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popurikat · 4 years

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Newtmas essay when?

Finally getting to this, thanks for waiting, I needed to go over a few bookmarks. (Warning, this post contains spoilers from the MAZE RUNNER book and FEVER CODE book, so if you haven’t read either or yet and want the jist of my analysis; just know that in general the fandom interpreting Newt as gay before it was revealed on a twitter post was not just a random headcanon and that Thomas in general is portrayed to have very strong unconditional love for Newt throughout the series; and it shows. To the point that even the director for the movie has stated that Newt and Thomas have a strong bond and portrays that in the movies. I will also preface that I am NOT adding personal opinion anywhere here, these are just backings from quotes and how they are thus meant to be taken/read as. My words are taken as a reader who is currently reading Scorch Trials has yet to fully read Death Cure or Crank Palace.) Anways, without further ado at 3AM today, I’ll try my best to explain how even though Dashner tries his best to make Thomas have other, female love interests; he creates a not so subtle gay subtext for Tommy boy here when in the context of interacting with Newt throughout the lore. Apologies beforehand for any grammar mistakes along the way.

To commence, I am going to start with FEVER CODE, as its supposed to act as the story’s preface to the actual events that play out later. Newt and Thomas upon meeting each other describe their presence as “familiar” and or as a “long lost friend” and they genuinely hit it off from the start to the point that Newt is okay with having Thomas see him cry over the fact that he and his sister are separated since he is doomed to be WCKD’s control analysis as he’s the only one lacking immunity from the flare itself. Once Newt is done being emotionally vulnerable we get our first instance of his personal nickname for Thomas: “That’s the way things are Tommy,’ he said his voice not quite steady. ‘The world outside’s gone to hell. Why should we expect any different here? [...] He said it as if they’d been friends for years” (ch. 14). An interesting note here is that Thomas doesn’t bother to correct him or stifle the moment by feeling that all this information was too much, he genuinely wanted to hear Newt out and is fine with seeing this side of him; if not slightly taken aback by how natural it is that they can converse about such aspects of their lives. In fact, Newt makes such an impact on Thomas that Thomas ends up that same night dreaming of him: “Throughout his shortened night, he dreamed of Newt and Sonya. Of Newt and Lizzy“(Ch. 14). The thing with Thomas though is that the idea of comfort and connection is very foreign to him as he’s been basically isolated all his life with only the adults like Ava to talk to and the one exception being Teresa as his only kid companion. So Thomas didn’t even think he could make others like him for being himself unless they were vital to the overall production of WCKD. Seeing this portion right before the end of chapter 14: “Alby, Minho, Newt, Teresa. Thomas had friends.” shows that Thomas really had to deep dive to see how he deals with personal connections and why he was excited about the notion of friendship. He could’ve been happy with just Teresa, but only fully cemented her bond to him as “friend” when his circle grew and these kids he got to hang with taught him he can be himself, a concept he didn’t realize was possible when all his life was dictated on what he was supposed to learn or do. It becomes especially clear just how controlled his life is with the aspect of sentiment when later on Teresa’s mental communication evokes physcial pain and fear in Thomas. I’ll get back to that later as its more of a small tid bit of Thomas’ view on his forced love interest, Teresa. And yes, I say forced because multiple sentences with Thomas have him even wish he could cease all communication with her. Moving on, let’s talk about mimicking for a second. As humans, we mimic as a behavioral response to become closer to the person we care about. It’s the reason why yawning or laughter is contagious and or why we copy the posture of the person we converse with face to face. Thomas is seen to do this the most with Newt’s quirks. I’ll give the example in chapter 15: “Newt has been promising them that he was saving something special, and he did that annoying zipped-lipped sign every time [...] the little light in his eyes showed he enjoyed every second of their torture” versus Thomas: “Thomas did Newt’s zipped-lipped gesture, and that got him a sharp poke in the ribs”. So, we know enough that Thomas’ mannerisms are developing as a sign that he wants to be closer to Newt and to continue this sense of playfulness they both enjoy from the other. This is the start of their budding bond and a clear indication that they hold each other at greater fondness than the rest through this unconscious copying. Through this copying, they also pick up on emotional cues the other lets up on. Newt is especially good at noticing small things like when Thomas is anxious or overthinking: “He was just shocked that with all their exploring, the others hadn’t already discovered it on their own. And there were supposed to be TWO mazes. How had Newt and his friends not stumbled upon either one of them? ‘Tommy?’ Thomas realized Newt was staring straight at him, eyebrows raised. ‘Sorry,’ he said embarrassed, ‘wandered off for a second there what did you say?’ Newt shook his head in admonishment. ‘Try to keep up, Tommy Are you ready to see the grat outdoors?” (ch. 15). Also in chapter 23: “Tommy?’ It was Newt, breaking him out of his thoughts. ‘I can see your wheels spinnin’ up there.’ He tapped the side of his head”. This furthers Newts perceptiveness on his friend and Thomas’ ability to pick out when he is being looked after. And they bounce off each other really well in that aspect. To the point that Newt can crack a joke he knows will land right on Thomas’ sense of humor: “Newt waggled his fingers in front of Thomas’ face [...] A laugh exploded out of Thomas’ mouth that sent a spray everywhere. ‘Sorry’ he said, wiping his lips on his sleeve” (ch.15). It’s enjoyable to know that at least at a surface level, they have fun together and can cheer the other up if needed or know when to ground the other to reality. It is also through these instances that as a reader I pick up that Thomas’ nervous ticks perhaps allude to an anxiety disorder he has; of which Newt is aware of and never puts Thomas down on for exhibiting. He in fact understands it and deals with it accordingly as he himself has a similar circumstance. SO, what does all this paying attention lead to? Thomas’ devotion to protect Newt. Yeah, thats right I said devotion. Thomas’ actions are influenced by his developed instinct to protect Newt at all costs. Here is the biggest example that comes to mind: “What in the world happened to Newt? -- Less then two hours later, Thomas had spliced together a series of camera clips [...] Thomas turned off the feed. He couldn’t take it anymore...Newt, Newt, Newt, Thomas thought, feeling as if the very air around him were turning black.”(ch.52). Essentially, Thomas seeing Newt plummet to his near death by falling from the maze wall as a result of Newt’s ongoing depressive state, this is the moment that makes Thomas realize WICKD isn’t as good as they seem and that he is going into the maze to save Newt. Its admirable how much self sacrifice Thomas does for someone he cares so much about, to the point that their name is like a mantra. Thats a sensible area of passion and fighting spirit for someone who is “just a friend”. Oh and, the feeling of fondness is mutual mind you if I haven’t been clear. After experiencing the horrors of cranks for the first time, realizing Newt was not immune, and watching Newt until they entered the pits it has been months since they last interacted; this is their first reunion: “What’s up Tommy?’ Newt exclaimed, his face filled with genuine happiness at the pleasant surprise that’s been sprung on him. Thomas couldn’t remember exactly how long it’d been since he’d seen Newt. ‘You look bloody fantastic for three in the morning” (ch. 23). I need to preface this that Newt DOES NOT mean that sarcastically and that out of all the people in the room (Minho, Chuck and Teresa are there in this scene), Thomas only reacts this way specifically toward seeing Newt is okay and back. The characters are also not afraid of being physically close. “Well, look who the bloody copper dragged in,’ Newt said, pulling Thomas into a big hug” (ch.31), “They shook hands, and then the two of them set off...” (ch. 31), and my favorite: “Thomas jumped at the sound, then stumbled. Newt tripped over him, and then they were both laughing, legs and arms tangled in a pile on the ground”(ch.32). I don’t think this far in the novel, Thomas has been AS (emphasis on as) comfortable with touch with anyone else other than Newt. And thats a big step forward on the aspect of trust in a relationship, being able to be comfortable with the presence of another person enough to be as intimate with them as shown here. And all this, is just fever code itself. Mind you this is not the MEAT of the novels as it came out later. But even without it, lets look at Thomas in Maze now, I’ll try to keep this segment a lot more brief. Here’s Thomas looking respectively at boys his age: “A tall kid with blond hair and a square jaw...a thick, heavy muscled Asian kid folded his arms as he studied Thomas, his tight shirtsleeves rolled up to show off his biceps [...] Newt was taller than Alby too, but looked to be a year or so younger, His hair was blond and cut long, cascading over his T-shirt. Veins stuck out of his muscled arms”(ch. 2). Thomas’ initial reaction to being surrounded by boys is to deeply analyze their rugged good looks and heavily emphasize their best physical traits. When reading this the first time, my mind immediately thought this boy at the very least is supposed to be portrayed as bi, especially when later down the line Teresa gets a similar descriptor: “...despite her paleness, she was really pretty...silky hair, flawless skin, perfect lips, long legs.” So right off the bat, we know that be it boy or girl, Thomas emphasizes how attractive someone looks in his eyes when he truly does have a sense of attraction to them. Case closed. Within the same chapter we get Thomas also immediately clinging onto Newt for a sense of grounding, it is now ingrained in him at this point that the boy is his lifeline, a person to rely on. “Thomas looked over at Newt, hoping for help.” And help he does, Newt in this chapter helps ease his worries, explain a general idea of what the glade is and even pats him on the shoulder a bit to ease tension. And Thomas doesn’t bat an eye in the same way he’s weary of literally everyone else. In fact, he’s eager to stay put with him as shown with; “If Newt went up there, then I wanna talk to him.” And if none of that seals the deal, we got early bird Newt being so touch starved he flattens himself next to Thomas to wake him up at the crack of Dawn in chapter 6: “Someone shook Thomas awake. His eyes snapped open to see a too-close face staring down at him, everything around them still shadowed by the darkness of early morning...’Shh, Greenie. Don’t wanna be waking up Chuckie, now, do we?’ It was Newt --the guy who seemed second in command; the air reeked of his morning breath. Though Thomas was surprised, any alarm melted away immediately”. This whole scene follows firstly by Thomas once again impressed by how strong Newt is and then Newt giving him a rundown of what everyone else was too afraid to show Thomas, the grievers. And you know, this scene could’ve ended well and everything as totally platonic, but then we have “Newt turned to look at him dead in the eye. The first traces of dawn had crept up on them, and Thomas could see EVERY DETAIL OF NEWT’S FACE, HIS SKIN TIGHT, HIS BROW CREASED.” Now, look me in the eye and tell me there is a hetero explanation on looking at your best bro like they are the sun reincarnated themselves. But let’s not hog all the homosexual undertones with Thomas here. Wanna know what Newt’s initial reaction to having a girl in the glade was? “It’s a girl,’ he said [...] Newt shushed them again. ‘That’s not bloody half of it,’ he said, then pointed down into the box. ‘I think she’s dead” (ch.8). It’s actually a stark contrast to the other gladers eagerly wanting to know her age, how pretty she looked, and calling dibs to date her; Newt isn’t interested in any of that, he’s more perplexed on her status and not even bothering to remark on her looks, he was the only one not to and even remarks a few other instances that girls are more Thomas’ domain. For instance, he makes a joke in fever code when Thomas remarks that the girls in the institution were going to tackle him down, Newt proceeds to point out sarcastically something along the lines of “wait, isn’t that YOUR dream though?” So Newt is pretty out spoken of his disinterest in girls, and his full admiration and attention on Thomas. Oh, and yes, Newt immediately switches over to “Tommy” the moment Thomas mentions he hates being called greenie, and once again it just becomes a thing between only the two of them. Newt is also the one to be straight forward about the whole Runners business. He warns Thomas about the dangers and doesn’t necessarily turn him down on his desire to be one, he in fact encouraged him to just wait until the right moment. “No one said you couldn’t, but give it a rest for now”(ch. 15). So once again, Newt is the voice of confidence and reason for Thomas to prosper. In turn, this time around Thomas is the one to catch when something is bothering Newt. For instance, “Newt chewed his fingernails, something he hadn’t seen the older boy do before...he was genuinely concerned -- Newt was one of the few people in the Glade he actually liked ”(ch.16). Interesting how we went from fever code “friend” to “like”. And also, when Newt explains his concern about the runners not coming back yet, Thomas pieces together how scared Newt is of the Maze without being told and goes to stand next to him as a physical presence to ground Newt as they wait near the entrance. In fact, this piece is trivial to understand why Thomas does what he does next. When everyone else had given up on the Runners still outside with 2 minutes left til closing, and Newt was escorted away from the entrance, Thomas waited. And when Thomas saw them, he yells to Newt, realizes he’s too far to do anything, and makes a decision himself. He KNEW how much Newt cared about his fellow Gladers, they were like family or “kin” as its said in the book, so what does he do? “Don’t do it Tommy! Don’t you bloody do it!’ ... Thomas knew he had no choice. He moved. Forward. He squeezed past the connecting rods at the last second and stepped into the maze”(ch.16). Yes, Thomas does this because of his empathy for the Gladers, but the chain reaction of Newt’s concern is what sets his decision in stone. And yet again, Thomas enters the maze for Newt. And that’s pretty much the constant for the rest of Maze Runner the book, Newt just sticking up for Thomas and Thomas in turn just being happy that: “He was at least relieved that Newt was there” (ch.17). And thats basically their entire dynamic. Newt just going: “If you really did help design the maze Tommy, it’s not your fault. You‘re a kid -- you can’t help what they forced you to do” to ease the survivor’s trauma Thomas has, as well as saying “I actually believe you. You just don’t have an ounce of lying in those eyes of yours. And I can’t bloody believe I’m about to say this...but I’m going back in there to convince those shanks we should go through the griever hole, just like you said”(ch.51); and I think thats the most romantic thing to hear from him. Just right out being all for supporting Thomas no matter what happens as long as he stays alive and continues to fight, he doesn’t care about what happened before. And Thomas eats that up because it fuels him even more to seek out a means to escape for the people (Newt) that deserve a life outside of running from monsters forever. So essentially, I’ll state again, it’s always been Newt the catalyst for Thomas to run head first into the Maze and seek freedom. And with all this I can clear that these two are shown to if not be romantically involved, at least have unconditional love for the other that transcends the author’s original intention. And with that in mind, here’s the thing with Teresa as a love interest. I can list here quotes of every time she mind speaks to Thomas and how that affects him, but then this would be too long. And this is a newtmas post gosh darn it. Teresa is gleeful to humiliate, control, hurt, and force Thomas to believe they’re in love. In multiple instances we get her barging into his mind unwarranted making him understand that she has full access to his inner most thoughts. Theres nothing romantic about that, and I think its why Thomas ends up being so perceptive to the smallest of gestures that allow him to think on his own and feel like his own person. Something I’ve seen Brenda do later in scorch, and something I’ve seen Newt do since the very beginning is that they allow Thomas to come to his own conclusions in order to create his own opinions on the matters at hand. Thomas’ love language revolves around words of affirmation. He likes it when people confirm his thoughts are valid and that remind him that WICKD can’t hurt him anymore now that he has the power to be his own person. This is where Newt comes in very handy. He allows Thomas to grow in ways his female love interests have yet to show, sorry Brenda but I’ve heard you were trying to unite all immunes together to the safe haven by the end and in a sense still only using Thomas to get by; I still think she was the better call than teresa of course and I have no remorse for Teresa getting smushed by a boulder. But essentially my point here is that, how do you fail to make your initial love interests clash so badly where one has no real care about the others well being so long as everything goes according to WCKD by using a form of gaslighting and manipulation? AND THOMAS HAS STATED HIS DISCOMFORT ON THIS MULTIPLE TIMES, but the narrative always erases these instances from his mind in place of pity for Teresa’s well being (as you can tell, Teresa through this becomes my least favorite character, I can rant about her some othe time though with proper backing). The narrative in turn treats it all like a joke. I understand there are scenes where Thomas is worried about her and looks out to make sure shes ok, but even then he doesn’t know how to react with mental images of her kissing his cheek or when she screams the next minute that she doesn’t know who he is or how hes speaking into her mind. And thats because they can’t properly communicate their emotions to the other, not even in fever code could Thomas give a forward answer if he loved Teresa or not, she just assumed. Come to think of it, Thomas really doesn’t show much affection to Teresa of his own accord. So then, how DOES Thomas show his affection? Thomas provides acts of service as his love language, if he cares about you enough he will risk his life for you. Why? Because Thomas values putting the people he loves foremost knowing full well they are what help him have purpose and succeed in continuing on. In a way, Newt and Thomas’ dynamic works in this instance because they balance the other out and because they have seen each other at their worst and at their best. In a way, that's why knowing the ending of the books makes it harder to accept that Thomas would just easily take the shot...when all his life clung to Newt’s survival. But that’s a story for another time where I compare the movies (of which let me make that clear, yes I prefer) over the books. For now just know that the book may have done this by accident, maybe not, but at the end of the day theres solid proof that Thomas and Newt care about each other in a way that is separately portrayed from their connection to the other glade members, and have this consistency of soft moments running through the entirety of the series. In conclusion; newtmas. Newtmas. NEWTMAS, etc.

#Newtmas #long post #Skquill #ask #The ending gets a bit ranty with Teresa I must admit #but for the most part its just me recalling the best newtmas moments from the novels I've currently read #Please add on more newtmas proof to the thread

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inmyarmswrappedin · 4 years

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So, because Fatou’s season ends today and, as far as we know, Druck hasn’t been renewed yet, I want to go over the things I feel the team did well in this season and the things I hope they take with them when they sit down to write the next season (which I’m manifesting will be Ava’s).

I think that s5 and, perhaps to a bigger extent, s6, were the team’s attempt to address fan feedback for and criticisms of s3 and s4. So I have hopes that, after possibly the most scrutinized season of any Skams, they are still willing to read even more feedback and sit down once again to craft a couple more seasons (possibly even 3 or 4 more seasons!).

So, without further ado, things that were done well! (Do I have to add “in my opinion”? Do I??)

I liked that for both s5 and s6, the thorough-line for the season wasn’t made obvious or shared in a press release, but rather it was up to fans to connect the story threads for themselves.

I loved that the team sought to address one of the biggest criticisms of s3, that is, that Matteo was given so many symptoms of a mental illness, but it ultimately went unaddressed in the narrative. They did this by giving Nora a dissociative disorder, and Fatou dyscalculia. (Matteo has been headcanoned as being mentally ill and having a disability.) It allowed the teams to develop both fan theories into full-blown seasons and give each of them the importance they deserved.

I have said this already, but I really appreciate that the team chose misunderstood, misrepresented and underrepresented mental illnesses and disabilities. I feel like s5 and s6 will be referents for many years, because they really took the time to portray a dissociative disorder and dyscalculia in a down-to-earth, unhurried way that isn’t meant to shock and awe, but simply allow us to understand why and when Nora and Fatou will struggle. Druck got the viewers to anticipate when Nora and Fatou would struggle, and that’s the first step in being able to anticipate and accommodate the needs of the Noras and Fatous of the world. I really can’t overstate how important this is and what a difference it makes in a real, tangible way. These seasons aren’t meant to be enjoyed for voyeuristic reasons, but they will legitimately help people.

One of the biggest criticisms of s4 was that Amira and Sam didn’t connect as women of color. In fact, it seemed like in s4 Sam was treated as another white friend, when in s2 both she and Amira were the victims of Kiki’s racism. The team addressed this by giving us Ava and Fatou’s friendship, which I want to say might be the first friendship between main characters of color where their race is a substantial reason for their bond. (There are the Sanas with their Jamillas, but the Jamillas aren’t main characters, and then there are friendships like Jo and Megan and Zoya, or Imaan and Liv, or Luca and Yasmina, but iirc in every case their bond as women of color isn’t made explicit.)

Another criticism of s4 was the way Kiki turned into the world’s most understanding white friend offscreen. The team addressed this with the Ava and Mailin storyline, which I think was wonderfully and subtly set up in s5, then built on with the biology test leaked answers.

On the topic of race, I think a major criticism of s3 was that David’s ethnicity wasn’t acknowledged (to the point where a white actress was cast to play his sister gvhvhv). The team has made up for this with Josh (more in the s6 sm than in s5, but I still count it) and with Kieu My. Fatou and Kieu My bonded over being first/second gen children of immigrants, and in doing so, they acknowledged that these characters aren’t white and have different experiences than white Germans.

The first 6 episodes of this season were some of the finest writing in the Skams. The storylines all connected and built on each other. The motifs were just so good and beautiful and fitting. The themes were all clearly defined and easy to follow.

The tortoise plot was one of the most fun and imaginative storylines in any Skams, it connected Fatou and Ismail in a believable way. And not to rave about a fucking tortoise, but animals can be really uncooperative and that tortoise delivered every fucking clip. Druck has a reputation for being one of the most depressive versions of Skam, but the Maike/Burger plot was just plain fun.

I feel like some of the old gen’s instas were a bit self-indulgent. I’m thinking specifically of Matteo’s memes and how they they weren’t necessarily the kind of memes a gay dude born in 2001 would pick, but someone a decade older. I think this is much better done with new gen. Fatou’s memes reflect her age and her sexuality, and not just that, but Ava, Mailin, Kieu My, Josh, etc. all pick memes and even focus on different aspects of recent news, based on their gender, race, personalities, interests, etc.

I appreciate that the team found a way to fit a sex scene between Fatou and Kieu My to add to the small catalogue of wlw sex scenes on Skams (I’m including the scene in lovleg or we’d only have two lol). While I understood the reasons eskam opted not to include one, I thought there were ways to feature a sex scene that didn’t sexualize the actresses and didn’t require nudity. Cases in point: the lovleg scene, and this scene in Druck.

And it also needs to be said. This is the first original season with a main of color, and the third season overall (after Liv and Imane) where 10 episodes are given to a character of color and no one else. Of the three, it’s certainly the season that loved and respected its main the most. The bar is so low it’s in hell, but Druck did clear that bar!

With all that said, let’s talk about the things I would really want the team to address in following seasons:

The thing I most want them to fix might be small or unimportant for a lot of people, but I think it’s at the core of why the season has been unenjoyable or certain plot points haven’t come across the way the team wanted, for many people. I am talking about the overly expositional nature of the writing. It appears as if the team approached the writing of the clips with the intention of hitting each beat as noted in their agreed upon outline, and absolutely nothing else was to be added. This is an issue both in s5 and s6. It’s just less noticeable in s5, because s5 is setting up stuff for Fatou’s season, and possibly even seasons that haven’t been written yet. The fact that absolutely every second counts makes for a stressful watching experience for me, because the narrative tension is always heightened. Whereas with Skam, the narrative tension would build throughout the clip. Take the Pride scene in Skam, for instance. The clip allows for Isak and Eskild to get increasingly more agitated as they butt heads. I feel like if this Druck team had done the Pride scene in s5 or s6, the clip would’ve started with both Isak and Eskild already on edge, and cut much of the dialogue that got them there.

On the topic of naturalistic dialogue, this season doesn’t have it. Here is an example from ep 10 clip 2, Wieder vereint/Reunited 11:37.

Fatou: I’ll get a certificate too and bring it over to you. And I checked it, I only have to change one course and my schedule will work.

Teacher: Miss Jallow, you are not the first one to come to me with an epiphany. We could fill entire school weeks with the lessons you missed. In addition, Doctor Steinberg told me about your, well… activities. You don’t have a lot of arguments on your side.

Fatou: But I’ve spoken to all of the teachers and they said they are okay with it.

Teacher: You seem to have friends among the teaching staff. Mrs Pavlovic put in a word for you. Okay then, do it and go before I change my mind. [translated by @kieu-tou! Thank you!]

Like. This is the bare bones version of a dialogue. This should be the first draft, not the final version. The coordinator goes from absolute no to yes, with just one line from Fatou. The coordinator gives reasons that would necessitate more than one sentence of counterargument, like Fatou’s absences and the Biology test leaked answers. The coordinator even says Fatou doesn’t have a lot of arguments on her side, and yet it takes Fatou one line to change her mind!

And of course we viewers don’t want or need a lot of time with the coordinator. And particularly at this point in the season, no one would enjoy a naturalistic dialogue with the coordinator of all people. But my point is that this is an issue with the dialogue all this season (and last season as well, but this season has been more scrutinized), the reason I picked this example is because of how easy it is to see here.

Which brings us to the pacing of the clips, and specifically the Friday clips. Because the script goes straight to the information the team wants to convey to the viewers, skipping the build up to it, many Friday clips have fallen flat, felt abrupt, and have been, tbh, unsatisfying. Again, I had this issue in s5, but as that season went on, I felt like the team had a better grip on Friday clips. But then they did it again in the first Friday clip this season, and so I think this is something the writers really should work on. The first Friday clip in Isak’s season closes on Isak being sandwiched by Emma and Even on a bench, visually setting up the love triangle, or more accurately, the personifications of who Isak should want to hook up with and who he really wants. But in order to get there, we’re shown a good amount of info, from the way Vilde, Eva and Sana are handling Noora’s absence, to Chris and Kasper, Even hovering around Isak, Emma trying to impress Isak, Isak escaping and, like, draping himself on the walls because he’s so over it all. Isak playing a game on the bathroom to stall for time. The paper towel maneuver to immediately give us a sense of what a weirdo Even is. A conversation between Isak and Even that gives us some clues about Even’s shame, as well as establish interests in common (like weed), and this is all before Emma even joins them! Just think of all the stuff we learn about who Isak, Even, Emma, Eva, Vilde or Sana are as people, before we get to the point of the clip! Fatou’s season simply didn’t have that. Compare it with the first Friday clip of Fatou’s season where the cashqueens quickly talk about the leaked answers, one of the major storylines this season that only gets a couple lines, before Fatou says she doesn’t want to talk about school (Fatou’s struggles with school, another major storyline), and then we’re onto the point of the clip, which is that Kieu My likes girls too. AND FADE TO BLACK. When people say they want longer clips, what they mean isn’t artificially inflate the clip length or add more plot stuff. Just let us watch the characters interact with each other so that we get a feel for how they relate to each other. I know I wish we’d have gotten more of Ava and Fatou interacting with each other before things turned to shit, and Ava with the other girls, so that I know why they all like and value Ava so much. I wish we’d have gotten more of Kieu My talking to the cashqueens about, like, why she didn’t make use of the biology test answers, instead of getting it on a chat. Or food combos they don’t like. So it makes more sense that later on Kieu My actually thinks she and Fatou are friends. And every line doesn’t have to count. In Skam España, the characters are constantly talking and not everything they ever talked about ended up being relevant. When one of the characters lied about her house undergoing renovations to hide the fact that she was poor, the characters joked about Italian marble and put on bad Italian accents and made that Italian hand gesture. None of this was important to the plot because those renovations weren’t real to begin with, but they made viewers feel like these were real friends joking around, instead of characters needing to hit every storyline beat in a clip.

I have this joke with my friends about Druck always going 🤪🤪 in the last third of every season, in which a season that was very tightly written and cohesive suddenly pulls something inexplicable and pretty much impossible to resolve in 1-3 episodes. Hanna’s season suddenly switching to Mia, Björn creeping on Mia in episode 9! of a total 10, David getting outed in episode 8 and then disappearing for a whole week, Amira’s season pivoting to Mia and Hanna. It has happened in every season except Nora’s, so I thought the team had learned its lesson, but then the forgotten date with Ava happened. To be clear. It really makes no sense that Nora would have hung out with Ava several times since Tuesday, and the topic of the cashqueens being officially introduced to Kieu My wouldn’t have come up. it’s just not realistic.gif I feel like at that point the writing for the rest of the reason became super contrived to keep Fatou miserable and apart from Kieu My and Ava to artificially delay the reunions until episode 9 and 10. Why add a cheating insinuation and the main checking her partner’s messages in episode 8 if you know you won’t be able to properly resolve it? Why make Kieu My mock Fatou’s “uhm” if it’s not going to be addressed in their reunion clip? Kieu My had taken the initiative for a lot of the relationship, so it’s okay for Fatou to take the initiative when it comes to making up. You don’t have to add things that can only be resolved through an expositional info dump. (Please no more exposition than it’s necessary! I think we’ve established that at this point lol.) In the case of Fatou’s season, this is even sadder because I feel like Kieu My’s intimacy issues could’ve been the reason to drive them apart for two weeks, rather than the Maya/uhm stuff. This could’ve also been resolved through Fatou and Kieu My explicitly negotiating their boundaries and how they want to be comforted and how they want to comfort each other, which I thought was the issue with Fatou rejecting Kieu My’s attempts to help while wanting physical touch, while Kieu My didn’t want to be touched but rather seen.

There are going to be many thinkpieces on why a myriad of stuff didn’t work for people, so I’m going to keep this simple and address one last thing. I think that choosing to focus on Nora’s mental illness and Fatou’s disability is a great choice that doesn’t complicate the themes too much, but Druck (and all the Skams, but I’m invested only in Druck succeeding at this point) still struggles with being intersectional. This is the major reason why the Ava/Mailin storyline ended not with a bang, but a whimper. There just wasn’t enough work done to connect Fatou’s struggles not just to her disability, but also to her race (and even her sexuality). I think that if people really want (and lbr, it’ll be mostly poc who will put in that effort and work), they can see how Fatou’s race affected the way other people and especially adults reacted to her, but this wasn’t made explicit. If Ava and Mailin are going to argue about racism all season, why not connect that with Karin firing Fatou from Aquarius? As it stands, Karin fired Fatou because of a disability neither of them knew Fatou has, and that was the resolution to that storyline. Why not make it explicit that the Physics teacher had preconceived ideas about Fatou because Fatou is black? Why wasn’t Fatou’s disability addressed in the meeting with the coordinator? Why didn’t Fatou express to Mailin that Fatou, too, had issues with how Mailin was acting wrt racism? It felt like, with the way the season was putting so much emphasis on racism, all these threads were going to be connected. In the end though, it almost felt as if only Ava is affected by racism (aside from Mailin mentioning Fatou in the last episode). It’s not like talking about how racism affects Fatou is going to make the topic redundant for Ava’s or Ismail’s season. As a light-skinned black lesbian with a disability, Fatou’s life is going to be impacted by racism in a different way than Ava’s will, as a dark-skinned black fat straight cis girl, or Ismail’s, as a Turkish-German possibly Muslim possibly non binary person. All these experiences are specific enough, and different enough, that they can be touched upon in different seasons without becoming redundant. The fact that Fatou’s season almost seemed to forget at times that she is a black lesbian, doesn’t bode well for Ava’s and Ismail’s season to acknowledge all their struggles.

The bottom line is that this season really was great and did a lot of good, and I feel like the writing just needs to be tweaked a bit for further seasons to be even better and more enjoyable overall. I am very pleasantly surprised by how the team took s1-s4 fan feedback to heart and worked to implement suggestions, and so I really trust them and hope they keep working on the show. It’d be a shame if Druck wasn’t renewed, with this team at the helm.

#druck #this post is 3K+ words in word I'm so sorry #but I really hope it makes its way to the writers and is helpful

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page-doctor-bekker · 3 years

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transfemme!sarah au

thinking about transfemme!sarah

literally coming up with this au on the fly but here you go

this is literally so long but whatever i like it

there are a couple trigger warnings in this (suicide, hate crimes), they’re listed in bold italicized writing before and after the trigger so you can easily skip them. this is in bullet point format.

anyways i love this and i'm obsessed with it so enjoy! first chicago med au. it doesn't really have a name yet but i'm tagging it transfemme!sarah for now

from the minute sarah was born she was definitely different, and her parents actually had her tested for autism

then got her tested again when the first one was negative. and then again when the second one was negative.

her parents were actually so positive that she was autistic that finally one of the psychologists ended up giving her a PDDNOS (pervasive developmental disorder not otherwise specified) diagnosis until a therapist suggested gender dysphoria

i mean back then kids weren’t trans they were just Troubled(tm)

so up until she was about nine or so they figured she just didn’t have enough care for social cues that she didn’t understand gender enough to act like a boy instead of acting like a girl. she refused to wear “boy’s” clothes which was mistaken for sensory issues, had anger issues and outbursts that were mistaken for meltdowns, they really thought she was autistic

i mean. she pretended to breastfeed baby dolls for christ’s sake.

anyways once her therapist figured this out, she was discharged and transferred to a gender specialist psychologist who revoked the pddnos diagnosis and switched it to a gender dysphoria diagnosis

sarah’s mom was completely on board and had quietly suspected it herself but her dad

hooo boy her dad

her dad hated the idea so much that he basically walked out and never came back

sarah started going by sarah because she loved sarah from hocus pocus

anyways she was 9 when she changed her name and she moved schools because she was getting bullied

when she was 10 all her girl friends at her new school started growing boobs and getting their periods and sarah started getting really depressed

which ultimately lead her mom to take her to an endocrinologist that specialized in gender diverse care

and she started puberty blockers

sudden new issue: sarah is terrified of needles. her childhood vaccines caused full-blown panic attacks and the blockers were no different.

she is horrifically stubborn and determined to make this work though

so she kept going. and every week she had a panic attack and had to skip her injections a couple times because she just couldn’t handle it

but eventually, her panic attacks got less and less overwhelming with the help of being prescribed a benzo to take fifteen minutes before her injection. eventually once she could handle the injections with the help of the benzo, they tapered it off until she could 100% handle needles sober. this took close to two years, but she did it.

(side note - this positive experience with exposure therapy was why she was so keen on trying it during s3 with dr charles)

so at this point she’s about twelve and still feels left out from her peers. she’s going into middle school, her friends are all growing up physically and she just feels left behind

her mom tries to convince her that some girls are just late bloomers, she can still fit in even if she waits to go on estrogen, nobody is going to suspect a thing, etc etc etc

but it gets really bad. her dysphoria gets terrible and she starts having panic attacks so severe that she had to leave school and be homeschooled.

SUICIDE TW UNDER HERE

then sarah attempts suicide

she spends about a month in the psych ward to recover, and ultimately the doctors advised starting low dose hormone replacement to alleviate her dysphoria

SUICIDE TW OVER

sarah cried when she had her first estradiol injection, but this time it was happy tears, not tears of panic

she had injections weekly, and as she started to see changes she got so, so much happier

fat redistributed, her skin got softer, she even started to grow breasts. lots of fun stuff.

they later added progesterone for more effects when she was in highschool

also in highschool she found out she was a lesbian. not important rn but that did happened

her graduation gift from her mom was breast augmentation surgery <3 congratulations sarah ily

after all that, she finally decided she wanted to go into medicine.

so she started college and moved to chicago

the first year of college, she was out and proud and even had an officer position at the gsa on campus

HATE CRIME TW

in her second year she was the victim of a pretty bad hate crime committed by a group of frat boys on campus. she was attacked walking home from a party at night.

HATE CRIME TW OVER

while she recovered from that experience, both mentally and physically, she had to take a gap year from college and move back home with her mother

her mother persuaded her to finish her degree closer to home, so sarah stayed home for the last two and a half years of college, and upon graduating college, she decides to move back to chicago for med school

this time she stays closeted because she has ptsd from college

first three years are uneventful but she does quietly get a bottom surgery consult, but she decides not to move forward for awhile

and that brings us to season one

alrighty season one

as we know there’s a lil mild homophobia and whatnot in the hospital and as a result of that, sarah deals with some lovely compulsive heterosexuality and is still extremely closeted

so she dates joey even though she is most definitely a lesbian in denial but she doesn’t tell him she’s trans out of fear

then things with joey get even more serious and he wants to get intimate with her, so he makes an advance one night when they’re home watching a movie

so she lies her way out of it, says she’s waiting for marriage and not ready and blah blah blah

total lies

she’s a lesbian and she knows this

so anyways she breaks up with him right after she graduates med school, quits pathology to avoid him, and mourns the loss for a bit before she realizes

she wants to move forward with bottom surgery

so she schedules an orchiectomy and has that done during the time before she was hired by dr. charles

for laymen, an orchiectomy is the removal of the the testicles :) typically the first step in multi-stage bottom surgery, which is where you do each stage of bottom surgery at different times

anyways it fits into the timeline because recovery from that procedure takes less than a week

then dr charles hires her for s2, events of s2 go as written

then the sexy ava bekker moves to chicago med from south africa and sarah is SMITTEN

anyways i should probably stop here and avoid spoilers

well whatever i'm open to asks abt this <3

#chicago med world #special interest world #chicago med au #reesker #sarah reese #ava bekker #transfemme!sarah #what do y'all tag your writing as #chicago med #sarah reese x ava bekker #ava bekker x sarah reese #crockettstiddies #i hope you don't mind i tag that #i feel like you'd maybe be into this though? idk #or at least i love your work and would love for you to see mine :)

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qlistening · 3 years

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Is Now a Good Time to Become a Hippie?

Ha ha fun little opening note: I opened my iPad to write this and saw the Cornell notes template and now I’m wondering how the people who had to take Cornell notes to get through college are doing these days. Probably not well.

I’m cracking open the blog again this summer to really do some justice to the two month identity crisis that I, and maybe you, have been experiencing since graduation. I’ve been through the wringer, like most people, with the classic post-grad crises of “What am I doing with my life?” and “What am I even good at?”, and “Will I ever have fun again like I did in college?”. But honestly fuck those crises. That kind of shit is so cliche and boring to talk about. I need bigger broader shit on my plate. The type of existential garbage that can really wreck you. The types of questions that can’t be answered by your Mom saying “it’s okay honey”.

So the set I came up with is as follows: “What rules should I live my life by if I truly believe that our society will crumble to climate change in 1 - 2 generations?”, “How can I ever protect my soul from capitalism when I need the constant stimulation of city life to distract me from my depression?”, and “If I reconnect with my hippie childhood, will it destroy my chances of happiness and success later in life like it did for my parents?”.

I know what you’re thinking: “That’s an awesome list Ava. I wish I could have come up with that myself”. Sorry you can’t be me.

It’s got just enough “this girl needs to lay off the acid” undertones to be dismissed by the common man, yet is valid enough to make any stoner or stoner+ (the + is psychedelics) a little itchy.

Whithought further ado--I left this typo in here because I couldn’t stop laughing at it--, lettuce unpack these crises.

1. What rules should I live my life by if I truly believe that our society as we know it will crumble in 1 - 2 generations? I wish the answer was as simple as “more whippets”, but sadly, it just never is. There are actually a lot of sub-questions here like “Is enough change to reverse the course of climate change even possible at this point?”, “Does our species even deserve to be saved, or should we lean into the suffering and let the deer dance on our graves?”, “What the fuck are you supposed to be with your life when you can’t bring yourself to reproduce because the world is ending so you have to constantly invent a sense of purpose for yourself instead of just using your kids as a cop out?, and lastly “What if you’re making a mistake by not going to Mars with Jeff and Elon na d the vibes there end up being super lit?”

You see, I’m really good at coming up with these questions, but pretty bad at answering them. All I’ve come up with in terms of the rules and purpose part is just to vibe it out and focus my energy on good ol’ drugs, sex, and rock n roll till the end. But UH OH! Now I’ve become my parents.

Perhaps I could focus on nature, gratitude, and spirituality? OH CRUD! Now I’m Rose, who has definitely reconciled these issues better than me, but has the advantage of being an introvert. Shorty don’t need that social stimulation like I do and can just go hermit mode when the going gets tough. Not I.

How about a commune? Tempting, but I’ve heard about a lot of commune drama in my day and don’t really want to get whisked into some Midsommer shit by accident.

Comedy? Can’t go monetizing my best coping mechanism, now can I?

Pose your questions to a broader audience in folk songs like Bob Dylan? I think I’m too street for that and I can’t play the guitar.

Focus on work and being successful? Nope. Work blows and I’m supposed to be protecting my soul from capitalism.

I tend to treat this question like the hard ones on the EOGs and just skip it and plan on circling back later.

2. How do I protect my soul from capitalism when I need the constant stimulation of city life to distract me from my depression? And when I say I need that shit, I mean it. New people. New shit to do. All the time. I ain’t havin’ no baby, so settling down isn’t in the cards either. There is no scenario where I am going to move out to the suburbs just to stare at my husband every night for 30+ years or, in a more likely scenario, stare at the wall. I’m staying on the scene for a long time, maybe forever.

That being said, the city is ripe with capitalism. Everyone works like a dog 24/7, switching back and forth between 2 - 4 Apple devices to accomplish God knows what in the grand scheme of things. Tech, finance, and marketing (the classic city trio) have to be the most pointless and cutthroat industries we have come up with to date. It feels like you have to have to have one of those jobs to live there. To afford it, sure, but beyond that, to know that you beat out someone else to get it and that you have successfully stepped on your first of many necks on the way to the top.

I’m moving to Chicago in like 2 weeks to work in tech/finance and sucking my own dick for having a management position so, clearly, I am not above any of this. But I sure wish I was. Even the first month of my soul-selling transaction feels like it has taken years off my life and dulled my flame quite a bit more than school ever did. So I am on the LOOKOUT for ways to get my mouth on some deep dish pizza and fine Chicago men without all of these bullshit side effects.

And Finally…

3. If I reconnect with my hippie childhood now, will it destroy my chances at happiness and success like it did for my parents?

I feel like this one needs to be elaborated on a little more. For anyone who doesn’t know, my parents are both raging Dead Heads who practiced the art of escapism together on tour for 20 some years until Jerry Garcia died tragically in ‘95. In a desperate search for a new purpose, they popped out me and my sister and now we’re all living the middle class dream in a ranch house on the outskirts of Greensboro. “But at least they’re happy and they love each other right?” Nope. Ls all around.

Sadly, this isn’t just my parents. This seems to be the classic hippie timeline. You feel good, get high, get laid, and indulge your senses in your 20s and you realize that none of it is monetizable and come out the other end begging for capitalism to take you back and bless you with a mediocre career. I know I sound like Nixon right now, but I’m just reading off the data from what I’ve seen.

Shit is really fucking sad man. I just want to think and feel and vibe and enjoy the world for what it is before it gets too crispy but I feel like I can’t. Any step away from my career feels like it will just land me at the bottom of the totem poll with a job that sucks even more than the one I started with. And yeah, I’m a lot smarter and slicker and decidedly childless than my parents, but it feels like a big fucking dice roll to do the same thing that they did and expect a different outcome. I mean they are the two most genetically similar people to me on the planet, after-all. I really do think I have to be careful and stick with the straight and narrow for now. Bummer because I would like to just bool before the world ends, but unfortunately, that’s going to take a little too long for me to avoid these problems.

In conclusion: I believe the answer to the question I posed in the title is “Not really and I should probably start hashing these things out with a therapist instead of a tumblr blog sooner rather than later”.

And if you are wondering, no I am not high right now, but I am about to be because that shit was heavy.

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sgmwesters · 3 years

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╰ ❛ 💉 — › ana de armas. cis woman. she/her. . ╯ have you met sofia garcia yet ? this thirty six year old virgo has been living in the seattle area for five years. she makes a living as a scrub nurse, which is best suited for their humble, sympathetic, tense, and hypercritical personality. my tears ricochet by taylor swift is one of their favorite songs, and they’re written by em, 25, gmt, she/her, no triggers.

B A S I C I N F O R M A T I O N

full name: sofia carmen garcia.

nickname(s): sof.

age: thirty six (36).

date of birth: 09 september 1985, virgo.

hometown: chicago, illinois.

current location: seattle, washington.

ethnicity: cuban-spanish.

nationality: american.

gender: cis female.

pronouns: she/her.

orientation: why do i include this i’m not even thinking of something funny to say anymore.

religion: catholic.

political affiliation: democrat.

occupation: scrub nurse doctor.

living arrangements: modest house.

language(s) spoken: english, spanish.

accent: american.

P H Y S I C A L A P P E A R A N C E

face claim: ana de armas.

hair color: brunette.

eye color: green.

height: 5 ft 6.

weight: irrelevant.

build: slender.

tattoos: lines of longitude and latitude of where she and diego got married, she got it after they’d been married for a year.

piercings: ears (several).

clothing style: takes pride in what she wears, well put together.

usual expression: no resting bitch face here no ma’am.

distinguishing characteristics: none.

H E A L T H

physical ailments: none.

neurological conditions: depressive episodes.

allergies: penicillin.

sleeping habits: usually quite good now, used to be worse.

eating habits: is conscious about what she eats.

exercise habits: knows that she should do more.

emotional stability: about a six.

sociability: friendly, likes to socialise, is open to spending time with people.

body temperature: usually warm.

addictions: none.

drug use: none.

alcohol use: is very conscious about what/how much she drinks: likes the occasional glass of wine after a hard day, though.

P E R S O N A L I T Y

positive traits: humble, sympathetic.

negative traits: tense, hypercritical.

fears: history repeating itself.

F A V O U R I T E S

weather: misses warmer climates - makes a note to take a vacation almost weekly.

colour: cerulean.

music: soft spot for latin music.

movies: the little mermaid.

sport: football.

beverage: hazelnut macchiato.

food: tamales.

animal: kangeroos - she’s never seen one in person though.

H E A D C A N O N S

tw - car accident, death, miscarriage, stillbirth, infant loss, divorce.

sofia was born as the third child and only daughter to luis and ava garcia. her brothers were quite a bit older than her, being nine and eleven when she was born, so she was well and truly the baby of the family - and her brothers were protective of her from day one.

sofia always tried to see the best in whatever came her way - her positive outlook was something she took pride in. however, her positive outlook took a big hit when her oldest brother, now twenty one, was involved in a drink-driving incident. she’d wanted to believe that it wasn’t him behind the wheel, or if it had been then he hadn’t been drinking, but that hadn’t been the case. luis junior had been drunk and caused a near-fatal accident, resulting in devastating injuries for both him and the passengers in the other car. she couldn’t look at him the same way after.

she withdrew somewhat, particularly from that brother, investing more time into her friends, into her schoolwork, into any clubs that might get her out of the house. she fell into cheerleading (she had the smile for it, after all), and continued this into high school.

it was through being on the cheerleading team that she initially met diego rivera, the cliche of the footballer and the cheerleader hadn’t been lost on her in the beginning. and yet, she saw more than just the footballer on the surface. she thought she’d just developed a normal high school crush at first - he laughed at her jokes, made her laugh in return, made her feel safe and comfortable.

a crush soon developed into something deep and meaningful - the high school’s IT couple, and as much as she had tried to resist falling into the cliche at first, they were soon to be high school sweethearts.

sofia was overjoyed to have gotten into northwestern for college - she wanted to study education, to give back, and northwestern allowed her to do that while not being too far away from both her family and diego. she lived away for her first year to get the experience of college life, but ultimately her family’s financial situation played a part and she had to commute from home for the rest of her time there. while she says she didn’t mind it, part of her does feel as though maybe she missed out on some college experiences by staying at home those years.

she was nothing but proud of watching diego go through the fire academy and work his way through the ranks, but her proudest moment was the day they said i do. it was a perfect day for her, the day she promised to spend the rest of her days to the love of her life.

and life was pretty good. with her new husband, and friends tommy donovan and beverly kingston along for the ride, things just felt right. she was settling to her new job at the local high school teaching biology, and it felt like she was right where she meant to be.

that was, until things started to take a turn for the worst. beverly passed away, and as much as sofia and diego had been there for him, they couldn’t stop him from pulling away completely. it broke her heart to watch, but she had to remind herself that everyone healed in their own way.

losing bev had been hard for sofia - they’d been so close after all, but tommy leaving reminded her that unfortunately life would have to continue on, regardless of what happened. even now though, she still takes a moment to think about her friend, and the life that she missed out on.

when sofia took her pregnancy test about a year later, she thought a lot about bev. two lines appeared on the stick, and her instinct had been to call her friend to ask her how she should break the news to diego. and for a moment she’d forgotten, but the harsh reality was soon back, and she had to do it alone.

they’d been happy to find out they were pregnant. as much as maybe sofia would have liked to wait another year or two, sometimes life didn’t work that way and the universe had other plans for them. she was excited.

excitement was diminished however, when sofia unexpectedly lost the baby. there was no rhyme or reason - everything had been fine at their scans, there had been no sign. except one day they were planning for their family, and the next they weren’t.

sofia blamed herself, and like after her brother’s accident, she completely withdrew from diego. she didn’t know what else to do - depression all but encompassing her as much as it could. as far as she could see, it was her fault their family had slipped away. the baby they were going to name after her close friend, gone.

her mind a cocktail of grief, guilt, and depression, she did the only thing that she could think of: remove herself completely. asking for a divorce not because she didn’t love diego - quite the opposite in fact. she loved him so much, too much, to let him have to go through with dealing with her in this way. sofia believed that he deserved better, deserved the chance to start the family that she wasn’t sure she’d be ready to give him. deserved a life.

she needed a change. she applied to retrain as a nurse in seattle, and following the settlement of the divorce, that’s where she’d headed. she’d told diego she was going to stay with family in florida, which had been the plan until her acceptance. she wanted to tell him so badly, share the news with him, but the more they talked it only made it harder.

her friend dylan campbell had been half the reason she’d applied to seattle in the first place. they’d known each other for years in chicago, and the knowledge of having one friend was comforting. and she needed that - a friend.

retraining was hard work, but she felt good about it. it was a fresh start for her, and that was the most important thing. the only person who knew the real reason behind her move was dylan, other than that she was just sofia garcia.

after securing a job as a scrub nurse at seattle grace, sofia finally feels settled. it’s taken her a long time - she’s by no means moved on necessarily, but she finally feels like herself again. she’s been working at the hospital for a number of years, and finds herself primarily working on neuro cases, building her relationships with both derek and amelia shepherd, but does take extra shifts when she can.

she’s all about giving back - she’s become an emergency foster parent for kids who need a temporary place to stay. maybe it’s filling a hole in her heart, but that’s just for her to know. she’s giving help to those who need it.

W A N T E D C O N N E C T I O N S / P L O T S

give! sofia! friends!

maybe her older brother (not the eldest one but the middle one ya feel)

the drama of people from that circle can you believe.

#━━ ✦ 𝐒𝐎𝐅𝐈𝐀 𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐈𝐀 ❮ biography ❯#newintros

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shinymooncolor · 4 years

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Hi all!

As usual, I owe all of this to the wonderful world created by @lumosinlove. 🙏🏻

I love Kris so much. Single dad, hockey star is a mood. Apologies in advance. 😇

Enjoy!

Sweater weather chats #2

Kris joins a super secret club. Lily gets emotional. We get introduced to the bat cave. Kris is a cautionary tale for the rookies. Or that’s what Nado days. Kris is also an honorary mom. Celeste reminisces. Kasey, Nado and Kuny babysits. Everybody loves Remus. Ava wants a pony. Natalie has plans. SO MUCH BROMANCE.

—————

Emotional support group and Remus 🤩🥰🏒:

Friday 3.32 pm

NatNat added Kris to the group.

Allison: do I spy a new member? Welcome to the dark side, Kris. The rules are simple - this is a safe space for us to discuss our men, babies and other related topics.

Lucia: also, never tell the boys what happens at brunch. 😁

Celeste: welcome Kris. We thought you’d enjoy coming to brunch with us - Ava is always welcome.

Kris: woah? What is this? Shit. I’m honored. Also Remus? Wtf.

Remus: hi kris yeah I don’t know how I was allowed in, but it’s nice. 😁

NatNat: well Dumo might be the honorary dad but Kris is totally the honorary mom on the team. He wiped Gatorade off of Leo’s face last game. It was adorable 😍😍😍

Kris: well James did unscrew the top as a prank, not actually sure it’s a prank if you do it every game. And Leo didn’t realize. And he’s weird about not taking his blocker off. Had to help the kid out. 😆

Allison: well it made us enroll you in our secret and sacred club. Welcome! 🤩

NatNat: i forgot to send this on Wednesday!! Baby Russian with baby puppies

*kuny puppy pic*

GingerLily: awwww he looks so happy. James said he’s been depressed he cannot train this week. I love this. 😍

Anyaismyname: my baby. I knew him from he was 16. Such a sweet boy.

Kris: sweet? Are we talking about the same Kuny? He taught Ava to cuss a ref and last time the media asked her what she thought of the game and my playing, she parroted that. I had a trending tag for a month after that on Twitter😔

NatNat: I’m not condoning it but it was hilarious. I cried. But seriously he adopted a cat and named her Aya and they send me selfies with her every 7 minutes. They built her a castle in their ridiculous bat cave game room. 😅👑🐱

Remus: the bat cave is awesome. They’ve got pro surround sound and all. And a real slushee machine. 🤖 also kris, coach want you all back on the ice in 10.

NatNat: yeah haha kase is excited to go for halo night. Apparently they’ve got some sort of new VR stuff for practicing as well. 🏒🏒🏒

Celeste: Kris, don’t worry about the curse words. Marc spent three months yelling fuck at everything after Logan accidentally taught him. They get over it quick and the fans love you even more after that - haven’t you been on the most eligible list for your entire career? Also, didn’t Anya tell Kuny’s mom?

Anyaismyname: da, and believe me, Scolding work better in Russian. And I promised her to look out for her boy.

Kris: thanks guys, I know. I was just shocked. She’s my baby and sometimes I just can’t handle how quick she grows... it’s not fair... and yeah, apparently a single dad with a travel heavy job is eligible. Weird.... also - the boys’ game room is amazing and they did set up a my little pony game for her last time on the projector. Be there in three Re!!! 🏃‍♂️

GingerLily: awww I cant believe she was a baby when I first met her. She grows sooo quick! 😍

Kris: well it’s you soon! Good luck - you think you know what love feels like but. Damn, a baby just changes things. ☺️

GingerLily: we’re starting on the nursery next week and I can’t wait. James is hopeless with tools though but we’ve decided on a color theme at least 🥰🥰🥰

Celeste: mmh, that is always a big moment. I remember when I was pregnant with Adele, Pascal was still just settling into the Lions and we’d already moved twice, but something changed when we started working on the nursery. It got real then - he didn’t get the puck theme he wanted but nevertheless, I think that was when he really realized he was about to become a father 😍

NatNat: awwwww, can’t even imagine you two without your babies 😁

Celeste: me neither, honey, me neither. 😉

Friday, 4.38 pm

Kris: Natalie do you think we could find a puppy for Ava? We could house train it during off season and she’s been begging for a puppy for a while and i really want one too and hopefully with a puppy the “I want a pony” phase can be forgotten! :)

NatNat: of course!!! Also shouldn’t you be at training?

Kris: We finished 5 minutes ago. :) also thanks for cheering Kuny up, he was allowed to do stretches today.

NatNat: oh god. Forget the time out here. Is kase done too?

Kris: yeah but he’s currently unavailable. Something about hug a goalie day *pic of kasey and Leo, on the ice under a mountain of players*

GingerLily: 🤦🏽

Celeste: on another note my lovelies. I would love to host brunch next Sunday! We have full attendance - Elsa is visiting from Sweden! :) please let me know how many babies you’re bringing.

Sunday 7.03 am

Kris: hi Celeste. I’m really sorry to do this last minute but ava’s mom has cancelled again and I can’t get a sitter this late. I’d love to come for brunch next time though.

Celeste: oh my dear. Bring her. It’s absolutely no problem.

NatNat: hey kris. Kasey is going to nado and Kuny and he says they’re happy to babysit. Also he wants to know why you and Remus are invited to brunch. Don’t tell him anything. 😉😉😉

Kris: oh I don’t want to be a problem they probably don’t want a 4-year old to disturb their halo game...😬

NatNat: it’s not a problem at all :) (also need kase to practice - not getting any younger here 😏🤩)

Kris: well if it’s really no problem I know Ava would love to spend time with them. :) also totally rooting for baby blizzards soon!

———-

Blizzard created a new group: Babysitting

Blizzard added RussianGod, Nadotheman and KrisVolley

Blizzard: hey guys. Quick change of plans. Ava is hanging out with us today. Kris is going to brunch with the girls?! Said we’d be happy to spoil baby munchkin and teach her more Russian curse words

RussianGod: ok. Can we eat cookie? Also no bad words. Don’t want more yelling from Anya. She scary.

Blizzard: season diet Kuny. Oreos are only for Ava. And isn’t Anya like 5.2?

RussianGod: nado is still sleeping. But we can go to park and meet ladies. They love single dad. But Anya is little but scary. Have you not see how she keep sergei in check?

KrisVolley; you are not using my baby to meet ladies. Haha oh never thought of that. Anya is always nice to me 😂

KrisVolley: Here are the ground rules gentlemen!!!!

1) no begging - you need to say no and stick with it, unless she’s crying properly don’t give in to her. She hissy cries when she wants things her way

2) not too much sugar and candy alright? (Looking at you Kuny)

3) Kuny and nado can’t use her as a ploy to ensnare women.

4) do NOT teach her any more Russians words unless they’re good, safe and cute words. The press still hounds me from the time you taught her to cuss a ref....

5) have fun and don’t do anything I wouldn’t do

Nadotheman: Morning boys. Also happy to babysit. But tHaNkS fOR aSkInG kase... 👍🏻 also @KrisVolley:

1) how the hell are we supposed to say no to that face? No idea how you made such a beautiful baby.

2) no problem. (Totally lying to you)

3) we would never use our baby niece in such a despicable way 😳 also it was one time and we can’t help that we are irresistible to baby-crazy ladies.

4) she can only scold a ref. According to Kuny totally safe and good words. Don’t believe what Sergei or Sunny says. Or the press.

5) so don’t knock up a fan at 18? Alright man got it.

KrisVolley: ....

Nadotheman: just keeping it real. You’re a cautionary tale for the rookies man. But your baby is cute. And you do a great job bro! 💪🏻

KrisVolley: I’m a what?? And thanks Nado. 😊

Blizzard: When you’re done with your moment.... I’m picking her up in five, can Nat go with you to Dumo’s? Ava and I will go have brunch at the bat cave and have an awesome time. And don’t worry. I’ll keep an eye on the boys.

KrisVolley: thanks Blizzard. Good practice as well 😉

Kuny: 👀👀👀👀 baby blizzard????

Blizzard: alright calm down m8. We’re not even married (no judging kris)

Nadotheman: whatever you say bro. You gotta make a baby with that girl - she swooned at family skate. Also we all saw you makin heart eyes at the Brady bunch. 😆😆😆😆

Blizzard: they’re adorable and this conversation ends here. We’re outside now Kris. Also don’t encourage Nat. I’ve got a plan. 😬

——-

Nado: Kuny. Kuny. Is it baby safe? They’re here in 15 minutes.

Kuny: why you text me? I’m next door.

Kuny: also yes is fine. Maybe get bra down. It been in fan for 3 days

Nado: you’re the tall one. Get it down.

Kuny: I not put it there.

Nado: fine you lazy jerk. I’ll get it down.

Kuny: 😘

Nado: fuck off. But I love you too bro.

—-

Until next time, my lovelies 🥰

Always open for ideas, prompts, constructive criticism!

Also - does hug a goalie day exist? I think it should.

#sweaterweatherchats #lumosinlove #sweaterweather #sweaterweatherchatsnr2 #bromance

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heartofsnark · 3 years

Text

Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Eleven): I'll float through death, haunting you

Notes: This chapter had a slight impact on me emotionally, do with that what you will. Please, please listen to the content/trigger warnings. This chapter is essentially being stuck in a severely depressed, traumatized, and suicidal person's head for 16k words. If you are not in a place to handle that right now, come back another time, or give it a skip, or after you read it go frolic with puppies for a few hours. I cannot provide those puppies, but I wish you luck in finding them.

Word Count: 16232

Chapter Warnings: Depression, Trauma, Angst, Blood, Alcohol Use, Violence, Gore, Suicidal Ideation, Suicide Attempt/Aborted Suicide Attempt, Motor Vehicle Accident, Human Trafficking, Implication of Child Abduction/Abuse (possibly overt), I think that's everything.... is that everything....

If you haven’t yet, you can read the previous chapter here!~

V isn’t quite sure how long she lays on the ground, crying out the last of her tears. Then she feels the warmth of sunlight spilling through her window. She needs to get up, needs to move, but for what? The merc wishes so much to just lay down and die, to just let it all go. She’s going to die anyway, isn’t she? She wishes it could at least be a peaceful one, to melt into the earth and never be seen again. But instead this is what she gets; a violent end for a violent life. Years of seeking control over her own existence, of searching for a place in this world; only to be taken over and replaced by another.

Her eyes land on her window, following the warm glow of sunlight, too warm on her skin. And her stomach clenches. Sun shining through the fractured glass, her blood staining it. A physical symbol of him, of what he did, how he hurt her. She doesn’t want to see it; doesn't want to think about it. Her body moves on instinct across the room, closing the shutters. The room feels instantly darker, only the harshness of unnatural light glowing within it. And it feels right, better. To close it all out.

V scrambles to think of what to do next, her brain still mush. She scratches at the back of her neck, touching her chipslot where that monster hides and immediately shuts out the thought, if she thinks, she’ll cry. She knows it. She’ll climb into a pit and never climb out. Spend all her six months crying in a dark apartment.

Her hair is greasy with blood still sticking to pieces of it, though her skin feels cleaner. The idea that Vik and Misty had to bathe her while she was out of it flickers through her mind, making her want to die. A shower may help, clean herself up something proper and feel human again, at any rate. Its something she can actually deal with, something she can take care of when everything else is out of her control.

The merc goes to her bathroom and sets to taking off the bandages that cover her upper half. Vik knows well enough not to send her home in bandages and expect them to last. If they were still holding her together, she’d still be sitting in his clinic. She unties all the bandages, leaving blood smeared gauze across her bathroom sink. Nothing falls apart or starts gushing crimson, so she’ll take it as a win.

There’s a fresh scar running down her right forearm. She tests her fingers and hand, spelling star names to see if her fingers move without pain. The nerves seem fine, muscles a little weak, but she can still sign easily and should still be able to wield a gun or a knife. Much more may prove difficult, maybe she can work on rebuilding the strength in it. Not that it will matter much… in the long run…

She shakes her head, trying to displace the somber thoughts, trying to just focus on getting from A to B. And while it’s not a grand goal, right now B is just the shower. Ther merc notices some more new scars across her chest and stomach, but focuses instead on pulling off the sweatpants.

V runs the hottest water she can stand and sits on her shower floor, pressing her back to the wall and holding her knees for a moment. Hot water pouring down on her and flushing her skin pink. Her throat tightens and her eyes sting, the desire to cry again, but she stops herself, holds it in. This isn’t what she wants, six months of crying and choking back pills.

She rubs at her eyes, trying to focus on cleaning herself. Feeling her scalp as she washes her hair, there’s a faint trace of scars underneath the strands, but nothing she thinks would be noticeable to the naked eye. Vik’s worked his magic, yet again, or perhaps that’s just the magic of modern medicine. Her hair was left untouched, no bald spots, or places that had to be shaved down. The average person would never know she was shot in the head and died.

When she touches her forehead blood clings to her finger tips, where Johnny bashed her head into the window. Not far from the cut is a scar on her temple, where the bullet entered. She finishes up her shower, standing and shutting the water off. V dries off and out of admittedly laziness, she pulls on the same sweatpants Vik sent her home in, they’re still mostly clean and she doesn’t want to throw on real ones.

The reflection in her mirror pulls up and she’s just as lucky as she thought. V as she knows herself is staring back; bleached hair and gray eyes. But they’re not her eyes now, are they?

The one thing given to her by her father that she didn’t completely hate, they shared the same gray eyes. Yet somehow his always reminded her more of gunmetal, colder. She’s never seen the same chill in her own eye, despite the shared color. Not the prettiest or most interesting color, as a kid she’d pout that she didn’t have the same green eyes as her mother and sister, but she learned to appreciate them. And now they’re gone. The eyes looking back at her are not her own, corp made and manufactured. Kiroshi tech created in a plant. Not the eyes she was born with, not the eyes that last looked at her mother, not the eyes that’d squint under the Badlands sun as a child.

She stares deep into the color, they automatically match to the user’s natural eye color, unless chosen otherwise. It may just be psychological but she finds herself scrutinizing it, a part of her thinking the color may be off. They’re the same gray, she knows it logically. But a part of her screams they’re darker, or lighter, have more blue to them. That something is off. But maybe the only thing off is that they’re not her’s.

They’re top of the line too. She’s lucky… really, getting high end tech she didn’t want, never has to fear her autoimmune disease will blind her. Anyone else would feel blessed, this is just a part of life in Night City. Kids begging for optics as soon as they hit eighteen, some trying to convince their parents to install it before. Not that long ago, some story broke of a kid gouging their own eyes out just to get optics before they turned eighteen.

She’s lucky, so lucky, she reminds herself as she presses at her eyelids and feels the metal beneath the flesh. Lucky she survived a shot to the head, that’s lucky, right? Lucky that skin grafts and synth flesh tech means she looks like herself after. Lucky that when Johnny pummeled her head in, he didn’t do any serious damage or reopen a wound. Lucky she doesn’t even have bruises on her throat from his choking. Lucky that she’s somehow the only person who walked out of this shit show.

So fucking lucky, that she came back from the dead to die again, to go from dead to dying, to be nothing but a walking corpse with the one person who gave a shit about her dead… So lucky…

She’s trying not to cry again. Because of course she is. She slams her hands on her bathroom counter, kicking it with a bare foot, and screams into her hands. Deep breathes as she tries to gather herself again, she needs a new B. Something to focus on, something to do.

Close the blinds. Take a shower, what now? She needs something, anything that isn’t thinking. The pills are still scattered across her apartment floor, her chest cold without a shirt. So, those become her new B’s, for just a moment. Her focus solely on picking up pills and pressing them back into the blue bottle, popping another, just in case. Then she’s rummaging through her closet, finding a shirt. Her eyes land on Ava’s old shirt, Samurai, that fucker’s band. She crams it in the furthest corner of her closet, not wanting to think of him, but her attachment to Ava keeps her from throwing the whole thing out. V throws on a plain black top and then she needs another B, another goal, no matter how small.

V plops herself down on the floor in front of her bed, tapping her foot to the vibrations in her apartment. The radio must be on, a rhythm and beat bouncing through the apartment. Barry is probably annoyed at her, again, It's not the loudest she’s ever had it, but she’s learned quickly that for her to feel the thrum of it, the music ends up loud. Sometimes she’s been able to swear she feels her whole apartment shaking.

She shoves her hands in her sweatpants pockets, as she wracks her brain for something to do, anything to keep her mind off her grief. A wrapper in her pocket crinkles, these aren’t her actual pants, ones from Vik’s clinic for patients trapped there for a long recovery. They don’t even fit her properly, too long fabric pooling around her feet. She tugs it out and smiles, her first since she woke up in the clinic.

A little sucker, synthetic honey flavored, shaped like a little bear. Candy for being a good patient, slipped into her pocket, she wouldn’t know when. She tears the wrapper off and pops it into her mouth, soft sweet taste clinging to her tongue. What she did to deserve Vik is a mystery, how he could ever deem her worthy of his kindness is… mind boggling. Fixed her up a billion times, pieced her skull back together. Top tier Kiroshi’s, mantis blades, and a projectile arm launcher. All thousands upon thousands of dollars. Given to her for nothing. She owes him, majorly. If she’s going to die, at the very least she can settle her debts, Vik deserves at least that much.

She’s got a new B and as expensive as cyberware is, this one may take her longer than five minutes. V needs to figure out exactly how much she owes him, Vik would lowball it and let her off cheap, and then she needs to get herself working again. And god, does she like the idea of that. To be doing something, a slice of normalcy, even if she’s solo now.

V is on her feet and turns off her radio, tucks in her hearing aids, and then goes rummaging through her things. Her choker translator from the box of her clothes from before the heist, she goes ahead and throws it on, then gets her holophone from the bag of her stuff Vik sent with her. There are notifications across her phone; emails, texts, and missed calls. An email from her building administration catches her eye, checking it first.

‘Dear Sir/Madam,

Our records show we have not received this month’s rent payment for your unit in Megabuilding H10. In accordance with the tenancy agreement VD-233015722/2077, any subsequent payment delay will result in forced eviction from the property.’

She checks the date, it's September. Nearly two weeks into it, she must have been unconscious for a while, a few weeks at least. She starts sorting through texts and calls. Jake messaging about Jackie, asking her to call him, asking where she is and if she’s okay. A few missed calls from him. Cece wondering why V is ghosting her after weeks of no replies. Fixers texting her about cars. Misty and Vik missed calls from before she showed up in the clinic, a few texts. Her fingers hover a text Misty had sent, the last one, sent while V was laying in a dumpster.

Misty: v?! konpeki is on the news. is something wrong? jackie won’t answer my calls…

Misty: he’s gone… isn’t he?

There’s a shake in V’s hand as she moves on from it, not letting herself linger, not letting herself explore the grief and pain. She needs to get a job, she quickly links her phone with her new optics, not letting herself think of how much she hates that. That finished she goes to call Regina, the local fixer, but before she can tap the contact her holo begins to buzz in her hand, light flashing as a call comes through.

Takemura the contact tells her, the little red avatar shows a familiar face, Saburo Arasaka’s former body guard. The long haired man who pulled her from a landfill. She’s still not sure what exactly his deal is; how he went from dragging her to Yorinobu to taking her to Vik’s clinic. Or why he’d be calling her. But she answers, with a heavy feeling in her stomach.

“Takemura here,” he says, facing showing up in her optic and on her phone, “we must meet. Come to Tom’s Diner.”

The immediate demand takes her off guard and she doesn’t want to do that. He may have taken her to Vik’s clinic, but he also slapped and choked her. She doesn’t know how he got from one point to the other, but she knows she doesn’t trust an Arasaka corpo. He could have a billion different hidden agendas.

“No can do, surprising as it may be, I’m not in a great place right now,” she signs in return, not directly telling him her paranoia.

“You may recall I saved your life. I need you to return the favor.”

“I’m serious, I haven’t managed to get my head straight yet, its all been a lot… ”

“That will not happen anytime soon and so what? If you intend to live, you must reenter the ring. The bell has already tolled. Tom’s Diner. I’m waiting.”

“Look, I-” he hangs up, “fucker.”

He can wait until the cow come home, she’s not interested in whatever bullshit he’s going to try and sell her. She remembers the assasin who attacked them, reading his lips. He called Takemura a traitor. But why would a man so highly regarded by Arasaka, enough to be Saburo’s bodyguard, suddenly turn on them? At best, this is some scheme to get her to do something, acting like he can potentially help her just to use her for something or pull some shit. He’s using it as a carrot on a stick and probably plans on beating her with the stick when he gets the chance.

Instead, she calls Regina, a few rings before the eyepatched fixer answers. But looking at the little avatar of her face, she doesn’t seem too thrilled to hear from V, which is… odd.

“V…”

“Hey, know it’s been a while, but rent’s due and I’m swimming in debt. So, what you got for me?”

“For you, V? Nothing.”

Regina always has jobs, hell every fixer does, Night City is a festering cesspool of crime and bullshit. And V has been one of Regina’s top mercs ever since she moved into Watson. The eyepatched fixer has only ever had praise for the young mercenary.

“My hearing aids busted? No jobs on the table, seriously?”

“Not for you.”

“The hell is that supposed to mean? I’ve been you go to merc for fucking months, you use to have me doing five or more jobs a day. What’s the problem?”

“Look, V, everyone’s heard what went down at Konpeki. You can’t botch a job like that and people not talk.”

“I didn’t botch shit!” Her lips move as she signs but she stops herself from yelling. Everything went to shit because of Yorinobu, right? Sure, she could have done more to save Jackie and Bug, sure she should have just not taken the job. But she didn’t fuck this up, just wrong place, wrong time.

“Maybe you didn’t okay. But when you’re the only one who walks away; it doesn’t look good. Everyone’s saying you're the kiss of death, no ‘runner, merc, or fixer wants to end like Bug, Jackie, and Dex.”

“You seriously think I’d betray you? You trust me that little, think I’d get you or anyone else killed on purpose?”

Her throat tightens, eyes sting. Does Regina really think that little of V? Is that what the world thinks of her now? Just the merc that fucked up Konpeki and got her entire crew killed? Six months of consistent and quality merc work, thrown away because of one bungled job?

“Of course not, V. You’re a solid merc, but what am I supposed to do? Any client finds out I put you on their job, they’ll think I lost my mind. Can’t put you on a crew, either.”

“Client’s don’t have to know it’s me, I-”

“They’ll know, V. Can’t do it.”

“So, what the hell am I supposed to do!?” V signs and kicks her couch, starting to pull at her hair, the sting of her scalp reminding her of him.

“Look, earn some rep back, show everyone Konpeki was a one off, a bad day. And then we can talk about getting you some jobs.”

“And how am I supposed to earn rep back without jobs?”

“Fucks sake V, want me to do your job for you?! NCPD always has scanner gigs and subcon work.”

“So what, I’m supposed to earn a rep back by working with pigs!”

“The streets talk, show you can do the jobs and do them well, remind people what you’re capable of. Then we can start talking about some jobs.”

“I don’t… I don’t want to do jobs for the cops.”

“Then don’t. Starve, go broke and lose your apartment, not my problem, V. Earn your rep back and we’ll talk gigs, until then, forget it.”

And with that Regina hangs up and V groans, kicking her wall, its bullshit. Konpeki blew up spectacularly so and she gets that. But, she didn’t tell Yorinobu to kill his dad. She didn’t give the corpo brat daddy issues. And she doesn’t want to lower herself to police sub-contract jobs. Doing the cop’s job for them is the bottom of the fucking barrel, helping out pigs that are half the reason this fucking city is such a mess.

Padre, she decides, he gave her a job when she just came to the city. He’s always had a soft spot for her, took a chance on her when she first got here. But, a voice in the back of her mind nags, the only thing worse than no reputation is a bad one. She hasn’t just gone back to square one, she’s in the negatives. The merc doesn’t let herself think about it for too long, calling the Heywood fixer’s number.

His age spotted face pops up in her optics and she can feel a little dash of hope rooting itself in her chest. Surely he has work for her. Even if it’s something small, there’s got to be something.

"V… it's been a while, my child. How have you been?"

"I, I'm here… More importantly, I could use some work."

"V…you ask me for work, to damage my own reputation for your sake, and so soon after Jackie’s passing? Have you no respect for me, yourself, or Jackie?"

The question feels like a punch in the gut. Padre knew Jackie since birth, knew Senora Welles while she was pregnant with him. He’s seen Jackie grow up and ultimately even brought the two mercs together. She knows he must be grieving, mourning, and here V is...trying to move on so soon after, trying to shut it all out. And she knows it must look bad, knows she may look heartless. But if she lets herself settle into that pit, she’ll never climb back out.

“Padre I-”

“Have you even spoken with his mother?”

“No, I just-”

“You should. Avoiding grief is bad for the soul, yours and hers. As far as work goes, I cannot sully my hands to help you, not this time.”

“I understand…”

“May God be with you, V.”

He hangs up and V’s sure he must be sick of her shit, not that she can’t blame him. She knows he’s right. That she’s shutting everything out. But between Jackie’s death and her own; she doesn’t know what the fuck else to do. And facing his mom… there’s a tightness in V’s chest at the thought, looking her in eyes and knowing V couldn’t save him. Why would Mama Welles even want to see V after this?

Maybe it's not the right or best way to deal with this, but it's all she has right now. V pulls up Dino’s contact next. He’s an alright guy, seems not to mind V at the very least. Though, he may just be trying to imagine what’s under her clothes each time they meet, probably not aware he’s already seen it. But hey, if it earns her a job, she’ll take it. She calls him.

She gets his voicemail, hangs up without leaving a message and shoots him a text instead. Hoping he’ll read it when he gets a chance and sends some jobs her way. She tries Wakako next, the phone answers then hangs up before V can get a word out; making the Westbrook fixer’s stance clear. El Capitan the mulleted fixer of Santo Domingo sends her straight to voicemail, not even letting it finish ringing. She’s given Mr. Hand’s voicemail as well. After all the calls, she checks to see if Dino has responded to her text, groaning when she sees she’s been left on seen. Dino seeing the text but not responding. Not a single fixer is willing to work with her after Konpeki.

V clenches her hands around her holophone, device threatening to crack under her grasp. Regina’s advice of NCPD jobs coming to mind. It’s no secret that the cops suck at doing their job, corrupted and incompetent. So much so that they’ll pay merc for intervening and taking down crime, shooting down gangers before they can shoot civilians. But it’s never something she’s wanted to do. Aligning herself with cops feels scummy. But her rent is due and when she adds together the prices of top shelf kiroshi optics, mantis blades, and projectile arm launcher… she owes Vik around seventy-thousand eurodollars. Savings can cover her rent with some left over, but not nearly enough to pay back Vik.

She calls the NCPD and asks about getting set up for sub contract work, half swallowed pride in her throat as she forces herself through the conversation. The rather bored sounding officer getting her set up to do the work, fairly simple. Listen to police scanners, find crimes to intervene in, drop any evidence off at a drop box, and get paid. Evidence is a lose term, they’re most interested in anything with proof of who was involved, shards or docs. And while the officer doesn’t say she can keep any loot or stolen stuff she wants, the implication is clear that they won’t stop her. Most interested in getting violent gangers put down.

V quickly throws on some clothes, throwing a baggy black hoodie over it all, then grabbing her mask. In rifling through the bag of her things taken from Vik, the sight of her blood stained Konpeki clothes makes her stomach churn but she finds the little beaded bracelet that Misty gave her before the heist. The blue beads now carry little flecks of blood, lapis lazuli meant for spiritual protection. She slides it on over her leather cuffed bracelet, she needs all the help she can get. With that she puts the bag aside, not wanting to ruminate on the blood soaked clothes for any longer.

She finds the bullet pendant still under the pillow, another good luck charm, to hear Misty. There’s something morbid in wearing the bullet that killed her. But, she likes it, and if Misty’s right… Again, she desperately needs as much luck as she can gather. The merc pulls it on. She keeps her mask in her usual bag, throwing the pill bottles from last night in there too, pops her regular med, makes sure she has her weapons, and leaves her apartment.

It feels surreal, walking through the halls of her apartment complex again. Moving through people and seeing the lights around her. Feeling like a zombie walking amongst them. To hear the chatter again, hundreds of people in this building, moving along with their lives. While she’s stuck with a terrorist in her skull. While she’s come back from the dead. While she’s lost the most important person to her. While she can still feels his hands on her throat, though her left her with no bruises. Only the mark on her forehead and the crack in her window are a reminder of his existence.

“Hey, V!” A voice calls out, stopping her in her tracks as she turns to see Wilson outside the Second Amendment store.

“Hey,” she signs in turn, walking up to meet him.

“Haven’t seen you in a good one, two… few weeks, heheh. Figured you’d skipped town.”

“Just trouble… the usual,” she signs, hoping her face won’t give away her unease.

“A-ha, got just the thing for you, then.”

“I don’t know about that, I got rent to pay and debts to clean up, don’t need to be spending my money on a new toy.”

“C’mon, V, got a beauty that practically has your name on her.”

And despite her better judgement she finds herself following Wilson into the gun shop, she can cover rent, so maybe spending what’s left over on a gun isn’t so bad. Wilson hefts up a case and undoes it, V’s breath catches in her throat because Wilson really has her number. A beauty of a sniper rifle in a brilliant metallic blue, not too bright to keep some stealth, but still within her favorite cyan hues. It's already outfitted with a silencer and what looks to be a digital scope.

Her desert eagle is her go to when it comes to guns, but the powerful little .50 caliber can’t fit a silencer, at least not without a lot of tricky fucking around. Her knife is silent, but distance is a struggle, her knife throwing skills only making up so much for it. The launcher is far from silent. A sniper rifle might be the perfect addition. Her father taught her how to fire them as a kid, looking down the sight, feeling the recoil as the butt slammed into her shoulder. She had decent aim, but it’s been years since she touched one.

“.50 BMG, bolt action sniper rifle. Your color, your caliber, what more could you want?”

“You really do know me too well, don’t you?”

“Told ya, got your name on it.”

“Mind if I try her out first?”

“C’mon”

Wilson lets her pick up the rifle, feeling the weight of it in her hands as she trails after him into the shooting range. Its a heavy made rifle, which is good, since that will help keep recoil from hitting as hard. V’s a small thing, so the bigger caliber guns she loves can kick back like a pissed off mule. Even her favorite handgun has a heavy kickback, the Desert Eagle not a gun to fuss with, but she’s learned to take the recoil over the years, shooting guns since she was a kid.

Memories of another gun, even more powerful than her own go to, the Malorian withe Last True Friend scratched into its barrel. Wielded in silver fingers, the force of it would have shattered anyone else's arm, and would have destroyed her own.

She shakes those memories from her head; they don’t belong to her after all. V plays with the sniper rifle in Wilson’s gun range, liking the feel of it in her hands. The accuracy of the scope. She ends up leaving with it on a holster on her back alongside her bag, paying Wilson for the new gun and some extra ammo.

In the elevator she tunes her hearing aids to a police scanner frequency, picking up the nearest potential jobs first. And in moments she hears the chatter of Tyger Claws attacking a ripperdoc clinic, not one she knows, but they’re not far from her apartment. She takes her mask from her bag and slides it on as she leaves the megabuilding.

She calls her car through her phone. And receives a notification that it was towed and can’t be dropped off for another day. So, she’s walking, until she finds something to steal. At least the first job isn’t far. Wandering through the Night City streets and through a tunnel, she drops a few stray Eurodollars in a man’s cup and lets him know he may want to scram. He gets the message and gets some distance from the area.

The tunnel opens to a square yard and she can see the gangers just from the edge of it, unaware of her. V crouches and pulls her rifle from her back, taking aim at the Tyger Claws over a cement staircase. One dead with a headshot as soon as she lines up the scope and pulls a trigger. Others yell out, run to investigate, walking right into her sights. Three more dead in a moment. A fifth runs behind a green and red car for cover, she fires her first round through her projectile launcher, blowing the car to ash and dust, killing the ganger. And they’re all dead, not a shot fired off at the merc. Picks through bloody corpses, pocketing what she can. She finds the doc dead in his clinic, shard saying the Claws attacked because he was pulling chrome from dead Claws. She drops it off at a drop box and gets eight hundred eddies sent to her account.

The scanner picks up another job, crime filled Night City streets always having something to offer. There’s a Kusanagi motorcycle, bright red with stickers across, belonging to one of the gangers. She grabs it and makes her way back through the streets.

Four Tyger Claws on the rooftop of a building, less clean. She nearly catches a grenade, barely dodging it as memories of gunpowder and Mexico heat flash through her mind, a phantom pain in her arm and the weight of fallen friend on her back. But at the end of it, she’s the only one standing. Some fuss about an antenna and she’s another eight hundred dollars richer.

Larger job at the corner of Drake and Cartwright, at least twelve Claws having taken over a market space. The merc takes advantage of her new rifle and the concrete jungle landscape, climbing up steps and perching herself on an air conditioner unit, shooting around the corner of the building. With time and patience, five Tygers dead from sniper bullets, brains splattered on the market stalls they were robbing. The rest won’t enter her sight line, ther merc slinking down to meet them, picking them off with her sidearm and knife, chasing them through the lantern strewn market. A slightly surreal feeling to it, walking through blood stained market stall, corpses thrown across it, brains leaking into cracks of the cement while she grabs a Nicola and a bike with more gas in it.

And that's what she does, not letting herself stop to think, just moving from job to job. Three Maelstrommers in a fire fight with cops after trying to klep some shit and setting off an alarm. There’s a gross feeling in her chest when the cops thank her, wondering how many skeletons hang in the officer’s closet. But her bank account is fatter and that’s all she can focus on in the moment.

She rides past a tv screen in a building showing the news, talking about Saburo Arasaka’s death and races through traffic before she can hear anything more. That night still haunting her like a ghost, its been weeks, can’t the story be over. Can’t it be enough…

Sniped Maelstrommers from the ledge of a building, peeking around the corner into the alley to a warehouse, finding an extra three thousand tucked away in it. Three Tyger Claws shot down after killing a snitch. It's all instinct, all muscle memory, ending lives as easily as she breathes. It’s not pretty or good work, but she’s a natural at it.

She has to park across the street from Lizzie’s for the next one, a group of Claws, one of the main gangs in Watson. Her stomach churns and biles burn thinking of the prep work, thinking of the warning signs, thinking of why she should have turned around and left. Pushing it aside she kills a handful of Tyger Claws, before moving to the next job further up the road.

Animals shaking someone down in an alleyway, she hands behind the table of an abandoned vendor’s table, piled high with goods. She throws a knife over it, watching the blade sink into one ganger before sniping the rest. Her stomach drops when she raises and sees the records that cover the abandoned table.

Black and red labels; Samurai and Silverhand etched across the graphics in white. His records amongst the oldies. Its like the world is mocking her, haunting her with that man, with that night. She throws them off the table, crushing them underfoot as she goes to collect her knife and finish the job.

The radio announcer hypes up the Arasaka health insurance plan on her way to next job and she shuts her hearing aids off for a moment, just the sound of the corps name making her want to scream. She changes the radio when she climbs off and flicks them back on before she clears a gang of Scavenger out from under an overpass.

Five Malestrommers get killed near the Med Center, gangsters managing a deal to steal chrome off of comatose patients. She can feel the bruise her new rifle has caused, still some recoil to it, but the ache doesn’t stop her. The ache she gets just helps to keep her mind away from other things. Somehow it’s nearly four pm and she doesn’t know when that happened.

Near Goldsmith street she’s tasked with taking out another Scavenger nest. A large messy one, armed with illegal shit stolen from Trauma Team. Spotted weaving through them, a full gun fight across the rooftops. Dodging and chasing Scavs through it, dodging behind crates and transformers. And she can nearly hear Jackie, can hear him laugh, can hear him yelling, because this is the kind of shit they did. But she knows it's just a memory; she’s alone with adrenaline in her veins, sweat on her skin, and a timebomb in her head.

She drops the last Scav, breathing labored, a few new injuries bleeding steadily. An hour spent battling the vultures, blood heavy under her fingernails, and she picks up on the scanner another job nearby. The merc already moving to get to it, not let her body rest for a minute, because as long as it’s moving her brain slow down just a little.

Clears out Tyger Claws from a construction site in the Northside of Watson. The sun setting just as she drives up and shoots down a cluster of Maelstrommers doing business behind a diner, having killed a drug dealer who stopped supplying. Another group of the chromed out gang taken down for attacking a shipment yard who they felt wasn’t cutting them a good enough discount.

Cleaning up another nest of them in a shipyard full of crates, picking through Maelstrom corpses and cop bodies there before she arrived shows a commissioner sent his boys in blue to die, for poking around where he didn’t want them to, for doing their job. She can’t even pretend to be surprised.

Northside is mostly Maelstrom territory, so it’s no shock it’s another group of the mini borgs she’s taking down as she pulls up to Offshore Street, an ad across the way promising to knock the devil out of her, she’s not sure what the ad is even for, but the message reminds her of her passenger. The proverbial devil she’d love to have knocked out. The gangoons are in a trainyard, stealing running gear from a convoy they jacked. There’s a high enough building for her to perch and take care of them easy, before dropping back in amongst their corpses to pick through for what she needs. Same thing she’s done time and time again.

Samurai written across the back of a now dead gang member's shirt, because of course. She kicks his corpse, as if she were striking the monster in her head. Shoots an already dead body twice, tears threatening to rush out, a scream on the tip of her tongue. And she swallows it back down.

Two more clusters of Tyger Claws are taken care of, the thanks of a plant worker held at gun point by a bridge makes her smile, even if just a little. Knowing she did manage to hopefully help someone, they were trying to klep chemical to make their newest drug; Glitter. At least he didn’t have to die for something so stupid.

Her holophone buzzes in her pocket, missed calls and text messages across it. The first text from Bartmoss Collective, which seems to be some strange spam, talking to her about capitalism. The missed calls and other text from Senora Welles. V scratches at her face, checking the message.

Mama Welles: V?

Mama Welles: V, we need to talk, please pick up

V chews on her lip, stomach twisted in knots. What the hell does she say, what the hell can she say? How can she even look Mama Welles in the fucking eye after this? Her fingers shake over the keys as she types the only thing she can think to send.

V: I’m sorry.

Sorry for Jackie, sorry for evading her, sorry for being such a coward. Sorry is all she can think to be…

Two more jobs, both Maelstom again and she decides to head home for the night. Her body is exhausted, mind fuzzy as she drives the stolen bike down the city streets. It's nearly midnight, all she’s ran on the entire time is a honey sucker and stolen Nicola. But, that means she’s tired, worn out and may be able to find sleep easily.

She steps into the elevator; eyes already threatening to drift shut. V pushes her mask up off her face and thumps her head back against the wall; immediately regretting it, the gesture too similar to Johnny's, the thunking of his head against her wall. She hates this, all she wants is to shut it all out, to forget it all if only for a day and just focus on work. But it’s haunting her.

“Night City is still in a state of mourning,” a newscaster prattles off, “following the death of Arasaka CEO, Saburo Arasaka. Flag on all city buildings are lowered to half mast and all major public events have been postponed until further notice. Daughter and heriress Hanako Arasaka arrived in the city, in the wake of the tragedy.”

“Fuck you!”

She screams at the screen, nearly frothing at the mouth as she puts a voice to her anger, feeling eyes on her as soon as she has. The elevator has come to a stop, someone just trying to enter it, staring at her wide eyed at having seen and heard the outburst. She pushes past them, tugging at her hair and ready to explode or cry or scream or something. Because its bullshit, it’s all bullshit and she fucking hates it.

The world is mourning Saburo; fuck Saburo! He was a piece of shit, a corpo sleaze who’d do anything to make a dollar, to get more power. Yet the world is meant to mourn him, meant to mourn a man who did everything he could to fuck it up. A man so awful his own child would strangle him just to be free of the monster.

Good people died that night, actually good fucking people, Bug and Jackie. And the world moves on without them. No flags fly half mast for them. No one has even contacted or spoke to her about Bug. Even she can’t bring herself to actually mourn, to take the time to feel her feelings. The world barely remembers them as soon as they’re gone.

And she doesn’t consider herself a good person, not like them. She’s nowhere as kind or welcoming as Jackie nor as talented as Bug. But damn it, she died too. And no one cares. The world just keeps on moving. And it hurts.

She screams when she closes her door, just screams and lets it out for a moment. V doesn’t want to cry again, is sick of crying. So, she just screams and punches her fist back against her wall. Her radio is playing music again, she notices as she starts to calm down, body leaning against the door as exhaustion settles back in her bones. She swore she turned it off, the shitty little thing must be acting up. She doesn’t have the energy to care. She haphazardly throws some of her clothes off, dropping her bag and weapons as she marches to her bed. She’ll sleep through it, sleep through the wellspring of anger and pain that’s started to burst out.

V puts her hearing aids on the side table and lays back against her pillows, feeling the plush of it welcoming her. She closes her eyes and takes deep breaths, trying to relax her body. Trying to find some calm, trying to find that serenity she’d had in silence for so long. Letting the exhaustion of her day send the world away.

Then she feels something pressing into the mattress beside her. The warmth of a presence looming over her, the smell of cigarettes and musk. And she’s shooting up in her bed, breath choking and clawing in her throat; heart trying to escape her rib cage. She expects him, expects to see him, is waiting for Johnny to be there with harsh hands and a sharp tongue.

But she’s alone.

She sits on the edge of her bed and just breathes, running her fingers through her hair, she has no idea how this all works. No one does. At least no one she can speak to. What if he comes back in the night? He got control of her last time, what if he finds a way to do it again? What if he takes over in her sleep? God only knows what he could or would do… She doesn’t even know how long the pills suppress him, he can flicker and control how he shows up, he could be active right now and just hiding… waiting for a moment to lash out. Waiting for her guard to fall.

And if it’s not him, it will be his memories.

V can’t sleep, she decides all at once, not now. Maybe never again. And she has no idea how long she’ll make it like this, but she knows she can’t give him that chance. Can’t live his memories again. Can’t deal with this. She grabs her hearing aids tucking them back in, rock music still drifting through her apartment, as she goes to her bathroom. V needs to get back out there, back to work. It's the only thing keeping her somewhat sane, though that thread gets close to snapping every second.

She washes dirt and blood from her hands, then splashes cold water into her face, trying to wake herself up. The cold shock of it disrupts some of the exhaustion, as she looks back up at herself. Still a little dirt on her face, bags already starting to form beneath her gray eyes. She grips the edge of the sink looking at herself, steadying her breaths, water dripping down her nose.

A blind man lost, in the streets

A pattern here I need to see

Keep returning, keep trying to leave

Got a bad feeling that I need to feel

Her knuckles whiten fingers digging into the sink, blood going cold and air catching in her throat. His voice, that fucking voice, playing through a radio. A song she’d never think anything of most days, maybe she’s heard it before and wrote it off. But now her heart hammers at the sound. She’d never even know who it was, but she now knows that voice like she knows her own name.

A black dog runs at my side

Down a road, no end in sight

The city sleeps but in my mind

Got a knot that won't unwind

She runs from her bathroom, tripping over herself as she rushes through the apartment. Her nails digging into the plastic as she frantically shuts off the music. Shutting out that damn voice for a moment, as she tries to get her bearings. She throws it down on the floor, a spike of satisfaction in the sound of it bouncing off the linoleum.

“Fuck!” V curses out loud, her head throbbing with the pain of it all. She holds her head in her hands for a moment before she’s moving again.

The merc is grabbing up a thermos, gifted to her by Misty and meant for relaxing teas, V fills the bottom half with a mix of Spunky Monkey and Chromanticore. Then brews a bot of coffee in the little maker she has stacked on her microwave. There’s a nearly caustic smell as she dumps black hot coffee in with the cold energy drinks; filling the thermos with a cocktail of energy that will either keep her awake or kill her. Either way she’ll be thrilled. It all burns like acid in her throat, a cloying tar taste stuck to her tongue, but after three swigs she can feel her energy picking up. She swallows another omega blocker with the fourth one.

Then she’s yanking her pants back on, getting all she needs to get back to work, marching back out her front door with her concoction in hand. She’s drinking it, cringing at the taste as she comes back down the stairs.

“NCPD open up!” A loud male voice yells out and she see two police officers outside of Barry’s door, her downstairs neighbor is a cop himself.

“Barry! We know you’re in there, we’re here to help!” The female officer yells

“You don’t got no fucking warrant!”

“Cut the bullshit! Just open up!”

“We came here as colleagues- nothin’ else. Haven’t heard from you in a while, we’re worried!”

“Noted. Now leave me alone!”

“Congrats, Mendez,” the female officer looks at her coworker, “way to be a prick.”

“Oh what? So I’m the bad guy? I’m not the one holed up playing the attention whore!”

“He lost a friend, can you blame him?”

“He’s not the first or the last. It’s called life.”

The two police officers leave Barry’s door and go to lean against the railing of the hallway, talking amongst themselves. V and Barry have made small talk a few times, he’s an alright guy, despite his job. And judging by the way his coworkers are talking, he’s been having a rough go of it. Losing a friend… she can certainly relate. She takes another swig of concoction and heads over, double checking her choker is on, mask still in her bag for now.

“Is something wrong? I live upstairs,” she signs to the police officers, indulging her curiosity.

“So keep on livin’ and stop minding other people’s biz.” The burly officer huffs, annoyed that the merc has dared bother them.

“Hold on, it’s his neighbor.”

“Any way I could help?”

“Maybe, you know Barry at all?”

“We’ve talked a handful of times.”

“He’s a friend from the precinct. Left the force not long ago. He broke down after his best friend died. We’re worried he’ll do something stupid. “

“Relax, Petrova,” Mendez scoffs, “Barry’s got nerves of steel- he’s just a spiteful old bastard”

“Mendez, I-,” she rolls her eyes, looks back to V, “could you check in on him when he’s chilled down?”

“Sure, not exactly far away.”

“Thanks, just be patient. Cops fallen on rough times can be… touchy.”

“I got you,” V signs with a nod, deciding to go ahead and test the waters. There’s something about getting herself caught up in someone else's troubles, it’s easier to worry about someone else. It’s a nice distraction.

She knocks against his door, knuckles scrapping the metal. No response, she knocks again. Nothing, so she knocks again.

“Hey, you home?”

No response again, he seemed heated when he was yelling at his coworkers and he probably likes them more than he likes the stranger from upstairs. She decides to let it go for now, she’ll check back in on him later. Another drink fo her death cocktail, her head ache growing worse and her heart rate picking up, but she feels wired enough to take on the world. Mask down as she leaves the building, she tunes to the scanner.

And each job bleeds into each other; Tyger Claws, Maelstrommers, Scavengers, Animals, and just petty criminals all blend together. All just bodies, sheep to her slaughter as she works her way through this, refusing to stop or breathe.

Bullets sniping through the air between swigs of her concoction. Blade thrown and retrieved, an abandoned energy drink guzzled. A gangoon gutted, a half drunk coffee stolen by grubby merc hands. Omega blockers swallowed down with caffeine every couple hours, as the night bleeds into the next morning. But the sun rises above her only to fall again, unable to keep track of the seconds, minutes, hours; all just a blur. Pick up a scanner job, get there, clear it, drink something with caffeine, drop off evidence, grab a vehicle and get to the next job. Then do it again, do it again, again, again, again….

New bruises on her skin with every job; new cuts, new scrapes, new aches. The migraine is constant, head pounding in tune with her racing caffeine soaked heart. But she welcomes it all, the bite of physical pain to keep her mind off the emotional.

The sun is just setting on a day other than the one she left her apartment. Maybe it’s been two, three, or more days of mindless grunt work across the city. Just stacking up her bank account and maybe, she hopes, earning a rep back across the streets. Though, what could is a rep to a dead woman walking? She can’t but wonder as she pulls up near Charter Street for the next scanner. Tyger Claws again, seen spending too much time near a shipyard behind the old buildings.

She walks swiftly through an abandoned parking lot, seeing the standard signs of the shipyard. Stacks and stacks of shipping containers, some rusted and broken open, others sealed tight. Pallets of concrete and building supplies, she doesn’t see signs of the gangoons yet. She walks crouched through a shipping container opened on both ends, moving closer to get a scope of the area. Peeking around the edge of it, she sees the first signs of life.

A Tyger Claw leaning against a car, mottled red and green. She’s far away and can’t get a clear picture through the crates of who else is with him. The merc moves up, slinking into another open rusted crate. She can see more bodies, more vehicles. But the glitch of a Scavenger mask catches her eye. Claws and Scavengers together…

With the cars around them, she opts to use her launcher, the smart aiming better than her sniping could ever be when it comes to getting around obstacles. The rocket launcher emerges from her forearm, locking onto her target, she fires off the incendiary round. It curves but can’t quite hit dead on at the angle, bursting into flames and barely catching a flame on the ganger. She curses as the boom of it gives her away.

Scavs and Claws scream, come running towards the crate she’s in. She readies her launcher again back up in the container, as a member of each gang run before her, catching a look at the merc just before she fires, It connects easily, both dying on impact, corpses going on in flames as V continues to back up through the crate and out of it, getting distance between herself and the swarming gang members. Another shot fired at the car, setting off a boom, that kills two more.

“This is bad, bad, bad!” A gang members yells, one of three still rushing her across the lot. He dies from another incendiary round a moment later, screaming as he’s engulfed in flames, another gang member dying with him.

One Scavenger woman is still running forwards towards V as she walks backwards, grabbing her knife from it’s holster. And V throws it, the final gang member unable to stop in time, running right into the thrown blade. It sinks into her throat, blood spurting forward as the woman collapses. V pulls the knife back out, wiping it across already stained jeans as she marches forth to survey the area without threat.

Tyger Claws and Scavenger now lie in burnt remains, the smell of melting flesh hot in the air. But other than cars and gangoons, nothing else is severely burned. The benefit of the smart targeting and rounds, the perfect amount of controlled chaos. She steps over corpses, collecting what she wants off of them as she moves to the hub of stacked shipping containers. The black remains of the car are still sputtering flames.

Its a little maze of containers as she picks up anything she wants, then she hears a steady thump, something banging against the metal. She twists her head around, searching for the source. It gets more frantic, the echo to the sound telling her it’s coming from one of the dozen or more crates.

“Is someone there?” She signs, mask translating as she tries to get an idea of which container it may be.

“Help, please, help!” A heavily accented and muffled voice yells out. And V finds the crate, unlocking it.

An awful stench pours out of it as the blue rusted door slide open, a huddled crowd of five or so people. Mostly women but a few men, skin caked in filth, bruises heavy on their skin. The one at the front of the container, who was beating on the door freezes, a woman with what looks like a broken nose stares at V wide eyed for a moment. The merc realizes why, quickly sliding the mask up to the top of her head.

“I’m not with them,” her choker translates and she can see the relief that flood the people, “lets get you all out of here.”

The people slowly leave the container, on shaky legs and V’s stomach lurches. There’s blood and filth, human waste, across the container. No telling how long these people were locked in here. But that’s only partly why the stench is so foul, she realizes, when a body at the back of the cargo crate doesn’t move. V walks through the crate turned prison, taking a closer look, hoping she’s wrong.

She isn’t.

A girl of maybe sixteen, the mottled bruises on her skin not just injury but validity, blood no longer pumping but instead stagnant. Her corpse just on the verge of decomposition, leopard spotted jeans stained with blood and her own waste. V tentatively searches through the young girls pockets, searching for something to help ID her, finding a holophone with the teenager’s final message sent.

Tracy: mom, i need help.

Tracy: i think ive been kidnapped

Tracy: mom please help

And V can’t read the rest, bile churning in her gut, but candy and caffeine is all she could hope to puke up. A young girl on her way to a party, snatched up and shipped off to Night City. Final typed out words, a desperate plea for her mother to help.

V leaves the crate before she gets sick, still five bruised and filthy people shivering in the open air. The orange glow of the burning car and setting sun settles over it all. She digs around the things the gangers left behind, finding a shard between Peter and Jotaro Shobo.

Jotaro Shobo, a well known piece of shit in Night City, a high ranking member of the Tyger Claws who scrolls X-BD’s of himself torturing people. The Scavs were bringing in people for the slaughter, judging from the message, Peter telling Jotaro they had just arrived in the city. These folks aren’t from the area.

“None of you are from Night City, are you?” She signs to ask, nods confirming the suspicion. And that wasn’t the only shipping container, many still around them. She hasn’t heard anymore thumping or yelling, but she still needs to check.

“What’s going to happen to us…?” A woman asks in a broken voice, the sound a scratch in her throat. And chews her lip, she can’t get these people back home. That’s a job for the NCPD, but will they do their job is the question. She surely can’t abandon them like this.

“I’m going to check the rest of the crates, see if there’s anyone else, and call the NCPD. Hopefully, we can get you all sorted and back home.”

She gives the best comforting squeeze that she can to their shoulder, feeling the skin and bone beneath her hand. V is suddenly so much more thankful that the fire from her launcher didn’t get out of hand, if so she could have cooked these people alive in the crates.

And who would have known or care?

There’s a pang in her heart as she starts opening crates, some filled with nothing but corpses. Others with drugs and supplies for the Claws’ X-BDs. She pulls two more people from a crate, just as bloody and beaten as the others. V can’t help but think of it, that young girl just gone, dead to the world. A mother left in terror, not knowing what’d happen to her baby. People thrown out and taken from the world. And if they all were gone, the world would just keep going.

Just like with her. Just like Jackie and Bug. And fuck, just like the people she’s killed in the past however many days. All just bodies to the rest of the world. A city that doesn’t care, that’ll forget them as soon as they’re gone. People who never really mattered to the world or had a place in it to begin with.

She opens the last of the shipping containers, heavy metal doors creaking and amongst corpses, she sees one moving body. A young girl, maybe eight, face fleck in blood and wide eyes looking at V. Sick fucks, grabbing whatever and whoever they could.

“Don’t worry, sweetie, you’re safe now.” V speaks, hoping the sound of a human voice will bring more comfort than her translator, even if the noise is rough. But the little girl comes walking slowly out. Her eyes welling with tears, choked half understood sobs as she asks where she is, where her mom is.

V scoops the girl up, doing her best to comfort the child as she brings her back to the group, out of all the bodies around ten are still alive altogether. Lost and now just sitting around as they wait for what comes next. The shard between Peter and Jotaro said they’ve been here for weeks. V sits against a shipping container, child still crying into her chest as she calls the NCPD, debating for a moment, before deciding to put her translator back on.

“Night City Police Department, how can I assist you?” A bored voice answers the line.

“My name is V, I’m a merc who does sub contract work for the department.”

“You forget how to shoot people?” The dispatch scoffs, like she’s wasting their time.

“No, asshole, I’m sitting here in a shipyard near Charter Street, Scavengers were trying to traffick in fresh bodies. Got ten or more folks from overseas, been crated up for weeks, no idea where they are or how to get home. So, I thought maybe, you’d all like to come down here and do your job.”

“Uh-understood, we’ll be dispatching someone to you right away.”

And with that the call ends, now all V can do is wait. Her momentum stopped in it’s tracks to take care of the strangers, One of them, a woman with dyed blue hair and overgrown black roots, looks to V.

“So, we’ll be getting out of here soon?”

“I’d like to say yes, but I’m afraid when the NCPD says ‘right away’ they mean give them three hours, so might as well settle in.”

“You’re… not… gonna leave, right?”

“Don’t worry, Night City isn’t the safest of beasts even if you’re in good shape. Wouldn’t leave you all out here alone.”

“Thank you… I… thank you.”

“Also,” V starts to speak as an idea pops in her head, feeling how thin the girl feels in her arms, “I know this probably sounds absolutely ridiculous, but I can order like, I don’t know, pizza or something?”

Something about it feels so strange and weird, after being kidnapped and taken abroad, a merc offering to buy you cheap pizza. But, it’s all she can think to offer in the time they’re waiting. She can’t help them get any cleaner; can’t hose them down or take them all back to her apartment for a shower. She can’t house them all, certainly. She can’t take them back home, or undo all they’ve been through. But… she can buy some pizza, help them fill their bellies after so long of going without.

“Please…”

And she does just that, ordering on an app through her phone, Buck-A-Slice is the cheapest and quickest option. Plus, the franchise now delivers their orders with drones, cheaper than having to pay human beings, which means she doesn’t have to explain literally any of this. A thousand times quicker than the NCPD, a drone drops off a stack of boxes with greasy cheap shitty pizza. But they tear into it like it's a feast and she finds herself eating too, not even realizing how hungry she was. Has she eaten since she started doing her little job bender?

Time ticks by as the people try to talk between eating, trying to fill the quiet night air with chatter. The little girl has fallen asleep in V’s lap, one of the merc’s hands rubbing circles on her back, the other fiddling with the bullet pendant that hangs around her neck. Stillness forced upon her, her mind starts to roam again.

Bug fried in a chair. Jackie bleeding out in the backseat of a Delamain. And V’s brains blown out over a hotel floor. All gone, though technically she’s still here, but she doesn’t feel like it. She feels like she’s already gone and she might as well be. Thrown away into a landfill and the world still spins. Still spins after all that’s happened. The only dead man mourned in the wake of Konpeki is Saburo, the only one rich or powerful enough for the world to give a shit.

And she’s dying again, this time, there won’t even be a body to burn. It will be like she was never here, overwritten like an unwanted file. Just a painful fade from existence as she loses herself, loses control, and is taken over.

There’s a rumble of car wheels across the lot. Flashes of lights, a few police NCPD cars as well as two unmarked vehicles, a car and a truck. There’s a handful of uniformed cops getting out of their cars. And two men outside of uniform, detectives, she thinks.

“We’re over here!” One of the women yells out, drawing the attention of the officers.

“Christ that smell,” one of the men out of uniform comments, an older man with gray hair.

But V’s eyes are drawn to the other plain-clothed man, if the clothes can really be called that. He himself stands out, around six foot five and muscular, his jacket a dark brown leather with fur across the collar. A shaved head of dark hair, one brown eye and a metal telescopic implant in place of the other. He’s attractive, a shallow little part of her notes.

“Detective Ward,” the mountain of a man introduces himself to V, “heard a merc called, something about a group of people locked in shipping crates. We’re gonna get you home safe, but first, can you tell me what happened?”

V has to try not to laugh. She honestly doesn’t blame him for assuming she was among the kidnapped folks. Her work has left her beaten, bruised; blood and grime on her skin. V’s clothes are still slightly damp from scanner jobs that made chase after evidence in a submerged van. She smells like sweat, murky water, and blood.

“I’m the merc who called, actually,” V signs and sees the realization dawn on the detective’s face.

“Sorry, I-”

“No worries, I get it, not exactly in my Sunday best.”

“What exactly happened here… ?” He prompts her to introduce herself.

“V. I was doing scanner jobs, cleared out some Claws and Scavengers, found myself some refugees, called you all, and ordered some pizza. But, I think this tells the story pretty well,” she explains then hands Detective Ward the shard between Peter and Jotaro.

He gives her a skeptical look for a moment, eye narrowed at the shard. But he seems to ultimately decide that the deaf five foot merc with a child in her lap isn’t that big of a threat. Taking it from her fingertips with metal fingers, a silver hand… And she hates how that little acknowledgement makes a cold sweat form at her hairline.

Detective Ward pushes the shard into his chip slot, his eye glowing blue for a moment as he reads it. His expression shifts a somber and cold look across his features.

“Jotaro fuckin’ Shobo.”

“Yep.”

“Appreciate the help, we’ll take it from here.”

“What’s going to happen to them?” V asks, looking down at the girl in her lap, NCPD isn’t known for going the extra mile. Who’s to say they won’t just throw these people onto the streets without any help or put them in a detention center to avoid dealing with it?

“Not your concern, merc,” the other detective, cuts in, looking down his nose at V.

“Excuse the fuck out of me for not trusting NCPD’s finest.”

“We’ll take care of them,” Detective Ward smooths it over, “figure out where they’re from and get ‘em back home.”

And maybe she’s naïve, maybe she’s exhausted, or maybe she’s a sucker for a pretty face. But, when he says that she believes him. His expression earnest and soft, Regardless, she knows the NCPD can help them more she can, more resources and pull. Just a matter of if they actually choose to use them. V gently shifts the child off her lap, who looks up at her with wide sleepy eyes.

“I gotta go now, honey, but the detectives are gonna help get you home now, okay?”

The little girl nods, still a hint of fear in her eyes as V stands up, as much as she’d love to stay with and protect her. V’s no guardian and can’t get the girl home safe. She watches as Detective Ward stoops down to a knee, getting as close as eye level with the girl as he can, though still nowhere close.

“Hey, kiddo, my name’s River, what’s yours?”

“Stephanie…”

V leaves on that, hearing the soft way the detective speaks to the child, the sound of it bringing the merc a bit of comfort. There’s another Kusanagi motorcycle, that clearly belongs to one of the now dead Tyger Claws, it has a full tank and she climbs on top of it. An old rock station blaring on it as she pulls away from the scene.

The wind whips around her as she rides through the Night City roads, there are more scanner jobs, always are. But she doesn’t take it, thoughts pinging around her skull. Shipping containers filled with corpses, all forgotten names and people, who the world will never mourn or stop for. Mercs drop like flies everyday, her and Jackie just a part of the numbers. But life moves on without them, will move on without her.

She guns the engine faster and faster.

A monster in her head, a psychopath who tried to put her head through a window. A timebob with a face and name. And one day, if she doesn’t stop it, she’ll be him. V… Aidan… will be nothing but a fading memory. A name that use to belong to the new body Johnny makes his fifty year comeback in. And he’ll do whatever he wants, hurt whoever he wants, because as much as Vik and Misty tell V she survived… she didn’t. Johnny survived. because short of a bullet in her brain, he’ll actually get a second chance. She won’t. All V did was get a time extension, a chance to postpone her date with death.

She pushes the bike to go faster, heavy on the throttle.

And she wishes she’d just met her end. Being dead is easier than dying. She wants it done, to just be gone, to not be afraid. To not be in terror of the ghost wreaking havoc in her skull. To not spend six months questioning if a headache is caffeine induced or her memories being erased. To not be stuck in this limbo of knowing she’s going to be gone and forgotten, to just be there by now.

She barely manages to take a curve in time, but doesn’t slow down.

Dead people don’t have to deal with their feelings. Don’t have to grieve. Don’t have to face the family left behind after their best friend dies. Don’t have to carry this pain. Don’t have to-

We lost everything

We had to pay the price

Yeah we lost everything

We had to pay the price

And his voice is like a bomb going off in her head, all at once trying to stop and turn, but she’s going too fast. Gnashing metal and crushing pain, she tastes blood as she’s sent flying forward. A thud of impact as her body hits the road; gravel and asphalt grinding across her skin as momentum carries her across the ground.

The world stops for a moment. V doesn’t know if she’s in the road, on a sidewalk. If she’ll be ran over. She doesn’t care. The merc lays there, bruised lungs aching with each breath, skin road rashed. Blood pours from her nose, iron clinging to her tongue. Her nose may be broken. She just stares up at the sky, the towering neon lights of the city buildings. And if she strains her exhaustion blurred vision, she thinks she can see a star or two pricking through the dark of night.

‘We are all in the gutter, but some of us are looking at the stars.'

It’s an old quote from someone she can’t remember and she’s not even sure where she ever heard it, is she even the one who heard it? How deep are his memories embedded in her own at this point?

She can hear traffic driving by, so she’s probably landed off the road, no one concerned for her. No one stopping or checking on her, just another corpse on the streets of Night City. A forgotten nobody, all she’ll ever be and all she ever was.

I see your eyes, i know you see me

You're like a ghost how you're everywhere

I am your demon never leaving

V groans, catching the sound of the stolen broken motorcycle still croaking out that asshole’s music. The lyrics of it taunting her; like over fifty years ago Johnny wrote those lyrics just as a fuck you to her right now. But something lurks in the back of her mind, the knowledge that that’s by no means true. Murky memories of a freckled blonde netrunner flickering through the merc’s mind.

She clambers back up on her feet, taking in the lights and vending machines around her. Blood still clinging to her lips and chin as she looks around her. On the street, a Kiroshi ad shining blue light on her, some blue haired model showing off her new optics. Across the road painted across the side of an old clothing store in red and blue; the Samurai band logo. The flaming oni demon with skin ripped off to show chrome beneath; just there, mocking her. She flips off the graffiti.

V’s out of her weird brewed concoction, even after so many times of topping it off. No more coffee or energy drinks on her. And she’s not sure she wants that anymore. Wants something stronger, that doesn’t keep her going, but just clouds her mind. The merc stumbles her way into the nearest liquor store and buys herself a bottle of bourbon. She barely catches the look of concern on the cashier’s face before she leaves with the booze in hand.

She takes heavy swigs of it as she meanders down the city streets, swallowing the burn of it and welcoming the fuzziness it puts in her mind. Avoiding it all and throwing herself into jobs has gotten her nowhere but exhausted, so she drowns the feelings in alcohol, the taste of blood and bourbon heavy on her tongue. She wanders down neon lit streets, not even sure where she’s going or why, steadily draining the bottle as she goes.

The lights become blurrier, a pleasant warmth buzzing under her skin as she walks, worries unable to find her through the cloud of alcohol. And she’s not sure how far she goes or where she’s ended up, stumbling down a street, bottle half drunk.

“V?!”

She turns, nearly tripping over her own feet, when someone calls her name. And through the blur of booze and lights dancing around her vision, she sees Cece. The older woman looking at her with something between horror and concern, wide brown eyes and furrowed brows.

“Holy shit, are you okay?”

Cece rushes towards the bloody drunk merc. A tender hand reaches out to cup V’s face, but she stops it, wrapping her fingers around the older woman’s wrist. She doesn’t want it, the gentle comforting touch. A kind gesture better suited for someone else, not meant for someone soaked in blood with alcohol and crimson on her tongue.

“Mmm...I, I’m fine,” V slurs her words, unable to sign with one hand on Cece and the other wrapped around her bottle.

The older woman pulls her hand from V’s grasp, the merc not missing the traces of blood she’s left on Cece’s skin. If she cares, if she minds the filthy touch, Cece says nothing about it just looking at V for a moment, like she’s looking at a wounded animal.

“You went quiet for a while, there’s some suit who keeps coming to the diner, asking about you, V… Did something happened? Ar-are you drunk?” She sputters for a moment when she notices the bottle in V’s hand, maybe catches a whiff of bourbon on the merc’s breath.

“No..not your concern,” V signs now, hands slow and messy, struggling to make the words she needs.

V turns to leave, this whole mess isn’t Cece’s problem. Cece and her barely even know each other outside of sex. The last thing V needs to do is dump trauma or bullshit on her, let alone drag her into the angry hornets nest that is Arasaka. V had only just thought of that, if Arasaka comes looking for her. She takes another swig of bourbon as she staggers across the grimey sidewalk, hoping to drown her newest anxiety.

“V, please,” Cece turns V around, grabbing the mercs arms and forcing eye contact, “I don’t know what’s going on but you can talk to me, I wanna help.”

Glassy gray eyes stare into gold, V just looking up at Cece for a moment. A distraction, that’s all V wants, all she’ll accept in the moment. Work, drinking, hell even helping Barry is all a grab for a distraction; anything to numb her and take her away from her pain. And maybe, her booze blurred brain suggests, Cecelia can distract V the way she always has before. Anything to not think.

V pushes forward, standing on her toes to meet Cece’s lips. She presses in, tries to shove her clumsy tongue into the older woman’s mouth. The once honeyed tongue now tastes of bourbon and blood. V is shoved back, nearly falling over in her drunken state, Cece pushing her away to break the kiss before it could truly begin.

The merc blinks, staring at the older woman. Cecelia’s face scrunched up in a grimace, V’s blood now on her lips, cringing at the cling of iron on her skin. The younger woman looks down, unable to meet Cecelia’s gaze now, ashamed to be so disgusting. To have left her filth and grime on another’s tongue.

V turns away and begins to rush off again, face hot with a drunken flush and embarrassment. What the fuck is wrong with her? Why did she do that? Despite it, she can hear the click of footsteps chasing after her. Cecelia would be better off leaving the merc alone, would be better off if V had never stumbled into her life, even if only for sex. Everyone would have been better off before V stepped into their lives, the thought makes her throat tighten.

“V, please, at least let me help you home, you can’t just stumble around drunk!”

“Why the fuck not!?” V turns around and screams, blood coated spit flying from her mouth. Why can’t Cecelia just walk away?

The two are left staring at each other for another moment. Cece’s eyes wide as she tries to work through her brain for a response, something to say.

“Tonight we return with breaking news, as more information is released in regards to the death of Arasaka CEO, Saburo Arasaka.”

A newscast catches the merc’s attention, tv screens facing out towards the street through a store front window. That stupid corporate sack of shit’s name drawing her in, a news anchor shuffles through his papers.

“Yorinobu Arasaka has come forward with more information regarding his father’s death at Konepki Plaza. The identities of two suspected perpetrators have been confirmed to be that of mercenary Jackie Welles and a netrunner known only as T-Bug.”

V’s breath is knocked from her lungs as the faces of her friends are flashed across the screen. Bug’s a crisp clear image of her face, expression stoic. Jackie’s is a mugshot where he has a bruised face and is grinning at the camera. The two exactly as she remembers them, her now gone crew shown on tv screen across the city, blamed for Saburo’s death.

“The two edgerunners are believed to have been hired by a corporation to carry out the assassination, but Yorinobu has yet to disclose or point any figures regarding which of Arasaka’s enemies may have carried out this plot. Both Welles and T-Bug were confirmed dead. But, there is an unidentified third accomplice believed to have been on the scene when Saburo Arasaka was assassinated. Yorinobu has yet to release this individual's identity or footage from Konpeki, choosing for Arasaka to handle the incident internally for the time being.”

A hand squeezes V’s shoulder, her own grip tightening around the bourbon bottle.

“That’s… your friend, Jackie, isn’t it?”

And she throws the bottle against the window. Unable to smash through the bulletproof glass, the bottle breaks first fragments scattering and bourbon streaking down the window. Cece instinctively jumps back, releasing V from her grasp.

“Jesus christ, what the fuck, V?!”

But the merc is already running down the street, slower than she’d be sober, but still faster than most. And she runs and she runs and she runs. She doesn’t know what for and to what, but she just needs to move, to go, to do something. V runs until her heart is hammering in her chest, pressing tight against her rib cage. Already bruised lungs struggling to take in steady breaths. Her feet ache, blisters forming in her boots as she finally slows down.

And when she catches her second wind, limb still heavy with both ache and booze, she looks around. On the side of the roadway, a main stretch through The Glen, something she knows from the column of red and pink lights across from her. She knows where she is, where she wanted to go, whether she even fully knew. Where it began six months ago.

She looks over the edge of the road way where the guard rail breaks off, overlooking the grimy little alley to Ember’s parking lot. The dumpster closed below, just like it was for her first job, stealing the high class car. V swings herself over, none too gracefully, hitting the dumpster and sliding off of it onto her back. She curses beneath her breath, blaming the alcohol, before she finally gets back up to her feet.

A man waiting under an awning barely looks up from his phone as she stumbles past him, world still shifting around her. She walks around and to that elevator, hitting the button then stepping inside before it begins to rumble. And it’s stupid, she knows. It won’t change anything, won’t get anything back. But she just wants to be there, to stand in the place she first met him, the moment that changed so much for her.

And the doors open before her and even after all this time, she knows the path by heart, walking down the halls to the double doors. The parking lot is empty tonight, only the glow of vending machines and the VIP parking spots.

Her footfalls echo through the closed parking garage, making her way to the neon spot where that car was parked. And she lays down there, bathed in blue light, cold of cement biting at her skin through her clothes.

The place where they met, where he put a gun to her head and they were forced down on the ground by police, where they broke away and took the car back to Padre. And he invited her back to his home, took her in like a stray, no concern or worry as he offered her food and shelter.

Maybe if he hadn’t, he’d still be here. Maybe if he’d just gone ahead and blown her brains out that night, they’d all be better off. Dex wouldn’t have shelled out the job to them, Jackie would still be minor leagues but he’d be alive. Mama Welles would have her son, Misty her soulmate, and Vik his friend. Everyone happier without the merc mucking up their lives. And she wouldn’t be here either, wouldn’t be dealing with it.

V takes out her phone, instinctively pulling up his number. She wants to talk to him, just one more time, she just wants to talk to him. It rings and rings and rings, she knows he won’t answer, knows he can’t. But… there’s no harm in wishful thinking, is there?

“Hey, this is Jackie.”

Her breath catches in her throat, his voice a shock to her system, a sound caught in her throat. Say something, say something.

“Can’t come to the holo right now, leave me a message and I’ll catch ya later.”

And the machine beeps, giving her the chance to leave a voicemail, because he’s gone. She knows that, she does, but she just…

“Jackie….I… this.. Is so stupid,” she chides herself and hangs up.

She’s half drunk in an abandoned parking lot, trying to talk to ghosts. Practically one herself. She sits for a few more moments, trying slowly to piece her mind back together, if only for a moment. It’s obviously not working, so she just gives up and stands back up. Already knowing where she plans to go back, tracing back pieces of their history, if only to find peace for a moment.

V stumbles her way back to the alley way, though her movements are a little steadier than before. Rather than dragging her aching feet all the way to Kabuki, she finds the nearest NCART station stop, thankful for the twenty-four hour transit.

The train car is mostly empty, a few people shooting her odd looks as she sits down, staring at the ground. Her eyelids heavy after days of constant activity and caffeine. The soft rumble of the transit starting to feel like she’s being rocked in a cradle, lulled into sleep.

A familiar click of boots make her eyes snap open, not even realizing they closed. Brown boots shuffling in front of her vision, glitching like an old tape. She digs her nails into the back of her head, refusing to look up as the figure sits down in the seat across from her. Legs spreading wide and shamelessly as he takes up as much space as he pleases. Both in the subway train and her head.

Heart pounding and breaths getting shorter, she tries to think through it, that the pills can’t be wearing off. When did she last take one? Might be seeing things, could be someone else, could be her mind playing tricks on her.

“If only you were so lucky, Samurai,” her head shoots up at the sound of his voice, looking at him finally, “drunk and bloody on a train, wondering if you lost your mind, be funny if you weren’t so damn pathetic.”

“No, no, no, no, no, fuck!”

People are staring as she tears through her pockets, hands shaking, the words garbled in her throat. Can’t breathe, she can’t even fucking breathe as she rips the bottle of pills from her pockets. Her heart is going to explode in her chest, her lungs going to shrivel up without a strong enough breath of air, her body on fire. Shaky hands rip the cap from the bottle.

“Wait a fuckin’ min-”

His yell is cut off as she chokes the pill down dry, jumping up from her seat, the train rolling to its next stop and she runs out, tripping down the last of the steps. She nearly pukes as she hits her knees, but forces herself to swallow the bile, she can’t afford to puke the blockers back up. She stays there on the ground, holding herself, reminding herself to breathe, sucking in the cold city air. It's filthy with smog but at the moment it feels godsent.

Eventually her breathing is better, her body feels cooler, the air chilling her sweaty skin, heart rate evening out. She slowly stands up, gravel and dirt still stuck in already blood stained hands. The merc finds her way to where she was going, the rockerboy in her head not ruining her goal. She needs to see it.

She reaches the Kabuki Central stop and sucks in a breath of air when she sees the bright red neon sight, lighting the street way around the door. The No-Tell Motel, the place where they died. Or maybe she didn’t die until she hit the landfill, but she thinks it was here, when Dex blew her brains out across the carpet. Where Jackie bled out in the back of a Delamain.

V goes around to the back gateway, where the Delamain pulled in. She sits at the top of the stairs for a moment, just looking at where the taxi had been parked. Where she lost him, next to the defaced Night City logo. All his dreams of reaching the major leagues, of having the money and street cred to keep his family safe, to be a success story who made it out of Heywood. Broken. Sent spiraling down when he got too close to the sun and the wax around his feathers melted, Icarus sent plummeting down to his end.

And she wishes so much she could have convinced him not to do it, could have kept him from getting to this point. But a part of her knows she probably couldn’t have. A part of her knows that if he were in her shoes, sent plummeting down but somehow still able to stand, he would have climbed back on his feet and tried it all over again. But she’s not as strong as him…

V gets back on her feet, ready to move on to the next part, where she died. Needs to see it, needs to face it. She slips into the motel and up the stairs, memories of that night flickering in her mind. Staggering through these neon lit halls and red stairs in bloody Jinguji clothes, face still wet with tears and rain, convinced she’d see her payday and live the major league life if only for Jackie.

She walks down that long stretch of hallway and reaches the room, 204, where Dex Deshawn shot her. It’s vacant, but she hasn’t paid for the room. Remembering even just bits of what Bug taught her, V’s able to hack the door, watching it slide open. Half expecting Dex’s bodyguard to be waiting behind the beaded curtain. Of course, he isn’t.

The room is just as she remembered, the standard sleazy No-Tell Motel room. Neon red light over a grimy bed, a dirty blanket thrown on a stained leather couch. And near the bed and bathroom, she sees it. Red now rusted and stained to a crusty brown, her blood. Where she was shot. Where she died, they haven’t even bothered to clean her blood from the floor. And that’s all she would have been. Another stain in a carpet. Another life snuffed out in Night City with no one to mourn her.

She opens the bathroom door and doesn’t even have to step in to see the mess she left is still there. Brown formerly crimson blood stained across the broken mirror, sink marked in rusted red brown handprints. V sits down on the bed, her blood stains in view, she holds her head and she cries again. She cries for Jackie, for Bug, for herself. She sobs and she lets out just a bit more of her pain. And the sobs die down, as they always do at some point. The tears run dry and the sob become more choked.

There’s one more place she needs to see, she decides, standing from the bed. It’s a longer way out, but she needs to see where she was left. Where her body would have rotted away with no one giving it a second thought. She leaves the hotel, no even bothering to shut the motel door behind her.

V doesn’t bother with the NCART again, as far away as the landfill is and scared of seeing him again. She knows the train didn’t trigger it, but she just, doesn’t want it. She’s sobered up, a fair amount, maybe still a bit tipsy. Its dumb, a bad move ayway, but she busts the window out of a parked MaiMai, little blue box of a car. Clears the glass off the driver’s seat and breaks into it.

The keys in it, she drives it and drives, careening through the traffic of Night City. Watching as the neon lights start to fade away as she hits the outskirts. Glowing billboards advertising become scarcer and scarcer, noise filtering away. Until there’s nothing but craggy rocks and stretches of desert land.

And the distance hills become made of trash as she comes closer and closer to her destination, driving past a little gas station. She parks where the little dirt pathways through the landfill meet the road. V climbs out of the driver’s seat and starts walking, boots sloshing through the mud puddles and crushing grass underfoot as she walks through mountains of trash.

An orange glow catches her eye as she starts to near a clearing, a trashcan fire still burning in the night. And as she reaches the clearing, she sees his body, Dex’s corpse still laid out where she shot him. Through the moonlight and the light of the fire, she can see bullet wound in his head, the purple in his skin where blood has settled.

No one’s come to find him. No one’s collected him. He blew her brains out and left her to rot in a landfill, now here he is. Karma or something, she thinks. One of the best fixers in Night City, major leagues, rich as hell and meant to be their ticket to success. But he was thrown out and forgotten just like anyone else.

She gently kicks his body, not even angry anymore, she’s not sure she has the energy to be. And what good would it do her, she already took the man’s life, what more can she do. He’s suffered the very fate he tried to damn her too, not even knowing what he did to her in the end. Dex was desperate, scared of what would happen if he was connected to her and the heist. He had no way of knowing the chip would do this.

His body shifts under the push of her boot, limp and useless. But she sees a glint, his gun. A gaudy little thing of black and gold, his name emblazoned across it. She picks it up, seeing the blood on it’s barrel and wonders if her brains splattered on Dex when he shot her.

She takes it with her as she goes to sit on a nearby rusty fridge, holding it in her hand, feeling the weight of it. V touches the bullet pendant around her neck, a bullet fired from this very gun. She wipes the crusted blood off it’s barrel, chipping it off with her fingernail. Maybe it was all fate, people aren’t meant to come back like that, not like this.

Her mind returns to what she told Misty, about blowing her brains out. The older woman telling her she’d kill two souls, if aimed right, it’d kill Johnny too. And maybe that’s not a bad thing… He showed his colors, when he attacked her. If that’s who he is, who he chooses to be. She’s killed people for less.

And isn’t it better than suffering? No dragging it out, no slowly losing control, no watching herself turn into him. She’d go out on her own terms, no one else's. No Arasaka’s, not Johnny’s, not her dad’s; her’s.

A quick shot, a jolt of pain, then she’d be gone like that. Her and Johnny. She wraps her lips around the barrel of the gun, the taste of metal and dirt on her tongue. Feels the weight of it in her mouth and clacks her teeth against it, biting down on it. Her finger on the trigger, one twitch of movement away from it all ending. From slipping away into the end and never dealing with this.

Do it.

Her finger doesn’t move.

Do it.

Nothing.

Do it.

And she’s crying, because it’s all she does, unable to make the final move. Unable to pull the trigger, she pulls the gun from her lips. And she holds her face as she cries again, she’s sick of this, sick of feeling this way. Sick of hurting, of being a nothing, of knowing she’s going to fade away and be forgotten like so many others. Of knowing she doesn’t matter and never will. That she’s going to become someone else, that she doesn’t and never will have place in this world, maybe was never meant to.

Only when the sun rises so does she, a notification on her optics that another payment from the NCPD has come in. Still a few grand short of paying off Vik without cutting her own throat in terms of cash, maybe she’d be better off killing herself that way, she wonders… But a part of her would prefer Dex’s gun, gone the way she was meant to, meeting her fate head on.

Head aching, foggy with exhaustion, but no longer buzzed with alcohol. She has a text about the fight in Kabuki and she still needs to get money from Wakako for the Dorsett gig; her last one with Jackie before the heist. She wipes the tears from her face and tucks Dex’s gun in her waistband, for later, meet her fate another day, she decides leaving the landfill.

Death will wait for her, it’s done just that for years, albeit not always patiently. They got a date set, according to Vik, six months out. She’ll jump to meet the end sooner, she thinks, find it on her own terms. But for now, she’s not quite ready.

#cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #johnny silverhand #silverv #female v #fem v

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ladynestaarcheron · 4 years

Text

Like Pristine Glass - Chapter Eighteen

ao3 - ff.net - masterpost

(tagging these cuties: @humanexile @skychild29 @rhysandsdarlingfeyre @candid-confetti @rhysandsrightknee @missing-merlin @azriels-forgotten-shadow @books-and-cocos @sezkins79 @city-of-fae @someonemagical @dusty-lightbulb @messyhairday-me @rinad307 @superspiritfestival )

so, i recalled earlier this week that in canon, showers don't exist. you might be thinking, hey lior zoë, what are you talking about? allow me to refresh your memory. in acowar, nesta confesses to feyre in front of the inner circle that her ptsd is triggered by taking baths, because of the cauldron. so she has to bathe in buckets. feyre assures her that they will come up with some contraption that will allow her to clean herself some other way. in the snippet from the end of acofas (which we now know is called A Court of Silver Flames, btw!!), nesta mentions her ability to slip into a bath is huge progress. so presumably, feyre has not given her this contraption. i think about this all the time, because the idea of a superior race with all the magic in the world not having ever invented showers is so supremely stupid to me. however, it has come to my attention that on two occasions I have forgotten this, and mentioned showers in previous chapters of lpg. i have elected to continue ignoring this and in the future will continue to reference showers. but in accordance with the rules of the game, I can no longer call this fic canon compliant AU. henceforth, this fic is a showers exits!AU and nothing more.

enjoy.

---

February 9 - 4 years after

The last of Sugar Valley's snow melts in early February, and as mid-month nears, the weather almost looks warm outside. Of course, it is still plenty cold, so every morning brings a new argument on whether or not Avery has to wear her coat, which sparks an identical one with Nicky.

Nesta takes a deep breath. "All right, Avery," she says. "Stand outside for one whole minute without your coat. Just on the porch. Yes, you too, Nicky."

"I want Ollie to come too," Avery demands.

"No, Ollie doesn't want to stand in the cold without a coat. There you go. Your minute starts...now."

Nesta watches the two of them stand on the front porch, Nicky enjoying himself like it is a game and Avery, cross and stubborn, glaring at her.

Ollie sits on the floor next to the door, working on putting his boots on by himself. He's quiet except for slight whispers as he coaches himself on how to tie his laces.

"Had enough?" Nesta calls.

"I'm cold, Mummy."

"Well, come inside and put on your coat, then," Nesta says, doing her absolute best to keep her voice even.

Nicky does, but Avery remains outside, scowling.

Nesta takes a deep, shaky breath. "Avery," she says. "I can see you're shivering."

Avery stomps her foot. "I am not."

Nesta closes her eyes. "All right," she says. It's far too early in the day to choose a hill to die on. "Let's just walk to nursery, then."

Nesta wraps Avery's coat inside hers—she can't hold it normally, for if Avery sees it, she'll throw a fit. She fastens her buckle tightly, so the smaller coat won't slip down her body and she can still use both her hands to hold onto her children.

But Avery doesn't want to hold hands today.

Eventually, she manages to get all three of them to nursery, with Avery in her sour mood the whole way, Ollie keeping to himself as much as possible, and Nicky blissfully unaware of both his sister's and his mother's irritation.

She sneaks the coat into their teacher's hands and leaves after only two quick kisses goodbye—Avery has joined her friend Emilia in a game and refuses to pay Nesta any mind at all.

So Nesta scowls on her way to start her day, too. Perhaps even more than usual, for Maz ducks behind a bookshelf as soon as he sees her.

"How have you scared him off already?" Zeyn asks, laughingly, from behind her.

Nesta whips around. "All I did was walk in here!" She can't help her outburst. She doesn't have many outlets. She'll take what she can get.

But Zeyn is rather used to this, and his easy-going personality never falters. "Woah," he says, holding his hands up. "Coffee's in the back room. Come with me."

She'd like to stew in her misery for a bit longer, actually, but Zeyn doesn't let her, pushing her along and sitting her down in a chair.

"Is it the workload?" he asks her. "I know you've been taking the brunt of those Prythian writers..."

"It's all of it, Zeyn," Nesta says, dejected. "It's the writers and my regular workload and Avery's going through this phase...and Ollie's being quieter than usual and I think his lungs are part of the reason, really..."

And she doesn't say it to him, but it's Cassian, too. Not that he's done anything wrong, it's just...he's been in the Night Court all week, and she has grown so used to having him around. And now it feels like everything has been dumped upon her alone. Pairing this with that "paperwork" that Amorette had started doing, which is shaping up to be a huge opportunity for her in Ciyaluck...Nesta's never felt more burdened in her life.

"At least Nicky's still singing to himself," she says miserably.

"Ava's not exactly depressed, Nesta," Zeyn says, teasing slightly.

"I think she hates me now."

"She doesn't! Like you said, it's just a phase."

"It's not..." Nesta swallows. "It's just a lot."

And now she can't even share with him, because...well...it feels too weird. She and Cassian have been co-parenting for months now. She's been slowly easing Zeyn out of conversations like this, and to suddenly talk about something as intimate as her relationship with her daughter with such brazenness...it feels wrong to be talking to anyone else this way.

But that isn't right. She still loves Zeyn. He still helped her with the children so much when they were born, when she was pregnant.

"It feels a lot to handle sometimes," she says finally.

Zeyn cups her face with his hand. His eyes, warm as ever, twinkle at her. "You don't have to handle it alone," he promises, voice sweet.

She summons a smile. "Is that an offer to edit these short stories I just got?"

Her ill attempt at humor works. He laughs and breaks apart. "Count on it."

---

February 3 - 1 year after

It was a good thing Adil had found her a house when he did, because the deals with the bank and with Erest, the councilhead, were finalized just as Nesta grew to be too big to fit through the door of her room at the inn.

Nesta had actually been looking forward to her second trimester, because of the promise of not greeting every morning with violent illness, and then crumpling up in a heap on the bathroom floor.

But it seemed that the first day she had awoken to find all she had eaten before going to bed yesterday had successfully stayed down, was also the day she thought she would not be able to get out of bed on her own. While it was true—in her case, at least—that the fourth month of pregnancy brought with it the energy that had all but disappeared completely these past few months, it wasn't much use if she was too heavy to handle herself.

Amorette, her healer, was pleased to note every pound Nesta gained. She had been worried, at first, having heard tell of females unable to produce enough space and nutrition for multiples and losing all of them, one after the other, but Nesta was having no such troubles. She—and Miri—had assured her that she did not look to be the same size as her new two-story house, though.

(There was some concern about the size of one of the triplets, a male, significantly smaller than the other two, but Amorette said as long as they were keeping an eye on it all, they should be fine.)

"Right, then," Adil said, coming down the stairs of the house. "You should be set for now. Placeholders," he added, nodding towards the blue couch in the living room and other items that graced Nesta's sparse new home. "Until we can...get some..." he trailed off, looking around, perhaps doing more measuring in his head.

"You've done more than enough," Nesta said firmly. While pregnancy had not been kind to her over the last month, Adil certainly had, helping her with everything she could possibly think to need. Miri as well. And Zeyn...well, Nesta could never really tell if he was more irritating than helpful, but he was there, too.

"Got the cribs set up, room next to yours. Didn't paint the room, though..."

Nesta could hardly believe it. "What?"

Adil looked as startled as she felt. "Well, Miri said it was important for you to paint it. Nesta...?"

"Nesting," Miri called from the kitchen.

"Right."

"No, no, it's not that. I just..."

I just forgot I'd need cribs.

"...didn't realize you had bought me cribs. That's—that's too kind."

"Gift from the shop," he grunted, looking away. That was fine. Nesta didn't want to make eye contact either. "Well, we'll be on our way."

Miri came out of the kitchen. "I've got some meals ready for you in there, dear."

"Oh, thank you, Miri. You didn't have to do that."

"Oh, please. We'll see you tomorrow, dear."

"Thank you," she said again, to them both, as she walked them out.

The sound she made when she shut the door was between a sigh and a groan. Endless relief and gratitude that she finally—finally, for the first time in her life, had her own home. And the dawning realization that it would not be hers alone in a few short months.

Or would it? Nesta didn't remember deciding she was going to keep the triplets, only that she wasn't terminating the pregnancy. Were those her children stretching out her insides, she wondered, running her hands over her belly as she stared in the mirror? Or was she just holding them for someone?

That was something she needed to figure out. Before Cassian wrote back, at least.

She tried not to think about how he hadn't written back yet. Perhaps he was still...upset. But he would, eventually, and then she...they would...what?

Less than five months to go...and with the average duration of a triplet pregnancy being far less than the typical nine months, probably not even that. Whatever decision she was going to make, she had to make it soon.

---

February 18 - Year of

Nesta never thought the sight of Cassian's house in their camp would bring her so much relief. But it meant that trip was finally over.

"I've got to shower," she said, as soon as she walked in the door. "I have to get all of that place off of me."

"What was so bad about it?" he called after her, but she didn't stop to answer.

That camp wasn't so terribly different from this one, true. In fact, it was uncannily similar, as she had noted when they first arrived there. But the people were different. There was no love lost between all the townspeople here (save Cassian and Emerie) and Nesta, but she had not missed being looked at that way. Hated...feared.

She hadn't minded really, in that room. And she could admit to herself here, alone in the shower, that she even...enjoyed some of it. The parts where she spent all her waking hours with Cassian, and even when there were other people in the room, she wasn't sharing him.

Nesta had never been someone's first choice. No one had ever placed her at the height of their priorities, given themselves to her first and foremost. And that still wasn't what was happening. They had only gone because Cassian was General Commander—sworn to her sister and Rhysand and the people of the Night Court first.

But all that had seemed far away on this trip. It was so easy to pretend like none of that was real.

Even then, she knew the illusion couldn't last that long.

---

February 26 - 1 year after

Days seemed to go by quicker now. What with her new house, Nesta felt she had more freedom to go about the town as she pleased. She was so taken with living life as she saw fit, she didn't even mind that Sugar Valley really didn't have much to do. She thought she might prefer it that way.

In the mornings, she would walk to the bookstore, and someone would be waiting with a coffee for her. Zeyn or Miri or sometimes Leyla. Perhaps they worked in shifts.

She'd read and repair all day, and stop to eat lunch with everyone at half past noon. There hadn't been a collective lunch break when she had started, but one day she sat down with a large container of chicken salad, and Zeyn had sat himself next to her, and then Leyla had joined, and Maz followed her, along with Xeyale and Amir, and Miri had come to see what the gathering was about, and then Adil had wandered in after her. Sometimes their publishing agent, Hazar, stopped by and joined them.

Sometimes she'd leave in the afternoon for a visit with Amorette. In the evenings, she'd go home and fix herself dinner, which she liked to do alone.

But after that, she'd go for a walk about the town, and inexplicably, someone would be there. Most often Zeyn.

"So, you think of any names yet?" he said to her one night, as they walked.

Nesta popped a sugarberry into her mouth. "Names?"

"For the babies."

Nesta flinched. "No."

"Oh, do you think it's bad luck to talk about it? Some people do. My mother's that way."

"I don't believe in luck," she said. Luck was so faerie, like their pantheon of gods and fate and mates. None of that was real. Not real enough to matter, anyway.

Zeyn laughed. "That must be nice."

She didn't think it was. He laughed at everything, didn't he? Nesta would never be that way.

"So, do you need any help? With the names?"

"Did you have some you wanted to share?" she asked drily.

"ZJ," he said immediately.

"ZJ? Zeyn Junior?"

He grinned at her. "Got a nice ring to it, doesn't it?"

She summoned a weak smile. Where she was from, someone was only a Junior if they had taken their parent's name.

"Zahra's pretty popular for a girl," he continued, unaware of her thoughts. "I think it's pretty."

"I don't think I want a Gilameyvan name, though," she mused. And she certainly shouldn't choose a name if she wasn't sure she wanted to keep the children.

"What's popular in Prythian, then?"

"I don't know," she said shortly. Then, after considering it for a few moments, "I'm from south of Prythian."

"What's popular there? Is Nesta a common name?"

"Hardly," she scoffed. Feyre wasn't, either. They did know their fair share of Elains, though. "I guess...Heather? Joyly? Analynn?"

"Joyly's nice."

"Well, I didn't like any of the Joylys I knew."

"What about boy names?"

Nesta thought. "Well...Caleb, I guess. Elias." She didn't remember many boys she had known. Tomas, of course, but she wasn't going to name anyone after him. "Actually," she said, softly, "I did always like my father's name."

He touched her elbow gently. "What was his name?"

"Ollison," she said. She hurried to find something else to say. She certainly didn't want to talk about her father. "I like Avery for a girl. A book I liked when I was younger...the heroine was called Avery."

"Human-authored?"

"Yes."

"Maybe we can find it," he said. "How do you know so many human-authored books anyway?"

So Adil hadn't mentioned her slight stretch of truth. "I lived among them for many years," she said.

"Wow, really? What were they like?"

"They were normal," she answered, irritated by the question.

"Really, even to a High Fae?"

Oh. That was why he asked. How to answer?

"Friendships and love can transcend race," she said, thinking of her sister and her new family. Herself and...

"You loved some of them."

After a lengthy pause, Nesta said, "I did. Very much."

---

February 11 - 4 years after

Avery's poor attitude does not transfer towards her behavior at nursery, according to her teacher, and while Nesta supposes she should be glad of this, she finds she's only upset that it seems to be just her Avery has a problem with.

This is further worsened by her shrieks of delight when Cassian accompanies her to pick them up that afternoon.

Avery races towards him like she hasn't seen him in months—even though Cassian had arrived last night, and they had all eaten breakfast together.

Cassian doesn't seem to notice Nesta's disgruntlement, and laughs as he picks Avery up into his arms. Nicky and Ollie clamber at his legs, and he scoops them up too.

Nesta keeps her eye roll to herself as she takes their bags. Not Avery's coat, though—because at Cassian's request, she had elected to wear hers today.

At least Nicky says, "Mummy, I missed you so much today!" and Ollie nods along eagerly.

"Can we go to the park?" Avery asks.

"You know the rules, Ava," Cassian says sternly, as they leave. "We go home and eat first."

Avery pouts some, and Nesta's blood rushes to her cheeks—is she going to throw a tantrum? Oddly, the idea of a public fit doesn't faze Nesta at all, as the three of them have each had their fair share, but having Cassian see how incompetent she can be mortifies her beyond belief.

But he coaxes her out of it by promising they're going to go to the park later, and actually, they're going to cook something together to eat, and won't that be fun?

Nesta has been hiding her bitterness from her children their whole lives, so this one afternoon is hardly the one that kills her. But she takes extra care to keep up cheery pretenses because of Cassian's presence, and she's convinced she's done a good job of it, because he doesn't seem to notice anything's the matter at all.

At least, she doesn't think he does, but right after they shut the door to the children's room, he puts his arm over her shoulder, and—when they are safely out of earshot, in the kitchen—says, "Nesta, what's wrong? You've been miserable all day."

"I have not been miserable all day," she scoffs, trying to hide her flush with a glare.

"Come on, Nesta. What is it? Is it Ava? Kids act like that all the time."

"I know how children act," she snaps.

"I didn't mean to imply you don't," he says. "Just...trying to reassure you." He hesitates. "Nesta...Rhys and Az and Mor each told me that you're a wonderful mother."

"What a surprise that must have been."

"To them, maybe, but not to me," he says seriously. "I always knew. But it's okay if this is hard for you to do on your own. With Ava and with everything you've had to take on at work...and, you know, if anything else has been pressuring you..." he trails off, and when she doesn't show any sign she knows what he's talking about, his lips tug upwards slightly, and he adds, "If I've been pressuring you."

"You have not been pressuring me," she says automatically.

"Well, I hope you're lying," he says, "because I've certainly tried to."

Nesta rolls her eyes.

"You really haven't thought about my telling you I want us to be a family?" he asks, skeptical. "I don't believe you. Come on, Nesta, it's just me. You can tell me."

Nesta gives a short, irritated sigh. "Well, of course I've thought about it."

"And what?" He takes a step closer to her. "You haven't come up with an answer yet?" He puts his hands on her shoulders, smirking slightly.

He's...he's much closer now. And his wings aren't spread wide, but inching closer to her as well. Blocking out everything in her periphery, so he is all she can see. "I have."

He raises an eyebrow. This is unnatural, isn't it, being this close without actually touching? "And?"

His eyes—like Avery's, like Ollie's, like a dark honey disappearing into the black of his pupils. It takes her a minute to remember what he's talking about. "Oh," she says, slightly surprised to remember. "Well. Of course I want us to be a family." She doesn't get a chance to say anything else.

Because then he is kissing her, and it's like no time has passed. His hands circling her waist and hers taking their place in his hair. He tastes the same—that vague lemon and mint. His hair is a bit longer, but the growling sound from the back of his throat when she pulls it is just as she remembers. It's what spurs him onward, downward. His lips move to the side of her mouth, and he kisses down her neck, but she pulls him back upwards. It's been too long. She has waited so long for this.

And it appears she'll have to wait a while longer, because just as their hands start to roam, a small voice from the stairwell calls, "Mummy, my throat is really hurting a lot."

They rip apart. Cassian's eyes are wide, and he snaps his wings backwards to be tucked against his back.

Nesta whips around, hands furiously smothering her hair—just in time to see Ollie wobble into the kitchen.

He hasn't seen.

The pair of them breathe a sigh of relief together.

Then Nesta remembers what he said. "Your throat hurts, angel? Come here." She picks him up and holds him against her. He lays his head on her shoulder and coughs, wet and deep.

"It's been back," Nesta whispers to Cassian. To Ollie she says, "Do you feel like you need to take the purple medicine we got from the healer?"

Ollie nods, yawning.

"It's in that cabinet there," she says to Cassian. She takes a deep breath to calm herself so she can calm him. "We're going to take a little bit of medicine. We're going to practice our deep breaths over the steaming bowl, and first thing tomorrow we are going to see our friend Healer Nazrin. All right, angel?" She looks at Cassian when she speaks, and he nods along with Ollie.

After she directs Cassian on how much of the tonic to give Ollie, she says, "Now, why don't you go with Appa and sit on the couch, and Mummy will bring the steaming bowl?"

This is not the first time Ollie has woken up in the middle of the night complaining of throat or chest pains and a cough. Nesta's not overly terrified; in fact, she's even pleased to see he is old enough to tell her exactly what hurts and that he wants medicine. But she knows that for Cassian, this is the first time, and he is probably as scared as she was. So sitting with him for a moment alone on the couch while she takes care of the treatment will probably calm him down.

And give her just a few seconds to collect herself. There is far too much on her plate. She doesn't need anything extra to deal with now.

---

hope you enjoyed that!!

also, did you know, i started a booktube? also also did you know, june 21st as this week and it’s the triplets’ birthday? also also also did you know, june 25th is tomorrow and that’s my birthday!!

thank you all so much for the overwhelming support. i just love you guys so much. i also love @thestarwhowishes, my beta.

---

Chapter Nineteen

#acotar #acotar fic #nessian fic #nesta archeron #every time i start tagging this i'm not really sure what to tag it as?#also i feel like at this point everyone who wants to read this is reading it lol #if you're scrolling through the nesta tags and you're like who is this girl who keeps posting this fic that she doesn't even post a summary #it's in the masterpost i promise

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revengerevisited · 4 years

Text

@noneofthismakessensetome KHUX is really hard to explain, and I don’t really understand it myself despite watching every update, but the most that I can glean from it is that it’s set in the past in a place called Daybreak Town, right before the Keyblade War. (How far in the past is unknown, not helped by the fact that time travels differently in each World, but it was definitely before Xehanort was born).

There was this guy named the Master of Masters, and he’s supposedly been fighting a war against darkness for a very long time. (No idea if that’s the elemental concept of darkness, or Darkness the character). He’s the person who invented Keyblades (or one of the people. KHUX is extremely vague and likes to throw little doubts in just to make you question everything), and he gathered six apprentices (all named after one of the Seven Deadly Sins). Luxu, aka Xigbar, is one of the six. The only other relevant one is Ava.

Five of these apprentices (not Luxu) become the Foretellers, leaders of these different Unions of ‘Keykids’ (which I don’t think is an official term, but that’s what the fandom calls them so I will too) who wield Keyblades against the Heartless to collect Lux (which is some sort of light energy). Each of them is also given a Chirithy Spirit created by the Master of Masters.

The Master of Masters, aka MoM, can see into the future, because he put his ‘eye’ into the Keyblade No Name (Master Xehanort’s Keyblade), as well as other Keyblades like Riku’s Way to the Dawn and Vanitas’s Void Gear (if that is the name of Vanitas’s Keyblade...). Because these ‘eyes’ exist in the future, the MoM is able to ‘see’ into the future, and writes all future events down in the Book of Prophecies. He then gives copies of the Book of Prophecies to the Foretellers (not Luxu), but leaves out a certain page. He then sows distrust through the five by telling them one of them is a traitor.

The Foretellers all mistrust each other, and through a chain of events this leads to the Keyblade War, where all the ‘Keykids’ kill each other and the World is rift apart. The only ones who survive are the Dandelions, a special group of ‘Keykids’ the MoM told Ava to form, who hide in a Data version of Daybreak Town. The Dandelions have their minds wiped of the Keyblade War by the Chirithies and believe they are in the real Daybreak Town, except for the five Union Leaders, who were chosen by the MoM and given Books of Prophecy by Ava (more on that in a second...).

In the latest KHUX update, the MoM says that it will take multiple lifetimes to defeat darkness (or Darkness), and this is probably why Luxu (Xigbar) has been hopping from body to body for all these years (centuries?). The MoM gave Luxu the Black Box (without telling him what’s inside) and No Name (to be passed down through the generations of Keyblade Wielders and eventually wind up with Xehanort before going back to Luxu). By having No Name be passed down into the future, the MoM can see through its ‘eye’ and write down future events.

So about the Union Leaders of the Dandelions, the ones the MoM told Ava to pick were Ephemer, Skuld, Brain, Lauriam (Marluxia), and Strelitzia. However, (as we saw with the most recent update) a shadowy being named Darkness killed Strelitzia and gave Ventus her copy of the Book of Prophecies instead. Ventus was in some kind of trance or had his memory wiped, and didn’t remember Strelitzia’s death until now.

Darkness has also been helping Maleficent, because for some reason after her defeat in KH1 she wound up in the past in Data Daybreak Town, and Darkness wants to help her get back to the future (KH2) with a time machine. (The time machine, called the Ark or the Lifeboat in different translations, is the same machine used by Terra-Xehanort to send five-year-old Kairi to Destiny Islands, although in that case she was transported through space, not time). It seems that Darkness wants some of the ‘Keykids’ (Ventus, Lauriam (Marluxia), Elrena (Larxene), and Skuld (who is probably Subject X)) to be transported to the future, and somehow Maleficent will serve as their Waypoint. (I don’t understand how time-travel in KH works, nor why Darkness wants to send the ‘Keykids’ to the future, but that’s the best explanation I can give).

Anyway, the whole murder mystery about ‘who killed Strelitzia?’ has been the biggest fandom mystery in KH for a long time (I’m talking like, three years). And unfortunately, it’s still not solved because it’s still not clear just who/what Darkness is. Some believe that Darkness is Ava, who is actually the ‘traitor’ trying to stop the MoM’s plan, because she believes his plan will end in the destruction of the World (which it kinda did). This is because Darkness takes the form of Ava to speak to Ventus after killing Strelitzia, and tells him that he’s a Union Leader (when really he’s the ‘imposter’). Ava is known to have the power of illusion, which is why some fans think she may have taken the form of Darkness to disguise herself. (Just a note on all this, I can’t remember exactly what all the fan-theories about Ava are, and I may have gotten something wrong here. But the basic gist is that some fans believe Ava is Darkness).

Then there’s the second theory, which unfortunately in my opinion is the more likely of the two. We know from Re:Mind that a being calling itself Darkness is hiding within Ven’s heart, and in KHUX Brain says that Darkness (or darkness) can hide inside people. Combine this with Vanitas’s speech to Ventus in Re:Mind, about how he and Ven ‘aren’t the same like he thinks’ and how he was just ‘hidden inside Ven until Xehanort tore him out’, it seems to imply that Vanitas is actually Darkness (or a piece of Darkness) who was hidden inside of Ven, and not the dark half of Ven’s heart like we’ve believed for the past decade. Basically, if this theory is true, it completely re-writes Vanitas’s entire character, motivations, and origins, while also retroactively making him a child-murderer, and I’m sure you all already know how I feel about that.

Now, literally nothing outside of Re:Mind implies that Vanitas is Darkness, and in fact the scene in the Keyblade Graveyard with Vanitas, Ventus, and Sora right after the scene in Re:Mind seems to contradict this theory, as well as every piece of material on Vanitas released both before and after Re:Mind including his character file, so this all may be just one big misunderstanding, but that doesn’t dissuade the fact that there is literally an entity calling itself Darkness inside Ven’s heart. I can’t even begin to imagine how it got there, unless 1. It’s Vanitas after returning to Ven’s heart after his defeat in BBS or 2. Darkness somehow got into Ven’s heart while he was sleeping in Castle Oblivion.

This is all pure fan-theory, but since the Vanitas in KH3 is a time traveling version of Vanitas from the past, it could be that the ‘real’ Vanitas is still living inside Ven’s heart (like how Roxas was still inside Sora’s heart), and if the ‘real’ Vanitas is now calling himself Darkness, then it’s possible that Vanitas was either lying about being half of Ventus this entire time or is only now just remembering his memories of being Darkness. Either way, if Vanitas really does turn out to be Darkness, then I can only imagine his entire personality will be overwritten by Darkness’s and Vanitas will basically cease to exist as a character. As in, he won’t just be dead, he’ll have never truly existed in the first place.

And that, my friends, is why I’ve been in a constant state of anxiety, stress, and depression for the past year, and the reason I haven’t updated A Heart and a Half, because I’m having trouble reconciling the Vanitas from the BBS Novel (an abused, neglected child manipulated from birth to be a weapon) with what is potentially his true identity as Darkness (an ancient, child-murdering demonic entity). Once again, it’s still just a fan-theory... But a very plausible fan-theory.

Anyway, the third theory is that Darkness isn’t secretly some other character, but instead is exactly what it says it is— a sapient amalgamation of the elemental force of darkness. Darkness tells Maleficent that she should think of it as an ‘old friend’, leading some to believe it’s someone Maleficent knows from the future. However, it could be that Darkness ‘knows’ Maleficent because it itself is the embodiment of elemental darkness, and Maleficent is a darkness-user. In that case, it could be said Darkness is a ‘friend’ to all people who use darkness.

Unfortunately, before anyone says this line of dialogue proves that Vanitas can’t be Darkness because Vanitas never met Maleficent, Vanitas did meet Maleficent... in the BBS Novel. In the BBS Novel, Maleficent asks Vanitas if he’s a ‘friend’ of Xehanort’s. Vanitas hesitantly says yes (because his abuser isn’t exactly a friend to him), simply because he and Xehanort are allies. He then asks Maleficent if she’s ‘friends’ with Xehanort, and she says yes (in the sense that they are allies). In this roundabout way, it could be construed that if Vanitas is Xehanort’s friend, and Maleficent is Xehanort’s friend, then that makes Vanitas Maleficent’s friend, which still fits in with the theory that Vanitas is Darkness if Darkness is Maleficent’s friend.

Even if we ignore the (technically non-canon) BBS Novel scenes of Xehanort kicking twelve-year-old Vanitas in the face and beating him with his Keyblade until he cried and leaving him isolated in a wasteland for weeks on end, and just go off of the games’ canon, the story of Ventus and Vanitas can still be seen as both literal and metaphorical child abuse, with Ven being the part of the victim who represses the trauma and Vanitas being the part of the victim who lashes out. Of course, if Vanitas does turn out to be Darkness, then he will be retconned from a victim into a scheming child-murderer just as evil as his abuser and the demon/abomination/empty creature that Xehanort always said he was! (Maybe that’s why Vanitas had such a mental breakdown in Re:Mind... he realized every horrible thing Xehanort ever told him about himself was true...). Which is why, as you can imagine, this theory causes me a lot of stress!

Anyway, that’s the story of KHUX and the reason why I turn into a big ball of anxiety every time a new update occurs. I literally wouldn’t care about KHUX at all if Ven wasn’t in it, but he is, and everything that happens to Ven in the past is something that will effect him and Vanitas in the future, whether Vanitas is confirmed to be Darkness or not. We now know that Ven has had even more trauma forced upon him than he’d had with Xehanort, and I now have a suspicion that the reason Ven refused to create the X-Blade by using the darkness in his heart in the BBS flashback scenes was because he remembered what darkness and/or Darkness did to Strelitzia.

I really can’t imagine why Ven is in KHUX other than to connect him to this Darkness character in some way. Some fans still claim that Ven is the one who killed Strelitzia because they think he was ‘possessed’ by Darkness, but it seems pretty clear that Darkness was the culprit while Ven just stood there in a trance. Even so, I suspect that Ven blames himself for what happened anyway, even though it wasn’t his fault. I don’t know how this will play out with the future/current Ven. Is he suddenly going to remember his past and think he killed Strelitzia? Why? For the angst? Is he going to realize that Vanitas is (or is a part of) Darkness and therefore the murderer of some random girl Ven barely knows? Is Darkness just going to pop out of Ven when he’s in the Realm of Darkness with Aqua and Terra and... I don’t even know. Fight him? Gloat? Enact his evil scheme of destroying the World because you see, Vanitas never really wanted his light back, he never really wanted friends (page 378 of the BBS Novel), he was lying the entire time! Yes, he’s totally this evil monster who just wants to kill people because he’s evil~!

...Alright, I’ll stop. But seriously, I don’t know where this story is headed, guys. This update basically had the MoM tell us to stop trying to figure things out or theorize and that we shouldn’t want to know everything that’s going to happen, so who knows. Next update might throw us a curveball and reveal Darkness was secretly... idk Pete the entire time. He’s Maleficent’s friend! Or maybe it’s just Xehanort again, who knows. I just feel... really tired of KH, and I don’t really know where I’m going to go from here. Hopefully this is the last time I rant about this subject, though, because I really feel like I’ve already said all there is to say.

I want to finish A Heart and a Half, but I also feel hampered by everything that might happen with Vanitas. I also feel like managing my Tumblr blogs is causing me too much stress and distracting me from doing other things (including writing my fanfics), so I’ve been thinking of putting them both on a more ‘permanent’ hiatus after their queues run out sometime later this month. I dunno how everyone would feel about that, though, nor how long that hiatus would be. I’d certainly miss talking to everyone, and you guys make me smile whenever I get a comment or a question from you all! But I also feel like I need to focus on my health (both physical and mental) and work on things that don’t involve social media. I guess I just need a little more time to think about it.

#rant #rambles #stress #khux spoilers

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deadcactuswalking · 4 years

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REVIEWING THE CHARTS: 13/02/2021 (Digga D, AJ Tracey, Cardi B)

It’s not as big of a week as it is just a confusing one, so there’s no pre-amble. Olivia Rodrigo spends a fifth week at #1 with “drivers license” and let’s start REVIEWING THE CHARTS.

Rundown

I started writing this a bit later than usual so I just want to rush through most of what’s here. The songs dropping out of the UK Top 75 are either debuts from not long ago like “Notorious” by Bugzy Malone featuring Chip and “Lo Vas A Olvidar” by Billie Eilish and ROSALÍA, or songs that have been here for a while, like “Monster” by Shawn Mendes and Justin Bieber, “Holy” by Justin Bieber featuring Chance the Rapper and “Dynamite” by BTS. We even have some #1 hits dropping out of the Top 75 this week, like “Dreams” by Fleetwood Mac, “WAP” by Cardi B featuring Megan Thee Stallion and “Shallow” by Lady Gaga and Bradley Cooper. In terms of fallers, we have, seemingly, some of the older Winter cuts being replaced, as we see “Sweet Melody” by Little Mix getting a harsh streaming cut down to #30, “Whoopty” by CJ down to #33, “Levitating” by Dua Lipa and remixed by DaBaby down to #34 (although this could rebound given the album release), “you broke me first” by Tate McRae at #37, “SO DONE” by The Kid YAOI at #57, “All I Want” by Olivia Rodrigo at #61, “Looking for Me” by Diplo, Paul Woodford and Kareen Lomax at #62, “Train Wreck” by James Arthur at #63, “See Nobody” by Wes Nelson and Hardy Caprio at #64, “Take You Dancing” by Jason Derulo at #65, “Therefore I Am” by Billie Eilish at #68, “Before You Go” by Lewis Capaldi at #72 and “Golden” by Harry Styles at #73, as well as some more recent debuts, including the entirety of Fredo’s album impact from last week, as “Money Talks” with Dave is at #11, “Ready” with Summer Walker at #31 and “Burner on Deck” with Young Adz and the late Pop Smoke at #32. “Skin” by Sabrina Carpenter and “Apricots” by Bicep aren’t faring that well either, at #51 and #56 respectively. When I said these songs are being replaced, I wasn’t overestimating anything as we have our new crop of hits seemingly all surging, as “Martin & Gina” by Polo G is at #54, “Be the One” by Rudimental, MORGAN, TIKE and Digga D is at #49, “Best Friend” by Saweetie featuring Doja Cat is at #42, “My Head & My Heart” by Ava Max is at #35, “Love Not War (The Tampa Beat)” by Jason Derulo and Nuka is at #27, “Heat Waves” by Glass Animals is at #24, “Your Love (9PM)” by ATB, Topic and A7S is at #23 (it’s honestly starting to grow on me), and “Blinding Lights” by the Weeknd is somehow back up to #20. Speaking of the top 20, we also have “Friday” by Riton, Nightcrawlers and Musafa & Hypeman dopamine re-editing itself up to #16, “Save Your Tears” also by the Weeknd at #15, and two new top 10 hits, both songs with basically the same chart run and genre. “Goosebumps” by Travis Scott, remixed by HVME, remixed by Travis Scott is at #10, becoming HVME’s first and Travis’ fourth top 10 hit here in Britain. We also have “The Business” by Tiesto grooving up to #7, becoming Tiesto’s fourth top 10 hit. I honestly feel bad for the still completely uncredited vocalist. We also have a third new top 10 entry but that’s a debut that we can discuss later. I should also note that “Roses” by SAINt JHN and remixed by Imanbek is back at #74, and a winning Eurovision song, “Arcade”, by Dutch singer Duncan Lawrence is also back at #39 off of the back of some TikTok traction. I think this is the most streamed Eurovision now – I’d watch out for this being a big hit. Welp, time to get into our really, and I mean REALLY, varied and weird crop of new arrivals, starting with...

NEW ARRIVALS

#75 – “Roadtrip” – Dream and PmBata

Produced by Banrisk and Perish Beats

Okay, so this is a song by Minecraft YouTuber Dream, or at least that’s who I think he is. I think there was some kind of scandal related to him, and a couple people got involved and someone got doxed... listen, I don’t care. Not only is this song really not worthy of reviewing on the principle that unlike Wilbur Soot a couple weeks ago, Dream has never been a musician, which is clear from how involved no-name singer PmBata was in this, but I care for my private information not being made public so... What ridiculous excuse do I have to not review this? Okay, 1997 reggae-rock classic “Doin’ Time” by Sublime returns to #75 after Boris Johnson made a TikTok in the Houses of Parliament where he says “Pogchamp, Brexiteers, I just got tested for COVID-19” with the song in the background, and Joe Biden is on a Zoom call with him a few seconds later visibly annoyed because he prefers the New Radicals. Sure, let’s go with that. What was this entry about again?

#71 – “Goodbye” – Imanbek and Goodboys

Produced by Joris Mur, Imanbek and Goodboys

Everyone’s favourite Kazakh house producer Imanbek is finally back on the charts with his collaboration with British pop trio Goodboys, who you may know from their carbon-copy hits made with MEDUZA. After listening to that EP he made with Rita Ora, I’m slightly less impressed with Imanbek’s production, but that EP’s impact, if any, will be seen when the lead single featuring David Guetta and Gunna debuts low next week. Yes, seriously, all four on the same track. Anyway, this song, “Goodbye”, is actually pretty okay, with a generic deep house groove and fake hand-clap effectively saved by the Goodboys’ really intriguing vocal delivery and processing, which ends up in a Travis Scott-like Auto-Tune harmony that’s honestly pretty endearing right before the anti-climactic slap-house drop. The song’s lyrical content probably isn’t worth talking about, but it’s about a generic struggle with a break-up, and how hard it is for one of these good boys to say good bye. The build-up with the pre-chorus before the blue-balls second drop is kind of genius, and that’s probably my favourite part of the song outside of the abrupt vocaloid drop at the end. For what it’s worth, it takes more risks than most of these house-pop songs, most notably by having only a single verse in the middle of the song, and being really short, clocking in at less than two and a half minutes. It’s not as infectious as “Piece of Your Heart”, but this is fine. I’m glad it’s here if it’s going to give Imanbek another non-Rita Ora-assisted hit.

#60 – “Little Bit of Love” – Tom Grennan

Produced by Jamie Scott, LOSTBOY and Daniel Bryer

Tom Grennan is an English singer-songwriter who released their debut record in 2016 and was crowned by the BBC as the “Sound of 2017”, before dropping off the face of the Earth. He was brought to fame by a guest feature on a Chase & Status song that didn’t even do that well and now he’s back with the lead single from his upcoming sophomore effort, and his highest ever charting song. Well, is it any good? I mean, I like OneRepublic too. The rising strings here in the intro and chorus are pretty cool, and I’ll give it to Grennan for having an interesting voice but the odd level of grit in it does not fit well for this plastic production, which quickly devolves into vaguely danceable synth-mess that’s just not interesting. The content is mostly about unconditional love, particularly one that feels not particularly reciprocated, although some of the detail in the second verse feels like it’s going somewhere. I’ll admit, the chorus is catchy, but this mix puts way too much emphasis on a flawed vocal take from Grennan, which really detracts from the pathetic excuse for a bridge. I do enjoy how this feels like a flash-back to the mid-2010s, where happier, synth-based pop was this prominent, and I do love how the strings come back in the outro, but good production can’t do much to save a song that just feels under-cooked and definitely under-written. The OneRepublic comparison feels particularly fitting here too because their stuff tends to be just as stagnant, not to mention the lyrical riffs off of “Counting Stars”. I mean, when you start your first verse – in the first 10 or so seconds of the track – with the most recognisable part of a very recognisable song, I think Ryan Tedder deserves at least some royalties.

#58 – “Astronaut in the Ocean” – Masked Wolf

Produced by Tyron Hapi

Masked Wolf is an Australian singer and this song is actually from June 2019, just gaining enough traction, presumably off of TikTok, to debut on the charts this week. The song got a 2021 reissue and I assume a remix and, well... for God’s sake. The Kid LAROI should not have been an entry point for Australian trap, because outside of a second or two of distortion in the intro, this is far from unique. It has a guitar-based trap instrumental with dark 808s that even Gunna would pass up on, and an Auto-Tuned delivery from Masked Wolf, clearly trying too hard to replicate Drake in the intro and bridge, Kid Cudi in the chorus, G-Eazy in the first verse, Eminem AND Kendrick on the second verse, to the point where he even directly references Kendrick Lamar’s much better music. He suffers from the same problems as all of these artists combined, with lyrics that seem like they’re building up off of something interesting about depression before going into aimless flexing like a mid-tier Kid Cudi track, flows that sound as meandering and checked-out as Drake’s, the failed attempt at some kind of white-boy swagger that G-Eazy hasn’t pulled off successfully since 2016, the substance-less content hidden behind fast flows from Eminem and... oh, my God, this guy’s just like Australian Logic. I don’t like American Logic, why do we need this guy too? Yeah, this is bad, and there’s not much worth nitpicking in this mix or even the lyrics to even point out. I guess the worst bar is when he says he believes in G-O-D but not a T-H-O-T. So he’s a slut-shaming NF now? Jesus Christ, I’d take a full album from The Kid LAROI over this.

So the next two songs are ones I’ll actually need to somewhat lump together, as they are consecutive on the chart and both from the same album, and the same washed-up band.

#53 – “Waiting on a War” – Foo Fighters

Produced by Greg Kurstin

We have two songs from Dave Grohl and friends here from their latest album, Medicine at Midnight, technically three if we count the entire top 100, which means, yes, the UK just had a Foo Fighters album bomb. I’ll focus on the album as a whole with the next song because this is easily the worse track here and the worst track on the album purely out of how misguided it is. Dave Grohl wrote this song because he felt inspired by the current hell-scape of the political climate, reminding him of his own youth when he was surrounded by rising Cold War tensions. His young daughter asked him if there was going to be a war and naturally this song came out of it, reflecting on the fears he and his daughter have and that everyone deserves a future and a lifetime not taken away from them by conflict and fear. This is a good song idea but it absolutely does not work, and that’s partially down to the production. When I first heard this track on the album, I genuinely grimaced at the vocoder-mumble that Grohl takes on against the scratchy acoustic guitars. The whole point of the instrumentation is that it builds tension with rising strings, multi-tracked acoustics and eventually some electric guitars and powerful drums, yet because of how slow-paced the song is, it fails to mirror the rising tension of the prospect of there being a war. Instead, it’s a slog and its pay-off by the end feels unwarranted in the most boring way. Sure, the squeals of the guitars in the back of the mix sound good, but surely a song like this should not end like any of the Foo Fighters’ other pop-rock anthems, especially not as abruptly as it does. Wouldn’t you want a more subdued outro to comfort your daughter’s fears that at least right now, everything’s okay? That would make the most sense to me, but that’s thrown out of the window, with pathetic songwriting, with verses that play word association with the blandest of rhymes, seemingly irrelevant pop-song-generator filer and a chorus that is mind-numbingly repetitive but ultimately fails to build tension because of the content asking us to wait, constantly, even when it gets into its heavier rock tone. We’re supposed to wait for something that is only implied to never come, because there isn’t finality. Sure, that could work as a way of saying that Grohl is just as uncertain and scared as his daughter is about political conflict, but that would imply this song gives off any further emotion than the fact the Foo Fighters felt the need to cut a vaguely political track out of necessity. As a song, and as an album, Dave Grohl is utterly confused, and “Waiting on a War” is way too slow and non-specific to act as a protest song, as well as being way too on-the-nose for it to work as a ballad. Let’s talk about this next single.

#52 – “Making a Fire” – Foo Fighters

Produced by Greg Kurstin

What the hell is Greg Kurstin doing here? This is the first track on the album and is supposed to make some kind of gripping impact but is instead just a snoozefest. The choral female vocals sound bored, but at least it’s not as strained as the struggling Dave Grohl trying and failing to yelp over a stiff groove which has its momentum killed by drumming too slow and mixed too oddly to make this pre-chorus even coherent, not helped by Grohl’s butt-rock delivery and non-descript lyrics. There could be a guitar solo here, to make this track feel memorable, but no, it’s hidden under a pre-chorus with an extended gospel bridge that doesn’t build up effectively to a chorus that just comes crashing in and hence has no effect. Maybe I just can’t listen to arena rock in a quarantine context, but I can’t even imagine this making much of a fuss in a packed stadium without desperately needing tweaks in the songwriting and especially the production, because this just sounds stunted. It’s telling that Grohl made his best tracks as the Foo Fighters on his own and those first two records, alongside a pretty decent 2014 comeback in the form of Sonic Highways, are still great. I’m not denying that Grohl can write a good song, or that the Food Figures can’t play, because they’re all talented guys. This is just one album in many that leaves me with the feeling that these guys just can’t do much more outside of their comfort zone than fail miserably. These songs won’t stick around, and thank God for that.

#50 – “Believe Me” – Navos

Produced by Tom Demac and Navos

Another week, another... okay, but we already had a generic pop-infused deep house track from a couple EDM randos, do we really need another? Okay, well, this one is even less interesting than Imanbek’s effort as it doesn’t even try for a verse, instead going for a deep house groove I’ve heard countless times before, drowned out by some square synths and, yes, you guessed it, 90s piano loops and an uncredited female vocalist repeating basically the same couple lines over and over. This is made for the clubs, but I feel like even regular club-goers would tire of this vocaloid drop and cloudy production two minutes in. There’s nothing worth discussing here, because this probably took as many minutes to make as it did to listen to. I have no idea why Navos debuts a song so high, but I’ve got to assume TikTok’s to blame. Apparently this guy makes tech house, where’d any of that skill or intrigue go here?

#21 – “Up” – Cardi B

Produced by Sean Island, DJ SwanQo and Yung Dza

Anyone else surprised at how such a big name gets production from people I’ve never heard of before? Not that it matters, it’s just odd. Anyways, this is Cardi’s new single, presumably from that ever-elusive second album, debuting around 20 spots lower than it will in the US, and it’s going for a more gangsta-rap content than the hyper-sexual “WAP”, but does she keep the same energy? Well, yes... in fact, after all the mediocrity, I’m glad to have a genuinely great song debut this week. This is a great, bass-heavy beat that gives a Memphis phonk feel in the dark keys as well as the hard-hitting 808s and spacey percs and sound effects that add some needed distortion, even if there’s going to be some brief clipping along the way. Cardi brings some necessary energy from the brilliant opening lyrics and continues with a fast-paced, chanting flow that accentuates some of her funnier lyrics with her charisma that she always brings to a trap track like this. I’d say that this is maybe too repetitive – with very little of the verses to speak of – or even somewhat derivative of her previous song, “Money”, but there’s a lot better lyrical content in this one, not to mention how well she complements a more straight-forward but still killer beat. Oh, yeah, and Cardi’s stacks are Shaq-height as she dismisses haters with an impressive level of swagger and confidence, that carries the refrain, but that’s not to say the lyrics aren’t really great in the verses. There’s genuinely funny and sexy wordplay here, especially in the second verse, and also some great liners: “hoes speakin’ cap-anese”, accusing her haters of having pink-eye and their breath smelling like “horse sex”. This is a short, probably underdeveloped song, but it’s the type of surreal, high-energy trap I kind of really love and I hope this sticks around further in the UK.

#19 – “Latest Trends” – A1 x J1

Produced by ShoBeatz

A1 x J1 are a British rap duo with no other songs. Yeah, something’s fishy here: this is their only song on Spotify that blew up from a 15-second clip on TikTok, and their Spotify bio is trying to decide whether they’re the next D-Block Europe or the Beatles, as well as really emphasising how the song grew “all organically”, even though they’re already signed to Universal... yeah, there’s nothing subtle here, so I won’t buy this TikTok fame schtick, but does it matter when the song is good? Well, not really, and honestly, I’m kind of into this guitar-based drill-R&B fusion in the beat, but it doesn’t really help the fact that J1’s Stormzy impression is janky and unconvincing, especially if he’s going to try for some shallow wordplay, and that A1’s Auto-Tuned croon is just boring, reminding me a lot of A Boogie wit da Hoodie, but with a less recognisable voice and delivery, even if the first verse contains a funny line about a woman making that ass clap “for the NHS”, although he totally took that from Swarmz anyway. Yeah, I’m not a fan of this fake attempt at an organic pop-drill crossover, but unfortunately, I can very much see this working, though I’d be happy if the British public will see through this dishonesty as soon as possible.

#5 – “Bringing it Back” – Digga D and AJ Tracey

Produced by TheElements and AoD

Now for a rap duo that makes more sense to debut this high and are actually, you know, separately successful rappers, therefore they debut in the top five, which is impressive. The whole concept of this song is that Digga D and AJ Tracey are using old flows, those that would be nostalgic to their deeper fan base, to spit bars on a new track called, fittingly “Bringing it Back”. The flow AJ Tracey brings back is from his overlong “Packages” freestyle, a five-minute track from 2016, that works more as a freestyle than it does as a song, where he uses a familiar UK drill flow to go off for a really long time, and, yes, it is pretty impressive but the flow becomes stale too quickly. Digga D uses his flow from his “Next Up?” freestyle from 2017, a similarly badly-mixed UK drill freestyle but with a much more palatable length. Digga D’s flow he uses in that track is arguably slicker but honestly one that I see used a lot in UK drill and by Digga D, so I’m not sure it’s not worth “bringing it back” when you could come up with a new, catchier flow. I’ll admit that “Bringing it Back”, however, is a pretty damn good song, with Digga D’s more technical and fluid flow allowing for a lot more intricate internal rhymes that sound really great over the triumphant, string-heavy drill beat, as he trades bars with AJ Tracey’s slower but more confident, laid-back flow, which allows him to spit some more specific, interesting bars, some of which really hit, like when he says he “locked up the food for the kids like Boris and then I let it go like Rashford”. Hey, I respect it, I haven’t heard a more clever way of intertwining political commentary with cocaine smuggling since Pusha T last released a record. The way AJ Tracey and Digga D play off of each other’s lines is really smooth, and especially how Digga D plays with the beat, as while his lyrics may be less interesting, they mash perfectly with the beat’s frantic fades in and out, especially in his last lines before the first chorus, where he asks for the track to literally be turned off... and it is. So, yeah, I’m pretty damn happy with this debuting so high off the energy alone, even if Digga D is going to pronounce “LOL” like a one-syllable word. I’d say this is actually a really good starting point for people who want to get into more UK drill because it has a lot of the grit and menace of the genre in a more accessible, catchy form, even if it may run a bit too long for my taste.

Conclusion

Wow, what a weird, weird week... and a lot of it was straight garbage. I’m giving Best of the Week to “Up” by Cardi B, with an Honourable Mention to Digga D and AJ Tracey for “Bringing it Back”, though Worst of the Week is pretty much a toss-up. I’ll give it to the Foo Fighters for “Waiting on a War”, with a Dishonourable Mention tied between “Astronaut in the Ocean” by Masked Wolf and “Believe Me” by Navos for just both being worthless. Anyways, here’s our top 10:

The UK Singles Chart is honestly kind of chaotic right now – even more so than usual – and I don’t see that changing. Even if I don’t like all of the songs, it’s at least compelling. Anyways, thank you for reading and you can follow me @cactusinthebank on Twitter if you want. I can’t really make any predictions for next week other than Taylor Swift re-recording her own music and I guess some impact from Rita Ora and Imanbek, or hopefully, slowthai. Regardless of what happens, I’ll see you next week!

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