled inside a cave, a hooded man crouched over a fire, roasting what looked like a bird of some sort on a spit. Oliver was bent over beside him, listening to the man—Yao Fei, deep respect and gratitude—speak in a mixture of English and Mandarin, harsh truths, words of survival. It wasn’t pretty, none of it, but it was real, it was his reality then, and they were lessons he needed to survive. A flash of Yao Fei in a uniform…abruptly shot through the middle of his forehead.

 Felicity’s surroundings morphed into another fire, this time under the cover of the wrecked plane in the jungle, the one she remembered dragging Oliver from over a year and a half ago. Comradery, hard-won through blood, fighting, sweat, hardship, and tears bound Oliver with the lovely Chinese woman—Shado, so  this  was the woman Oliver cared for and Slade was so obsessed with—and Slade—Google  the man looked  so  different smiling, laughing, sanity in his eyes, she could feel and truly understand the love Oliver held for the man, why he called him brother and it was so hard for him to even think  of killing him. Laughter, joy, a moment of relaxation, amidst the daily grind that was the battle for survival, a moment of  home  in hell. Shado’s grinning face flashed to a point of red blooming through her forehead before she fell over face-first. Slade’s laughing expression twisted into madness, a cruel sneer below his eyepatch.

 Tears pricked Felicity’s eyes as it all faded to black around her, Oliver’s pain aching in her chest alongside her own for the loss of these friends who were more like family to him.

 She moved, almost woodenly, to the new door, heart heavy in her chest.

 It was Verdant. Middle of the day, sun streaming in through the skylights to the dancefloor and bar, where Oliver stood…with Sara on the other side.

 The breath caught in her chest at the sight of her friend, bright, laughing, in her familiar position behind the bar, shaking up a cocktail, oh-so-very  alive.

 Oliver’s affection, and fond love for the blond former assassin joined Felicity’s own love for her, along with their shared ache over her loss.

 Tears welled in her eyes. “Please, Oliver. Please. I don’t want to see…” Her lower lip trembled, squeezing her eyes shut not wanting to watch what happened to her friend again.

 A breeze whirled past Felicity, what felt like fingers brushing her shoulder; lips across her forehead. Blue eyes snapped open. “Oliver.” She searched for him around her—the scene had faded to blackness again, without replaying any of Sara’s deaths before Felicity. There was no sign of Oliver, though Felicity could swear that she felt him even stronger than before.

 The breeze, smelling of the so familiar forest, leather, and rain, blew past her again, seeming to nudge Felicity into turning. She whirled around, blue orbs seeking out her love’s familiar form…instead finding herself back in the Queen Manor. Memory!Oliver was on the phone with someone—Samantha, the emotions attached to that name were complex and  heavily tinged with regret.

 “So… How are—” Oliver began, his memory-discomfort and nervousness twisting around them.

 “I  lost the  baby, Oliver.” A feminine voice—the woman on the phone—cut him off.

 Felicity gasped, hand clapping over her mouth. Oliver had a child, or nearly had a child apparently.

 Now came the greatest confusion of emotion yet, his emotions from the memory: relief, guilt, a pang of grief he tried to push away. And his emotions now: aching grief over the loss of his unborn child, guilt and self-loathing over the relief that his younger-self had felt. They mingled and melded in Felicity’s heart, blending with the pain she felt for his loss; she pressed her palm against her chest, trying to hold in the ache.

 The blond genius turned away from the scene, biting down on her lip so hard that were she in her real body she was certain she’d be tasting blood. These memories, these people she was seeing, they were the deepest parts of Oliver’s heart and soul, the people he cared for, the parts that made him the man he was, the man she loved. She felt like a voyeur into these intimate parts of him, seeing these  deeply personal things that the archer likely never shared with  anyone, but were now playing out before her like a movie.

 Part of Felicity felt like she shouldn’t open her eyes again, that she should find some other way to find Oliver, but she was unable to prevent her lids from lifting.

 She found herself surrounded by a half-finished Verdant, boxes of alcohol stacked behind the bar, scaffolding along three of the walls, half of the chairs and tables spread out. Oliver was seated in one of the lounge chairs haphazardly drawn up to a short table, in the other sat…Tommy Merlyn. Felicity swallowed thickly, already feeling Oliver’s deep love for his life-long brother-of-choice and the agony of losing him.

 Tommy raised a glass of what looked like Scotch, Oliver mirroring him, “To new adventures, with the best friend and brother a man could ask for.”

 Someone who did not know Oliver as well as Felicity did would have missed it, but there was the slightest pause before Oliver clicked his glass against the dark-haired man’s, and she could see the emotions that flashed through his eyes as well as feeling them. Anticipating the moment to come, the blonde took a deep breath, bracing herself, but was surprised when it wasn’t just one memory that passed.

 Tommy’s eyes burned into Oliver’s. “You’re a  murderer.”

 The light fading from the young man’s blue eyes as he died in Oliver’s arms amidst the utter destruction.

 Oliver weak, with barely any fight left in him, sprawled on the floor—his fight against Gold Felicity realized—Tommy knelt beside him. “You are a  hero.” The emotions that swelled at that, both his and hers, had tears slipping down her cheeks. Felicity couldn’t say if it was a hallucination or perhaps some kind of divine intervention, but either way it meant the world to Oliver and thus it meant as much to her.

 The tears blurred her vision and she swiped at them, blinking hard to clear it again.

 It was a sunny day, it looked like summer, she stood on a dock on a small lake next to a blond boy of maybe 12 years—Oliver, she realized—sitting beside his father, a younger Robert Queen she’s only seen in family photos. The pair smiling as father showed son how to properly bait a hook and cast a line, a rare, precious moment of father-son bonding with his work-obsessed father. It blurred into Robert picking Oliver up from the police station for the first time, the disappointment radiating from every line in the older man’s face. Memory!Oliver tried to pretend he did not to see it, shame and embarrassment colored his emotions now.

 The SCPD station faded into a sight that Felicity dreaded  much  more: a life raft out in the middle of the water.

 A much more haggard Robert lifted a revolver and shot another man on the far side of the boat, startling Oliver; he then turned to his son. “Survive.”

 “No!” Oliver screamed, as Robert put the gun to his temple and pulled the trigger.

 Felicity screamed with him, clenching her eyes shut.

 Silence.

 After long moments of nothing, slowly Felicity cracked her eyes open.

 Oliver, ragged from his years away, was hunched on a couch in Queen Manor, watching a tablet.

 Robert Queen smiled gently, encouragingly from the screen. “You can be better than I was. You can save this city.” Oliver’s heart was utterly shattered, and the self-doubt was nearly suffocating. “I love you.”

 A sob escaped Felicity, feeling Oliver’s pain as deeply as her own.

 She moved to comfort the past image of her love but it faded, replaced with a much younger Oliver, lying on the same couch, head in his mother’s lap, sobbing. Moira, always so stoic and unflinchingly confident before when Felicity had seen her, had red eyes, her makeup was streaked from tears, and sadness and pain furrowed her brow.

 “Why’d Mrs. Merlyn have to die, Mom?” Oliver—God his voice was  so young—managed between hiccupping whimpers.

 “I don’t know, my darling. Bad things happen sometimes, even to good people.” Moira’s voice quavered, grief apparent in every wobbling syllable. She tenderly ran her fingers through her son’s pale hair.

 “It’s not  fair!” Little Oliver wailed. “Tommy  needs  his mom!”

 She bent over and kissed his forehead. “But he will have us. It won’t be the same, but he’ll have us in whatever way he needs.”

 He sniffled, hugging his mother’s knees tighter. “Yeah… I’m glad you’re not dead, Mom.”

 They were suddenly in a hospital room, Oliver stood at a window looking out over the nighttime skyline of Starling City. His name, spoken so softly, each syllable wavering with barely restrained hope; Oliver’s heart jumped, breath catching in his chest, so happy…and so  very  afraid. Swallowing hard, slowly, oh-so-slowly he turned to face his mother to see the tears filling her eyes.

 “Hi, Mom.” How had he managed that around the boulder in his throat?

 “Oh, my beautiful boy!”

 He was surrounded in her softness, her familiar scent. Comfort.

 It changed again; Felicity sucked in a jagged breath as a dark night, a car wreck overtook it all. Slade towering behind a kneeling Thea and Moira, demanding Oliver make an  impossible  choice. Felicity clapped a hand over her mouth, hearing the torment in her love’s screams, feeling it like her own, as Moira stood up and told Slade to kill her, giving her own life for her children, so that her son would not have to make this choice he would have  never  been able to make. As Slade drove his sword through Moira, Felicity went to her knees beside Oliver’s bound form, reaching for him, her arms wrapped around his shoulders. She could not move him, he was bound to the events in the memory, so she moved instead, hugging him as tight as she could; whispering in his ear, “Your mother loved you, Oliver! She was proud of you! You  didn’t  fail her!”

 The scene flickered, the Oliver under her hands going between solid and not.

 “I  know, Oliver.”

 “The night of the Undertaking, everything became so clear.”

 Finally the Oliver in Felicity’s arms entirely disappeared, and the scene resolved itself into the backroom of Verdant. Moira was cupping her son’s face, tears shimmering in her eyes, but pride glowing from every line of her face. “…I could not be more proud.”

 Calm, peace…hope. A smile, the first in  so  long, creased Felicity’s face, happy tears welling in her eyes, that Oliver, who knew so little of those had this moment to hold onto.

 Once she’d managed to blink away the tears the memory had changed; she stood in the driveway of Queen Manor as Oliver strode out.

 “Oliver!” Moira darted over, reaching out to take his hand and lead him in the opposite direction, towards John. “I want to introduce you to someone: John Diggle…”

 Annoyance ran through the memory; Felicity couldn’t help grinning feeling it along with Now!Oliver’s amusement at his own reaction at the time, and the knowledge of what he and John would eventually be.

 Oliver and John stood across from each other in the driveway, sizing each other up. The world around them blurred so they were now standing in the Queen living room.

 “Diggle, I’m not looking for anybody to save me.”

 What is there left to save? The grim, resigned thought drifted through.

 Nothing anymore. Felicity gasped at the echo from Now!Oliver.

 “That’s  not true,” she protested to the disembodied voice; the only response was another flash of doubt, much to her frustration.

 Diggle shrugged. “Maybe not. But you need someone, just the same. You’re fighting a war, Queen. Except you have  no  idea what war does to you. How it scrapes off little pieces of your soul.”

 God, how right he was. John was always right. The blonde genius’ lips quirked at that; how very true it was.

 The former soldier stepped closer to Oliver. “And you need someone to remind you who you are, not this thing you’re becoming.” John held out his hand.

 The relief, and even a sliver of hope, flooded through Memory!Oliver as he took Diggle’s hand. The beginning of something so  very  important.

 A flash to them sitting down in the Arrow Cave, the pair toasting with Oliver’s vodka. Talking over chili cheese fries in Big Belly Burger. The pair hugging tightly in Lyla’s hospital room, celebrating Little Sara’s birth.

 It settled again on what looked like a dungeon, most likely in Nanda Parbat; both of them were chained to the floor.

 “How do you feel about being my best man?”

 Felicity choked on laughter.

 Oliver’s familiar half-smile crept across his face, trying to hide the swell of emotion inside him. “I feel pretty good.”

 The tech genius snorted with laughter, of  course  John asked Oliver to be his best man while they sat in a freaking  dungeon straight out of medieval times, when they believed they would be killed at any moment. She shook her head ruefully, only her boys.

 The amusement was gone in an instant  as the memory resolved itself into a frighteningly and excruciatingly painful scene: the trade-off of Lyla and Nyssa. Oliver, locked in Al Sah-him’s control, was focused on the fury, hurt, and,  most  painful, the betrayal in John’s eyes. Oliver’s regret and self-loathing was  breathtaking, literally, Felicity was struggling to catch her breath as it slammed her in the chest.

 “He’ll forgive you!” she called again in Oliver’s hypothetical direction. “John will understand! And so will Lyla!”

 Doubt permeated the air around her, thicker than pea soup—not that she actually knew how thick pea soup was, she’d never had any, sounded pretty gross to her, so she didn’t know how thick it really was, but that’s what people always said so…

 Felicity bit her lip, finally deciding to try something she really probably should have tried before. “Oliver, where are you?”

 A sound behind her had Felicity whipping around.

 Children laughing.

 The first floor of Queen Manor in the sunroom. The blonde again heard childish laughter pouring through the open French doors, following it out into the garden.

 Teenage Oliver, grinning broadly, was running over the lawn after a pair of curly brown pigtails in a pink sparkly dress. Thea. Tiny, maybe six-years-old Thea in a fairy dress.

 “Ollie! Ollie! Catch me!” She ran up the short wall, less than a foot off the ground, spun and flung herself at her brother.

 Oliver had to quickly hop forward, but he managed to catch her, sweeping her up, and swinging her around, to the little girl’s delight.

 Oliver’s joy and love swirled around them—oh, how Felicity would  love  to see him happy like this again!

 Thea wrapped her arms around his neck and planted a sweet, sloppy kiss on his cheek. “Love you, Ollie!”

 Another blur and they were in the main entrance of Queen Manor; Post-Island!Oliver was staring up one of the two main staircases, a soft gentle smile on his face.

 Thea appeared at the top and her expression lit up. “I knew it!” She was dashing down the stairs, nearly heedlessly. “I knew you weren’t dead!” The lanky teenager flung herself into Oliver’s arms, trusting that he’d catch her just as much as she had at six, and clung to him just as tightly. “I missed you  so  much!”

 Oliver’s heart squeezed, love and fondness, filling him; his baby sister, his Thea, she was so  very precious, and he would do  anything to keep her safe, to let her keep her bright, inner light.

 The siblings stood in the all-too-familiar hallway of Starling General, Thea’s arms cross and disappointment clear in her gaze upon her stoic brother. “Maybe you should spend a little less time trying to be a hero, you’re obviously not any good at it.”

 I really am not.

 “Oliver…” Felicity murmured, how she hated how he doubted and hated himself.

 “I love you.” Thea was slowly turning away from him and towards the hospital room door. “Mom loves you. But it’s getting hard when you won’t be truthful with us.” She shut the door firmly in Oliver’s face.

 “Thea  loves you, Oliver!” Felicity shouted in his ephemeral direction. “And she’s  proud  of you! Remember?” She spun in place, as if she could somehow finally find him somewhere around her. “Remember when you told her?”

 Everything rippled around her, reconsolidating into the Arrow Cave.

 Thea stared at the Arrow’s suit in its display case, shock and awe on her face. “You’re…you’re him. That was you. All those times I got so mad at you for being…a flake, or telling me something I  knew  that  had to be a lie.” A pang of regret and guilt shot through memory!Oliver. Thea whipped around to face him. “You were saving someone’s life.”

 Hands clasped white-knuckle behind his back, bracing himself, unsure exactly where this would go, but he gave a short nod.

 His baby sister stared up at him, tears gathering in her eyes. “Thank you,” she breathed out before she dove into his arms, hugging him as tight as her petite, but strong, body could.

 Shock ran through memory!Oliver, flaring over his features, he’d truly believed she wouldn’t accept him, that she would hate him.

 “You know how many times I’ve wished that I could thank the Arrow for things he’s done for this city?”

 Love, hope ran through now!Oliver, remembering his little sister’s unconditional acceptance and support. But then wrenching pain and grief ripped through him, as the hugging Queen siblings blurred into Oliver crouched on the floor of the loft, cradling Thea to him in a pool of her blood.

 Felicity clapped a hand over her mouth to smother her sob, eyes burning. She’d known what had happened, of course, but…seeing it…

 “She’s all right, Oliver! I swear  Thea is okay! After we got back she remembered everything and she loves you and misses you!”

 Al Sa-him stared up at a hooded Thea, bow and arrow aimed right at him. Now!Oliver—God, Felicity wasn’t sure if she should laugh or smack him—was shocked and unspeakably  proud  of his baby sister.

 The bespectacled blonde gave a choked laugh. “Yeah, apparently like brother like sister.”

 Concern wound around her as everything faded except for Thea, standing tall, strong, and proud.

��“She’s safe,” Felicity called out again. “I told her where Roy is and she left right after to go find him. She’s safe, Oliver.”

 Felicity could’ve  sworn she felt his hand cupping her cheek, it was such a  strong  feeling. “Oliver?” she breathed, eyes searching for him, as Thea finally faded as well. Out of the corner of her eye she saw a light brighten a spot, and turned. Another mahogany door; she could hardly breathe around the strength of the pull drawing her towards it and she didn’t even  try  to deny it.

 She grasped the brass handle and paused, heart racing, because even though she didn’t know what memory was beyond this door, somehow she just  knew  that this was it, that just past this last barrier was her Oliver.

 Taking a deep breath Felicity pushed the wooden slab open.

 >>>------------>

 So, sorry that we didn’t get any actual direct Olicity, but I felt the need to have this, where we see Felicity receive this insight with Oliver since she’s in his mind, and it helps build up to where we go from here. The next chapter, I promise we’ll see REAL Olicity and LOTS of fun with that! ;-) Thank you for reading! Happy Thanksgiving!

[purify-orre-blog]

PRE-DV2 : The Conference

TW/CW: Dehumanizing Talk , Threats of Murder , Purposeful Misgendering (Until Called Out On It)

TL:DR; Michael only talks at 2 panels. The Conference goes... decently? Scribner talks in “” and italics. Hastings talks in “”. Michael talks in ‘’. Zacharias, for his 3 lines, talks in ‘’ and italics.

“Scribner Kelpman on behalf of the Kantonian Board of Scientific Discoveries here to introduce our academic friends to our ‘Pokemon Experiments Gone Wrong And You’ Panel. As you’ll recall, last year we had a talk with Bill, the man who fused himself accidentally with a Clefairy. Filling in for Professor Elm is Professor Hastings from the Ranger Union. We also have one other guest.”

“I’ve been told that your panel has an exclusive the likes of which our guests have never seen, is that right, old boy?”

“Right you are, Professor. We’ve an exclusive with the Phenac City Phoenix.”

“Ah, yes. I do recall being informed of that. He’s up in the cloud right now and we’ll watch him through that?”

“… No, Professor. The projector and screen behind us is set up to remotely stream its appearance.”

“Scribner, can I call you that?”

“I’d prefer Kelpman, Professor.”

“Well, Kelpman. I’m sure the lad would prefer we call him a he.”

“Professor, it’s not even human, its-”

“That young man is no less human than the rest of us, and we should treat him as such. For that matter, we should treat all Pokemon with this respect. They all have their own chosen names and pronouns. Beyond even our nicknames and interpretations of their gender. We should take the time to ask them how they feel and honor that.”

“That’s… quite the radical statement.”

“It’s no different than respecting any other person. We should respect others, just as they respect us. Don’t you think so, Kelpman?”

“I… Yes, Professor. Of course we should respect other people…”

“And Pokemon too, Kelpman?”

“… And Pokemon too.”

“Right then, old boy. Let’s make haste. Pull the lad from the cloud for us!”

“Right away… Professor.”

‘Hello? Is this connected?’

“What’s that lad? Please do speak up! These ears aren’t what they used to be.”

‘Um. Hello? Is this better? I’ve turned up the volume on my computer to it’s fullest.’

“… You’re still too quiet for the Professor. You should-”

“Ignore Kelpman here, lad. You’re doing just fine. We’ll simply turn up the volume of your connection some. Kelpman, give me the remote for a moment.”

“Professor, accommodating for that being will put your Union to shame-”

“And treating this young man rudely will put my soul to shame. It seems you have no qualms with it, though.”

“… I’m truly sorry for my words.”

‘That’s okay... Um, but if I may?’

“Yes lad? What do you need?”

‘Well, you’re Professor Hastings, and that’s Doctor Scribner Kelpman. Both respected men in you fields. But… I don’t think everyone knows who I am?’

“They know you’re not human-”

“You do seem to be right, young man. Why don’t you introduce yourself?”

‘My name is Yamichaelas Thunderbolt Krane-Westley. I’m here on behalf of the HQ Coordination Lab in ORRE. But those in the audience may know me as the Phenac City Phoenix. However, that’s not relevant right now. Since I think this might keep the attention more on the good Professor and Dr., I think I should mention the first panel I was on was over… that incident. And it was streamed live by the convention staff. So you can watch more on the official website if you weren’t at that panel… Dr. Kelpman here requested I come to talk about being the MICHAEL of MISSNO. fame.’

“Precisely. Following last year’s guest, Bill of the PC system, no other human has come close to what you’ve done. No one has violated the laws of nature so profoundly and lived.”

“Now I’m a well-learned Professor, but I’m afraid I’m rather in the dark when it comes to standard Pokedex nonsense. Us in Fiore are used to the Browser, don’t you know?”

‘And in ORRE we’re not much for Pokedexes either. Dr. Kelpman, could you please explain to us and those in the audience what MISSNO. Is?’

“That’s precisely what I’m here to do, Professor and Michael. A MISSNO., Missing NO. or Missing Number all refer to an unregistered or unidentifiable Pokemon and/or Pokemon-like creature of Cartoon origin. Once caught and/or registered, until properly disputed and accepted by the Regional League, these MISSNO. creatures will still show up under that Professor-restricted subset instead of in any official records. Of course, due to the Public Information mandate of nearly a decade ago, all MISSNO. creature names and base logged info can be found via the Regional Leagues website a month after upload.”

“Well I’ll be! Does that mean standard toon-folk show up under that branch?”

“I’ll admit, I’m not entirely sure. My studies have mostly been about molecular changes via the capturing process. In theory the answer is yes… But the list only applies to registerable creatures, which do have to be caught first… So I can’t say.”

‘Professor, Dr., I can answer this one. Standard toon-folk, and those who are half-or-less like me, do not automatically show up as MISSNO. It’s just as Dr. Kelpman said. You have to be registered or else you don’t show up.’

“And how do you know that, MISSN- Michael? Nonhuman hybrids like yourself aren’t legally allowed to hold Pokedexes, let alone become registered to use one.”

‘Uh. Um… well, when I was caught, my OT, um-’

“I’ll admit I’m curious to that as well. But this seems like a question best saved for later, perhaps when the panel is over?”

‘Uh, yes! Thank you Professor. Yes, exactly.  Dr. Kelpman, I’ll be willing to answer any questions you have right after we’re done.’

“… Moving along, then. Michael, is it true that you didn’t actually catch yourself despite your first… thesis… saying the opposite?”

‘…Oh, Shoot, I’m awfully tempted to lie and stick to saying I did, but you both caught me say OT back just a bit ago…’

“My word, lad. Are you saying you’ve actually caught yourself? In a Pokemon Ball?”

‘Well, yes. That’s what this panel is about, Professor. Didn’t Dr. Kelpman brief you too?’

“He sent me some files, yes. But I only skimmed through them when it became apparent he only cared for slander and libel. You’re just a young person that went through some tough times.”

“Libel? Professor, I’m appalled that you would even insinuate I would stoop that low about a murderer like-“

‘’Kelpman, I don’t believe I was talking to you. I was talking to Michael here.”

“… Fine. Talk over me on my panel. I don’t care.”

‘Professor? Please don’t be mad at him for doing his job.’

“Young man, I’m disappointed in the Dr. for being so rude to you. I’m angry at this whole convention for using your unfortunate circumstances to force you to talk here. You should be in school, not locked in a room with a security guard and your younger brother over there.”

‘He’s older than me, actually. And my current TRAINER, not my brother.’

“Ah, I see. Well, the point remains. You shouldn’t have to be here for your lab’s accreditation. Not when you’re still so young. You have so much to do and see. More than reminiscing over lies, certainly.”

‘I’m afraid that whatever the Dr. there sent you was likely true. The Phenac Incident was… bad… And I did steal Pokemon from licensed TRAINERs. I’m not heroic or anything, I’m a bad guy.’

“See. It- he admits to his guilt! He’s a menace. A menace that’s currently abusing tons of private funding to pal it up with the brightest young minds and taint them. He’s ruining my panel. He’s-”

“Mr. Kelpman. That kind of speech will not be tolerated in this convention environment. Or any environment. Certainly not in a work environment. You are an academic mind above all else, and you are the only one here ruining your panel.”

“How dare you-”

‘Professor, please. He’s just scared because I’m in the VIP Fairy-Variant room. But it’s okay! If I act out again or these panels go badly, I’ll be put down. There’s no need to be mad at him!’

“Young man, what was that bit?”

‘Nothing, Nothing! Um, let’s just get back to the panel, okay?’

“… This panel is over. Everyone out.”

‘No, no! Please Dr. Scribner. Please Keep it going. If my guard finds out…’

“Professor, can your authority let Michael free? This… doesn’t sound like convention policy.”

“Mr. Scribner, I do believe it can. I think we should on-record stop the panel and-”

‘Please don’t end the panel early! Please!’

“Why not, Michael? The guests have all left.”

“Kelpman is right, young man. This is something we need to report to the board.”

‘But you can’t stop it early. Please.’

“To reprimand you like that is against nearly every rule in the book. It’s been illegal to put down VIP’s since before you were born.”

‘My lab needs the accreditation just as much as you want Professor status, please Dr. Kelpman. Ask me more questions about how I recoded the Premier Ball or something.’

“Hybrid or not, my personal feelings on your murders aside… This isn’t okay.”

“Kelpman, my boy, for once we agree on something. Michael, my lad, we have to set you free.”

‘Dr. Scribner, if you stop it early, this’ll be my third strike. You know the room itself is STEEL. You know if I’m kicked to the ground and forced there it’d kill me. Please. Please, don’t stop the panel.’

“… Professor, can a panel still be run with only one host and one guest if the other is taking a bathroom break?”

“Why yes, it can. I’ll be off to the restroom.”

‘You’re making a mistake, Professor. I just need to sit through the panels. It’ll be okay. You don’t need to go out of your way-’

“Onto my next question. Michael, was it true that you stole a prototype Pokeball from- Actually. Let me ask something else.”

‘… The Professor left.’

“Michael. Did you ever make good on your plans from the end of your thesis?”

‘You read my paper? Your work on berries has always been an inspiration of mine. It’s what I’m going to talk about at my solo panel and-’

“I’ll say. Your thesis on the Pokeball system came out the same year mine did. It received more acclaim despite mine being vastly superior. You cited working on it for 2 years. Mine took a decade. The only difference was you took anecdotes from actual Pokemon.”

‘Yours was much better than mine! The amount of experiments and control tests you went through to come up with your findings was astounding!’

“But I wasn’t young enough. You gained my praise. Everywhere I turned, my masterpiece was compared to your fantasy novella.”

‘But I really did talk to all those Pokemon. They were my friends. And they’d never lie to me.’

“That’s precisely why it’s fantasy, Michael. You know how Pokemon, how friendship works! They were only telling you what you wanted to hear!”

‘I don’t think they were? I’ve been in a Pokeball too, remember? Besides, our collective findings basically say the same thing, I don’t see the big deal.’

“You wrote a newspaper article and got into the Hope’s Peak. I wrote an encyclopedia and didn’t even break into my field. You ruined my career.”

‘Are you sure both of our success wasn’t up to luck?’

“… Maybe it was. If only I was lucky enough to have a fan.”

‘Well, for what it’s worth. I’m your fan.’

“… That doesn’t make me feel better.”

‘… Also, I did.’

“Excuse me?”

‘What you asked about. I did. Do… that to myself too.’

“But you don’t seem any different. You don’t seem changed.”

‘Just a few weeks back I went through a PURIFICATION process, actually.’

“Did it help any?”

‘Not really. Not as much as going to therapy and relying on my family, friends and boyfriend has been.’

“I see… Are you happy together?”

‘Huh?’

“You said boyfriend. Another Hope’s Peak student, I’m guessing?”

‘Oh, ha ha. I did mention him, didn’t I? Yeah, uh… Yeah, he is…’

“And you’re happy together?”

‘I’m not sure. I mean, I’m happy with him. I’d do almost anything for him. But I never really asked if he’s happy with me. It’s hard to tell, you know? He’s so out-of-my-league…’

“Yeah, I know what you mean. Especially if they’re really open with affection towards everyone. It’s hard to tell if you really deserve it or it’s just something they’d do for anyone.”

‘Yes, exactly! I feel that way with my friends too! Like Zacharias, Eve, and Espella! They’re always being way too nice! Why, do you deal with that too?’

“My husband Yew made me feel the same way for a long time. And… is that him there?”

‘Huh?’

“Your TRAINER from before who’s struggling on that smartphone. Is he also your boyfriend?”

‘No, that’s my friend Zacharias. My boyfriend is someone else entirely.’

“May I know his name?”

‘Well, see, I’ve also never asked if I can tell people who he is… But, since you told me your husband’s name, I’ll say his name also starts with a Y.’

“That’s… something I guess. And, it looks like the Professor is there.”

‘It… sure does. Did he really have to knock out the poor security guard?’

“It looks like your friend was ready to pull out that prop sword of his, I think it’s for the best.”

“Michael, my lad! Michael’s TRAINER! Let’s get you two out of here!”

‘Are you the Search Engine Pizza man?’

“I’m Professor Hastings from the Ranger Union.”

‘With our desert pizza?’

“Why would I have a desert pizza?”

‘I ordered one through the Google search on behalf of a request from some Magical Phone Royalty.’

“It seems you’re going to be fine. I should let the convention goers know everything is okay.”

‘Dr. Kelpman, thank you for your help. You can hang up the call now.’

“Will do.”

[hollywoodages-blog]

Aly Michalka Height Weight Measurements

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Aly Michalka Height Weight Measurements

Aly Michalka Biography

Alyson Renae Michalka Ringer born on March 25, 1989 best known as Aly Michalka, is an American performing artist and recording craftsman. Michalka picked up distinction for assuming the part of Keely Teslow in the Disney Channel unique arrangement Phil of the Future. She is additionally referred to for her parts as Marti Perkins in the CW TV dramatization Hellcats and additionally Peyton Charles in the CW TV show “iZombie”, Taylor Callum in the Disney Channel Original Movie Cow Belles, and Rhiannon Abernathy in the Golden Globe-assigned youngster film Easy A. She is otherwise called one portion of the musical team Aly and AJ (once in the past 78violet) with her sister, on-screen character AJ Michalka. Aly has displayed for OP (Ocean Pacific) and Penumbra. She has additionally done style shoots for Maxim, OK! what’s more, Zooey. Michalka was conceived in Torrance, California. She experienced childhood in Seattle, Washington and Southern California, with her more youthful sister, Amanda “AJ”. Her dad, Mark, possesses a contracting organization, and her mom, Carrie, is a performer and performed with the Christian “JC Band”. Michalka made her acting introduction as Keely Teslow on the Disney Channel Original Series, Phil of the Future. She has additionally featured in the Disney Channel Original Movies Now You See It…, and Cow Belles, in which she shows up inverse her sister. She had a main part in the Walden Media film Bandslam, discharged in August 2009. She likewise assumed a part in the motion picture The Roommate.[citation needed] In 2004, Michalka was thrown in the part of Keely Teslow on the Disney Channel’s Phil of the Future. The arrangement debuted on June 18, 2004. In August 2006, Disney Channel finished the arrangement after two seasons. Michalka additionally showed up in two Disney motion pictures, Cow Belles and Now You See It…. Michalka showed up on CSI: NY,[citation needed] and in 2006, featured in an unsold Disney Channel pilot Haversham Hall which was not grabbed. In 2007, Michalka featured nearby her sister AJ in the MTV TV film Super Sweet 16: The Movie taking into account the MTV unique arrangement My Super Sweet 16. She assumed the part of the terrible famous mean young lady Taylor Tiara. In 2009, she showed up in the Summit Entertainment musical comic drama film Bandslam around a gathering of mavericks who shape a stone band.

Aly Michalka Personal Info.

Full Name: Alyson Renae Michalka Ringer

Nick Name: Aly, Kookaburra, Slinky, AI

Family: Mark Michalka – (Father) Carrie Michalka – (Mother) Amanda Michalka – (Sister) Ricky Michalka – (Brother)

Education: Aly Michalka was home schooled.

Date of Birth: 25 March, 1989

Birthplace: Torrance, California, U.S.

Zodiac Sign: Aries

Religion: Christian

Ethnicity: White

Nationality: American

Profession: Singer-songwriter, Guitarist, Actress, Dancer, Model, Songwriter

Measurements: 36-24-36 in or 91.5-61-91.5 cm

Bra Size: 34C

Height: 5′ 8″ (173 cm)

Weight: 121 lbs (55 kg)

Eye Color: Green

Hair Color: Dyed Blonde and Naturally Brown

Dress Size: 04

Shoe Size: 08

Friends: Ricky Ullman, Vanessa Hudgens, Brenda Song, Emma Roberts, Emma Stone, Miley Cyrus, Leighton Meester

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Boyfriend/Dating History:

Matt Leinart (2008) – American football player had dated for a brief span in 2008 with Aly. This pair would look unbalanced as he is 9 inches taller than her.

Matt Barr (2010) – Both of these initially met amid the cheerleading satire show TV arrangement, Hellcats in 2010 and had a brief relationship together.

Robbie Jones – She had an indulgence with American performing artist, Robbie Jones.

Ricky Ullman (August 2005-2011) – This American performing artist initially met Aly in 2004 on the arrangements of TV arrangement “Phil of the Future” and soon began dating. In any case, their sentiment was affirmed long time after in August 2010. The two Disney stars were isolated in 2011. They are simply great companions now.

Joel David Moore (2011-Present) – She is currently in an association with American on-screen character, Joel David, who accomplished acknowledgment with “Dodgeball: A True Underdog Story”.

Known For: Aly Michalka is best known for her role of Keely Teslow in TV series “Phil of the Future” and as Marti Perkins in “Hellecats”.

Active Year: 2004 (present)

Favorite Food: Candy, pasta, steak, sushi, tacos

Favorite TV Show: Hellcats (2010-)

Favorite Movies: Willow (1988), Uptown Girls (2003), The School Of Rock (2003)

Favorite Color: Violet

Favorite Actors: Jack Black, Johnny Depp, Simon Baker, Topher Grace

Favorite Actress: Naomi Watts, Cate Blanchett

Official Twitter: Twitter Account

Official Facebook: FB Account

Aly Michalka Filmography:

Filmography

Film Year Title 2009 Bandslam 2010 Easy A 2011 The Roommate 2013 Crazy Kind of Love[13] 2013 Grown Ups 2 2014 Sequoia[14][15] 2014 Killing Winston Jones 2015 Weepah Way for Now

  Television Year Title 2004–06 Phil of the Future 2005 Now You See It… 2006 Cow Belles 2007 Punk’d 2007 Super Sweet 16: The Movie 2007 Aly & AJ: Sister Act 2010–11 Hellcats 2011 CSI: NY 2012 Breaking In 2013–14 Two and a Half Men 2014 Anger Management 2015–present iZombie

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