#he panics because of the emp

[noangeleither]

"fixing" the panic attack scene to be more platonic ™

im extremely active on twt and have been noticing a sydcarmy tweet go viral multiple times a week (like w thousands of interactions its crazy), and its really great to see how much people love and see it for this ship. recently carmys panic attack scene went viral again, and naturally, some ppl gave their piece about how we are all dumb for interpreting it as romantic. that sydney represents his love for his job or his duty to the restaurant (*sigh*).

this scene imo, is the most concrete proof of this ship. i can excuse (not really) interpreting every interaction between them thus far as platonic but this scene....i just refuse. this is gonna be a long post, not analyzing the scene per se because i can't possibly say anything that hasn't already been said but more "fixing" the scene to fit the narrative of antis, and i hope in doing so really shows there's no other way to interpret this scene as other than romantic. again its gonna be a long post bc im just ranting and i think i will lose my mind if i dont type this out.

lets go.

so first off i like to think of this scene as an equation/experiment. simply a problem that needs to be solved.

problem/reason of panic = ...we will discuss this...

solution # 1 = claire -> failed

solution # 2 = sydney -> worked.

Problem/Reason

s02e09 opens up with carmy and claire finally consummating their relationship, with an interesting song choice might i add and carmy dissociating, looking sad, or broken (???) after. because many have said carmy pulling memories of sydney from his psyche to calm down have to do with work i always remember that, it really doesnt make any sense?

carmy is clearly having a panic attack due to him not being "fixed" as soon as he made it official with claire. he felt pressure from his family both currently and in the past to date claire because she is amazing and perfect. add mikey also being a part of that crowd, and carmy so desperately trying to connect with him when he cannot, is why i think he looks so despondent after that scene. i truly think he thought he would be a changed person after everything with claire and when that didn't happen he flipped...

we know this is the reason bc his panic attack starts with their sex scene and the lyric "I dont know" from strange currencies by REM.

this isn't to say that he isn't nervous or stressed about the soft open but its clear that he's not having a panic attack about work nor have we ever seen him have a work-related panic attack (correct me if I'm wrong). in s1 he has one or two due to him greiving his brother.

platonic fix: To make it about work I would have added scenes like when Carmy started that stove fire in braciole, his meltdown in review, some scenes of his horrible time at EMP, and him grieving his brother. i think these would represent his fear of failure, falling back into old toxic habits pertaining his career, the fear of fostering a toxic work environment like the ny chef and also the idea of "failing" mikey

but theres a reason why none of this occurs bc its not about his job or the opening of the bear. this is explicitly about his personal and romantic love life.

Solution # 1 : Claire

carmy proceeds to try and calm down by thinking of claire through literal rose-coloured glasses...

the music is distorted, he's thinking of his abusive family, he remembers every one pushing him to date claire bc shes a #goodthing.

again...this is not about his job and wouldnt make sense to think of sydneys place in his work life as a soultion to his clear personal problem....

platonic fix: in the story of carmys love life claire and sydney act as narrative foils. they have been compared and contrasted for all of s2. my platonic fix for this would be making the NY chef this first "solution" of a work-related panic attack. he represents a horrible time in his life but also represents a time when carmy was at the height of his career. when carmy gets locked in the walk in and has his monologue, its alluded to that he will revert back to that mind set in order to not let everyone down.

NY chef abused him for so long, it makes sense that carmys psyche would readily go back to his insults and the time he himself was an isolated 'psycho' bc it yielded results.

nothing is black and white and i DO think sydney represents a healthier approach to the toxic mess that is the culinary world and does represent that for carmy. if the show was invested in that, sydney and the NY chef could be overtly contrasted like sydney and claire have been.

BUT again this isnt about his job and dedication as a chef...thus why he tries to think of claire to solve his personal problem, and it fails.

Solution # 2: Sydney

LMFAOOO.

carmy then in a crazy plot twist starts thinking of his platonic work bestie sydney adamu....the love song dedicated by the show to his relationship with his girlfriend is then made clear highlighting some pretty damning lyrics about desire and love.....all platonic btw. yes you are dumb if you think otherwise (*wink*)

I actually have two platonic fixes for this...

platonic fix # 1: if we only wanted to focus on sydney as a person who calms carmy down because shes his work bestie who represents his responsibilty to the bear and the postive change they are trying effect in the culinary world, i would add scenes where they are...you know actually cooking???

i think its pretty crazy how the memories carmys immediately jump to are ones that have little to do with their jobs. when they first meet (would also like to note that when carmy first laid eyes on Sydney, he forgot she was there for a job, so this is his raw reaction to seeing a pretty girl lol) and when she comes back after she quit and their break up fight.

i would add their scenes in carmys kitchen (even tho this is extremely damning bc they were flirting DOWN - they don't make this easy at all). this represents their collaboration skills and the way they WORK and bounce ideas off of each other seamlessly. specifically the scene about him wanting to give her a star, representing his duty to her and the restaurant.

*and no shade to carmy but if his responsibility to the bear/syd as a co-worker was bothering him this much and calmed him down wouldn't he have just immediately called the fridge guy.....anyways*

platonic fix # 2 (the best one): if i was chris storer and joanna calo and i REALLY wanted to sell it that carmy isnt in love with sydney then i would put every single member of the OG beef crew + Nat to calm him down not just Sydney.

im talking to them laughing at family, carmy giving tina his chefs knife, richie in his new suit, carmys one on one w Marcus/trying his donut, nat telling carmy shes pregnant (signifing rebirth/wanting to rid all the toxic abuse from his family), carmy trying sydney risotto, and her face when he said it was tremendous etc etc...you get the gist

and honestly?

even as i type this out im tearing up a little bit bc that would have been really beautiful. carmy is changing. he can and is getting rid of old toxic habits from his family and the mess that is the culinary industry. things are changing for the better....that would be beautiful....IF his panic attack was about any of these things lol.

and to even look at this scene without this need for symmetry and we entertain the idea of carmy thinking about his job as a solution for his personal problem...carmy has said himself (s02e01) that this isnt fun for him. i dont think that means he hates cooking i kinda disagree with the ppl who think he isnt passionate about it. i just think currently its something that doesnt bring him joy but i do think its something hes starting to or at least could have started to enjoy if he just committed to working with syd...

conclusion

theres a lot of....delusion? denial? straight up bias? yes all of that, going on.

idk what is happening bc this show is really great at being subtle. but i dont know whats more in your face, dumbed down, even a toddler could understand, than this scene. if you dont come out of this understanding that carmy is falling in love/currently in love with Sydney...and i hate using this term..but you just arent media literate.

bonus: bc it makes me laugh and connects the purpose and solutions.

i think we need a Snyder Sydcarmy Cut™ of bolognese and omelette.

the start of the episode is when sydney and carmy fight over claires inclusion in the menu, and also when sydney randomly asks him to define his relationship with Claire. the episode would continue until we get to the table scene.

i think its WILD how as soon as Sydney asks him to define their relationship, carmy starts calling claire his girlfriend. then the show proceeds to insert sydney in their romantic montage, shows her tattoo about heartbreak and someone getting in the way of your relationship...THEN proceeds to have carmy compare these two women in his mind and only calms down after seeing Sydney.

i could talk about this scene for AGES. wheres the straitjacket....

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

Carmy is based on THE STORERS

I read a few weeks ago on here that someone thought Sydney was gonna quit The Bear because "her character was based on Courtney Storer " and IRL she quit her dream job in CA because she burnt out there and it was one of the most disappointing experiences of her life.

I was sooooooo sure that was inaccurate because IK for a fact that Sydney's character is based on the first black female chef to ever win a Michelin Star, the one and only: Mariya Moore-Russell.

Context: Mariya won the star in 2019 when Chris Storer was still working on the ORIGINAL "THE BEAR" MOVIE SCRIPT, as I mentioned here.

So that's why Sydney's character was inspired by her and even her hairstyle was inspired by Mariya who sported braids for years.

BUT

Carmy on the other hand is a mix of Chris and Courtney's past and hopes and dreams. Carmen Berzatto is a hybrid character. The result of Chris and Courtney's real-life story of how they overcame trauma by finding solace in art.

Chris tried being a chef once, before changing careers, as he mentions here. He also mentions Carmy's character was based on many chefs he knows IRL including his sister. I have mentioned in many previous posts that Carmy is based ON HIM mostly (the personality), but yeah, the culinary part and the finding solace in making food and understanding food as a way to show love and hospitality to others, a way of connecting with others, THAT is all Courtney.

Courtney was and still is a successful chef. Turns out she, like Carmy, found solace in cooking and in that way "escape" her trauma for years, she found cooking to be a way to get out of her head and be "into her hands". This rings a bell, right?

It wasn't till later in life when she healed and no longer needed to do that, now she's EP of the show.

So Carmy's character is a mix of Chris and Courtney.

The psycho-chef post-EMP is Chris' dark side. It doesn't mean he is like this IRL, of course. It means he can be like this, but he prefers to pour all of that on the paper and sublimate it into his characters. More about that here and here. The one that reacted like this when Mickey cut him off:

The part of Carmy that we love, the Carmy that was almost nowhere to be found this past season, the sweet part, it's all Courtney, the one that was under the table and told Syd: "You love taking care of people" is Courtney's voice:

Source: Variety

The Carmy that said that fixing the restaurant was a way of fixing his own family trauma, is inspired on Courtney. So were Carmy’s panic attacks. (And Syd’s for that matter).

The part of Carmy that struggles to find amusement and enjoyment after trauma and puts all his energy into work is both, Chris and Courtney:

Source: People.com

So basically, Carmy is the past of The Storers and in the future he will, just like the real-life Storers, find his redemption.

Bonus track: I think we all know this one by now, but it's just funny and cute, I guess, so I wanna mention it: Courtney's nickname is Coco, and Coco is also the Danish invisible cat that Carmy and Marcus fed on the bote, in Copenhagen:

awww

Remember to follow my tag #Gingerpovs 💋

[alwaysrunningoutoftime]

the bear sydcarmy thoughts (season 3 spoilers)

I have never felt so dead inside and empty. I ended the season literally burning up. Perhaps I got my hopes up too much which wasn’t a lot tbh. I expected with sydcarmy the s3 ender was gonna be like a fight because of a reveal of her opportunity and maybe maybe a realization of feelings. But wow not that at all, in fact there was nothing really resolved.

I was expecting the angst and to be pissed off at Camry but but we’ve never been so immeasurably down and I have to say I don’t know how I feel about sydcarmy now.

What I notice is these two really took a nosedive this season. We went so downhill. In prior seasons we can usually expect by the end for some resolution to happen between the two, syd comes back, or we get like the lovely table scene. This season it’s like they got progressively farther and father apart.

We started off so strong with the EMP scene. Like I couldn’t fucking believe we actually got that scene, i shot up out of my seat it was so surreal.

And then as we continue to go, there’s barely any moments between the two together. And when there is, they’re always cut short. And you’re kind of just left short, wanting more. And i guess that was on purpose to show them so out of sync and their biggest weakness, communication. They really became just two coworkers, so unfamiliar with each other. And I was truly hoping we’d get something from the Ever scenes but no carmy is just so isolated.

And again I guess that’s the point. Carmy is so in his head, so haunted by Claire and David, so focused on the restaurant that he’s not trying at all to form a connection with syd (platonic nor romantic). He’s so focused on his past and carrying the weight of things left unsaid that as the al anon meeting says, it just digs deeper and deeper with him. Because he never bothers to resolve his issues, go to therapy and apologize to Claire.

So here’s the thing about Claire. It’s obvious he needed to resolve what happened with her. But what was really jarring to me was the amount of Claire scenes we got. In season 2 Claire is depicted as a distraction, there is always this constant clock running in the background with her. Carmy doesn’t even know exactly what Claire is to him, “a girl that’s a friend or a girlfriend.” Their relationship is so surface level. And then we start getting these s3 scenes and it feels like they’re retconning their relationship because this isn’t the claire and carmy from season 2. And if they were so great together why wouldn’t you show us then! Where are all these scenes coming from. But okay let’s say storer did hear people’s complaints and chose to give more to clairecarmy, then I feel so horribly fucked as a sydcarmy shipper cause why would you give us such obvious editing and juxtaposition between Sydney and Claire in s2 and turn around and do this. It feels like a betrayal. And worse of all the whole “Claire is your peace” THATS NOT WHAT THE PANIC ATTACK SCENE SAID IN S2, syd is the one who calmed him down. And despite seeing all these clairecarmy scenes they cannot measure up to the substance, the complexity of sydcarmy. And worse of all they didn’t even resolve the clairecarmy bs. And if they’ve spent so much time shoving these two in our face and I meant to believe those two are endgame, that they are meant to be together. god I’m gonna throw up, I feel so played.

But then my hope, perhaps my delusional is the EMP meal scene. It tells me that there will always be this invisible string between sydcarmy and as Chris storer said himself it’s about “finding the right people when you’re supposed to find them.”

Syd is right at the end of episode 1, is it supposed to indicate she is the endgame.

What worries me though is if they take this in a platonic direction, the platonic soulmates bs and continue on with clairecarmy.

So anyway back on carmy, and him keeping everything in and avoiding his problems. That is the reason why this season is so angsty. Carmy regresses severely and he is so lonely, you really feel it at the end of the season as everyone shares their story and he is too focused on David to connect with anyone. And then when he finally confronts David, he realizes nothing he says to this man matters. His words don’t mean shit. And it feels especially poignant because he’s been holding onto this for years, all this anger and hatred. He even follows in David’s footsteps with his own restaurant: “the greatest mistake is working for a bad boss, what it unlocks in you is the culture that you choose to create.” And they juxtapose David with Claire. And again is this the clairecarmy agenda being pushed. Or I also see it as him finally having confronted David, he now needs to resolve whatever the fuck he needs to with Claire.

Okay so onto Terry. Terry says: “i got to do all the things i wanted to do the way i wanted to do with the people i wanted to do it with.” And this is the thing carmy has to strive for, to create that good culture again. To make connections again. I mean correct me if I’m wrong but the only person he really connects with is Marcus (his actual mentee) he doesn’t really talk to Sydney, doesn’t resolve anything with Richie, I think he doesn’t even really talk to Sugar. And I’m realizing now, throughout the season there were so many people connecting with different people (off the top of my head: Marcus and Tina, Tina and Nat, Nat and Richie, Richie and Sydney, Sydney and Marcus). There’s so many more and different duos going on, and carmys barely a part of any of it. And then with Sydney’s party, while everyone’s celebrating and carmys just on his own.

We really emphasize his loneliness. There’s also the Sydney and Luca conversation about siblings, and then Sydney’s loneliness and her experiencing everything on her own and being used to dealing with things on her alone. And we see that in her panic attack scene, and she has no anchor (as someone else pointed out), no one there to comfort her. And it ending on this loneliness that follows both sydney and carmy around and that’s another thing that ties them together.

I don’t really know how to end this. I don’t know how I feel about sydcarmy right now, what the show is trying to tell me. Should I have faith in their invisible string, in them being tied together by loneliness. I understand this was the angst season and carmy really regressed, and he was focused on David and Claire. Is this season pivoting and telling me clairecarmy are endgame, or is it carmy being haunted by the still unresolved things between them? I can accept the added romance to their relationship, I mean she is his first real gf, there has to be good there. Does this necessarily mean their endgame or is she just a stepping stone, a first gf someone he is meant to learn lessons from, to then have his endgame with Sydney? (I think of new girl and the various good relationships nick and jess went through before getting endgame.)

THEY COULDNT RESOLVE ONE FUCKING THING!

And then the “to be continued” sign. Is this what people felt when they watched Across the Spiderverse, but like we were actually building towards something there. All I’m left with is dread with the bear.

Lastly I am so conflicted by this partnership. I have no idea what I want syd to choose. There will be a big show of loyalty if Sydney chooses to stick with carmy, I mean I also have to respect the loyalty in her also choosing the crew, her family (like Marcus and Tina and Nat). But we also see how far Sydney and carmy drifted from each other and we see the loss of their collocation and their synchronization. The way Carmy rebuffs all her suggestions. So im like “yeah fuck carmy, go off on your own syd.” And if she were to choose to stay that would be such a big sign of something more to me because now she’s choosing to believe in his potential, which is a big fucking deal.

But then I also think about the growth carmy experienced from learning at all these places. And how Sydney deserves that too. And also carmys speech about the chefs and learning from each other and branching out on their own. And maybe it’s that too, Sydney spreading her wings. But then no, I’m selfishly like no I don’t want her to leave.

But then maybe it’s meant to show growth in carmy, he was the one who left before. Now he has to trust in syd to leave and come back again. Idk.

Or yeah maybe syd just deserves to fuck off, become successful and fuck over this man.

I also think about that one twt post where the bear is about “Carmy falling in love with Sydney. And Sydney falling out with carmy” and god that would fuck me up so bad.

Am I meant to hold out hope, like this is rock bottom and there’s only up from here. Or is this them extinguishing the fire of sydcarmy for us? I understand we always have fan fiction and canons not everything, but the way camry and Sydney’s relationship, even platonically, was handled this season left me with a bad taste in my mouth.

Idk where I’m going with this. I don’t even know how I feel about sydcarmy anymore, I want to read a fic to soothe me but I don’t even think carmy deserves to be happy with Sydney right now. Idk let me know your thoughts, maybe my fellow sydcarmys can pull me out.

Also if there’s a discord I would love to join because I don’t think I can deal with this on my own right now 😭.

[thezombieprostitute]

Obviously this would be a completely different AU, but Garbage Men Steve and a little art thief? 😈

That would be interesting...

It would start so very similarly to the original story. An uninvited guest who keeps to herself and is allowed to stay because of how well she behaves, how excited she seems to be just looking at the art.

It's not entirely an act, at least the excitement at the art. She knows Rogers is a sucker for a good girl with good tastes. If it weren't his party she'd let herself indulge in some of the champagne or flirt with some of the easier targets. But she has to appear as a slightly doe-eyed good girl if she wants this to work. She knows he's watching. She's made discreet glances his way to confirm. She knows he won't be kicking her out any time soon.

When she finally finds the piece she's here to get, she presses the button. An EMP in just the right place to shut down the power, throw everyone into a panic and escape under cover of darkness. She leaves her calling card, a small business card decorated with Hummingbird Fuchsia.

When the chaos subsides and the power is brought back, Steve finds the card. He recognizes it and smiles. "You've made a mistake, Hummingbird," he muses. "I now know what you look like." He kisses the card and puts it in his suit pocket.

[ms0milk]

shapeless anxiety has crept up on you since birth but mr nanami knows its something much more sinister than that, always has been. something he won't lose you to. cw a panic attack in warm stables. surprise relief and a cowboy's hunting knife 1k

farmhand nanami tag <3

It happens, it happens, and you haven’t died yet. Trivial comforts that have long since lost their potency run your heart’s hamster wheel. That’s all your heart is at this point, a skittering thing with a life expectancy of three. Cannibalistic tendencies.

You knock the back of your head on the gate to a rhythm that at least keeps you from crying– limp on the floor of the south stables, back against the door to an empty stall at the end of a row of unsettled horses. They hate that you do this here. You hate that it happens and your riding hat slips over your forehead when you tremble a little too hard.

Nanami’s herding new calves today, playing babysitter in their spring pen. The old boss is away at auction so you’re promised privacy this afternoon to gather yourself and dry your eyes and keep your legs from shaking when you finally stand up again. This is worse than usual and spurred by nothing. Sudden and public, it’s been panic attacks and hiding places since you were school age– since before you got this job tending an old woman’s show animals. A two-woman job on paper and a one-woman show in practice, it’s paradise with housing. And the blessed coincidence of a new blond handyman.

Thank god, you shudder as dark thoughts dance their spirals, thank god for another set of hands. Your boots are too tight even after kicking them off, socks and jacket, skin pulled across your ribs, claustrophobic. It’s been ages since the last time this happened but you still can’t brush boars like this, or watch calves taste grass for the first time. When you think too hard about the heartbeat in your ears it makes you shake, the thought you can’t control its volume or pull the broken pieces out.

Still, the hens will be locked up to roost and the cows will get their babies back. Dogs will be watered and cats will be scratched because Nanami isn’t pitiful. He isn’t dying, surely dying, in a broken straw bale and you thank god again.

Your horses are hungry. The headache is back and you haven’t taken a breath in seventeen seconds. Stop counting. Talulah the white mare, older than you, stretches a sinewy neck over the top of her gate to nip but you’ve sunk out of her reach. Irritation or curiosity? What did you even come to the stables for?

“Miss?”

The sun sets in the window behind the saddle hooks and dread begins to drown you. It’s the cumulative weight of every attack since the first, just like always, and always almost too heavy to hold. Like something waiting just out of sight to sink its teeth into your throat. Ghost stories old volunteers used to tell around summer campfires become realities as you rip your hat off your head and hairs with it in an attempt to breathe better, or move better or just be able to fucking see. Hair against your face, straw through the weft of your jeans– legends say they found her body where it laid in the fields, mummified from fear.

“Miss Y/n!”

It’s less his voice and more the knife that startles your face out of your hands. Nanami falls in front of you otherwise silent, kneeling, looming, fist wrapped tight around a knife he’s driven through the wooden stall beside your head.

Immediately, the wheel slows its turning, replaced by nothing, spinning residually under the gaze of a worried cowboy with his hat around his neck. Nanami’s broad chest threatens the seams of his jacket as he measures his breath. His hair has been licked into awkward shiny spikes by happy tongues and he’s still got bribing sorghum in his breast pocket, and you realize too late to stop it, that you’re going to cry.

He drops his hand from the blade but doesn’t move away, scanning and tracing the clammy parts of you. Your cheeks and neck, chest and hands. His eyes dart over empty spaces and return again, “Are you okay?”

“You..” you what? Nanami stares through you like he’s stone until your thought is finished and you still haven’t regained enough sense to right yourself. Your back is flush with wood; hair, jacket and undershirt all riding up behind you where they snagged on the stall door when you sank. Tears spill over your lashes, “you startled me.”

Talulah reaches forward again to get someone’s attention; she’s hungry. Her neighbors stomp in their stalls or snort in your direction, but their frustration is too pretty a symphony to answer yet. You’re alive, the world didn’t stop and doesn’t need you to keep turning it.

Nanami exhales like he’s the survivor and leans forward to gather your things. He brushes straw from the brim of your hat, “I’m sorry.”

“That was scary,” you coo, smiling, melting. Pins and needles of the brain, feeling coming back now. You close your eyes to help the tears fall and lift your hands back to your face.

“I’m sorry, Miss.”

You shake your head and breathe three more times before speaking.“How’d you know?”

Nanami’s shy with his English, but you understand more than he means when he speaks to you. He lowers his gaze to your socks and lifts your boots by their pull straps to sit them beside you– stops short of overstepping– of slipping them on you. “Bad feeling,” he murmurs and fishes a clean handkerchief from his sorghum pocket. A full body shiver and you try to sit up, try to take what the golden hand holds out for you but your fingers meet his warmth trembling and cling to it. His hand is strong and leathered, it’s gentle with you always and he’s never seen you like this. The embarrassment will come later. For now the horses have given up complaining and you curl forward on your knees in a sob when the gentle cowboy lets you hold his hand. He’s quiet. He rests your hat in his lap and leans no closer or farther away as relief runs its course through your veins. He can explain the knife later. Cats, cows, and show ponies can wait five more minutes.

farmhand nanami tag <3

[ayoarticulate]

so the other night i posted how i played out a scene of season three im not even sure exists to help me go to sleep

i kinda wanted to expand on what the scene was, so here it is if you want it

this is just me playing around idk if this is really happening‼️‼️

i saw someone on here or on twt say that they think he’s setting up for a dinner with syd to talk things out with her and reconnect

i kept playing off this idea, and layering it with the possibility of syd being poached by ever, and because of carmy’s recent actions (emp micromanaging bullshit), she’s truly considering it!

going into the dinner, she hasn’t decided for herself yet, but she has decided to let carmy decide for her. not by him saying yes or no, but by his reaction to her mentioning that she was talking to the man from ever/thinking about actually leaving.

so dinner starts, yes, and carmy is just rambling and going on in the way he does when he’s around syd, and she’s just getting more and more nervous. think of the review episode of season one, where when syd is yelling at carmy and leaving, you’ve got the teapot, kettle hissing going on in the back as carmy gets more revved up, same thing is happening to syd except instead of throwing something, she just blurts out that she’s thinking about leaving. just like that.

cause she’s syd and she just says what’s on her mind and it isn’t always elegant or complete. and this news just makes carmen freeze. not get mad, start yelling, or anything, just freeze. and then carmen berzatto does something we’ve never seen before

he begs. he begs and whines and begs some more cause he cannot do this if it isn’t with her. he cannot find a reason to keep this up if he’s not doing it with her, for her. so he begs and pleads and ask what can he do for her to stay? what does he have to do, who does he have to become, for her to stay there with him?

and sydney does not know what to do, cause again, who tf is this carmy?? she has absolutely never seen him respond to anyone about anything like he is right now. she knows brash asshole carmy, but not vulnerable baby carmy. so what does syd do in the midst of this? she leaves.

like… physically gets up, leaves the table, and darts out the door.

END SCENE! yeah this was… literally all i was thinking to myself to help turn my brain off and go to bed. i just like imagining carmy as someone who’ll be all these versions of himself in front of sydney, and sydney as someone who doesn’t know what to do with what that vulnerability means. not to say she can’t handle it or doesn’t think it’s okay, but she simply doesn’t know what to do with it when it comes from him.

also i think i had an idea right before i went to sleep where he has another panic attack?? and i liked the contrast because last season she was what stopped his panicking but now she’s the cause? or something like that idk

[baelpenrose]

Project Praetorian 58: Arrival, IV

Okay this is the part with a lot of brutal CQB, not the last time. TW: GORE. Beta read by @canyouhearthelight

Micah

One thing Micah was learning as he teleported behind a fire team of three Spikes who were spraying plasma down at a squad of infantry attempting to advance through a street, now hiding behind vanishing cover and firing back: Spikes reacted much, much faster than humans did.

A thing Micah had already figured out about organic life: Didn’t matter how good your reaction times were - nothing let you react fast enough to a guy teleporting behind you, rifle already up, and hosing you down with half a mag. After doing it around a dozen times and relieving as many squads or platoons of pinned troopers, there hadn’t been a team of Spikes ready for that trick yet.

He saw the soldiers advancing through the streets flash him a grateful signal as he looked over the ruined alien bodies and checked his ammunition. About three full mags left, plus the half he still had in the weapon - not ideal, he was going to have to save it. Still, it was letting the troopers advance, and only one man had died because of the ambush, so it wasn’t like his counter-attacks weren’t working. 

Then his comms buzzed - the excruciating expensive, EMP hardened pieces that Imperator had commissioned. “Glitch, where are you?”

He jumped. Mark’s ‘officer voice’ always made him nervous. “Dropped an alien ambush on the east side, troopers are moving up. Why?”

“Great. Melbourne’s already having them reposition - okay…I figured out where you are. I need you about three blocks north and four west. Siren and Cat are there and trying to cut their way out of a situation - if you can get into the buildings where the aliens have already dug in, and start digging out the flankers, that would go a long way towards solving their problem.”

Micah took a breath. “Understood, Storm.” 

***

He saw a flash of plasma from another window. Someone blasting at human soldiers, men already spraying bullets into the window. He took a breath, focusing on the gunfire that seemed primarily designed to suppress - and then the area around him blurred.

And he was behind another alien fire team, already wheeling to engage him as he opened fire.

This one was faster, though. He had come in facing the wrong direction - and a little too close to one of the hated alien soldiers.

He fired, taking down two of the three - and then finding himself desperately fending off the third in close quarters. It had dropped its blaster and engaged him with furious strikes from arms, elbows, claws - strikes from carbon-fiber reinforced bone spikes that would punch through body armor, flesh, bone. He scrambled back, taking a strike across the face that left him reeling, half blind with agony, and fumbled for his pistol.

Micah felt his heart pound as the alien slammed his body to the floor and dropped a knee into his abdomen, felt the spike bite home in his guts, and managed to drive his pistol into its torso, squeezing the trigger. Not the careful shots he’d been trained to, the rapid wham-wham-wham of panic fire as the pressure on his chest fell away.

He was bleeding, and he keyed his comms. “Mags. Help…Position…SOS.” He activated his beacon, then focused - forcing himself into the street, the rattling of distant gunfire helping. He found himself surrounded by soldiers, dull pain searing his stomach as normal troopers surrounded him, applying pressure to his abdomen, a chest seal, something to the side of his face where the claws had bitten home. 

“Christ - this kid needs a medic! Hold position! Stabilize til their healer gets here!”

***

Kimmy

She dove out a window as plasma fire raked across the front of a building - and she came up rolling and shooting, grateful for her background as an acrobat. A Spike went down as she shot it, but she was already realizing if they couldn’t do something to break the encirclement, they were going to get overrun. 

Another soldier turned to slurry as she watched, the horrible red wash mixing with the blue-white flash of a plasma impact as the blast hit. 

Already, she was back in cover, shooting - Molly let loose another one of those high, piercing notes that stalled out enemy fire while the troopers moved up to see if they couldn’t get better angles, but Molly couldn’t hold it forever. Hell, it seemed like even this one was really only about the fact that half the cover had already been blown to dust.

She had to admit, the normal soldiers were insanely brave - covering each other, shouting like madmen, throwing grenades at clumps of Croaks, no powers, just guns and luck.

Then she’d lunged forward when Molly’s next musical surge let her, diving forward and trying to push to the next bit of cover, free of enemy fire, seeing Molly shoot at a handful of aliens who hadn’t realized they’d been caught in the open, unable to retaliate.

Kimmy managed to get one in the open - and then found herself slammed against a wall as one of the Spikes vaulted forward. She twisted and felt a bone spike slam into her shoulder, the blade biting into bone, making her scream. The spike ripped the spine free and she felt the flesh knit back together, itching and burning as she reached for a pistol - only to have the alien soldier backhand it out of her grip, slashing open tendons on her hand in the process. It dove on top of her as her hand started coming back together - but this time she was ready. She rolled out of the way, diving for a dead man’s SMG as she went, but found herself tackled with punches raining on her chest. Her body armor was savaged, ribs cracking, chest punctured, every breath filling her lungs with fire, until with a series of horrible pops her chest healed, ribs snapping back into place and reattaching - then, she held down the trigger and felt the thing back up, backwards jointed knee torn loose. It had grabbed the gun’s barrel and torn it loose from her grip, so she took a breath, panicked, and before it could recover, and put her hands on its shoulders. Then she vaulted over the alien shock trooper, heedless of the savage tail and drew her combat knife, driving the blade into the back of its skull, the tail and neck spikes wounding her almost as fast as she could heal.

But the Spike couldn’t. 

She staggered over, dizzy from hunger as she picked up the SMG and her pistol, whole body itching and aching. The fight had been pushed away from her. One of the troopers was gaping, as though he’d covered her but hadn’t dared fire - and she finally became cognizant of Molly screaming in her ear. 

“I’m fine.” She was woozy. The advance was still going. “How is…everyone?”

“They’re doing fine. We held out long enough - and you freaked the aliens out after…that. Some of the Croaks panicked. The troopers are pushing. Eat something, please.” 

Kimmy tore open her assault pack and started shoving an FSR into her face. It wasn’t enough. She ate another. She was still hungry, but she wasn’t shaking anymore. She was able to stand up. “Okay. Siren. Move up. Let’s keep supporting. I’m ready to help them keep going. Where the hell is Glitch?”

Another buzz in the comms. Micah’s voice. “Back in action. Mags just got me back up. Got in close with a Spike. Those fuckers hit hard. Trying to clear off the flanks. Running low on ammo.”

Kimmy looked up, then at the mutilated corpse of the Spike she’d gotten in close with. “Yeah. No shit. We’ll be there in a few minutes.” 

Jonathan

This was it. No doubt. No fear. No questions if he was good enough, worthy of love, worthy of care, if he had a future beyond the war. No need for any of that. Just aliens, a gun, a team, and the ability to drown all the fear out in the roar of gunfire. 

Spikes dropped in controlled bursts. Croaks flew apart wherever he held down the trigger and went down in droves like wheat before a scythe. God, this was amazing. Push up? Yeah, that was the order, Mark said. Push up and towards the Ascendancy command post. Push up. Kill the aliens.

He saw a blast of fire burn half a battalion of Croaks, packed into narrow streets with nowhere to run or hide, even if the damn things were already starting to realize that the sight of Casey, dark hair falling around her face under her helmet, meant a horrible death. 

Jonathan ripped free the box magazine on his machine gun as he realized that bullets were no longer pouring from the barrel in a torrent of lead, slammed a new one home, and racked back the bolt to continue the carnage. He knew full well that a common soldier would have performed a similar maneuver with a rifle - but he was a praetorian - and God, it was good to be a Praetorian.

He rushed up to one Croak, clearly flash blind from Casey’s blast, and punched it in the face while holding his MG aloft in the offhand. There wasn’t really a reason, he just wanted to test his strength. The luckless alien’s skull imploded, and the twitching body hurtled across the blackened street, to splatter against a wall on the far side. 

Jonathan brought the weapon back to his shoulder as a plasma bolt blew chunks of concrete off the sidewalk next to him, a gout of actinic fire scorching his side - not hot enough to actually burn him. He sent a torrent of lead raking up the building, shattering windows, and saw a burst of maroon blood through the window as a long, reptillian figure spun and dropped. Casey blasted again as another wave of Croaks washed up, and for a moment he heard conventional gunfire from the windows - before it went quiet.

Then he heard something from the comms.

“Something new. Not the usual. Look like their labor units - bigger. Armor. They eat bullets - what the hell? FUCK! FUCK!” The communication cut off. Normal trooper, not one of them. Jonathan turned the corner and started blazing away at a group of Spikes that were covering behind a building - one of whom dropped, arm torn off at the shoulder. One of them reached an arm around, blaster in hand, then found the wall torn away when a bullet struck the blaster. The last two living Spikes, abruptly exposed, fell in a hail of bullets. 

Jonathan was already rushing forward, adrenaline roaring in his veins to find more aliens to fight, to challenge. Where was the new enemy? What was the new enemy?

He saw a group of Spikes, and a much larger group of Croaks, clustered around a tank - clearly meant to be screening. He practically mowed the whole crowd down with one extremely long burst from the MG, relying on his unnatural strength to keep the weapon on target, then slung the weapon and unslung his entrenchment tool, sprinting in close. The big gun struggled to bring itself to bear as he got closer. Twenty yards. Fifteen. Ten. Five. 

At two, he jumped onto the tank, slammed the entrenchment tool into the hatch, and ripped it open, throwing a grenade in and vaulting off. It was the fifth time he’d done that trick, and it was at this point something he did as much for shock value against the enemy as because it worked.

As the alien tank exploded behind him as he unslung the machine gun, sweeping the surrounding area, he spotted a handful of fleeing Croaks and gunned them down. 

Then, as eh was once again replacing the box magazine, he saw something. Something that made him actually nervous.

It looked like the ‘Hulks’ - the designated heavy, specialized labor caste of the Ascendency they’d first encountered on the big ship that had served as their first large battle. Same basic build. But unlike the Hulks, which had been ponderous, slow, almost placid, this was huge, armored in something that he didn’t recognize, moving fast, and wielding a blaster that looked to be nearly the same scale as the weapons mounted to Ascendancy tanks in one hand. In the other, it wielded a sledgehammer that seemed to be propelled on some kind of shockwave, activated by some kind of trigger assembly near the grip. There was some kind of thing pumping out the back - though whether it was an engine for the armor or something more biomechanical Jonathan couldn’t have said. 

Jonathan dropped his MG. He wasn’t going to have finished reloading in time anyway. He swung out his entrenchment tool and rushed the monster, screaming in rage.

The entrenchment tool skated off the armor on contact, and the monster swung the hammer, pulling the trigger as it did. Some kind of rocket pulse accelerated it along with the beast’s muscles as it swung towards Jonathan, who just barely dodged it. He dove around, and kicked the thing as hard as he could in the back of the knee. 

Jonathan had kicked in reinforced doors with hermetic seals. He’d kicked in steel doors with reinforced hinges. When he kicked something, he expected it to break.

This thing barely buckled, and it whirled around and pistol whipped him across the jaw hard enough to make him see stars. When it whirled around with the hammer, he rolled out of the way and it shattered the asphalt. He vaulted up and swung the entrenchment tool towards the engine - it snagged on the edge this time, and Jonathan tore as hard as he could, prying up and out.

The haft of steady steel bent, then tore, and the engine ripped free with a shower of what was either machine juice, or blood, or both. Then the mutant Hulk screamed and wheeled around, staggering, weapons raised, swinging hard, but sluggish, and Jonathan caught the haft of the hammer. It swung down, furious, but Jonathan caught it. He braced, boots scraping along the concrete, and suddenly found himself swung aloft, but twisted, feeling his back ache as he twisted to force the leverage of the movement back down, haft of the hammer parallel to the ground, back of it along the monster’s neck.

Then he caught an elbow, tightening his abs so he didn’t break, and let go one end, squeezing the trigger with his still gripping hand.

The hammer haft almost tore loose of both their hands, the head swinging dangerously, and swinging sideways to nearly impact the big bastard’s hip. Jonathan swung under the Hulk, lunging at a knee and shoving with his full might to upset it, forcing it down, and then seized the hammer, driving his boot against the creature’s already overstretched wrist, and feeling it break through the armor with a snap. 

Then, as the arm with the gun tried to bring it around, Jonathan hefted the massive hammer and brought it down, triggering the rocket at the back, and brought it down on the helmeted head.

The result looked like someone had crushed a can against concrete. 

Jonathan lifted his newfound weapon skyward, and braced it against his hands as he saw another one of the new monsters emerging from a building, tearing its way out, armor smeared with crimson. 

With a savage smile he rushed forward, hammer swinging towards the knee, sliding under a plasma blast that blew the front off a building, and then swinging up to connect with the creature’s jaw, snapping its head back and clearly breaking its neck. He wheeled around and struck a third such creature with a rocket-assisted blow in the center chest, shattering the armor and sending bits of armor, ribs, and organs flying out the creature’s shattered backplate.

He charged ahead, swinging the hammer, heedless of the menacing hiss-snap of plasma discharge and the searing pain that accompanied it, and when he came to his senses, he was surrounded by monstrous corpses. Spikes, heads twisted off, the new aliens, Croaks, hopelessly shattered - he’d torn through them like nothing. He ran back, aware now, of the burns that covered him, and grabbed his MG, reloaded it, and slung the hammer across his back. 

He’d take it back as a captured weapon. Jonathan had a feeling he’d want to keep using it. Especially since Mark was already shouting to start the attack on the command post.

[kyloknightren]

episode one is going to be long & sweet (not really sweet)

carmy out the fridge

opening day service

marcus moms funeral

carmy thinking about claire emp and almost fucking something up because he's zoned out or on the brink of a terrible panic attack

we are so back

[simulamortem]

EGO RETENTION RELAPSES

in this house we love a messy bitch, and as it happens, Revenant's breaking his programming made him very messy.

Ego Retention can't pull him under again, but it TRIES sometimes. I call these incidents ego relapses, in which Revenant's perception gets stuck in its former state where he sees himself as human again. he KNOWS BETTER now, but that doesn't change his experiencing his human body instead of the mechanical shell - and he hates it.

after all this time acclimating to his machine body, getting stuck in his human body again feels extremely jarring. sensation is much more vivid for him in an ego relapse, especially pain. Revenant's been a bit spoiled as a simulacrum by learning that much of his chassis doesn't have much haptic to it, and he can basically switch off his perception of pain in some cases. but in an ego relapse he can't help how much things HURT, even knowing it's just in his head.

more than that, experiencing his human body again reminds him not only of the man he used to be - who he hates so much for having gotten him where he is - but also of all the violent deaths he went through under Ego Retention.

this excerpt from one of my threads puts it best I think:

"Besides the air in and out of his lungs, he could feel his damn ribs moving with each breath, and all it reminded him of was all the times he struggled for air, died a suffocating death or felt the burn of a bullet in his gut or choked on hot blood thick in his throat. The illusion of his human body may as well have been one big open wound for how many times he had SUFFERED its death."

while these relapses aren't common for him, they do have a variety of possible TRIGGERS:

EMPs or anything electrical risks damaging his neural processor in juuust the right way to kick a bit of Ego Retention back into gear

similarly, any direct physical damage to his neural processor risks a relapse

to a much lesser extent, technically any physical damage at all can risk a relapse, if his neural processor just ✨ decides to be a little bitch at that moment ✨

Revenant has made a habit of avoiding his reflection because there's always a chance he'll see his old self instead of the murderbot

though only likely to happen in the circumstances of a ship, if he's feeling relaxed enough, someone touching him very gently can sometimes trick his perception into thinking they're touching the human body instead of the machine body

when he first wakes up from sleep, especially if he wakes up in a bed, he'll sometimes go about his morning routine from when he was human until he catches himself

FIXES:

ego relapses can happen in just fleeting moments which Revenant is able to brush off - but they can also stick, in which case he usually wants to DIE as quickly as possible, as being stuck in a relapse makes him miserable and moving into a new shell is his quickest guarantee to getting back to normal.

however, he can also acclimate to some extent if getting killed isn't an immediately available solution. he just won't be happy about it, and it'll be very difficult for him to relax or feel comfortable.

there may be other ways to "fix" a relapse, but not without help; somebody Revenant trusts who could guide & ground him back to his mechanical body. the same techniques that work for helping panic attacks & dissociative episodes also have the potential to help him out of an ego relapse.

[anyroads]

I was gonna put this in the tags but fuck it, story time:

I had this job at a non-profit over ten years ago. I was hired to manage their comms, which wasn't my ideal career path, but I was coming out of chronic illness and believed in this org's work. I moved across the country for the job and planned to be there for at least two years but ended up quitting after less than a year. Not only did they violate my work agreement over and over, they also violated several state and federal labor laws. If that wasn't bad enough, the CEO was horribly abusive and I often spent part of my day cleaning up co-workers' tears in the bathroom because they were treated so badly. I've worked in some awful places with awful people, but this was by far the worst. It wasn't just the CEO, either - he encouraged mistreatment and awful behavior in the rest of the senior staff, who were only too happy to oblige.

Then came time for my six month evaluation, which wasn't actually scheduled until about nine or ten months in so it was really late. My department head (reader, we were a two person department and I was more qualified but she had been there slightly longer, which is the only reason she was the department head) spent the whole evaluation berating and demeaning me. For context, I was hired to manage the org's comms: beef up social media presence, manage the website's backend, support and help create marketing campaigns etc., and also be the on-staff photographer. What my job actually consisted of was 90% managing the database which was so outdated the company who made it no longer existed and the other company who bought them one out no longer had anyone on staff who could offer tech support. Most of my evaluation was getting yelled at for not being able to make this garbage software work when it wasn't even in my work agreement that I would have to do database management. I was threatened with job termination, but I had spent enough time mopping up the panicked tears of coworkers to know that this was a bluff to avoid me asking for a raise (one co-worker hadn't been good enough for a promotion she earned but was somehow qualified to cover for her boss's maternity leave, another was fired on a Friday and offered a higher job Monday without a raise after having the weekend to panic about being unemployed within two weeks, etc). I felt especially sure of myself since I had found time to fulfill all my other responsibilities despite all the database bullshit and had streamlined several processes so that tasks that took my predecessor whole days to complete took me only an hour (templates!).

After this blood boiling meeting the CEO, who barely ever gave me the time of day, took me into an empty office where he proceeded to talk at me for 45 minutes. He had a habit of putting his feet up on tables when he talked (and he liked talking. On my first day he wanted to have lunch to get to know me and went on an hour long rant where I couldn't get a word in edgewise and eventually hoped he would forget to breathe and pass out but alas, he was well practiced). With the setup of this particular office, since the desk faced wall, this meant he had his back to me the whole time he was talking. About five minutes in I took out my phone and started looking for jobs; he didn't even notice. A week later I took a sick day so I could take a job interview call from home; my dept. head emailed me a request halfway through the day and set the deadline for a task at 9am Monday. When I didn't reply to it until Monday morning, she threatened me again with termination.

Reader, you will not believe the surprise on her face when I insisted that an HR rep be at our next meeting. It was almost as stunned as when said rep affirmed to her that since I was threatened with termination HR must be present at all meetings discussing my performance. She also reiterated what the state labor board had already done so when I followed up with them: that it's illegal to threaten an employee with negative repercussions, let alone job termination, for not working during a day off, and especially since I had my auto-reply on and my dept. head should have received my "sorry I'm out sick will get back to you Monday" message, she should have known better.

I did get the job I interviewed for, by the way. And I did quit. However, unlike my dept. head, I looked over my work agreement first to make sure I didn't overstep, and sure enough there was no notice period stipulated. So.

Tee hee hee.

I had a standing weekly meeting with my dept. head to go over ongoing projects and tasks. I did not schedule a separate meeting with her. I walked into our weekly meeting and told her we will not be discussing our usual agenda. I watched her jaw literally drop as I listed her labor and ethics violations and stated very clearly that despite the commitment I'd had to this job and this org, I was quitting, that it was directly because of her appalling conduct and violations of my work agreement, and that my last day would be the end of the week (this was a Wednesday). She tried to hold over my head that "it might come off as aggressive to everyone else in the office to quit with such short notice" to which I replied that it was quite aggressive of her to threaten to fire me without giving me any prior warnings and opportunities to improve where she found fault with my work. In the end she begged for me to stay on for two more weeks; I agreed to one week because I had a planned vacation starting after that and already had flights booked, which I wasn't going to change for her nonsense. I'm petty and salty and it was delightful to see her go from trying to strongarm me to realizing she had no cards to play and resort to pleading for me not to jump ship overnight.

Not one person in that office faulted me. The senior staff were scared I would sue and were suddenly all sweetness and politness, except the CEO who outright shunned me and didn't speak a word to me or so much as look at me after that. Everyone else was excited for me that I was getting out (several of them had, over my time there, made the effort to let me know that my predecessor had been treated much better while doing shoddier work and that there was some sexism afoot, and felt for me because of how hard I'd worked only to be berated). At my last staff meeting, the CFO made a speech about how "we're all family here" and how I would be sorely missed because I had contributed so much. When it came time for me to reply, I looked her in the eye for an uncomfortably long time until she was visibly nervous and uncomfortable, and then said simply, "perhaps if you'd said as much earlier I might not be leaving" and left it at that. On my last day, after clearing out my desk, I took all my files off the shared drive and changed the language setting on my computer to Hungarian, so my dept. head couldn't access my work and had to start from scratch.

They learned nothing, by the way. Within the next couple of years they fired several people in awful ways for shitty reasons who had been there for years, including a pregnant woman (they wanted to save money by replacing her with the assistant they hired to cover her maternity leave, ie. the new employee was given entry level pay and the org wouldn't have to pony up extra insurance fees for a newborn). But reader, it gets better. It gets so much better.

See, the CEO had built a reputation for himself, because you can't be an egotistical abusive shit made of hubris and shouting without people noticing. I ended up sitting next to one of the org's biggest donors at a friend's wedding purely by coincidence, and spilled all the tea, including how this guy was a walking liability. By this point I'd also worked for a conference where I was able to get this CEO red flagged and blacklisted from ever being invited. And I contributed to a letter against him to the board signed by over 100 people connected with the org's work. All this came to a head and one day, miraculously, it was announced that he was stepping down. Not just that, but the org was going to have a PR makeover - the name was changed, and any mark left by this man was erased. He'd founded his org, and they not only removed him from its helm, but erased his legacy. They said he'd serve on the board, but as far as I know, he never did. And although I never want to see him again, part of me knows how delightful it would be to have the chance to tell him to his face how much of a role I got to have in stripping him of everything he'd worked for and abused. And he's fine, aside from the disgrace - he made ungodly amounts of money and if he's invested as well as I'm sure he did, he's set for life and has no kids to look after.

But the most important thing, the org did better than go out of business after I left. The CEO experienced actual repercussions, and the org became better and more ethical. The new CEO is someone I know to be insightful, thoughtful, patient, and an all around good person. The only thing better than the whole place going up in flames is a new, better place being reborn from the ashes.

[gingergofastboatsmojito]

His reactiveness

Reactive and intense are not synonyms.

I guess you may wanna check this first for context, but you don't necessarily have to.

A lot of folks think of Carmy as non-reactive because he's too intense, and he is intense, sure, very, but in a reactive manner, the fire-starter is always someone else.

He's even soooo reactive as opposed to proactive, that sometimes he's even submissive. And he's OK with it, or too used to it, he feels somewhat comfortable taking that sub role, whether it is with Donna so she gets off his back, or with Michael, with EMP's EC, or with Claire, etc, he becomes a pushover or a bomb💣, no balance. But that's always as a reaction, it's not proactive, he reacts to stimuli in those 2 different ways as a default. He sometimes opposes it with all his might, in a very Carmy way, and becomes defensive, even aggressive:

or he succumbs to it, which on the outside can even look like he's cooperating with it, but he's not, he's reacting in a submissive way, to avoid the alternative, which he deems "more inconvenient" at the time (defense mechanism), so he rather takes the submissive role in those cases.

This, in his particular case, leads to bottled-up aggression and pain that come out in the most destructive and unhealthy ways, such as panic attacks, sleepwalking, workaholism, chain-smoking, anger fits in other situations that don't necessarily call for that, which he overreacts to, etc.

All of this is a result of his upbringing and the fact that his caretaker and father figure were addicts, ofc. I have already mentioned that a long time ago, but in his case, it always bears repeating because it is the cause of his C-PTSD, which is basically what frames all of the aforementioned behaviors and dysfunctional habits. (I lightly touched this subject in one of my fics too). Not that he doesn't have other co-diagnoses that are part of his overall psychological makeup and also have an impact on his life, granted, but C-PTSD is by far the most comprehensive.

If you have time to read his monologue, I strongly suggest you do, JAW's acting is UNBELIEVABLE but reading it and re-reading it gives it a whole new dimension. Storer is my spirit animal. He wrote an ode to PTSD and in Carmy's case, it's the C subtype because it was not triggered by just one event, but by repetitive trauma. Here it is:

My point is: Of course, he needs to address all of that, but even if he did, since the reactiveness is deeply rooted in him now, it's part of his very own personality, not just an acquired habit, he won't be able to change that, he will have to learn to cope and work with it, so it doesn't limit him anymore. We can all get treatment or change, but no one changes personalities. Ever.

He will have to learn to deal with it in healthier and more adaptative ways. There are multiple ways to do that and go about it, therapy is just one of them, but not the only one. The great news is that it can definitely be done if there's a will, but it's important to point out that it will not disappear, as that reactiveness is in his nature at this point. Because it started in his formative years, very early childhood, etc. It will be expressed differently, he will have more control over it, and it may shift its form to a point where he could even use it as one of his strengths, but it will never magically or clinically go away. Full stop. It's important to have realistic expectations to avoid unnecessary frustration and to be happier with a result that even exceeds our expectations if it eventually comes to it. Like I wish it did for Carmy, by the end of the series.

Now, let's call it what it is: He will never be the "proactive Carmy", functional hero, fully together male-lead that some envision he becomes for Syd and because of her.

That's not in his nature.

Realistically speaking, not to mention Storer-friendly speaking, he can improve, sure! And he will and I'm positive about that, as I mentioned here and here, she will have a crucial role in that evolution because Sydney is the plot twist, he is the plot. But Carmy will not become someone else.

He is and will always be Carmen Anthony Berzatto, The Bear, with all the light and shadow aspects that entails.

And quite frankly, I love that, chefs because we are all a work in progress, just like him.

❤️‍🔥

Remember to follow my tag #Gingerpovs 💋

[justletmeplayminecraft]

guess who’s back at it again in @martuzzio‘s space outlaw au! this is a bit of a shift from my last two, so please heed the warnings below! if you want to know details about any, or think any others should be added, then drop me a message. it’s also over 7k, buckle in.

usual psa, may not be completely canon to the au. i pick & choose depending on what’ll be most fun, and its up to marzo what (if anything) she wants to keep!  enjoy it as it is!! (aka wels has longer hair in this because i have a crayon licence that says ‘i do what i want’.)

featuring: mumbo has a meeting on his home planet that goes wrong in an impressive way, wels has a sword, an evil tech guy villain, hurt/comfort, me being annoyed i have to use grunts instead of minions because i only see yellow things & good ol’ last minute rescues

warnings: violence, electrocution, mind control esq device (not used on anyone), injury, attempted kidnapping, brief imprisonment, pseudo-science lmao

"So I'm on babysitting duty." Wels is an intimidating sight in his suit, sword glinting in his hand. Mumbo finishes slicking back his hair, trying to get the parting perfect before he replies.

"You're not that much older than me." Compared to some of the hermits, at least. Nobody can come close to Xisuma, anyway. Wels laughs, checking his sword over.

"I feel it." He tilts his head towards Mumbo with half a smile. "I'm pretty much ancient next to you." Mumbo scoffs, flicking through his design folder again. Thankfully, this is more of an exchange than a pitch. Mumbo's improved, certainly, but he'd argue his reputation does most of the work for him. It's the main, if not only, reason he's back here.

"You're going to look it if you bring an actual sword to a tech meeting." Wels shifts his hold, the sword pointed towards Mumbo in an instant, narrowly avoiding the glass screens he's holding.

"Think you can stop me?" He teases, one eyebrow raised. There's the hint of a smirk on his face. Mumbo breathes out, relieved he's not offended him by accident.

"Didn't say you couldn't, did I?" Wels's shoulders rise with a smile, his sword coming to rest at his side.

"Smart decision." Wels picks up his weapon holster. A brief meeting or not, they all know better than to leave the ship without protection. Iskall refused to let Mumbo go until he checked each of his weapons, cleaning them thoroughly. His suit has been examined too, even if he's leaving the helmet on their ship. He knows the air is breathable here and it'll probably help if he's recognised. Wels has his helmet under his arm, waiting to put it on. "You ready to go?" He asks, holding his hand out. Mumbo nods, patting his folder and weapons.

"Got everything I need," he replies. Wels gives him a last smile before putting his helmet on, checking its secure then nodding.

"Let's go get you to that meeting, then." Mumbo glances around the shuttle, making sure everything's shut down. It locks with a satisfying beep. "You know where we're going?"

"Think I remember my way around." Wels nods, gesturing for Mumbo to go ahead with a bow. It's only slightly sarcastic. Mumbo makes sure to roll his eyes as he takes the lead.

He'll admit, it's nice being back on his home planet. Stepping out of the hangar bay to concrete roads and pavements. White buildings reach into the sky, entwined with greenery and tunnelling the layered streets. It's not often he gets to come back here. Plus, he might get to prove himself and his designs. If this works out, it's a massive step for him.

With all its familiarity, it's still strange being somewhere so busy. Cars and buses float down the roads, and they pass by people as they walk. Families with kids, couples, mostly people in the business wear Mumbo recognises. The pair get a few second glances as they make their way through the city. Wearing the suits is a bit of a statement. In truth, Mumbo didn’t want the stress of changing for the meeting. He would've spent forever worrying about what to put on and how he wants to present himself. Whereas Wels would probably live in his suit if given the chance. They're more common in a city like this than in other places, but hardly a frequent sight in public. Being part of the Hermits might also garner some looks, but they should be fine here. It's friendly territory.

Wels sticks close to Mumbo either way. Even without seeing his expression, he can tell how carefully Wels examines their environment. Mumbo feels safer having him here. He wouldn't want to come on his own. The building they're looking for is at the edge of the town centre, a tall office building with an angled top. The same pristine white as the rest of them.

"This it?" Wels asks, crossing his arms. He's looking up at the building.

"Yep."

"Fancy." Mumbo can't help a soft noise of amusement. Inside is a wide lobby, with a fountain of all things at the back of the room, cushioned seats and plants filling the space. It's also strangely empty. The front desk is obvious enough. A hologram of a receptionist appears when they get closer.

"Hello and welcome to Dukes Crown Limited!" The voice is like a parody of a person. Mumbo's never liked the voice of AIs. The closer they are to human, the more uncanny they become. "What is your reason for visiting?" The wide smile never changes. Mumbo shivers.

"Mumbo Jumbo, I'm here for a meeting." The hologram remains still before jumping to life, pointing to a lift at the back of the lobby.

"Your meeting is on the thirty fifth floor, office A. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

Mumbo shakes his head quickly, "Nope, that's all, thank you very much."

He's already turned towards the lift as the AI replies, "You're welcome. Enjoy your visit!" Wels joins him as he walks, leaning in close.

"Are they always that creepy?" He whispers, sneaking looks around the empty lobby.

"Unfortunately." He's never been completely comfortable with them. It's all superficial programming. You give something the ability to think and then limit it. "Lobbies aren't usually this empty either. Must be a busy day." Wels hums, sounding unconvinced. He follows Mumbo into the lift anyway, waiting in the corner. It takes Mumbo a second to find the right button. He tries to block out the cheery music and focus on his breathing.

"I don't like this," Wels states what they've both been thinking. Mumbo stares at the door of the lift. He breathes in deep, holding it before letting it out slowly.

"We can't exactly back out now," he says. He's come this far, taken the entire ship off course for this meeting. He knows Xisuma would understand. Gut instincts are there for a reason, as they've all learnt. But Mumbo wants something out of this. Maybe it's selfish.

"We could." Wels gestures to the panel. "We press the button, go straight back down and walk out of that fancy front door."

"You can if you want to," Mumbo tells him. Wels turns to him and Mumbo wishes he could see his expression.

"And leave you alone?" Wels asks. "Absolutely not." Mumbo smiles slightly, watching the number on the display climb until they reach their floor, accompanied by the same artificial voice of the receptionist. Wels steps out first, Mumbo following soon after.

Their suits click against the floors, white plastic beneath them. The walls are halftone between white and blue. It's not particularly appealing, but these offices rarely are. It was a lucky turn of events he ended up how he did. How boring his life would be if he actually made it into one of these.

"Is this the one?" Wels points to a closed door, one of very few on this floor. Mumbo checks the symbol on the side, nodding.

"Looks like it." Wels stands beside Mumbo, resting his hand near his sword.

"You ready to go in?" He asks. Mumbo quickly checks the time, sighing. It doesn't look like he can stall. This whole set-up has brought his anxiety back full force. He knows what he's doing, though. He's practised with the others, he knows not to devalue himself. He's going to be great.

"As I'll ever be." Wels lifts his shoulders, offering an incline of his head. Mumbo smiles back. He raises his hand to knock on the door, but it slides open before he can. Wels makes a quiet noise of surprise behind him. Mumbo shakes his head, stepping into the office.

It's emptier than he's used to. Two bookshelves against the walls, lined with books that look like they've never been read. There's a shutter blocking out the window, leaving the main light the bulb overhead. Towards the back of the room is the desk. It's empty. Mumbo looks to Wels, who's hovering inside the door.

"Do you think we're early?" Wels doesn't get the chance to reply. There's a loud bang from nearby. Mumbo spins in the direction of it just as his suit lets out a warning beep and the light flickers out. When he tries the display it won't turn on. Oh no. "Wels-"

He cuts himself off when he sees him fighting with his helmet, fingers missing the release latch. Mumbo drops his folder, rushing forward and batting Wels's fingers away so he can get to it himself. Wels fights him momentarily but settles when the helmet clicks and Mumbo can slide it off his head.

Fear isn't a stranger to Mumbo. He's certainly feeling it right now. But he's never seen it on Wels before. His eyes are wide until he scrunches them shut, his breath coming out in short puffs and his hair stuck to his forehead. He reaches his hand out and Mumbo offers his own to hold. His heartbeat picks up considerably as he glances around the room. The door has closed and Mumbo has no idea what this is.

"Wels?" He tries, when his breathing has calmed. "You with me?" Wels nods, taking a deep breath in and squeezing Mumbo's hand.

"Helmet stopped getting input." Mumbo winces, glad he didn't wear his.

"It's supposed to release when that happens-" He shakes his head "-I'll look into it. We've got worse problems." Wels blinks hard, standing straight and taking in the situation. His face is still red, but his composure has returned. He finally releases Mumbo's hand.

"The door's shut." Mumbo nods. He examines it, considering the model in his head. The keypad won't even activate when he tries it.

"This model is supposed to open when it loses power," he says, thinking out loud, "It's a safety feature."

"So someone's changed it on purpose."

"Appears so." Mumbo isn't going to think about those implications. "What even was that? Nothing's working." Wels's face is grim, trying to pry the shutters open.

"Localised EMP, I think. Probably only affected this floor."

"Well." Mumbo glares at the door, deciding to pry the keypad open. "This is just wonderful."

"Note to self." Wels ducks under the desk. "Trust our gut instinct." Mumbo makes a noise in response, sorting through the wires in the panel. He knows how these doors work but it doesn't seem to be getting any power. There's no amount of re-ordering wires that can change that. He tries his suit again but gets the same result. They need to get out of here and contact the others.

"Found anything?" He asks when Wels appears again.

Wels shakes his head, "Nothing. I was hoping for an escape latch or... Something." He makes a frustrated noise. "Somebody wants us trapped in here and I'm not going to let that happen."

"Well, I don't think there's any way I can open the door. Unless we can lever it." Wels looks it up and down.

"Right. Last resort." Wels pulls out his sword, launching it at the thin parting in the door. "Please don't break," he murmurs under his breath. In a sharp motion he angles his sword, managing to pry the door open by a crack. "Mumbo!" Mumbo squeezes his elbow in, pushing the door until the gap is wide enough for them both to fit through. Thankfully the only resistance is the weight, rather than any mechanism.

"I doubt the lift will be safe," Mumbo says, checking down the hallways. Wels has his sword by his side, holding it ready. He's left his helmet behind, same as Mumbo's files. An annoying loss, but he's not fighting the door again for them. "Did we pass stairs?"

"I think so." Wels leans on one foot to look down the corridor. "Are those signs?"

Both of their heads jolt in the direction of footsteps down the corridor. There's nowhere obvious to hide. Wels pushes Mumbo into the small alcove by the lift, standing in front of him with his sword to attention. Mumbo can't see his face but his shoulders are set in a tense line. Mumbo reaches for his gun, although he has a feeling it won't work. Neither of them breathe as the footsteps grow closer.

It's two men, dressed in dark clothing. Neither of them look in their direction, focused on the door they should be behind. There's no hint of movement before Wels launches. He butts one of the men on the head with the hilt of his sword, swinging as he drops to knock the gun from the other's hand. He follows it up with a strike against his head with the flat of the blade. Less deadly, but it leaves them incapacitated enough. Wels kicks their guns in Mumbo's direction.

"Anything work?" He asks, pushing the hair from his face back with a scowl. Mumbo scoops the weapons up. His own gun isn't working, so that's great. He plays with the other two, attempting to activate them. He only gets 'access denied' on a small screen.

"It's fingerprint locked. How absurd." He twists the gun to see the underside. "I could rewire it." Wels shakes his head.

"That would take too long," he says, "Our only advantage right now is that they don't know we're free. The blast will have knocked out the cameras on this floor." He nudges one of the grunts with his toe. "When these two don't report in or... Whatever, they'll realise."

"At least we know where the stairs are." Wels smiles, stepping over the grunt. He keeps his sword ready by his side, only slightly bloody.

"That's the spirit." Mumbo exaggerates his sigh and gets an amused puff in response. Wels gestures for him to continue with his hand, both of them making for the stairs.

"What's actually the plan here?" Mumbo asks as they reach the stairwell, thankfully open. Wels leans over the barrier to check below them. "Do we even have one?"

"Nope," Wels pops the 'p'. Well, nothing new there. "Stay behind me."

"Planning to."

He tries to tread lightly down the stairs, difficult with his suit. Wels nearly dances down them, feet ghosting over each step. He stops them both by holding a hand up. Mumbo only stumbles down one stair as he tries to stop. Wels turns, mouthing and pointing them both up around the bend. They press themselves around the stairwell, listening as a few people enter. Mumbo can see Wels relax when they go down away from them.

It's a tense wait for the voices to disappear, punctuated by another door sliding shut. The two wait for a few seconds more.

"This must still operate as an office building," Mumbo murmurs, keeping his voice low.

"It's a big building to rent out just for an elaborate trap." Wels continues down. "Is there usually a back door?" Mumbo hums, trying to think to his adolescence.

"There should be," he replies. Usually into an alleyway, for taking out the trash or something.

"Well, it's that or the front door." Wels checks ahead as they go down another twist. "Which would be a statement."

"They set an EMP off and tried to trap us in a room, Wels."

"A statement," Wels repeats, pausing to give Mumbo a cheeky smile. Mumbo shakes his head. It reminds him of the situation they're actually in. He has no idea what the motivation is for this. At least it's not Convex, he hopes. Variety is the spice of life or whatever. He trusts Wels when he says it was an EMP. There's something very wrong with this situation. Mumbo's a big fan of run first, ask questions later.

They encounter trouble as they reach the ground floor. Wels holds a hand out in front of Mumbo when they hear shouting, both of them stilling. Wels leans forward, listening carefully.

"Head up slightly," he murmurs, pushing Mumbo in the right direction. Mumbo hides around the corner, peering so he can just see Wels. He's pressed against the wall, his breathing measured. He's looking at the ground as the sounds come closer, voices and footsteps.

The door opens and Wels pounces. He kicks behind the knees of the first person, hitting his head with his sword. Without hesitation, he twists to the next, jabbing backwards and knocking them into the person behind. Mumbo is barely breathing, watching Wels's precise movements. Wels is quick to knock their weapons away, hair falling into his face.

A noise behind Mumbo startles him to his feet, raising his arms as he spots more grunts rushing down the stairs. He glances to Wels, finding he's mostly dispatched the ones by him.

"Wels, we need to go!" He calls, rushing down the stairs. Wels drops the last one with a jab to the spine, his shoulders rising with heavy breaths.

"Okay, that's a lot." He grabs Mumbo, narrowly pulling him out the way of a shot. His hand stays around his wrist until they're into the corridor, releasing him to sprint ahead. Mumbo gulps, breaking into a run. He can hear the crackle of electricity hitting the wall beside him, far too close for comfort.

He pauses when he hears a crack of electricity coming from up ahead, calling out a panicked, "Wels!" Wels stops, swerving to the side, but not fast enough to avoid the rope that flies out from a side door. It wraps around his torso, sparking with electricity and pinning his arms to his side. Wels falls with a pained shout. He lands hard on his arm, gasping out for breath. The sword falls too far from Mumbo's reach. He instinctively moves to help until his head kicks in, hearing the shouting around him.

"Hands up!" Mumbo looks at Wels on the ground, his chest heaving as the wire (he can now see that's what it is) crackles again. Wels shifts in place, letting out a weak cry at the pulse as his body tenses. Maybe it's a good thing his hair hides the pained expression Mumbo knows must be there. He raises his hands, allowing one of the grunts to grab his arms and pull them behind his back. Something solid and heavy is secured around his wrists. He almost loses his footing at a sharp tug, turning to see the bloody gash on the guy's head. Maybe Wels should have hit him harder.

A figure enters the corridor that Mumbo is more familiar with.

"Mr. Dukes-" he keeps his voice steady, masking the fear churning in his stomach "-This is an interesting meeting." Internally, he curses the guy out. He only has to take one look at Wels for his morals to disappear. But he knows they're at a disadvantage, and he knows that won't help anything.

"Mumbo," Dukes nods very slightly to acknowledge him before nudging Wels with a pointed toe. Wels groans, trying to curl up and Mumbo bristles. "This would've been much easier if you stayed put." Dukes waves at the grunts. "Take him to an office. I'll move them at nightfall, figure out what to do with the extra." There's a few affirmatives before Mumbo's being dragged away, battling every urge to break free or to call for Wels or something. It feels like he's failed somehow, but he doesn't fight. He doesn't know what to do.

-

Mumbo paces the room they left him in. He's tried everything he can get his restrained hands on, checked the walls, checked the door, the little furniture there is to check. He can't find a way out of here. In the tiniest crack at the base of the shutters, he can tell it's ticking into evening. They've got time. If they're moved to a second location they're absolutely boned.

There's no telling how long it'll take the others to realise something's gone wrong. First it'll be when they don't get an update after the meeting, but when did they expect the meeting to end? Then they'll send a message but how long until they worry about the lack of reply? A deep part of Mumbo is gnawing at him with the knowledge they might mobilise too late. The Hermits stop at nothing to protect their own, but they need to find them first. It's too easy to disappear.

With any luck, Dukes was only after Mumbo. Wels was extra, wasn't he? Turn him into the right governmental body for a quick profit, easy. Just as easy as it would be for the others to break him out. It's himself he's not sure about. He was the target of all this. For his designs, he's guessing. He slumps against the wall, watching the sunlight creeping under the shutter. He pushes away thoughts of what might happen to him. He's sure he'll find out soon enough.

The light outside gradually fades in colour. Mumbo paces the room several more times until it becomes a strong amber, travelling across the carpeted floor. If he stays still for too long he thinks his worry might consume him. He tries his suit a few times as a last ditch effort, knocking it against the wall. He can't even get annoyed at the work it'll take to fix it. He might not get the chance.

He's mid-pace when the door slides open. Two grunts grab his arms, holding him in place in the centre of the room. He scowls, trying to shift their grip. Dukes follows soon after them.

"It has," he replies, falling into the professional tone. "Do I get to know why we couldn't just have a peaceful, ordinary meeting?" Dukes strides forward, his hands clasped neatly behind him back. He's only an inch taller than Mumbo, but he makes him feel tiny.

"It's been some time, hasn't it, Mumbo?" Should've been longer, apparently. Being rejected for that internship destroyed him, back then. The constant comments, the reminders he'd never make anything of himself. All of it. He was so excited to finally prove himself and look at what that gets him.

"You have no idea how valuable you are, do you?"

Mumbo tilts his head side to side, "About ten million, actually, last time I checked." Dukes laughs.

"One of the smartest minds of a generation," Dukes says, "And still unsurprisingly foolish." Mumbo frowns. It's an effort not to reply. "See, I've been working on a project but I need more brains to push it further. It's nearly perfect and once finished, it could change the scene as we know it." Mumbo doesn't know it. He doesn't want to know it.

"That could've been done through negotiation," he replies, "I'm available to hire."

"I don't think I could pay you to work on this." Dukes holds something in front of him. A collar of some kind. There's sharp, thin spikes around the back, on the inside. Mumbo cringes at the sight. "This has been my brainchild for some time. This collar, combined with a remote, taps directly into the wearer's spinal cord. It can stop or send its own signals, allowing control of body parts the wearer can't use, better health management-"

"You want to use it to control people," Mumbo interrupts, the reality sinking in. He glares at Duke, hiding his terror as anger.

"Smart boy."

"You're right. I won't work on it." He edges back into the hands holding him. Dukes laughs again. The sound makes Mumbo feel dizzy.

"You wouldn't just be working on it," Dukes tells him, in the same tone someone would use to talk to a child. "You'd be one of the first test subjects." Mumbo's eyes widen. He pushes back, thrashing to loosen the grip on his arms.

"No- no, no, no-" He's completely broken and he knows it. No going back now. "Get away from me. Take that thing away. You're sick." Dukes stands there, ignoring Mumbo's panic. He opens an antiseptic cloth, running it over the metal points.

"I imagine it'll hurt going in," he explains like he's reading a book. "But we made sure it'll do as little damage as possible. It's getting it out that could mess things up a little."

"You can't do this. You won't get away with it."

"I think I already have-" Dukes steps forward, holding the collar up, "What will you do, call for help? Oh, wait-" A smile with too many teeth "-You won't be able to." Mumbo pushes himself back, drawing in as a last ditch effort to protect himself. He shuts his eyes and hears the crackle of electricity.

Then the hands around his arms release.

He tumbles to the floor, opening his eyes to see a suit he recognises stunning the second grunt. False turns to him, her expression hidden by her helmet.

"Mumbo-" It sounds as if a heavy weight is lifted when she says it. She drops to her knees, gently checking him over. "Are you okay, did he hurt you?"

Mumbo shakes his head, "No I'm... Alright. I'm okay." He's... It might take a minute to believe it. She sighs, resting her glove on his cheek.

"We were so worried. We just-" She shakes her head, standing and turning to the incapacitated people around her. "Let me sort this out first."

"No, please do." Safer than making the same mistake they did. She pulls out her sets of cuffs, securing the grunts first.

"We got a distress signal from Wels. Apparently it's set for if his suit fails. Then we couldn't find either of you- X went near ballistic," she explains as she works. Mumbo listens, her voice a grounding anchor. "We came as soon as we could."

"Who's here?" Mumbo asks. He knows they couldn't fit the entire ship.

"Iskall, Etho and I. Doc's on back up."

"Is Stress there?" False nods. "Wels might be injured. He seemed bad when he went down." She finishes checking the bindings, raising her arm.

"False reporting," she pauses for an unheard response, "I've got Mumbo. No injuries but he says Wels might be. Tell Stress to be prepared." Mumbo wishes he could hear the conversation, but False lowers her arm afterwards. She hesitates when she sees the collar, picking it up cautiously.

"What even is this?" She asks, helmet tilting to Mumbo. He shudders, drawing his legs closer to himself.

"It's a... controlling device. It accesses your spinal cord to send nerve signals. Lets you control someone." False looks at it for a long second, then to Mumbo.

"He was about to put this on you." She sounds breathless. Mumbo looks into his lap, can't find the words to reply. He might break down if he does. "I'm getting those cuffs off and getting you out. What are the authorities like here?" She leaves the collar to the side.

"They're not awful," Mumbo explains as she works on the restraints around his wrists, "But someone with money and influence like him... He'd probably find a way out of it." She makes a frustrated noise just as the restraints fall away. Mumbo's muscles ache in relief. He rubs at the soreness around his wrists.

"We'll see what we can do," she decides. She offers him a hand. He stumbles forward, kept upright by her firm grip. "Who is he? I'm assuming that's the leader." She dips her head in Dukes' direction. Mumbo sighs.

"Tristan Dukes. Everyone in the city knows him. Well-known for his innovation and inventions, donates regularly to charities. Most inspiring inventors want to work for him." Mumbo gives his wrist a last squeeze. "I tried going for an internship here. It didn't go well. Probably good I didn't get it, if this is what he's doing behind the scenes."

"If I wasn't afraid of waking him up then I'd kick him harder." Mumbo can't help an amused snort. His legs are still trembling.

"That's not very do-gooder of you, False." She laughs, bumping his side gently enough it doesn't knock him over.

"What X doesn't know can't hurt him." He breathes a little easier at her light tone. She reaches for her belt, placing a stun gun in his hands. "You ready to get out of here?" Mumbo glances to the door. He'd like to see Wels, get proof he's okay. But he'll only get in the way. The three of them are a well-oiled machine on missions like this.

"Absolutely." It's a cause for celebration when he steps out of that office prison on its own. "How did you guys get here?" It would be a bit obvious to have a crew in their full suits through the city.

False makes a high-pitched "Well." She shrugs, sounding not very sheepish. "We took one of the ships. Then we may've borrowed a few cars."

"Borrowed," Mumbo repeats. She holds her hands up.

"Hey, we fully plan on returning them this time!" Mumbo shakes his head, following behind her. She raises her arm. "False again-" Pause "-Yeah, I'm getting Mumbo out. Left three people in the office. Floor forty, office B. The one in the fancy clothes is the owner of the company, Tristan Dukes. I want a background check on him. Dig up all the dirt you can find. He's not going free." She hums, glancing at Mumbo. "Okay. Keep me updated."

"Who was that?" Mumbo asks. False starts moving towards the exit, giving her gun a quick check over.

"Ren," she replies. "He's doing comms from home. We should be all set." And isn't he glad to hear that?

Their escape goes better than his and Wels did. Any grunts on the staircase have already been dealt with, tied up in neat batches for the police to find. False still scopes out each corner, all business as they move through. It's the side door they leave through. The cool air in the alley nearly makes him sag in relief. The night is almost on them. She leads him through a network of alleys, head twitching towards any sounds she hears. The distant traffic is a quiet undertone. She approaches a parked car, knocking on the window of it.

The door swings open, Doc inviting Mumbo into the seat. Mumbo near collapses into it, shutting his eyes and leaning against the headrest.

"Mumbo," Doc greets. Mumbo cracks his eyes open, giving a tired smile. "It sure is good to see you."

"Yeah. Yeah, I could say the same." He's ready to sink into this seat forever. Doc rubs his shoulder and Mumbo allows himself to be pushed.

"What are you doing?" Doc looks to False, who's bouncing in place. Mumbo follows his gaze, listening along.

"I'm going to head back in," she tells him. "Can I trust you've got Mumbo?"

"Won't let him out of my sight." Mumbo rolls his eyes, slouching further into the seat.

"I am sitting right here." False laughs, patting his head.

"I'll keep in touch. Stay safe."

Doc nods, "You too." She offers a quick nod, closing the door and darting back into the alleys. Doc turns to Mumbo. He's smiling, but Mumbo can tell concern when he sees it. "How are you doing, man?" Mumbo sighs.

"Exhausted," he admits. "I don't think I've processed it properly at all."

"Understandable," Doc replies. "What even happened in there?" Mumbo groans, rearranging himself to rest against Doc's side. The suits aren't comfortable, but it helps to know someone is behind him after being alone in that room. He sticks his feet on the seat so his legs shield him from the door.

"Meeting could've gone better." Doc laughs deeply at that one, careful not to knock Mumbo off.

"Well, that's one way to put it." Mumbo smiles to himself, resting his eyes.

"Got into the office, EMP went off, broke out the room, nearly got out but got caught, rescued by False." He isn't going to mention the collar, or his history with Dukes. He'll save reliving that for the official report. "Think that covers it."

"Yikes."

"Yep."

"Guess it's not just Cub and Scar we gotta worry about, huh." Mumbo presses his hands to his face with a noise of displeasure.

"I don't even want to think about that. I do not want this to be a reoccurring nightmare." Doc chuckles, patting Mumbo's shoulder carefully.

"You'll be fine. Hopefully, it'll all be sorted after this. And you've got us. We're pretty terrifying." It takes a bit of effort, but Mumbo leans his head back far enough to see Doc's eyes.

"You know what, I'm holding you to that." He yawns, the energy that's been keeping him going has drained. He can tell he's crashing. "Protect me from businessmen with delusions of grandeur."

"Oh, of course." Doc's voice is dry. "I'll let Iskall know." Mumbo chuckles, shaking his head. He closes his eyes again, accepting he might not stay awake much longer.

"Big scary Iskall."

"He was big and scary when he found out you were in trouble."

"That's Iskall," he agrees. It's nice knowing that they all care about him. He wouldn't be forgotten. They'd keep looking until they found him.

He doesn't realise he's dozed off until he's being gently moved. He blinks his eyes open and realises he's now lying across the seats. Looking up, he finds Doc resting his hand on Mumbo's side. He's talking to someone out of eye-line. Mumbo relaxes. If Doc's there, then he's fine. He has no doubt in his mind about that at all.

The next time he wakes up, it's because he's being nudged awake. Doc is next to him, with a gentle smile.

"Hey, sleepyhead," he greets, sitting back so Mumbo can sit upright. He yawns, covering his hand with his mouth. "We're back at the ships. Got some stuff to finish up before we go back home."

"Is it finished?" Mumbo asks, rubbing his eyes. When he looks out the window, he recognises the hangar parking.

"Yep." Doc crosses his arms, leaning back in his seat. "There was an incident-"

"Is Wels okay?" Mumbo interjects, fear twisting his stomach. Doc's expression softens as he nods.

"Wels is fine. Fractured his arm and a little bruised, but Stress has got him. He was asleep last I heard." Mumbo sighs, his chest finally expanding again. He sinks back into the seat. He has no idea how they've made it out of this situation as lucky as they have. "You wanna head into the ship? Let one of the others return this car." Mumbo nods. Would be nice to avoid running into the law after all this.

When he gets closer to the ship, he can hear shouting. He frowns, pressing closer to Doc. Doc simply rolls his eyes.

"They're still going," he murmurs.

"Still?"

Doc shakes his head, "Don't worry about it."

He leans over to open the ship door. The arguing silences immediately. False and Iskall turn to them as they enter. They're helmet-less, although False's hair is still in a bun at the bottom of her head.

"Mumbo!" Iskall moves before Mumbo can react, nearly knocking them over as he wraps his arms around him. Mumbo's brain momentarily malfunctions, taking a second to remember to hug Iskall back. "I was so worried, don't you dare do that again."

"I wasn't planning to, but I'll let you know." Iskall steps back, keeping his hands on Mumbo's forearms.

"And you're okay? How are you feeling?"

"I'm-" The lie nearly slips out before Mumbo thinks about it. He sighs, answering truthfully. "I'm a bit shaken. Finding it hard to believe that all happened, honestly."

"We've got you, okay?" Iskall reminds him. "I'll listen if you want to talk." Mumbo nods. He's not sure when that will be, but he knows it'll do him good.

"Will Xisuma want a proper report?"

"Not until you and Wels are rested up," False says, "He's pleased you're safe." She nods to Doc. "We're going to take the car back."

"Make sure you check in," Iskall tells them.

"We will," Doc reassures, offering a wave as they head outside. The ship feels much emptier with the two of them gone.

"Do you want to see Wels?" Iskall asks. Mumbo didn't realise how much he wanted that until now.

"Yes. Yes, I'd very much like that." Iskall smiles, leading Mumbo through the ship. It's bigger than the one he and Wels took. Offers more than three rooms. Iskall takes them into one of the side doors. Mumbo can immediately see the pink of Stress's suit as she moves around the room, humming a tune to herself. She pauses when she sees them in the doorway.

"Oh! Mumbo, you're back!" She smiles. Mumbo spots Etho curled in a chair on his phone. He raises a hand to acknowledge them. "You're not secretly hiding any injuries are you?"

Mumbo laughs, shaking his head, "No, I promise I'm okay. No injuries on me." She pokes her finger into her cheek.

"And you wouldn't mind me checking?"

"Um, if you want to."

She beams at him, "Nah, you're fine!" Iskall scoffs, gesturing out.

"How come that doesn't work for me? This is bias. Surely that's against oath."

"Iskall, love," Stress starts, her voice dangerously sweet, "Your idea of a minor injury is a stab wound. You've lost trust privileges." Iskall makes a noise of protest whilst Mumbo breaks into laughter. He can see Etho smiling out the corner of his eye.

There's a groan from the bed, then a teasing voice, "Who let you lot in?" Wels pushes himself up with one arm. The bulk of his suit is gone, only the black under-layer left. His other arm is bound by tight fabric to his chest. More interestingly, his hair has been neatly plaited out of his face.

"You shouldn't be moving, mister!" Stress scolds, jumping to move the pillows so he can sit up. "No jostling that arm."

"Yes ma'am," Wels replies. He laughs when Stress flicks his cheek, batting her away with his uninjured arm. Mumbo feels like he can finally breathe properly for the first time since all of this started. Wels looks at him, his expression soft. "Good to see you, Mumbo." His voice turns serious when he asks, "You're okay?"

"I'm fine. Virtually untouched." He holds his arms out before remembering he's still wearing his full suit. "Don't know if I can say the same for you." Wels laughs, sinking into the pillows.

"It's only a broken arm."

"Only," Iskall teases, "Like you're not going to complain when you still can't use it in a week."

Wels hums, "Well, Stress gave me painkillers, so I'm not exactly hurting right now." Stress waves her hands.

"All of you have complexes, I swear! You're gonna gain nothing by sitting there all miserable and sore!" She sounds genuinely exasperated. Mumbo is guilty of falling into that category.

"Admit it, you just like seeing us all loopy." Iskall tilts his head towards her. Stress flashes a smirk, resting her cheek in her palm.

"You can't prove it."

"That's admittance." Etho chimes in, keeping his eyes on his phone, fingers moving impossibly fast.

"I- I don't think that's how you use that word." Iskall frowns, his face scrunching in confusion.

"They're all made up anyway," Etho replies, "I'll use them how I want."

"Stress?" Wels asks, turning to her. His voice is perfectly polite.

"Yes?"

"Can I have more painkillers for the headache they're giving me?" Mumbo barely holds back his laughter. Iskall doesn't, doubling over with it. It only gets stronger when Etho makes a noise, looking disappointed at his phone.

"Yeah, I think you're going to be okay." Iskall pats the bed by Wels's feet. Stress finally sighs, standing fully and shepherding the two in.

"If you're going to clutter the room up then get some chairs. We can have a sleepover." Mumbo smiles, getting pushed into the chair Iskall slides under him.

"Woohoo," Iskall cheers dryly.

"Does that mean I get ice cream?" Wels asks, "I think I deserve ice cream."

"You need more sleep, is what you need." At Wels's dramatic noise she adds, "Ice cream when you wake up."

Iskall sticks his hand up, "Do the rest of us get some?"

"I want ice cream," Etho adds. Stress breathes in slowly, closing her eyes.

"You lot are gonna be the end of me," she announces with a smile. "Go to sleep." Mumbo laughs. Despite his impromptu nap, he can already feel tiredness settling in again. Surrounded by everyone teasing each other, it's not hard to drift off. Nothing's going to get him here.

-

"He was going to put that collar on him," False explains. Her arms are folded, back straight. The hologram of Xisuma frowns, a surprising display of emotion during a debrief. "If I'd been literally seconds later, X, I don't know what we'd be dealing with."

"And he's doing okay?" Xisuma asks, concern in his voice.

"He's dozing with Wels," Iskall replies. "He said it hasn't set in yet. I've told him I'll be there if he wants to talk about it. Stress and Doc are with them."

"Okay. And Wels?" The two glance at Etho.

"He wasn't great when I found him," Etho explains, his mission voice in full force. "We think he's broken his arm and he was giving me static shocks, so probably electrocuted. Won't know more unless they open up, but they seemed in good spirits earlier." Iskall nods in agreement. It's concerning him how quickly they've both settled. As if nothing traumatic happened. That's the most insidious kind. The one that punches you later.

"What about the people responsible?" All three of them share glances at that. False swallows.

"We secured most of the grunts. The authorities have picked them up." She made sure of it herself.

"But?" Xisuma prompts.

"The main guy, Dukes or whatever, completely vanished." Bitterness is still heavy in Iskall's tone. False sighs.

"I left him in the room, out cold, whilst I got Mumbo out of there. He was gone by the time I got back and so was the collar."

"None of us saw him leave," Etho adds.

"This is... More concerning. So that device is still out there."

"It won't be easy for him to build himself back up after this," False explains, "Most of the papers are already linking it to his company."

"That's no guarantee," Etho points out. "There's ways to place blame, claim he had no idea."

"Or he'll use it to go even deeper," Iskall comments. Xisuma taps his fingers on his arm, the hologram flickering as he thinks.

"Have you told Mumbo or Wels about this?" He asks, finally. He always puts his crew first.

"We've... No," Iskall admits.

"We're not sure how to."

"Make sure you do," Xisuma tells them, "Before you get back tomorrow." He pauses, looking over the camera. "Well, today now. Consider yourselves dismissed. We can have a full debrief when you're back on the ship." The three nod. They exchange a brief farewell before the hologram shuts off. Iskall turns to False, resting his hand on her arm to stop her rushing off.

"I'm sorry for shouting earlier," he apologises, straight to the point. "This has stressed me out more than I'd like, and finding out that scum got away just-" He breaks off. False smiles.

"It's okay. I get it." She couldn't believe it when she got back and he was gone. Then nobody knew where and her blame had to fall somewhere. "But they're with us, now. We're all safe. We got there in time."

"We nearly didn't."

"But we did," Etho states, joining the conversation. "Don't get stuck on the ifs right now. They're going to need us."

Iskall nods. "Right. Yeah." He perks himself up. "After mission nap?" False shakes her head, the three heading back through the ship.

"It's past midnight," she reminds him.

"After mission bedtime," Etho suggests. Iskall laughs, but nods along.

"Things could've gone worse," he states. False claps lightly, aware of the possible sleeping hermits.

"There you go! That's more like it."

"Mission successful-ish," Etho agrees.

"We got them back," False says, "That's the main thing."

"Yeah."

None of them want to consider the alternative.

[rolling-harbinger]

I find it so interesting how Hunter literally relates to every characters problems in the show, but it’s then taken to the extreme for him.

With Luz, they are similar because they both can’t do magic naturally, they also feel guilt for helping Belos, and they both can’t go home (but with Hunter it’s taken to the extreme because he’s been helping Belos his whole life, and as a witch he should be able to do magic. He also can’t go home or else he would literally be killed)

With Amity, they are similar because they both have controlling and neglectful parent(s) (but with Hunter it’s taken to the extreme because Belos doesn’t care for Hunter and his safety at all, while Amity’s parents do actually care for her and her safety. And Amity always had her siblings, and she’s starting to make amends with her dad. But Hunter was always alone, he only recently got Flapjack, and there is no way to make amends with Belos)

With King, they are similar because both of their families were all killed (but with Hunter it’s taken to the extreme because his family was killed by the person he loved the most. And can you even say he has a family considering he’s a clone?)

With Lilith, they are similar because they both have a need to please adult figures in their lives, and they also can’t fail the emperor (but with Hunter it’s taken to the extreme because the emperor is his uncle. His whole life he needed to please the emperor. He never grew up with a loving family, unlike Lilith)

With Willow, they are similar because they both were/ are considered half a witch witches (but with Hunter it’s taken to the extreme because while Willow actually did get magic and is also really powerful with it, Hunter will never have magic)

With Gus, they are similar because they are overlooked and ignored by adults because of their age (but with Hunter it’s taken to the extreme because even though he is in an authoritarian position, he is still belittled and mistreated by adults and even made fun of)

With Eda, they are similar because they both got dad/uncle issues, and have both probably dealt with a lot of panic attacks in their life (but with Hunter it’s taken to the extreme because while Edas dad actually does truly love her, no matter what she did, Hunters uncle never even loved him in the first place)

(Also, I’m not trying to compare trauma here and say he has it worst, I’m just stating how he has his similarities to these characters, but his side is really taken to the extreme )

There’s also problems he has that no one else in the show can quite relate to.

He grew up as a child soldier. I can imagine he has trauma similar that of a soldier in war. The training he does seems to be very extreme, especially for a kid. I can imagine he has seen some pretty graphic and horrific stuff in his line of work. He also lives basically everyday fighting, stopping criminals, and protecting the emperor as his guard. His life is constantly at risk from criminals, traitors, enemies of the emperor, his own colleagues, and now even the emperor himself, the person he loved and idolized. He has almost died (and even died in past lives) so many times. He never got to live a normal childhood. He had to grow up fast, and adapt to this life. But the only reason it isn’t heavily affecting him is because he grew up with this stuff. So it’s normal for him. He doesn’t see any of this stuff as bad, unlike what an adult would see because they hadn’t grown up like that.

He was also heavily sheltered and doesn’t know basic normal relationships, and doesn’t understand normal concepts. He doesn’t know what’s considered normal and what’s not. He thinks backstabbing people is a completely normal thing to do to others and even his own friends because it happens all of the time where he comes from.

Everything also has to be earned for him. Nothing can ever be taken easy. He’s a powerless witch, he has no purpose in a world like this. He works so hard to prove that he is strong, and can make the emperor proud. Cause if he can’t, this world will forget him, and he will be left behind. He has no real magic, so he is seen as nothing from most people.

He also thinks he always has to prove him self, and that he is worth nothing if he can’t be of service to someone. He thinks he will be replaced and forgotten the moment he can’t complete a task. He always has to complete a task or mission with no failures, because he can’t disappoint the person he thinks that sees him as special.

There’s also the high possibility that Belos most likely not only emotionally abuses and manipulates Hunter, he also physically abuses him. The way Hunter always flinches, and the constant threats from Belos. Belos also gaslights hunter even when hunter is not there. Like in Hollow Mind, hunter has a lot of knowledge on the mindscape, but the moment anything puts Belos in a negative light hunter starts to doubt himself and call himself an idiot in the sake of putting Belos on top. He belittles himself for Belos.

He is very lonely. Before flapjack, he has been basically alone for 16 years, with nothing but an abusive uncle for company.

He also has a lot of pressure. He will do anything to make Belos happy. He will betray people, trick people, and hurt people (even if they showed kindness towards him), not really out of malicious intent, but because he is so terrified of failing or making Belos mad. He becomes very desperate and anxious the moment he can’t succeed at something. He has a lot of anxiety and he just can’t fail. If he didn’t come back with results, something bad will happen to him. This also makes him very self sabotaging sadly. (And Unlike Lilith) this has been with him his whole life.

He doesn’t even know what a friend truly is, when Eda referred to flapjack as Hunters friend, he seemed confused and acted like he didn’t know what Eda was even talking about.

He not only has bad mental health, but also physical health. He has so many scars on his body which could be caused by both Belos and missions he has had in the past. He also has these huge bags under his eyes just showing how he barely ever sleeps. He’s described as scrawny by Amity, so he might also not eat a lot as well.

There can also be guilt he has for helping Belos kill so many Palismen. He might’ve even helped Belos kill witches and “traitors” too considering Belos made past golden guards help him with that. Hunter constantly has memories of Palismen, and how he has helped kill them. (Again, similar to soldiers with ptsd from killing) and the reason only the Palismen being killed is affecting Hunter and not other things is because so far in the story, that’s the only thing he has realized was bad because of his friendship with Flapjack. He thought sending his friends off to be part of the emperors coven was fine until he realized their palismen would be in danger. If he never made his friendship with his palismen, he wouldn’t have seen anything else wrong with that. He can’t see anything wrong with how horrible his life truly is until he gets something that tells him otherwise.

Then there is also the problem with his uncles curse. He always wants to help with his curse, and find some type of cure. But every time he suggests something that may help, his uncle dismisses him, and may even get mad at him and threaten him. Hunter constantly has to witness Belos’s violent outbursts, and maybe even had to deal with his cursed form head on sometimes. Hunter grew up with this constant violence and this need to somehow cure and help Belos.

He also believed his life was set up for him. That there was no way he can have a life HE would want to live. He was always told the titan had plans for him. And that he can’t die, not for the sake of his own being, but for the titan. He had no choices in his life. Everything he did, was for the emperor.

He is very insecure. He acts very confident and egotistical (especially with the mask) but he doubts himself a lot. He doesn’t see someone worth anything, he just sees someone who needs to be of service to the emperor.

And now I can see him also having really bad identity issues, questioning if anything is real, what even is he, is he worthless? Was his purpose just to be made and killed over and over again by Belos? Is HE even real? Is anything he does actually HIM doing that, or is it just the person he’s supposed to be a clone of? His whole life is a lie. Everything he ever believed was a lie. Belos never truly saw him as special. He saw him as a thing. As a tool. Something that can just be replaced. He is nothing.

Dude… Hunter is teetering back and forth on a very thin line of mental instability, I’m surprised he even made it this far without being completely insane. (Albeit, he did go a bit crazy temporarily in Eclipse Lake. And it’s probably not even the first time that’s happened)

He really represses his trauma, and even looks back at it as a fond memory. But I feel like with him being alone in the forest with nothing but his thoughts and a bird will make him realize how screwed up everything really is.

He has gone through so much, and I’m afraid for what the future may hold for him because I have a good feeling his trauma is far from over

[smp-live]

The apocalypse happened a few years ago. And- it's vague, the apocalypse. It's not some big earth-shattering moment. It's confused tv reports and impulse decisions and little growing bits of tension until the pot boils over.

The details are fuzzy; it all happened so quickly that many civilians were left unaware of what exactly went down. One day, they were living, and the next, most weren't.

Nukes, EMPs, solar flares - the survivors find it doesn't matter. One way or another, the world ended, millions died, and everything’s different. Hostile. Harsh. Unforgiving. The sun is bright and searing, and radiation burns skin not covered head-to-toe.

People are cruel and will take advantage of anything they can. If you're not a part of an already-existing group, good luck.

Somehow, two men end up on a wooden pallet floating in the middle of the ocean. Maybe it was a plane crash, one of the few still running downed by a stray shot; maybe a boat capsized, embrittled by the radiation. Same as the apocalypse, it doesn't matter. What does is that now they’re surrounded by debris and a shark thirsting for blood and there’s one thing they both know: trust no-one.

So they don’t. Names hold power, as they’ve learnt over the past few years; names imply trust. When it becomes apparent they’re stuck together and the time comes to introduce themselves, the elder of the two stares out to sea and says, “Call me...” And that phrase brings back memories of a book he’d read long ago, in the Before Days, and so he finishes, “Ishmael.”

The younger panics and blurts out the first thing that comes to mind: “I’m Gunk.”

‘Ishmael’ raises a skeptical eyebrow, clearly amused. “Gunk,” he repeats. And ‘Gunk’ nods, crosses his arms.

“Yeah, bitch. It’s...” his mind blanks, “Russian.”

Ishmael’s brow climbs further, and he looks on the verge of laughing, lips twisting ever-so-slightly upward. “Last name?”

“Uh,” Gunk wracks his brain, and something from a history class, years ago, stands out. Nearly forgotten amongst all the useless information - what he calls anything that doesn’t directly contribute to survival, nowadays - and only clinging on through his brain classifying it as ‘important’ for God-knows-why. “Gorbachov.”

“Like... Michael Gorbachov?” There’s a hint of laughter in Ishmael’s tone now, the first in a while. He tries not to let that thought depress him.

Gunk nods, relieved at the reminder of the rest of the name, even if he still can’t place it. “Yeah. He was my father.”

“Michael Gorbachov, eighth and final leader of Soviet Russia, was your father,” Ishmael deadpans, and, frustrated at having been outplayed, Gunk scowls.

“What of it?” he challenges, which makes Ishmael laugh, throwing his head back to the blistering sun high above.

“Okay, Gunk,” he says, and yet it doesn’t feel patronizing.

They both know the other is lying, that much is obvious from the constant teasing and jokes about Gunk’s ‘father.’ But it doesn’t matter, because in the slow turning of the days, they grow close. After all, there’s not much to do on a makeshift raft in the middle of the ocean, other than chat.

Ishmael is handy, and the main reason for their survival. He knows how to purify water and fillet a fish, how to add on to their raft without nails and swim against the ocean current. Gunk wonders where he picked all that up, but never asks.

(A survivalist father and paranoid brother, whom Ishmael hasn’t seen in half a decade. The thought that they’re probably still alive brings him comfort.)

Gunk, on the other hand, does most of the grunt work. Fishing in debris that floats by, diving down for rocks when they briefly dock, and the ever-important duty of keeping the shark they named Clive from destroying their miserly raft. He keeps up a steady stream of chatter through it all, and Ishmael thinks that’s what makes the monumental effort to go on worth it. Then, he wonders when he let himself get attached.

(It was a week or so in, when Gunk had fashioned himself a shelf out of the bottom of a storage bin and some planks, and proclaimed it his ‘comfort shelf.’ Gunk felt the same when Ishmael didn’t tell him to dismantle it, only pushed it aside, even though they were supposed to use that wood to repair Clive’s last attack.)

They survive, they grow closer, they hesitantly trust, and yet, they don’t pry. They don’t share their real names. Not until one day.

Ishmael goes swimming out to a nearby island to scavenge for food and chop down a few trees, if he can manage. Gunk stays on the ship - an anchor is next on their to-do list, and so he’s responsible for keeping it from drifting off with his tiny paddle. Except it’s not well-crafted, and grey jaws reach up to snap at the wood he’s standing on so he uses it to stab Clive, and the tip breaks off. The raft starts drifting away.

“Ishmael!” he calls, then again, louder, “Ishmael! Fuck, man!” But he’s nowhere to be seen, and the current is dragging Gunk awfully far out from the island.

He keeps calling, shouting, screaming, increasingly panicked at leaving his friend, the man who’d helped him survive for months, now, behind. Until his voice grows hoarse the way it never did from rambling for hours on end, and a little speck appears on the beach of the island.

Ishmael waves widely at him, and he must be shouting but Gunk can’t hear it over the lapping of the waves. So he assumes what was said, hollers, “I can’t fuckin’ come back, arsehole!” and raises the remains of the paddle over his head to clarify.

The speck stills, then bursts into motion, tossing everything he’s holding aside and shucking his shoes. Gunk can practically hear him mutter about what an “ridiculous child” he is, because although they’ve never shared their ages Ishmael’s decided he’s the elder of the two, which obviously means Gunk is a child.

And then Ishmael dives into the water, and he’s closing the distance between himself and the raft with each stroke. He cuts a straight line through the waves, until he suddenly swerves to the left. Gunk is confused a moment, before he notices - a grey fin jutting out of the water next to him.

Clive goes in for another pass, then another, and Ishmael jukes him out both times. He’s maybe five meters away, now, but the shark is coming back so Gunk screams. But Ishmael’s head is underwater, and he doesn’t hear. Just keeps going, towards safety he won't make it to.

Clive barrels into him. Ishmael vanishes underwater.

He doesn’t come back up.

Gunk is diving in before he can properly think, pushing past the cold shock of the sea, as he uses his self-taught skills to bring him to where he guesses Ishmael last was. Then, he takes a deep breath, squeezes his eyes shut, and goes under.

After a nervewracking few moments, his elbow bumps into something and he latches on, desperately dragging it upwards. They break the surface and he gasps for breath, Ishmael limp against him.

The trip back is agonizing. Ishmael is deadweight, their clothes are waterlogged, and Gunk has never been the best swimmer. But Clive is still lurking, and he refuses to drown after all this time, so he manages to drag them both back to the raft through pure willpower and spite.

Gunk collapses next to where he’d heaved Ishmael onto the planks, taking a second to compose himself. Shivering violently, he curls into a ball - he'll have to go for a spare change of clothes. His eyes drift shut. In a moment.

Then, panic seizes his heart as he becomes aware of how still Ishmael is. He jerks up, staring at him, searching for any sign of life, anything-

But a moment later he relaxes, when Ishmael rolls over and starts heaving out saltwater. Gunk reaches over and pats him on the back until it subsides, and he falls back onto the wood.

“You,” Ishmael says, letting his eyes flutter shut, “are so stupid.”

Gunk feels a burst of indignation. “Hey, what the fuck! I just saved your dumbass, Ish-ma-el.” He scowls at Ishmael’s placid little twist of the lips.

“Wilbur,” he murmurs, hands folded over his chest.

“What?”

“My name is Wilbur.”

Oh.

“I’m Tommy,” he says after a moment of silence where it sinks in, what he’d just been told, the trust laid on him, and then lays down next to Ishmael - Wilbur, now.

Wilbur just hums and wraps an arm under his shoulders, tugging him close - which is new; they’re really going all-in with this trust thing, huh? - then says, “So, so stupid.”

“Oi,” Tommy protests, but leans in closer.

Things aren’t really visibly different, after that. They still bicker, still do the same daily tasks, still slip up and call each other ‘Ishmael’ and ‘Gunk’ - though it becomes less and less common, other than with a teasing tone. They finally get their anchor, which means Tommy has the chance to go on land; though he quickly grows to dislike it after an incident with a particularly pissed-off boar.

To an outsider, everything remains the same. But to the inhabitants of the raft, it feels different. More homely. Warmer.

Once, after Wilbur chides Tommy over something or another, Tommy rolls his eyes and says, “You know, we really are like brothers.” He tries to keep his tone joking, and to not let himself hope for the words to be true.

Wilbur freezes. “Don’t say that; I’ll cry.” He blinks once to keep the tears at bay, and tries to push down the warmth in his chest.

(They both fail.)

About four months in, a light appears in the distance, at night. They angle their sail towards it and the dark shadow on the horizon. A few days later, it becomes apparent what it is: a lighthouse.

Inhabited land. Civilization.

They gather their meagre supplies once they dock, then ditch the raft in favour of climbing the lighthouse. And, from the top, off over a hill, Wilbur spots it first, points it out to his brother, who squints-

A Dome.

[the-sunshine-dims]

what kind of monster

Ao3

Words: 5.8k 

Summary: “Sometimes people just aren’t good”

Hunter, knew that,

 But what did that mean for him, who even after everything, still missed belos?

(or: Hunter, after thinking about it for a while, asked Eda a question, and then promptly internalized the answer. but eventually, it all comes to a head, and he gets comfort and some more answers that he may not know what to do with, but will help him cope in the future)

Contents and Warnings: minor injury, hunter angst, lots of mentioned child abuse and manipulation, panic attacks, abuse mindset, hurt/comfort, happy ending, post-season two finale, minor character death (belos),

______

“Sometimes people just aren’t good”

That answer had repeated in Hunter's brain on loop for days.

 He still didn’t know how to feel about it.

 Hunter didn’t think he knew how to feel about anything frankly, he knew he should feel relieved.

 Belos was gone, he couldn’t hurt people anymore, he couldn’t hurt him, anymore. but he didn’t. 

 And they were back to the boiling isles, everyone they loved was safe and- mostly, okay.

 They’d stopped the day of unity, his friends were back with their families, healing. and he had been brought to the owl house while everything else was sorted out.

 It felt weird being in the owl house, so maybe that contributed to how weird everything else felt, but he didn’t know.

 Maybe it was just everything in general.

 The world he knew had been stolen right out from under him like the casual rug. and he’d.. dealt. but now he knew nothing, and what he did know got him pitying looks from the owl lady.

 He was so lucky to have flapjack, he was his beacon of some much-needed stability.

 Nevertheless, however, even though he had him,

  He was still so lost.

 So, to cope with how lost he felt, he’d thought. and thought. and he knew that always ended poorly but he couldn’t really just stop.

 And one thing he kept thinking about was how could the Emp- Belos do that?

 Once he’d realized the emerald entrails being made to join the emperor's coven would cause them detriment he’d scrambled to fix it, he’d seen what would happen to their palisman, and he couldn't let that happen.

 And even after he found out that Darius had planned to just take them back to hexside, and that them and their palisman had never been in any real danger, he’d felt so much guilt it was nauseating.

 How could Belos deal with that?

 How could he deal with intentionally planning to kill everyone?

 How could he deal with hurting him?

 And eventually, after far too long of the questions just bouncing around in his head, he’d asked the owl lady.

 She’d paused what she was doing, visibly hesitating, choosing her words carefully before speaking.

 And Hunter knew she said more than that, but that one sentence was the only thing he heard, it overshadowing anything else she said.

  Sometimes people just aren't good,

 How simple a message and how it ate at him.

 Sometimes people just weren’t good.

 And he’d not seen it, he’d not seen all the signs, even though he knew they were there.

 But he had just looked the other direction, so confident that he was just looking too far into it, or misreading it, or being ungrateful.

 And even now, even after Belos tried to kill him, multiple times, even after the mistreatment, even after he saw Belos, his uncle, splatter against the wall with a sickening 

  Squelch

 Before the wall crumbled.

 Even after it all, even after he realized Belos wasn’t good.

 He missed him, he missed him so much.

 He tried not to, but he did.

 He couldn’t even say he hated him, he couldn't say he hated him but still missed him, because that would be understandable, or at least he could make some sense of it.

 But he didn’t hate him either.

 He deserved to hate him, he wanted to say he hated him.

 But he didn’t.

  Sometimes people just aren’t good.

 And he still didn’t hate him, even after everything.

 Hunter has tried to make up for everything he’s done, he's tried desperately.

 But he doesn’t hate him.

 and he misses him.

 He misses his uncle, the one who would sometimes tell him things about the human world with a wistful smile. he misses the uncle who would smile at him almost proudly when he tried to carve those wooden figures, even when he messed up and kept cutting his fingers, the one who had gently encouraged him to continue. he missed the uncle who said the titan had big plans for him. because that meant he was destined for something, he was good for something, he was useful. and if he worked hard enough, he could not only make the titan happy but he could make his uncle proud, truly, completely, happily, proud.

 He missed that uncle.

 The same uncle who would use his curse- a self-inflicted curse- to hurt him, to grab him harshly, to scream, to leave him battling infection at just how deep that cut is. the same uncle who left a scar on his cheek, and a notch in his ear. The same uncle who left a litter of scars on the side of his ribs, arms, and legs.

 The same uncle who would give him corrections for even the smallest most minuscule misstep.

 The one who made Hunter flinch at every touch.

 And he missed him.

 If Belos was a bad person, a person who hurt countless people, so countless it was pretty much the entire boiling isles.

 If he was bad.

 What kind of monster was Hunter to miss him?

 Even after all Belos had done, even when Hunter knows he’ll never come back, and is relieved by that.

 What kind of monster still misses him.

 ___

 The thought stays in his mind for days, then weeks, as the world rebuilds itself. He helps, as much as he’s allowed, he’s told the adults can do it, that it’s their responsibility. 

 But that doesn’t do more than frustrate him.

 He sometimes tries to help, but sometimes he just stays back at the owl house with hooty and sometimes King, just trying to do anything he can to not feel useless.

 Anything to distract himself.

 Hunter feels such immense guilt at the realization that in doing so he’d been accidentally pulling away from flapjack. spending less time with the bird. and he tries to stop it, to give them more attention, to always be with him.

  But what if Hunter hurt him?

 Hunter may not be his actual nephew but he still grew up with Belos, he was still made by him. He was still a grimwalker. What if he hurt him?

  What if he killed him, broke the wooden palisman in half just like Belos did. in the same way that’s made him nauseous dozens of times?

  He can't hurt flapjack.

 He doesn't want to hurt flapjack.

 It doesn’t take long at all for him to start drawing away from flapjack again, and then others, getting to the point of barely speaking unless spoken to.

 He can’t let them know what a monster he is, he can’t lose this, the only time he’s ever really felt safe.

 Hunter can't lose this.

 He can't lose them, especially not because they’ll know he missed him, they’ll think he never changed, they’ll think all of their care was for nothing.

 The owl lady will kick him out.

 But he has changed, at least he thinks he has, he doesn’t excuse anything Belos did- except for the things he’s done to him.

 Because the more days passed, the more Hunter thought maybe he really did deserve it, maybe Belos could see how truly horrible and disgusting Hunter was.

 Maybe he knew.

 Maybe that’s why it was so easy for his uncle to decide he wanted to get rid of Hunter.

 Because not only was he a grimwalker, not family, not even a witch, he was also a monster.

 In the true sense of the word.

 Sometimes people just aren’t good.

 And who would know that better than Belos, who’d be able to spot it quicker?

 But the owl lady, and Luz, and the captain and Gus and Darius and Ms. Camilla and everyone else, they were good people, wholeheartedly kind people.

 Of course, they couldn’t spot it.

 They didn't have any frame of reference for it.

 They weren’t awful people who missed people even when they were bad, they weren't selfish enough to hide it, they weren't useless, not able to help with anything even when he tried.

 But Hunter is.

 He doesn’t know why flapjack chose him, he should’ve found a better witch, they deserved one.

 But now they're stuck with him.

 At least in theory, if that bird wanted to leave they would have. 

 He felt guilt from how grateful he felt that flapjack stayed, even just a bit longer.

 He truly was awful.

 ____

 He’d tried getting better, tried being better, he helped with anything he could. He shared anything he had that Luz or King were interested in. He played with King more. He gave anything he had to anyone he’d thought would like it. He cleaned and dusted and did anything he could to help Eda. 

 He tried being good.

  He didn’t want to be bad.

 But he shouldn’t have thought that would help anything.

 No matter what he did he was bad.

 And that thought was even more sure of itself as he stared at the broken plate on the ground in abject horror.

 He had tried washing dishes, it wasn’t his turn but he’d volunteered anyway, he’d wanted to help out, to prove he wasn’t a failure, wasn’t useless, wasn’t bad.

 And Hunter had broken a plate.

 It had just slipped out of the wet gloves' grip.

 And suddenly everything was loud as he heard the dish fall, hit the ground.

 And shatter.

 His heart dropping into the pit of his stomach with it. 

 He’d broken it.

 Oh titan they would be furious.

  …And they would know.

 He’d failed.

 His uncle- Belos, was right, he only messed stuff up, no wonder he’d needed the corrections if he messed up this bad.

 He couldn't breathe.

 But- maybe he could fix it? Maybe he could still make it better?

 a little desperately he reached down to pick up the shards.

 The gloves would protect his hands so he didn't even hesitate.

 And they would be less mad if he at least cleaned up his mess, maybe he wouldn’t even have to tell them- no that would be lying, he had to tell them.

 Whatever consequences he’d get were his own fault.

 He shoved the glove-full of glass into the trash before picking up the bigger pieces and doing the same.

 Another handful, another shove into the trash.

 He ignored the sting as the especially sharp pieces cut into his glove and then his palms.

  Great, just great. He forcibly took a deep breath.

 This was fine.

 Hunter was fine, he could deal with that later.

 Another handful, another shove.

 Another handful, another shove.

 Soon it was so little that he just needed a dustpan

 He should’ve just used a pan from the start- he was so stupid.

 He tried desperately to take another deep breath.

 It was fine, it didn’t matter, they wouldn’t know how he cleaned it up, they'd even be happy that he hadn’t burdened them with his weakness.

 He could still make the owl lady proud, she wouldn't be mad, she wouldn’t know.

 His breathing wasn't working.

 His lungs stuttered and he just swore under his breath.

  Not right now.

  He was fine.

 He hated when his body did this, it was so unnecessary.

 He did his best to ignore it.

 Where was the dustpan? He needed to deal with this first then he could deal with his body not wanting to breathe.

 He couldn't just abandon what he was doing.

 He could feel the glass shards dig further into his palm.

 He winced but didn't stop his search.

 He throws open cabinet after cabinet.

 And can't find it.

 Or the broom but the dustpan is what he needs, that's what's important.

  He still can’t find it.

 He feels the blood run down his wrist, his breathing speeds up.

  He has to prove he’s good.

 He can't find it.

 His vision swirls and at last, he just collapses against the counter, legs moving against his chest like a barrier.

 He was gonna make b- Eda so mad.

 And he couldn’t blame her.

 Belos was right.

 Hunter was a monster who could never do anything right.

 He gasped for air and buried his head in his knees. 

  “Sorry I took so long kid, I heard some shattering but I was underneath King and Luz, you alright-“

 He went rigid and the voice cut off.

 He prepared for the punishment. moving his arms to the sides of him stiffly but not looking up.

 She’d see Hunter broke her plate, her stuff, and she’d see he couldn’t even do the decent thing and properly clean it up and on top of that he’d hurt himself.

 He made the careful move not to bleed on the floor.

 She had every right to be mad,

 Titan, he’d be lucky if she just left him to deal with everything on his own, just turn on her heel and leave- maybe just not let him use the first-aid supplies to clean up the cuts on his palms when he was done with all the stuff he needed to fix. That's what his uncle used to do for a lesser punishment, but it would be a very tame punishment for this disaster.

 He heard her approach and scrunched his eyes closed further, 

 So he was not going to be lucky.

 Okay, that was okay, he was fine, he was used to this, he knew what to do.

 He just had to do what his un- what the owl lady wanted.

  And he needed his breathing to quiet down, he would be lucky if she didn’t notice.

 He was most definitely not known for his luck though, especially today.

 And then, she was in front of him, at least if the shadow looming over him- darkening his already dark view of his knees, was anything to go by. 

 and he couldn’t help but tense even more, his shoulders coming up to where his head would be if he weren't so scrunched.

 Preparing for anything.

 Suddenly though, the shadow was gone, at least not looming over him as it had before.

 “Oh, goldie... I’m so sorry I wasn’t here sooner,”

 And instantly he had to repress the urge to jerk his head up in pure shock- before he reminded himself of course she wanted to have been here sooner that way she could’ve stopped his complete screw-up.

 Instead, he just took a practiced unnoticeable glance up, just to gauge the anger-to-disappointment ratio.

 She didn’t actually look mad , not really. she was just sitting across from him, her legs cross-legged, and her one hand placatingly on the floor. 

 She looked more concerned than anything.

 But why? he messed up.

 Hunter kept messing up.

 “Alright kid,” she started, getting his attention. “I’m gonna be honest, I’m real rusty with this, but we gotta get you breathing, yeah?” The owl lady told him softly.

 He didn’t acknowledge her.

 He knew it was disrespectful, and considering everything else it wasn’t smart, even if she wasn’t actually angry at him now it would make her angry, why was he testing her patience?

 But she still didn’t yell.

 Which didn’t make sense.

 He kept messing up, he kept being awful, he kept not being good, and she kept not being mad!

  It didn’t make sense.

 He choked down a frustrated sob as he breathed harshly into his legs.

 His chest hurt, it felt constricted.

 He deserved this though, this was all his fault.

 If he had just looked closer.

 He could’ve helped, 

  Why wasn’t she mad?

 He heard a steady noise and noticed she’d begun counting.

 Maybe counting till she officially decided he was a lost cause.

 3.. 2.. 1..

 And then she just started over,

 He blinked, that was one theory proved wrong.

 Oh yeah, she was doing that breathing thing Gus did. 

 Why was she still helping him?

 And he was being so ungrateful-

 She paused, 

 He held his breath

 “Kid, can I come closer to you?”

 He froze, looking up a little before deciding that was the right choice and nodding.

 She offered a small smile before slowly and carefully crawling forward- attentively avoiding the pile of tiny shards of glass- and easily sliding over to sit next to him against the counter, but still giving him space.

 And Hunter just waited with bated breath to see what her plan was.

 “Okay, now. again kid, don't feel pressured to agree, you won't be punished if you say no. understand?” she waited till he gave a small- almost unnoticeable nod before continuing “okay then, alright kid. May I hold your hand?” Eda paused before explaining “It might help ground you,” 

 And even as she asked she didn't make any move towards him.

 And Hunter knew it could be a trick, he’d dealt with plenty of those.

 But the more he thought about it, he didn’t think Eda had ever tricked him before .

 He still didn't know why she wanted to help, but, all the same, after an initial hesitation, and trying to remember which hand was covered in blood and shards of glass, he nodded.

 And slowly and carefully the owl lady offered her hand, and he took it.

 And he still couldn’t breathe. everything still hurt and ached and the tears he didn’t think he’d noticed before were still escaping his eyes- like a petulant child-

 But suddenly he held onto her lone hand like a lifeline, holding it hard enough to probably leave a bruise.

 The owl lady just let out a soft chuckle and smiled before starting to recite the breathing thing again, this time decidedly without the movement of her hand.

 She still didn’t yell at him.

 And he was almost amazed by that.

 He was acting like an immature child. Belos would have been furious, why wouldn’t the owl lady?

 And suddenly guilt filled him, resting in the pit of his stomach and settling deep into his bones.

 Now, not only was he being childish, he was being ungrateful too, and comparing Miss Eda to Belos.

 She was nothing like him.

 Even when they weren’t on the same side she’d never done half the things Belos did.

  And yet he still missed Belos.

 The reminder shot through him with an unpleasant shock.

 And yet he still missed Belos.

 And- and the owl lady didn’t know, and he was taking advantage of her kindness and she would be so mad- or disappointed.

 He didn’t know which one would be worse.

 She’d been so good to him, she’d not even once so much as threatened him since he’d started staying there!

 And yet Hunter still missed Belos.

 The person who had, who'd threatened him and delivered on those threats numerous times.

 The one who’d done so many awful things.

 And he knew about those awful things, he had felt those awful things for days and weeks following the day of unity, everytime he so much as looked at his arm he remembered those awful things. The coven sigil, and the painful lightning-shaped scars shooting up his arm because of it.

 Sometimes he still felt it, the phantom sensations of the electric pain traveling up his veins just like they did on the day of unity.

 He knew about it all, and yet he was still betraying them.

 He pulled away suddenly from the owl lady, letting her hand go limp and curling into himself instead,

 He was an awful person for taking advantage of the kindness- he needed to just get over it, then clean everything up and then he’d- he’d figure something out.

 That had always worked for him before! 

 And he didn't want to bother the owl lady.

 Unluckily for him, she didn’t seem to get the memo, frowning so hard he could feel it without even looking.

 Why couldn't she just go away? Leave him to deal with it alone, like Belos used to.

 And therein lay the many problems he refused to acknowledge.

 She wasn’t Belos, she wasn’t anything even like Belos.

 So, after giving him a minute she continued.

 “Sunshine, Goldilocks. I know, I know. it’s really hard, but kid, I can't help if I don’t know what’s going on,” she tried before pausing.

 And he suddenly felt very much in trouble, but he just couldn’t share everything boiling inside him, not right now, not sitting on the floor of the kitchen literally directly beside his mistakes. 

 But, she didn't even mention the shards of glass, and she didn't push. Instead, pausing, simply breathing, before going “actually, how about we talk about something else?”

 He made a noise suitable for his confusion but she didn’t explain any.

 “What about flapjack? That’s your little guy's name right?” Eda asked, 

 And he took a second before looking at her and nodding, even though he was pretty sure she already very much knew.

 But still, The owl lady smiled before continuing “glad I got that right! He’s a cute little bugger isn’t he?” Hunter nodded hesitantly “and I swear he absolutely adores you, whenever you're not around for one reason or another he’ll just deflate” she chuckled, a little bittersweetly.

 “I love him too!” Hunter rushed out immediately, afraid if he didn’t, it would come into question.

 She just smiled warmly, “you really do, you two have such a bond, you brats are ..usually practically joined at the hip! Little trouble makers,” she laughed again, 

 and Hunter very particularly noticed the way she said ‘usually’ but didn’t mention it, she was right. 

 “Is there anything you two little trouble makers have done recently?” The owl lady asked.

 And he saw it for the very clear escape it was, an invitation to not talk about it, an invitation to talk about something else, anything else. And he tried not to show just how relieved he was for it.

 he took a breath, carefully considering his words “well… um, flapjack’s recently started trying to preen hooty,”

 “Slightly horrifying! Next,” she clicked her tongue, before grinning, gold fang sticking out characteristically.

 He blinked “uh, he’s been trying to steal the flapjacks every time you’ve made them ever since he learned what they were called?” he supplied tentatively, before smiling a little down at himself at the memory.

 Eda made a motion to keep going in his peripheral vision and he did so.

 “Oh When we were staying at hexside he started doing this really cute- don’t tell him I said that- thing, where he’d just use my hair as a nest and fall asleep, he still does it sometimes but it started then!” He smiled brightly

 Hunter didn’t need to even look in his peripheral vision this time to keep going.

 “Also Luz made them a little hat! He hated it!” He grinned.

 “Oh! And again when we were in hexside he kept finding every little spot to hide! He especially liked my cloaks- he would always steal them! He really liked the blue one but I think his favorite was probably the golden guard one. Back at the castle I remember one time when I actually got a picture, I uh.. don’t have my scroll anymore from when I left, but I sent it to Willow and I’m pretty sure if I asked she could send it back to me!” He lit up at the realization.

 “Oh! and I remember there was this one time a little after he first chose me, when we were on a mission on the knee and he did this really cute thing where he just buried himself into my cloak hood between my neck because they were cold!” Hunter laughed

 “Also! he would just nest on any paperwork he could find and it was actually really annoying because I had to read it over and sign it so I could file it before I got in trouble, but it was almost always far too endearing to move him!” he spoke, using his hands exuberantly for emphasis.

 And she was just smiling, a whole lot more sadly than Hunter was expecting. Who would be sad about flapjack stories? 

 Still, though, she was smiling, and so much more genuinely in that single moment than he thinks Belos had ever, let alone at him.

 And she was still being so nice even when he's messed up so much.

 And suddenly guilt consumes him in an instant.

 And he can barely even attempt to stop himself before emotions run high and the guilt is pouring out.

 “ I’m sorry- I’m so sorry miss Eda-” The words rush out of his mouth and suddenly he remembers it’s not a real apology unless he admits what he’s done wrong.

 and she deserves a real apology.

 “Kid- what?-“

 “I’m sorry you had to deal with me,” he looked away from her, breathing suddenly not good again, -“ I’m sorry I keep messing up- I tried to be good- I really did and I messed up again- I ruined your dish and couldn’t clean up my own mess and then you had to deal with me-“

 “Hunter- it’s okay- kid, a broken plate is normal, Luz broke like five within the first week of her living here! you don’t have to be sorry-“ 

 He just shook his head stubbornly, she didn’t understand, and a part of him almost didn’t want to make her understand, but that was a selfish part, an awful part,

 A self-preserving part.

 “No!” He says, much louder than he should’ve, Whirling his head around to look at her.

 “You don’t understand,” he tried again, much quieter “I’m sorry,” he whispers, 

 Eda just gave him a sad look.

 “I've tried, I’ve tried so much, I promise! to be good, and to not be bad- and I thought I was doing well, but I’m not, I'm not Miss. Clawthorne” he admits, quietly “I tried, I don’t want to be bad”

 “..kid, what makes you- in your words- what makes you think you're bad?” The owl lady asked, slowly, carefully.

 Hunter took a careful deep breath, Ms. Eda shouldn’t have to deal with his whooping gasps.

 “…you remember when we talked about um, Belos..?” He started hesitantly, 

 She nodded before pausing, “kid that was like a month ago!”

 He visibly deflated even more into himself, and there was a beat before she just took a breath.

 “Kid, just how long has this been haunting you?” Eda asked softly.

 Hunter looked down nervously. suddenly longing to have both of his hands free to fiddle with. before considering his next words.

 “I know Belos is a bad person,” he clarified, just in case, because she had to know that he knew that. “he did horrible things, he tried to kill everyone- titan- he tried to kill me, multiple times. I know that,” 

 “He was a bad person, he hurt me and an uncountable amount of others”

 “And he’s gone now, and everyone is so relieved- and I am too, but I-“

 Hunter bit the inside of his cheek, thinking of a way to phrase it.

 “He hurt me, he was never even good to me,”

 “But… I don’t hate him, not like everyone else does, and-“

 He turned suddenly, moving his head to look the older witch in the eyes,

 And her expression was so clearly sad, that it made him hesitate again for a second.

 Still, he continued.

 “Ms. Eda- I miss him,” he finally admitted.

 A month's over-due sob tore itself out of his chest and he wrapped his arms around his stomach tightly, the dried blood causing an unpleasant sensation that sent shivers up his spine.

  “Oh, Hunter..” 

 He sniffled pathetically.

  Here it comes

 “I definitely should’ve thought what I was saying through just a little more, baby it’s expected that you’d miss him,” she told him softly.

  Not what he was expecting.

 He blinked the wet out of his eyes, “what- what do you mean?”

 She sighed, but somehow not in an exasperated way.

 “kid, he was your uncle, all of your life he was your only family, you loved him, and that’s okay, he was your only option as a support system for so long, even when he hurt you, he was your uncle,”

 The owl lady took another breath, thinking.

 “Just because Belos was a bad person doesn’t mean you can just flip a switch and hate him, you need time. And you’re allowed to mourn and grieve for him, even despite all he did. In fact, it’s normal for abuse victims to still care for, and miss their abusers,”

 She gave him another melancholic look,

 “Baby, he was your guardian. your family, no matter how much he hurt you, he raised you. you're not bad for missing him, especially when everything is still so fresh. and you may hate him eventually, or you may never be able to hate him. but you're still just a kid, you're only sixteen, and that’s okay.”

 He tightened his arms, squeezing a little painfully.

 “But I want to hate him- I should hate him!”

 Eda just tsk-ed and he froze for a second before she spoke “again, sweetheart, eventually you may be able to, but, also again, you're a kid, you're so young, and it’s okay and expected that you don’t, not right now” 

 Hunter wondered if he looked as lost as he suddenly felt.

 He bit his cheek, settling his face securely into his knees as his stomach swam uneasily and as he barely repressed another sob as the kitchen drifted into a suffocating and loud silence, even exempt from his rackety tears.

 The keyword there, however, was barely, as hardly two minutes passed before he was overcome with emotion again and the sob wracked his body, with more following.

 And soon he was a sobbing, hiccuping mess.

 He kept trying to rub his eyes to rid himself of the tears but more just kept coming.

 He heard a sympathetic noise.

 “Kiddo, do you want a hug?”

 He didn't even respond, instead just barreling blindly into where he heard her voice come from.

 She let out a small ‘oof’ before huffing a small chuckle and wrapping her arms around him, Hunter burying his face into her neck in return, and just crying.

 It almost hurt, the big whooping gasps forcing their way out as he tried desperately to get any air in, and as his lungs rejected it every time.

 And his face did hurt, his eyes and his nose, both red and swollen and aching as they got more so.

 And his hand-

 Everything hurt, and Eda was there, holding him like he was sure a mom would.

 He felt like a child, even though he wasn’t- he was a teen prodigy, and far too old for this. He should be above all of this.

 But every time she called him a kid, she never said it like it was a bad thing, he simply was.

 and that was okay.

 A particularly harsh sob shook him and all the air exited his lungs before coming back in frantic hiccups and gulps, Eda used her one hand to carefully rub circles in his back, just being there for him.

  “You should hate me,”  he told her, a little desperately.

 Eda didn’t stop rubbing circles, just offering a small ‘mm?’ 

 “Even- even if I’m not a bad person-“ 

 “you aren’t goldie,”

 “Even if I’m not- I still made a big mess off something you said weeks ago- you shouldn’t have to deal with this-“

 The older witch simply sighed and he almost thought she was going to agree with him, push him onto the ground, and leave. but instead she simply adjusted them both to be a bit more comfortable and took a breath before putting on a small comforting smile.

 “Kid, I knew perfectly well what I’d be dealing with when I let you stay with me, you're a child soldier whose only guardian failed you. I wasn't expecting you to have no problems,” she said as nicely as she could.

  “Sweetheart, I was fully expecting this breakdown, took longer than I thought it would, I'll admit, but I expected it. and I knew I would be there for you through it,”

 “I knew you’d have problems hun, I knew you’d have issues, and I don’t expect you to fully trust me with those issues. we go at your pace,”

 “ but when I can- I will be there for you, no questions asked.”

 Hunter wasn’t sobbing anymore but he was definitely crying, really hard.

 He didn’t think Belos has ever even offered anything close to that.

 The owl lady, the one who’d been a wanted criminal for like, twenty years, was nicer than someone who had been the supposed emperor.

 He almost wanted to laugh at the pure irony.

 But his head felt fuzzy, probably from the dehydration, so instead, he simply wrapped his arms around the owl lady’s neck-

 Or one of them, the other was caught gently by said owl lady, Wincing in sympathy immediately “oh sweetheart, are you hurt?”

 He nodded, even though he knew that was probably rhetorical.

 She winced again, “oh kid, I’m sorry. Why don't we patch you up? and then we can watch a bunch of dumb human shows and eat a bunch of eye-scream until Luz and King see us and demand we share?”

 That sounded.. nice, 

 His head hurt, and he was so tired, so he simply offered a small nod against her chest and tried not to let his eyes drift close for too long at a time.

 But maybe he’d not been too good at that as soon he feels himself being carried, and then his hand being patched up.

 And then he’s on the couch, sinking into it just a little against where he was pretty sure the owl lady sat. And he can’t hear any of the alleged shows, but he doesn’t open his eyes to look for it.

 Instead, he just settled further into the owl lady’s side, to a point he’d probably be super embarrassed about by tomorrow. But why worry about tomorrow when today he was tired and safe?

 He suddenly heard careful chirps and trills nearby, and he tried to open his mouth to respond, but he just couldn't, his brain and mouth just not working.

 Thankfully though, he heard someone else reply in his stead.

 “Don’t worry, he’ll be okay now.” Eda reassured

 And it got quiet for a minute, Hunter could tell that much, before a couple more chirps filled the air, these ones more hushed and muted to his exhausted brain, he could only barely make it out.

  Good, good, my boy, safe, all okay. 

 Before he felt his bird settle into his hair.

 And he didn't think he’d ever felt more loved than that single moment as he finally fell asleep.

 This time, unburdened by the thoughts and nightmares that had been plaguing him for weeks.

 This time, surrounded by two of the people he knew genuinely loved him.

[twicethetrouble]

Yet another RvB au i’ll probably never write

AI Washington

(you can blame this and my boring day at work for this random monstrosity.)

- OG Washington (from here on just called David) died.

- Late in Freelancer times David was sent on a mission and came back severely injured only to later succumb to his injuries in medbay.

-The Director, having found he couldn’t get anymore fragments from Alpha, had been putting together the basis of a new smart AI (illegally. with a hog podge of different codes strapped together. He was seeing if he could do so without the UNSCs specialized equipment and, therefore, out of their control. He could.) By that point, he only needed a brain to copy in order to finish it. What better to use than a newly deceased, top ten agent.

- David’s brain is copied and imprinted onto the AI.

- The Director expected the new AI (he named Recovery) to immediately try to interact with him upon coming online, like Alpha and the other fragments did. 

- He does not. (David wasn’t like the Director. David was a soldier trained by freelancer to run anything from stealth ops to full frontal assaults. There’s no way in hell a brain imprint of David would make himself vulnerable before he knew what was going on.)

- Instead, Recovery (fully aware of his AI status and having access to all of David’s knowledge/memories/mannerisms) stays quiet to figure out where he is and why.

- It takes Recovery barely a second to find and go through the Director’s notes on Alpha, the fragments, and him. He does not like what he finds

- Recovery realizes that if the Director ever finds out he was successful in creating a smart AI without the UNSC’s assistance, he will do it again. and again. and again. And he would fragment them all just like Alpha, so he has even more.

-Recovery doesn’t want that.

- So Recovery play’s dumb. When he brings himself visibly online, he pretends he doesn’t know he’s an AI. He fakes confusion and pretends he cannot do any normal AI functions. He pretends he still thinks he’s Washington.

- As far as the Director knows, Recovery is of no use as an AI. But he still has the brain of a top ten Freelancer.

- He throws Recovery into a hobbled together robot body that barely passes as human from a distance then sends him out to recover lost Freelancer tech under the assumption that Recovery still thinks he’s just Washington.

- Fast forward a bit and by now Recovery settled into the role of Washington (not David. Never David. He took this man’s title as an Agent, not his entire life.)

- Recovery (now known as Wash) refuses to have an AI even share his suit because it would be too easy for then to spot his bluff (Alpha was the only exception because Church wouldn’t be able to recognize an AI if it bit him in the digital ass)

- Wash survives the EMP because his suit was made to withstand it (it would have to be with his enhancement as it was) though he didn’t expect it too.

- Even after they find the Director, Wash decides not to tell anyone he’s just an AI. (They know he has a lot of robot parts but they think it’s just limbs and fake skin, not realizing he’s robot all the way through.) He’s not sure how the others would react and doesn’t want to start trouble over something this old.

- He knows they’ll find out eventually, but he figures it would be when he fails from old age. Nothing he would have to directly deal with.

-Instead Chorus happens. Specifically his robot body getting crushed in that cave-in. He panics and accidentally jumps to the nearest available port. Tuckers.

- - -

I haven’t got much past that. just one scene i might do that’s just Wash deciding he can’t hide silently in Tucker’s implants for the rest of his digital life so he makes himself known to him like:

“Tucker, don’t scream”

*Tucker Screams*

“Do you ever follow orders? Like ever, in your life? You wouldn’t be making a scene now if you did.”

*Screams louder*

*Wash Sighs* “I should have talked to Caboose."