#how much work it takes for me to stay alive and how unrewarding it is. i wish my mom had someone else

[readymades2002]

[wantlonger]

𝐉𝐄𝐒𝐔𝐒 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓 𝐒𝐔𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑 (𝟏𝟗𝟕𝟎) 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒

content warning ahead for religion, murder, suicide, and other triggering topics. lost post, more lyrics under the cut.

my mind is clearer now.

i can see where we all soon will be.

you have started to believe the things they say of you.

and all the good you’ve done will soon get swept away.

you’ve begun to matter more than the things you say.

i’ve been your right hand man/woman all along.

and they’ll hurt you when they find they’re wrong.

my admiration for you hasn’t died. 

but every word you say gets twisted ‘round some other way.

and they’ll hurt you if they think you’ve lied.

i am frightened by the crowd.

we are getting much too loud.

please remember that i want us to live.

all your followers are blind.

too much heaven on their minds.

it was beautiful but now it’s sour.

he won’t listen to me.

what’s the buzz?

tell me what’s-a-happenin’.

why should you want to know?

don’t you think about the future.

don’t you try to think ahead.

save tomorrow for tomorrow; think about today instead.

i could give you facts and figures.

i could give you plans and forecasts.

why are you obsessed with fighting times and fates you can’t defy?

let me try to cool down your face a bit.

that feels nice, so nice.

[name], that is good.

she/he/they alone has tried to give me what i need right here and now.

it seems to me a strange thing mystifying, that a man/woman/person like you can waste his/her/your time on women/men/people of her/his/kind.

yes, i can understand that she/he/they amuses you.

it’s not that i object to her/his/their profession.

it doesn’t help if you’re inconsistent.

they only need a small excuse to put us all away.

who are you to criticize her/him/them?

leave her/him/them, she’s/he’s/they’re with me now.

try not to get worried, try not to turn on to problems that upset you.

don’t you know that everything’s alright?

we want you to sleep well tonight.

let the world turn without you tonight.

if we try, we’ll get by.

forget all about us tonight.

sleep and i shall soothe you.

why has it been wasted?

we could have raised maybe three hundred silver pieces or more.

people who are hungry, people who are starving, they matter more than your feet and head.

there will be poor always, pathetically struggling. 

look at the good things you’ve got.

you’ll be lost, you’ll be so sorry when i’m gone.

ah, gentlemen, you know why we are here.

we have not much time and quite a problem here.

listen to the howling mod of blockheads in the street.

tell us that you’re who we say you are.

he is dangerous.

we need a more permanent solution to our problem.

one things i’ll say for him/her/them, [name] is cool.

but how can we stop him?

i see bad things arising.

i see blood and destruction: our elimination because of one man.

fools! you have no perception!

the stakes we are gambling are frighteningly high.

we must crush him/her/them completely.

this [name] must die.

won’t you smile at me?

this common crowd is much too loud.

tell the mob who sing your song that they are fools and they are wrong.

they are a curse; they should disperse.

you’re alright by me.

why waste your breathe moaning at the crowd? nothing can be done to stop the shouting.

won’t you fight for me?

won’t you die for me?

did you see i waved?

i believe in you and god, so tell me that i’m saved.

there must be over fifty thousand screaming love and more for you.

you will rise to a greater power.

we will win ourselves a home!

you’ll get the power and the glory.

you’d see the truth but you close your eyes.

to conquer death you only have to die.

he/she/they had that look you very rarely find ... the haunted, hunted kind.

i asked him/her/them to say what had happened.

he/she/they never said a word, as if he/she/they hasn’t heard.

the room was full of wild and angry men.

i heard them mentioning my name and leaving me the blame.

roll on up, for my price is down.

come on in for the best in town.

take your pick of the finest wine.

name your price; i got everything.

come and buy; it’s all going fast.

borrow cash on the finest terms.

hurry now while stocks still last.

you, at least, are still alive.

name your pleasure, i will sell.

i can fix your wildest needs.

i got heaven and i got hell.

get out! get out!

my time is almost through.

after all i’ve tried for three years -- seems like thirty.

see my purse? i’m a poor, poor man.

i believe you can make me whole.

see my skin? i’m a mass of blood.

there’s too many of you, don’t push me.

there’s too little of me; don’t crowd me.

heal yourselves!

i don’t know how to love him.

i’ve been changed, yes really changed.

in these past few days when i see myself, i seem like someone else.

i don’t how to take this.

i don’t see why he moves me.

he’s a man, he’s just a man.

i’ve had so many men before. in very many ways, he’s just one more.

should i bring him down? should i scream and shout?

should i speak of love, let my feelings out?

i never thought i’d come to this.

what it all about?

don’t you think it’s rather funny i should be in this position?

i’m the one that’s always been so calm, so cool, no lover’s fool.

if he said he loved me, i’d be lost, i’d be frightened.

i couldn’t cope. i’d turn my head, i’d back away. i wouldn’t want to know.

he scares me so.

i want him so.

i love him so.

now if i help you, it matters that you see these sordid kind of things are coming hard to me.

it’s taken me some time to work out what to do.

i weighed the whole thing up before i came to you.

i have no thought at all about my own reward.

i really didn’t come here of my own accord.

just don’t say i’m damned for all time.

why are we the ones that see the sad solution -- know what must be done?

cut the protesting, forget the excuses. 

we want information, get up off the floor.

we have the paper we need to arrest him/her/them.

you know his/her/their movements, we know the law.

your help in this matter won’t go unrewarded.

we’ll pay you in silver -- cash on the nail.

i don’t want your blood money!

that doesn’t matter, our expenses are good.

i don’t need your blood money!

but you might as well take it -- we think that you should.

think of the things you can do with that money.

we’ve noted your motives, we’ve noted your feelings.

this isn’t blood money it’s a fee, nothing more.

i must be mad thinking i’ll be remembered.

i must be out of my head!

look at your blank faces! my name will mean nothing ten minutes after i’m dead.

one of you denies me.

one of you betrays me.

not i! who could? impossible!

cut the dramatics! you know very well who!

why don’t you go do it?

you want me to do it?

hurry, they’re waiting.

if you knew why i do it ...

i don’t care why you do it!

to think i admired you, for now i despised you!

you liar! you judas!

what if i just stayed here and ruined your ambition?

hurry, you fool, hurry and go!

save me your speeches, i don’t want to know! go!

you sad pathetic man/woman/person -- see what you’ve brought us to.

our ideals die around us, all because of you.

someone has to turn you in.

every time i look at you i don’t understand why you let the things you did get so out of hand.

you’d have managed better if you had it planned.

don’t disturb me now; i can see the answers.

knew that i would make it if i tried.

will no one stay awake with me?

will none of you wait with me?

take this cup away from me.

i have changed.

i’m not as sure as when we started.

then i was inspired ... now i’m sad and tired.

could you ask as much from any other man?

why should i die?

would i be more noticed than i ever was before? would the things i’ve said and done matter anymore?

if i die what will be my reward?

can you show me now that i would not be killed in vain?

show me there’s a reason for your wanting me to die.

you’re far too keen on ‘where’ and ‘how’, but not so hot on ‘why’.

alright, i’ll die!

why then am i scared to finish what i started?

i didn’t start it.

i will drink your cup of poison.

take me now before i change my mind!

must you betray me with a kiss?

we’re gonna fight for you!

put away your sword, don’t you know that it’s all over?

it was nice, but now it’s gone. 

why are you obsessed with fighting?

stick to fishing from now on.

tell me [name] how you feel tonight?

do you plan to put up a fight?

do you feel that you’ve had the breaks?

what would you say were your big mistakes?

do you think that you may retire?

did you think you would get much higher?

how do you view your coming trial?

have your men/women/people proved it all worthwhile?

come on [name], this is not like you.

let us know what you’re gonna do.

you know what your supporters feel.

you’ll escape in the final reel.

now we have him! now we have him!

[name], you must realize the serious charges facing you.

that’s what you say -- you say i am.

there you have it. what more evidence do we need?

thank you for the victim. stay awhile and you’ll see him bleed.

i think i’ve seen you somewhere, i remember.

you were with that man they took away. i recognize your face.

you got the wrong man/woman/person, lady.

i don’t know him.

i wasn’t where he was tonight -- never near the place.

that’s strange, for i’m sure i saw you with him. you were right by his side, and yet you denied.

it looked just like you.

don’t you know what you have said? you have gone and cut him/her/them dead.

i had to do it, don’t you see? or else they’d come for me.

that’s what he/she/they told us you would do ... i wonder how he/she/they knew ...

who is this broken man cluttering up my hallway? who is this unfortunate?

you look so small, not a king at all.

what do you mean by that? that is not an answer.

how can someone in your state be so cool about his fate?

please explain to me. you had everything, where is it now?

[name], i am overjoyed to meet you face to face.

you’ve been getting quite the name all around this place.

that’s all you need do, and i’ll know it’s all true.

you just won’t believe the hit you’ve made ‘round here.

you’re all we talk about! the wonder of the year!

oh, what a pity, if it is all a lie.

still i’m sure that you can rock the cynics if you try.

if you do that for me, then i’d let you go free.

i’d only ask things i’d ask any superstar.

what is it that you have got that puts you where you are?

i am waiting, yes i’m a captive fan.

i am dying to be shown that you are not just any man/woman/person.

has something gone wrong? why do you take so long?

hey! aren’t you scared of me!

you are nothing but a fraud!

take him/her/them away, he’s/she’s/they’ve got nothing to say.

get out of my life!

my god! i saw him! he/she/they looked three-quarters dead!

he/she was so bad i had to turn my head,

i know who everybody’s gonna blame. 

i don’t believe he/she/they know i’ve acted for our good.

i’d save him/her/them from this suffering if i could!

cut the confessions, for the excuses. i don’t understand why you’re filled with remorse.

all that you’ve said has come true with a vengeance. 

the mob turned against him/her/them -- you backed the right horse.

you’ll be remembered forever for this.

you’ve been paid for your efforts.

pretty good wages for one little kiss. 

but i only did what you wanted me to!

for i have been saddled with the murder of you.

i have been spattered with innocent blood.

i shall be dragged through the slime and the mud.

when he’s/she’s/they’re cold and dead, will he/she/they let me be?

does he love me too? does he care for me too?

my mind is in darkness now.

my god, i am sick! i’ve been used!

and you knew all this time!

i’ll never know why you chose me for your crime.

you have murdered me! you have murdered me!

we have no law to put a man to death.

talk to me, [name].

you’ve been brought here -- manacled, beaten by your own people.

do you have the first idea why you deserve it?

where is your kingdom?

i’m through, through, through!

there may be a kingdom for me somewhere if i only knew.

i look for truth and find that i get damned.

he’s/she’s/they’ve done no wrong -- no not the slightest thing!

this man/woman/person is harmless, so why does he/she/they upset?

he’s/she’s/they’re just misguided, thinks he’s/she’s/they’re important. 

you’ve got to be careful, you could be dead soon.

why do you not speak when i have your life in my hands?

how can you stay quiet? i don’t believe you understand.

you have nothing in your hands.

any power you have comes to you from far beyond.

everything is fixed and you can’t change it.

you’re a fool -- how can i help you?

you have a duty to keep the peace.

don’t let me stop your great self destruction. die if you want to, you misguided martyr! i wash my hands of your demolition!

die if you want to, you innocent puppet!

why’d you choose such a backwards time in such a strange land?

don’t you get me wrong -- i only wanna know. 

who are you? what have you sacrificed?

[name] superstar.

do you think you’re what they say you are?

tell me what you think about your friends at the top.

who’d you think, besides yourself, was the pick of the crop?

did you mean to die like that? was that a mistake?

they don’t know what they are doing.

where is my mother? where is my mother?

why have you forgotten me?

[365daysofsasuhina]

[ 365 Days of SasuHina || Day Three Hundred Thirty-Six: A Yellow Cloth ] [ Uchiha Sasuke, Hōzuki Suigetsu, Hōzuki Mangetsu ] [ SasuHina, gun, alcohol ] [ Verse: Stockades and Stagecoaches ] [ AO3 Link ]

The rain just starts to pour as he walks in.

Given the weather (and the fact no one wants to be out in it), the saloon is actually fairly full despite it only being early afternoon. Patrons sit at tables and mull about on their feet, several gathered around the bar itself. Despite the glum atmosphere of dreary clouds and downpours, the spirits inside seem rather high. Talk is boisterous, and only emboldened further by drink...which seems to flow rather freely.

Part of Sasuke wants to indulge, but...he wants his wits about him. He’s not here to make merry and put his feet up. No...he’s here to work.

There’s only a slight pause in the room as he steps in. Otherwise, most are quick to get back to their business. He’s rather unremarkable, after all. Just a darkly-dressed man of no real note. He could be anyone: farmhand, ranchhand, cattle rustler, outlaw...but so long as he isn’t here to cause trouble, most people won’t mind what precisely he is. Even citizens who do things a bit outside the box have thirsts, after all.

...which is why Sasuke came here first.

Sasuke isn’t an outlaw himself. Far from it. The son of a man who struck oil on their land, he’s actually set to be rather well off. But as cushy as his life has been since the day they found the so-called ‘black gold’ as those in their industry call it, Sasuke has found it rather...boring. Unrewarding.

So he’s taken up a different means of employment.

He’s a bounty hunter.

Keeping his air mostly unassuming (and yet a touch unapproachable), he does indeed call for a bottle of whiskey...but he’s barely going to sip it. He needs to look like he belongs here. If he’s in any way out of place...they’ll likely bolt.

Of course, that’s assuming that the pair of men he’s after are even here. But the sheriff of the county did his best to offer clues, and suggested that this be the place Sasuke started.

“They’re a pair of slippery devils, but they have the vice of making time for drinks. Wait around long enough, and you’re sure to spot them sooner or later.”

These two - the Hōzuki brothers - are worth a pretty penny...so Sasuke doesn’t mind paying the waiting game. Sure, he doesn’t need the money...but the price upon a man’s head - dead or alive - typically indicates how dangerous he is to go after.

And that is what Sasuke is after. Adventure! Danger! Excitement! Anything but sitting and listening to his father talk about exports and accounts and...whatever other drivel Itachi has been instead soaking up like a sponge.

His brother can do what he wants. But Sasuke can’t tolerate it. After growing up with his comfortable lot in life, he’s eager to dive into the more questionable parts.

So far? He’s done fairly well. But this is his first double contract. Time to see what he’s capable of.

Clearing a shot glass with a yellow cloth, the barkeep eyes him a bit curiously. “Getting an early start, are we?”

“Nothing better to do until the weather clears up,” Sasuke replies blithely, accepting the bottle and cup the man hands him and exchanging it for the proper coin. Retreating to a solitary corner table, he uncorks the bottle and pours his first (and last) cup. Making to nurse it slowly, he barely takes a few drops before roving dark eyes over the crowds.

His initial sweep didn’t reveal anyone of interest. Seems they’re not here...not yet, at any rate. In the meantime, he keeps up his charade. It’s enough to convince anyone who gives him a glance. No one looks close enough to notice his cup never empties...nor does his bottle.

The afternoon crawls by, the weather eventually lightening a bit. Watching the storm lessen to a few trickles of water, Sasuke glances up as a pair of men enter the tavern.

...it’s them.

They immediately make a beeline for the bar, stocking up on several bottles before settling at a table not too far off from his own. Around them, the other patrons seem to hiccup slightly, giving them wary glances. It seems most either know - or at least suspect - who and what they are.

Keeping to his reclusive expression, Sasuke doesn’t make to pay them much mind...but he listens keenly as they speak.

“So how long until we’re gettin’ paid, anyway?”

“When the job’s done!”

“You mean it ain’t?”

“Not yet, little brother.”

“But we got the girl, didn’t we?”

“Yeah, we did. But we ain’t got the ransom yet! The girl isn’t what we’re after, it’s her papa’s money, numbskull!”

“I know that! But what’s the ransom got t’do with us? We’re just the muscle to rob the coach she was on and bring her in to t’boss!”

“We can’t get paid until Kisame arranges the deal. Honestly, Suigetsu...pay attention, would ya? We get a cut of the ransom, which means we can’t leave town until it’s over. I wanna make sure he don’t screw us out of our fair share, after all…”

The younger brother sulks over his beer. “Why couldn’t we just rob a coach with money in it ‘stead of some girl…”

“Her papa owns the biggest herd a’ sheep in the state. What with all them...textiles or whatever, he makes big money. More than they put on any plain ol’ coach. It’s a little extra work for a hell of a lot more cash. That’s why we took this job.”

“Enough to pay off our bounties?”

“And then some.”

“Sorry, gentlemen…”

Glancing up, the pair eye Sasuke as he stands with a cocked hip at their table. “...the hell do you want?”

“Ideally, for the two of you to surrender yourselves to the law quietly and without any fuss. But I’ve been doing this long enough to know that ain’t likely.”

After a beat, they both break out into laughter. “What’re you, some kinda...deputy?” the elder brother scoffs with a grin. “I don’t see no badge, officer.”

Drawing twin pistols and aiming each square at the men’s faces as the tavern goes silent, Sasuke smirks. “Technically I’m known as a bounty hunter. And I don’t make arrests...I bring in bodies. Alive...or dead. Whatever’s easier. Now...you have two options. Make a scene, and I shoot you both. Or you surrender, and I take you in alive. Either way, I get paid. I suppose I’d just rather this go the easy way, if I had a choice. And don’t both with funny business - I’ve got reflexes that’ll see you both dead before you can try to flip any tables or throw any smoke. Least if you cooperate, you’ll get a few more days before they hang you.”

Expressions no longer amused, the brothers exchange a glance. “...what if we offer you a third option, pardner?”

“...and what would that be?”

“Information on a fish a lot bigger than us,” the younger pipes up, clearly catching on. “You ever heard a’ Kisame Hoshigaki?”

Guns still trained on their brows, Sasuke perks his own. “...I have.”

“We just ran a job for him! Kidnapped some bigwig’s daughter for ransom - Hyūga! Listen - you let us tell you where he is, and you’ll get better than our two measly bounties. Kisame’s worth five thousand last I heard! And - and I bet the father’ll reward you real nice for bringing his little girl home! Kisame’s bounty and her reward...we give you the intel, and you let us walk. How ‘bout it?”

Sasuke considers that. Kisame is, indeed, a big name in the bounty world. Several other hunters he’s known have been killed trying to bring him down. But if he had insider info, the element of surprise… “...tell you what. You give me the information...I take you in, and tell the sheriff you assisted the law. Surely they’ll knock your bounties down for your civil service...maybe to something you can afford. I can likely do that much for you. But a paid bounty don’t mean you go rackin’ up another, y’hear?”

“Sounds fair to me, boss,” the elder agrees. “You, uh...mind lowerin’ your gun and shakin’ on it?”

“Does the word of a criminal have any weight to it?”

“I might be a lawbreaker, but that don’t mean I ain’t honorable to my word. Every man’s got a code. I follow mine.”

“...done.” Twirling one pistol back to its holster to free his hand, Sasuke shakes his new companion’s. “Now...you two and me’ll take a stroll to the sheriff’s. They’ll take record of your help, and I’ll go see about this Kisame feller. You can wait there until I confirm you told me the truth. Then we’ll see about getting your bounties paid.”

“Deal.”

Keeping his gun aloft, Sasuke nods them to the door before giving a salute to the bewildered barmen as they take their leave.

The station, thankfully, is just down the street of the small town. Sasuke explains their arrangement, earning a scowl from a deputy.

“We don’t like makin’ deals with criminals.”

“And I don’t like passing up a chance to bring someone far worse to justice and letting two small fry go once their bounties are paid. It’s a fair trade, and you know it.”

“Enough,” the sheriff cuts in wearily with a wave of a hand. “We’ll make the trade...but only once you bring Hoshigaki in. Until then, we’ll keep these fellers right here...where there’s no stagecoaches to hold up.”

“Yes, sir.”

Bringing out a map, the brothers point out Kisame’s location. “He’s holed up here, in this ol’ mine. Got the lady there, and he’s gonna arrange a meetin’ with her father for her ransom. He won’t be expecting trouble until then, and that’s a few days out at least.”

“Anyone with him?”

“Four or five men. Didn’t want to draw attention movin’ as a group. Just stay low and quiet. If you can get your hands on him first, the rest’ll roll over.”

Sasuke eyes the map carefully. “...all right. You two hold tight...I’ll be back in two days. See you sit here and think over your past decisions, hm?”

Looking resigned, they sit in the holding cell and watch as Sasuke makes his way back outside.

The day is aging, and the sky still dark with rainclouds. Best he wait until morning to get started. That way he’ll get there just as night falls...and that’ll give him an advantage. Mind whirling with plans...he rents a room in the local inn, and does his best to get some sleep.

                                                             .oOo.

     This is so darn random, but for some reason it was the only thing I could think of xD The image of the barman popped into my head, and the rest just kinda...happened, lol - I know it's a cliffie, but it's already super long as is for one of these entries, so...another time!      I've only written a western AU once before for another ship, but it's more fun than I thought it would be! I live pretty darn rural myself, so a lot of it's actually pretty familiar x3 And Sasuke as a bounty hunter is a neat idea. And ofc heiress Hinata!      Anywho, I've got lots to do tomorrow, so I better head off for the night~ Thanks for reading!

[blackroseguzzi]

Alive and Dead

Chapter 2

After Carol’s arrival, the trio made its way back to Oceanside, just in time for Michonne and Aaron’s return.

 Little had been discussed before the fire struck. Josephine had been talking with Carol about her trip when they had heard what sounded like a bomb going off in the forest. By the time they reacted, a fire had started to spread inside Oceanside’s borders.

Everyone had gathered supplies, and water tanks to spray at the rapidly expanding fire. The night had fallen, and the group had become worried as they were about to venture off into the dark to try and keep things at bay.

“Michonne, are we doing this?” Josephine asked her friend, looking between Michonne and Aaron who stood beside her.

“We have to move out, NOW,” Michonne replied as she ran towards the forest.

Josephine didn't hesitate, and she made her way into the darkness which was now lit up by the expanding forest fire threatening to take out their hunting grounds and approaching Oceanside’s home.

“Be careful, Jo!” Daryl called out as she made her way closer to the flames. No matter how many years they had been fighting battle after battle together Daryl had always told her to be careful and safe. It was comforting, and Josephine always knew his thoughts were on her safety.

Once she had made it to the flames and what looked like a space shuttle on fire, Josephine told the others to start at the edges and push tight towards the middle. She started spraying her water pack at the flames burning the trees first. She didn't want them to fall and create more of a catastrophe. She watched as Ezekiel grabbed buckets and threw them on the fire.

The team worked tirelessly into the early morning. They were soon running low on the water supply, and walkers had started to approach from the breach in the forest.

“Daryl,” Josephine nudged him as he worked, and he turned and looked at her quickly before following her eyes. He watched as a herd of walkers were making their way towards their working group. Fear rose in Daryl chest, and he instructed Josephine to grab the wheel barrel of their weapons. She worked quickly and handed him his bow, and grabbed her axe. She swung with all her might at the walkers that were headed for her and the people she loved. She swung at their skulls, her black trusty axe slicing them instantly.

The walkers were now coming out from behind the fire, their bodies engulfed in flames and tumbling towards the crew of workers. Josephine saw the burning tree ahead, and knew her only shot was to throw her axe at it and when it tipped, it would take out 6 or 7 walkers. She drew in a breath, and threw her only weapon she had handy into the burning tree, it gave way right where she wanted it to.

_______________________________________________________________________

Once the fire had been pretty much stopped, it was dire to get the crew out, because they were encroaching on Alpha’s territory.

Josephine started cleaning the supplies and buckets, when Daryl had grabbed her- bringing her into the woods and they made their way towards where Alpha’s herd had been.

It was clear now, not a walker in sight. Daryl and Josephine looked down, dumbstruck.

“You still want to run away together?” Daryl asked, keeping his eyes on the vastly naked area of land that had once housed hundred of walkers.

“Yeah… tomorrow,” Josephine whispered, wiping some sweat from her forehead.

“With all this going on, I need you to stay with me, wherever we go.’ Daryl looked to her, his eyes burning into the side of her face as she still stare at the scene in front of her. The wind blowing pieces of hair over her dirt and ash smeared face. “I know ya want ta head back to Alexandria, but just think ‘bout it.” Josephine watched Daryl walk back towards Oceanside, and she started to follow, but a black figure in the distance stopped her dead in her tracks. Josephine narrowed her eyes as she watched Alpha’s figure walk out onto the ledge on the other side of the valley.

They stared at each other for what seemed like eternity, and Josephine knew things were not going to be good.

Josephine and Daryl had both made it back to Alexandria with Michonne and Aaron. Josephine was happy that Daryl had decided to come home for a bit. She knew after the events that had happened he was serious about him staying close to her. They had been through so much, and seeing a glimpse of their relationship becoming something it had been so long ago gave her a glimmer of hope that they could still settle down and have the life they wanted together. 

Daryl had always been a tough cookie to crack- but so had Josephine. She found his hard edges and mystery something to be desired back at the beginning of it all, and she knew he had felt the exact same way as her. Watching the closeness between her brother Rick, and Daryl had always been rewarding. Rick trusted him after learning he had taken care of his sister long before they had reunited with each other. Daryl was never the enemy, and it hadn't taken Rick many days to realize just how close his sister and the archer had become. 

Before the world had fallen apart, Josephine was never in one place for very long. She was a lot quieter than her brother, and at almost 10 years younger, she had found growing up in her brothers shadow a bit unrewarding. She had taken up drinking a lot, and partying with the wrong crowd- making her uptight father anything but approving.

 She had seen her father lay his hands on their mother many more times than Rick ever had. She had never feared much, especially her father who had threatened her multiple times with no follow through. He was always verbally abusive, but Josephine had a tongue on her as well- something she had grown into since she had to talk for her mother most of her life. She had been kicked out of her house a few times for her tongue, and stayed with Rick and Lori more times than she could count. When she had finally graduated college, she moved far away from everything and everyone who had seen her as nothing but a failure… except trouble always followed her. She had visited Rick when Carl was born, and a few times after, but slowly she pulled away from most of her family. She had never been one for relationships of any kind. They scared her to say the least. She was happy her brother had found Lori, but after what she had seen in her household, it was hard for her to trust. Sure, she had boyfriends, but not anything enough to be considered serious. It just had never been her thing-getting close enough to people.

Then she met Daryl, who seemed to have so many similarities in his own backstory. Sure, his was much more violent, but trusting anyone was hard with what he had gone through as well. What worked best about Daryl and Josephine was the silence, it never bothered either of them. It was blissful, to be able to sit with each other and just simple breathe and not let anything else in the world be a bother. So now more than anything the two of them had grown not only as individuals, but together. Josephine had finally let her guard down with a man, and Daryl had trusted someone with all that he had. He connected with someone who understood him, and when she didn't she simply let him be - and no matter what she was always going to love him. 

Daryl had never though about marriage or children, but when Josephine entered his life and he felt things he had never felt, those topics began to surface in his brain. He would have never been fit to be a husband in his old life, but the man he had grown into he was finally feeling like he could give love to someone who deserved it- and Josephine certainly deserved that love.

Josephine got up early the next morning. She looked over at Daryl’s side of their bed, left winkled from where he had slept that night. She rubbed her eyes, grabbing a hair elastic from the bedside table and wrapping her hair in a bun. She sighed heavily and lifted her body from the mattress and got ready for the day. She walked passed Lydia, who didn't notice her as she sat on the barstool reading in the kitchen.

She made her way down the steps of her home, her Axe secure in her hands. She met Aaron at the gate, and she nodded at the others.

“You ready for second watch?” He asked her, and she gripped her Axe tighter in her hand as she motioned up at Eugene to let them through the gates.

“They keep coming from the boarder, wave after wave,” Aaron explained to the group. They had gone out that morning, killing walker after walker, but it seemed like more were just piling in. She had saved Aaron from a very close call, and decided it was time for them to call it for the day, for they had to report this to Michonne and the others as soon as possible.

“You know your training, lock it down.” Michonne replied, angrily. She knew this was Alpha and her sick games.

Hour after hour, the people of Alexandria were fighting at the gates. So many walkers, so little people it seemed. Everyone was exhausted, tired from the constant killings. It had to be around hour 47 when they thought they were clear- but by hour 49 it seemed like it had only just begun.

They had been working all through the night and into the next day. Daryl checking in on Josephine often. She wished their first couple of days in Alexandria together could have gone differently, but she was just glad he was sticking with their family.

“We can’t keep pushing them too much further,” Daryl stated to Michonne as she asked about the next wave. Josephine stood next to him, watching as the people around her dragged the bodies to be burned.

She had made a decision to let Negan help. The more hands the better. Michonne was not to keen on him being out at this crucial time, but Josephine promised that she would watch him closely, and that she would make sure he worked hard, if not harder than everyone - without any weapons. He made eye contact with Josephine and winked as he dragged another walker body into the pile. Josephine glared at him, and turned back to face Michonne and Daryl.

“I have eyes,” Michonne spat back at Daryl which made Josephine’s eyes grow wide at her outburst.

“I’m sorry, both of you. I’m just tired,” Michonne replied suddenly, knowing she had been out of line with her friend.

“I know we all are,” Daryl responded gently. Placing a hand on Michonne’s shoulder as he walked by.

“It’ll all be okay,” Josephine gave a small smile towards one of her dearest friends. Michonne didn't respond, just returned the weakened smile.

At first Michonne had been an enemy of hers, but when her brother had had some mental issues after Lori’s death, she realized what an asset Michonne had been in helping them with the Governor. She grew to see her as a sister, especially after Michonne’s relationship with Rick had formed.

“Hey, heads up,” Daryl stated, and the two followed their eyes to where Daryl was headed. Over the mounds of walkers laying flat on the grounds of Alexandria’s walls, a whisperer made her way towards the gate.

Josephine stopped Michonne from walking further, motioning that her and Daryl would handle this.

Josephine gripped her Axe, and made her way next to Daryl as the masked woman approached.

“The North Border, NOW,” She stated.

“Call off your walkers,” Josephine hissed in response.

“Not us,” The masked woman spat back.

“Yeah right,” Daryl huffed.

“Go to the border, lay down your weapons and wait,” The woman grew angry, clenching her jaw as she spoke.

“Wait for what?” Josephine asked, stepping forward, narrowing her eyes at the woman before her covered in walkers skin.

“Her,” The masked woman spoke before turning and walking back into the woods.

Everyone had huddled together for a meeting in Alexandria, Lydia sat next to Josephine who reached for her hand, and Lydia took it and squeezed it tight. Josephine knew Lydia was scared, she was always scared and Josephine wished so badly that she could take that away from her. 

 “Is this your mother?” Michonne asked Lydia, weakly.

“No, I don't think it is,” Lydia stated looking to Josephine who nodded to her that it was going to be okay.

“Why she want to talk with us?” Daryl asked quickly.

“You crossed her borders...again...you have to answer for that.” Lydia explained.

“We don't have to do anything, we could just not go,” Aaron spoke out, looking between Michonne and Josephine.

“That’s a bad idea,” Lydia replied shortly, pleading with Josephine. “Its not her, if it was her she would send her hoard, the whole thing.”

“Maybe she's wearing us down,” Came Carol’s voice. Josephine felt herself tense up, knowing what could come next for the people of Alexandria.

Shouting between members started erupting and Josephine jumped at the hand landing on her shoulder, and when she looked up, she found Daryl placing a firm grip onto her tense body. She relaxed into his touched and listened as Michonne barked out orders to their people.

It had been decided that Daryl, Carol, Michonne and Josephine would take the border to wait for Alpha - Unarmed.

It was going to be the only way, and as Josephine walked out to talk with Aaron Gabriel had approached her in a panic.

“What am I supposed to do with him,” He spat out, pointing to Negan who was smiling from ear to ear behind him.

Josephine sighed heavily and bit at her lip, Aaron walked up behind her in support.

“You’re low on soldiers Aaron,” She spoke out, looking to her friend with pleading eyes.

“No, no we’re good,” he replied as he strapped on a weapon to his arm.

“Negan has only been on clean up duty he..” Josephine started but the look on Aaron’s face stopped her.

“We’re good,” he replied, silently giving her a negative on taking the man.

“Hey Josephine, boss lady, can I have a word?” Aaron looked between his friend and the evil man that Alexandria held prisoner. Josephine gave Aaron an apologetic look, and walked a few feet away, giving her and Negan space to talk privately.

“Look, if its all the same to you can I just pick tomato and burn corpses?” Negan spoke out, a worried tone in his voice that made Josephine’s blood boil.

“Hey, he needs you out there,” Josephine whispered harshly at Negan. They had grown to know each other well, of course Josephine didn't like him at all but to keep her humanity over the years, she gave him some fresh fruits and veggies once in a while, and let him take a walk with intense supervision on days she felt extremely generous.

She hated him for what he had done in the past, but in order to move forward she had to see him as a human instead of a worthless piece of garbage she knew he was - even if there were some specks of humanity in him that she had seen shine through on occasion.

“I need me in here, especially on a day like today!” Negan responded, looking down at Josephine with pleading eyes. “ Look around, everyone is pissed to the skins, amped up and I don't want any hateful vibes taken out on me.”

“It’s Aaron, he’s.. he's a saint,” Josephine hissed back. She could feel Aarons eyes on her and Negan as she spoke.

“Look Josie, I just want to stay here, can you just do me that solid?” Negan asked, his voice calm. Josephine’s anger rose as he used his nickname for her that she hated so much. It was one her father had used on her growing up.

Josephine started walking backwards back to Aaron but her eyes still on Negan.

“You can FIGHT, and Aaron is low on fighters,” Josephine was in the middle of Aaron and Negan as they face each other, eyes staring each other down.

“Peanut butter meet Jelly, Aaron you're taking him no discussion.” She walked off, aggravated. She didn't want Aaron to be upset, but Negan was a solider she didn't care to loose.

She ventured over to Daryl who was waiting for her at the gates with Carol and Michonne. He nodded at her and she nodded back before he opened the gates and the four of them went off to meet Alpha.

LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! PRIVATE MESSAGE ME WITH ANY REQUESTS ON WHAT YOU THINK I SHOULD WRITE ABOUT IN THE FUTURE CHAPTERS! xoxoxox I’ll also be down for mini prompts on flashbacks of times between Daryl and Josephine in different parts of other seasons! :) 

@ly--canthrope​  @nikki082489​  

[markoftheasphodel]

When Xmas Cavs Grow Up

Just to get all my thoughts in one place, especially as a) I haven’t talked about Seth & Orson in a long time and b) FE15 happened.

One of the (cough) archetypical hallmarks of Fire Emblem casts is the “Cain and Abel,” meaning not murderous siblings but a pair of matched knights who are friends or friendly rivals. One wears red and one wears green, one is loud and the other is quiet, one is serious and the other is fun-loving, often one whacks things with a sword while the other spears things with a lance. It’s a consistent enough trope to get its own page (70) in the 20th anniversary artbook.

But what happens when these bright young things grow up? Well, a couple of FE games have given us a glimpse of it.

Spoilers for Archanea, Jugdral, Magvel, and Valentia follow.

Archanea: Cain and Abel

“I work with a knight called Abel. I tend to get carried away, but he balances me out with his calmness.”

“When there are two precious things in your life… you must choose between them.

So, during the War of Heroes (FE3 Book II/FE12), Cain and Abel aren’t "the Cain & Abel” anymore. A new pair of trainee knights, “rowdy” Luke and “steady” Roderick, fill those roles with Roderick’s love interest Cecil rounding them out as a trio of cavaliers. So what’s become of the OG Christmas Cavs?

Yeah, OK, I think everyone here knows this story. If you don’t, FE Heroes gives you the Cliff’s Notes versions. Cain stayed at Marth’s side, trained a new crop of knights, and per FE3 Book II was trusted enough to help govern Altea when Marth went on missions elsewhere, and became Marth’s advisor after Jagen’s iron bones finally rusted out. Cain’s loud, he likes training, he’s nicknamed The Bull, he’s basically got no life outside of serving Marth.

Meanwhile Abel, the suave Panther to Cain’s Bull, retired, got married, opened a shop, and got dragged back into the war when his wife Est got held hostage by the bad guys, betrayed Marth, got forgiven for it, and then disappears forever after the war, chasing after an equally forever-disappeared Est. We know he and Cain are BFFs because Fire Emblem lore consistently tells us they’re friends, not because they actually have any scenes together or anything. They’ve been imitated, echoed, expied, et cetera.

Cain joins the party in FE12 as an unpromoted Level 9 cavalier, Abel joins many chapters later as a Level 1 paladin. (Don’t ask me how he got that promotion.)

Highlight: You get a better sense of Cain&Abel’s eternal legend from their expies Sully and Stahl in FE13 than you do from the originals.

Jugdral: Glade and Finn

“Glade, this is just the beginning. We still have a long way ahead of us.”

“Yes, we must return to Lenster and restore the flag of the Gae Bolg… That’s when we can finally have a drink together again.”

Archetypes weren’t really a thing during the SNES era but there were definitely call-backs even in the first five installments and FE5 had more than a few callbacks to FE3 specifically (hi, Asvel! Hi, Shannam!). Enter our next pair of veteran BFFs. If you only know Glade as the punchline to the Choose Your Heroes poll them I recommend reading this on Reddit as a primer.

Glade fits into what’s generally seen as the “Cain” archetype– maybe not as naturally talented as his BFF but known for his hard work and enthusiasm. He’s outspoken enough to criticize allies– even (allegedly) royal allies– who are letting down the cause and he’s openly affectionate with his wife Selphina. Life in the resistance has been hard and he’s accumulated a lot of regrets but he’s still in there trying. Finn is the more introverted of the pair, less willing to go on the record about his opinions, less able to demonstrate affection– which impacted his relationship with his own MIA apparent-love-interest Lachesis and is contributing to a strained relationship with his daughter Nanna. His sole passion, if it counts as one, appears to be geopolitical. “Another Abel with the same shitty taste in women,” one member of the FE Subreddit called him in a thread where passions were running high, and while that phrasing isn’t really fair to anyone involved, the underlying connection is legit IMO, though maybe not in the way that poster thought.

Glade and Finn aren’t polar opposites so much as they are variations on a theme (they even use the same weapon), in large part because Glade appears to be Finn’s deliberate foil, spun off to do the exact things FE4!Finn was doing that didn’t gel with where his FE5!characterization was taking him. They’re both loyal, patriotic, and so forth, and they’ve both suffered hardship for the cause of Prince Leif and Leonster, but whatever stroke of fate let Finn catch Prince Quan’s favor when they were kids while Glade stayed behind in Leonster has put a gap between them that friendship can’t bridge 100%. Glade’s doing his job and accumulating worldly success, Finn’s on a crusade that entails high personal sacrifice. Glade’s got his regrets, Finn’s outright broken inside. Glade’s a leader; Finn’s a hero. Glade makes history; Finn becomes a legend.

Unlike Cain & Abel they have actual in-game dialogue, plus the Leonster’s Fall short story in the Thracia artbook to give a sense of who they were as young knights before everything went to utter shit. There’s a lot of emotional build-up to their mid-battle reunion, which itself isn’t that emotional a scene but does include the “we’ll have a drink later” line that seemingly evokes the dialogue between Sigurd and Eldigan early in FE4. Given how that friendship played out, this would seem ominous… but, as it happens, fate has pretty much done its worst to these two already. There’s no betrayal, no falling out. After the war Glade enjoys his hot wife and promotion and makes New Thracia into an efficient and modern war machine. Finn disappears into the desert for three years because Reasons but he does come back. Remake plz?

Finn’s in Leif’s starting party as a Level 7 unpromoted unit, Glade joins in Ch13 as a Level 2 promoted unit.

Highlight: In spite of all the ways in which Jugdral is hell this is the only world in which our Veteran Cav BFFs might have the chance to continue their friendship later in life.

Magvel: Seth and Orson

“If Orson can turn his back on Renais… We remaining knights will have to work all the harder to prove ourselves!”

“You’re an impressive knight, Seth. You would sacrifice your life for king and country. Not even a moment’s pause. It’s a pitiful, unrewarding life, through and through.”

One of my contentions about FE8 has always been that, despite the mechanical similarities to FE2 (dual lords, monsters, etc) that the plot was a reworking of the War of Heroes, with more emphasis on character development and far less on the overall heroic myth. Given the shit that dedicated knights go through for their Lords, it was only a matter of time before we got to see what happened when somebody actually snapped. Abel betrayed Marth and all but he didn’t mean to, and Marth forgave him, and he’s just kind of an incoherent mess (see: FE Heroes) thereafter of his loyalty and his love for Est and his regrets for his treason. Finn breaks inside but keeps going on his impossible path despite a wasteland of collateral damage (including Glade at one point) around him and stakes that rise from “stay alive” to “reclaim Leonster” to “unify all Thracia” to “liberate entire continent from Dark Lord” because well, that’s what he does. Either way, they lose the girl (to say the least). Damned if you do, damned if you don’t. 

Enter Orson, who looks at this particular bad deal being offered and says “to hell with that.”

So Orson and Seth are knights of Renais. Orson seems to be the older of the two. He’s got a quiet and serene personality (so, he’s the Abel) and he’s got a wife named Monica. Seth is the commander of the Knights of Renais, is renowned as The Silver Knight, has the other young knights looking up to him. He’s not boisterous like some of the Cain-types but he’s got the red hair, the training-freak personality (see: FE Heroes), and so on. Seth in typical Cain fashion doesn’t have a ladyfriend… yet. Hold that thought.

Long story short, Orson doesn’t betray Renais because Monica’s being held as a hostage. He betrays Renais because Monica’s already dead and in the grave six months and Grado’s dark powers offer her back in some horrible fashion. He sells out his country to enjoy alone time with the ghastly puppet of his wife, and when Seth finally confronts him mid-game Orson’s just sane enough to offer a concise and brutal takedown of the whole knighthood thing. And this hits Seth hard, because Seth’s been keeping his own secrets– specifically, his improper feelings for his liege lady princess Eirika– and FE8′s story is an entire gallery of bad examples of what twisted love can do to a person. Orson, Carlyle, Lyon himself– this roll call of the mad and the damned is what’s held up to Seth as his fate should he give into his heart: “there but for the grace of god(s) go I.”

But Magvel is surprisingly kind to Seth, offering him a happy ending with Eirika in spite of his own protests or a union with the lovely priestess Natasha. Orson gets a dirt nap in the company of what’s left of Monica.

Seth joins at the start as a Level 1 Paladin, Orson joins in Ephraim’s first chapter as a Level 3 Paladin before turning his colors.

Highlight: This is the only case in which the Veteran Cavs are not in some sense a retcon onto the source material.

Valentia: Clive and Fernand

“Enough, Fernand. You’ve suffered enough. You needn’t flog yourself any further.”

“Good… I am…rather tired. Tired of despair… Tired of rage… But Clive…I’m glad I got to see you one last time.”

FE2 didn’t have anything mapping to the "Cain & Abel” Xmas Cav archetype because it wasn’t an archetype yet and definitely didn’t have any take on the adult version thereof. FE15, besides retconning Forsyth into the ambitious Green Knight to the stolid Red Knight played by Lukas, plum invented an entire “veteran cav BFFs” tragic subplot for us to enjoy. Nice.

So on the one hand we have Clive. Clive’s the leader of the rebel group known as the Deliverance, has impeccable breeding and a glowing reputation, a sizable chunk of the playable cast has the hots for him, etc. He’s got a canon love interest, the glamorous paladin Mathilda, so you might expect based on the above that the plot-gods are about to take a wrecking ball to Clive’s life.

Except Clive also has a BFF and his BFF has problems. Orson at least has the pretense of being on the lords’ side before Seth unmasks him as a traitor. Fernand’s a prick from the moment he shows up on screen and promptly flounces from the Deliverance all in a froth over being led by a “farmboy” like Alm and lends his services (such as they are) to Rigel’s Lord Berkut. There’s also a hint that Fernand is actually into Mathilda himself (oh noes), but the entire Deliverance scene is rife with homoerotic subtext[*] and Fernand’s got a pretty bad case of it. Since Clive still cares a lot about his BFF we then have to make the attempt to redeem Fernand, which of course fails, so this particular version of the veteran cav subplot ends with a big dramatic death scene with a CG and lots of ellipses and everything. 

Their whole subplot is wrapped up in an interesting if maybe not entirely successful take on what knights exactly are for– what kind of ruler is a legitimate ruler? How is that ruler best served? Unlike all of the previous examples, Clive and Fernand started their careers as knights sworn to a shitty, useless, negligent king, one whose bloodline was apparently extinct by the start of the game. There’s never any question that Cain serves Marth, that Glade and Finn serve Leif, that Seth serves the twins of Renais. If Abel and Orson waver it’s not because Marth or the twins are not the right lords to serve, but because Abel and Orson have personal weaknesses. But Clive and Fernand both have to make an actual conscious choice as to whom they are going to serve, and Clive makes the right choice (with a lot of second-guessing along the way) and Fernand doesn’t, the end.

Clive joins as a Level 6 cavalier; Fernand is not playable in the main game.

Highlight: These guys get their own prequel in the Rise of the Deliverance DLC, wherein Fernand is playable .

* Xmas Cavs and their grown-up equivalents generally do have some measure of that goin’ on (Seth and Orson being an exception), but the Deliverance is pretty hard to overlook.

[quess-writes]

Can I ask some angst with babies? Like, Tsuna, Xanxus, Enma an Giotto losing their S/O because the birth was too much for them and before they could react bad to the baby, the doctors told them it was S/O's decision to choose they babies over they own life ♡(also, some twins? I love sibling love ♡) (sorry my english sucks xD)

//Your English is fine, don’t worry! Also I only take 3 characters per ask//

//The scenario takes place after the initial denial and questioning of your death//

Enma

When he hears of your passing, he nearly breaks down in the hospital right then and there. This was supposed to be a happy day, the day of your babies were supposed to be introduced into the world. The day he finally has a family to call his own, not by loyalty, but by blood.

(But this agony, this- this... thing rotting in his core.)

He's screaming, crying, lashing out towards anyone near him - even his own family. It costs Adel her right eye to snap Enma out of his fit of rage. When he does, he's just...quiet. He's not moving, he's not blinking, he's barely even breathing - one may think he was dead. Not only did he lose you and the children, he also hurt his family because he couldn't keep his damn emotions in check.

Is this a testament to his life? Was this some divine intervention from heaven because he's nothing but a filthy murderer?

It's only when the doctors bring the crying newborns Enma started to breathe again. He looks at them in desperation, cradling them carefully in his arms - a blanket between them so they don't get infected. He's holding them so lovingly yet so desperately. No one dares to go near Enma in his ambivalent state, even the Shimon stay a couple feet away, creating a small circle around him.

They do this for two reasons: one is to create a sense of community and safety in this little make-shift haven to protect Enma and the twins. You didn’t sacrifice your live to see Enma like this, he knows this, they know this. Everyone in the Shimon misses you - the day they accepted you was the day you became family to them. So they’ll do anything to protect your children. The other reason is to prevent Enma from spiraling into madness without Adel here to help them. Everything’s gone to shit and the last thing they need is for Enma to fall deeper into depression.

Meanwhile, all Enma can think about is how brave you were, how amazing you must've been to sacrifice your life - how strong you must've been to endure the fear of death all alone.

First he lost his parents, then his little sister, then you, his beloved wife.Even hell can't take his children away now.

At home, Enma is depressed and damn near suicidal with the amount of hours he works without breaks or nourishment. Thankfully, the Shimon reminds Enma to eat, even giving him days off to spend some time with the kids for paternal and therapeutic purposes. Parenting the twins won't be hard for Enma considering his small circle, but may be somewhat suffocating for the children. They can't be away from him for any longer than half an hour without confirming that they're still alive.

Enma has a permanent hole in his chest, hollow and cold, but gets a little better with age.

Xanxus

When Xanxus hears the of your passing, it takes the entire Varia and all the Vongola guardians (Squalo had requested back-up) to restrain him. His wrath knows no bounds, scars spreading so fast his entire body looks like an aged burn. He’s going for the doctors, the nurses, the building, the association. He doesn’t care and he’ll rain bullets down on anyone who gets in his way.

After Squalo manages to calm him down (with the help of Tsuna) the unscathed doctors bring him his children, twins, the last living fragments of your existence on earth. He nearly shoots the doctor holding him out of parental instinct after the doctor refuses to let him hold his children.

“Get the fuck off me, you pile of shit! They’re MY kids!”

“Voi! You can’t hold them yet you fucking idiot! Do you want to kill them with your germs!?”

He freezes, calming down just enough to listen. His index finger is still on the trigger, knees bouncing and wrathful vengeance seeping out of him in waves. His breath is heavy like a lion waiting for it’s prey to finish pancing before pouncing on it.

The doctors explain what occurred during childbirth: the stress, your medical condition, and your final choice.

Xanxus keeps his children no questions asked. He was going to raise them regardless because all this? This loss? Your loss? His loss? The children’s loss? It hits too close to home. It’ll be a cold day in hell when he denies them.

He only allows his children to be out of his sight when Squalo’s around. Because no matter what, he won’t let his children see him, remember him in a fit of rage, guilt, and depression. Because he remembers too well of his mother during those colder times - how frightened he was, curled up into a ball and covering his head, hearing her scream and throw the little furniture they had out the window through the thin walls of the slums.

He won’t put that kind of pressure on his kids.

But he needs the release.

For the next few years, Xanxus is a neurotic bomb ticking. The twins are never to step one foot out of his territory and anyone who so much as looks at them will be “dealt with” on the spot. Physical training for the twins are borderline abusive but Xanxus wants to make sure the kids are strong enough to take on world. He can’t afford to lose another person he loves.

It’s not until the twin’s early adolescence when he finally snaps out of his deadbeat ass and gets his shit together. He sees the twins who cower before him - not respect or even follow - cower. Obey. It’s when they apologize for getting a single, minuscule scratch from a stealth course that he realizes he haven’t been parenting, he’s been ordering. He could see the pressure of failure weighing their body, trying to wipe away the tears in fear of their father’s wrath.

Just how long have they been holding it in? Just how long was it since he saw them cry? When they were children? No, it was further back. It was when they were infants. And for how long have they been frightened by him? Years? A decade? More? Everything he did, everything he tried to protect boiled down to this?

You wouldn’t have wanted this. He doesn’t want this either. He never noticed just how toxic he was until that moment. No, perhaps he knew but he was just a bitch quailing in fear and the heartbreak of your passing. But that’s no excuse to treat your own blood like trash.

Realization comes in waves until he just breaks.

The twins will instantly be alarmed, afraid of what could be an enemy attack. But before they can bark any orders, Xanxus, wraps his arms around them - silent and still.

It was at this moment, for the first time, the twins saw that their father could cry.

Giotto

Out of the thousands of people in this side of Italy, why did death come after you? You, who did nothing wrong, who committed no acts of treason, who have never even killed a man in cold blood.

Giotto falls silent, the only thing he has left being his tears. He isn’t screaming damnation to God nor is he lashing out to his friends and family.

This was the first time the Vongola guardians saw him cry like dying man trying to absolve himself of his sins. This was the third time G saw his friend like this. The first time was when they were younger and saw a aristocratic man dismembering a prostitute. The second was during a raid gone wrong where half the Vongola guardians were critically injured. And the third? Was when you died giving birth.

Maternal death.

Deep down, Giotto knows this is somehow his fault. His fault he didn’t treat you better. His fault that he fell in love with you. His fault that he couldn’t protect you.

G has to violently shake him to snap him out of his trance, telling him that there’s hope. Before you passed, you sacrificed your life for the babies - twins the doctor told him.

At first, he’s hesitant. Would he bring death on them as well? After a deep breath, he cradles his children with the tenderness of Saint Mary and the fear of sinner. His heart is torn in two: overjoyed that his children survived, that your sacrifice didn’t go unrewarded. Yet, at the same time, guilty and despondent. The moment he thought he would share with you in gaiety, he holds them alone thanking the lord that, at the very least, they lived.

“Isn’t it not humorous, G?” he says tears dripping over his reddened cheeks.

“What is Giotto?” he replies with melancholy.

“That, man has so much power yet they can never use their strength for the women they devoted their lives to. That the efforts of mankind cannot pass God’s judgement?”

“Giotto...“

There’s a long pause before Giotto speaks again.

“I loved her G,” he says with a hurt, forlorn gaze, “I still do.”

G lights a cigarette, sitting down next to him. “I know.”

“...I love her so much G. If I only took care of her better then perhaps the children in arms would not be motherless. Like I was... like how we were.”

“...I know.”

It wasn’t a big surprise to anyone that you passed away during childbirth. Lately, many women have been dying from it as well. And from an outside perspective, it was only meant to be being the wife of a don. Death was commonplace in the mafia and anyone who dipped their toes into the underworld knew to lock their emotions and throw the key.

Yet a grey cloud hung over the manor. Giotto loved you and by extension his family as well. Your legacy still remained. Your two babies survived, lived, and grew up. Giotto was never the same man but he did his best to raise them right, to protect each other and whoever they would give their lives to.

The only thing Giotto would’ve wished to do before his deathbed was to properly mourn for you instead of his pitiful cries at night when the children were asleep. Unfortunately, the underworld waited for no one. He had to move in an endless, torturous run for his remaining family. He lost you somewhere far along the road.

There was no turning back now.

[miamibeachhistory-blog]

A Place Behind the Dunes copyright Michael Durham

I spent my whole life going to the beach. There was just something about the warmth of the sun, the sand between my toes, and the calming roar of the waves crashing on the shore, that made me feel at home. I loved the beach and I can still remember the times when I wouldn’t go near the water unless I was wearing my red and blue Spiderman floaties, begging my dad for ice cream even though it was almost dinner time and the treat would surely spoil my appetite. I remember the hot sun beating down from above, melting my chocolate soft-serve cone down my hand. When you were a kid you never really noticed how messy you were, covered in sand, ice cream, and God knows what. Those times were simpler, when trips to the beach meant family, friends, adventure and relaxation. Now, it’s a whole different feeling when I venture down to the dunes, stepping over seagrass, driftwood, and old beer cans. It’s the third time this month I have found the lifeless body of some poor girl who was unfortunate enough to go home with ‘Gilgo Jack’.

My name is Howard Heart (people call me Howie), Chief Investigating Detective of The Suffolk County Police Department on Long Island, New York. Do I enjoy my job? Hell yes, what kid wouldn’t wanna be a detective. And although everything I do isn’t as glamourous as the primetime CSI shows, to me it couldn’t be cooler.

In my mid-forties now, life is coming at me more quickly. People tell you when your young, not to blink because you might miss the ride and this couldn’t be more true. I feel like just yesterday I was graduating from the academy and then boom I was married with three kids, coming up on a decade into my career. Nicholas was almost 9 already.

This morning at 5 am I got the call that another victim had been discovered, mangled into the brush on the dunes right off Ocean Parkway. This had been the third victim in a month and the fifth already this year. But this is the first time that I was named as the Chief Detective of the case after the last detective stepped down after making no significant leads in the past month.

All the victims were found the same way: naked, lacerated, strangulation bruises, and missing their tongue. All the victims also met a similar description. This one, Cindy Kouffax, was in her late twenties. A tall, blonde girl from California that must have moved out here for undergrad and just never left. That was the common theme among the victims: they were all fairly young, tall, thin and lived alone.

I went around the dune to where the crime scene was and almost lost my breakfast. I had seen dead bodies before, two prior this month in fact, but the way this poor girl looked, it nearly defeated me. I darn near wanted to cry. It is crazy to think just how sick some bastards are, and having a young daughter, I thought to myself about what I’m gonna do when she starts going out with her friends. That’s a real nightmare I have.

As I burned my lip on my coffee, my partner Tim Robbins filled me in on the details, which were bleak and unrewarding.

“Yeah, same kind of deal, young attractive girl that probably ran into our friend Jack.”

First of all, Jack was far from a friend. ‘Gilgo Jack’ is the name we kindly bestowed to the killer as some kind of tribute to the greatest murderer of all time, the infamous Jack the Ripper. It was Tim who came up with the name, cleverly I might add.

“Jesus, you never can get used to that smell though huh, Howie?”

And Tim was right, the smell of that decomposing corpse was worse than you could imagine, it lingered in your nostrils and you could never forget it.

“This is the third body we found this month and we still have no more of a lead on a suspect than after the first body was found in April. We need to do something here. We can’t keep letting these girls go out and end up like cattle ready for slaughter.”

The suspect we are looking for is a ghost; he never leaves evidence of DNA. The incisions on the bodies are usually clean, suggesting that he has some sort of a medical background, but then we get a body that looks like its been hacked-up with a rusty butter knife and we don’t know what to believe. There are never any witnesses to describe a potential suspect and half the time we don’t even know what bar these girls got picked up at. There is still so much space missing when trying to connect the dots. We haven’t made much headway since the first body was found months ago.

“Hey, I think I got something over here!”

One of the officers called me over and pointed down to the sand. Jack had made a critical mistake, he was getting careless. There laying on the dune covered in sand, was a broken, bloody stiletto that could be the first lead in catching this monster.

 We investigated Cindy’s home and found little to nothing. She was tidy and meticulous, everything was neat and organized. It was a nice place. She must’ve been doing well for herself. You could tell that she was a careful individual who was very schedule oriented. We joked about her multi-colored calendar chaotically covered in post-it notes, which actually led to some headway. Written in pink highlighter was the word ‘Memory’ circled and underlined twice on the little Thursday square. This was a lead. So we headed off to the local hangout known as The Memory Motel.

Later that night me and Robbins took the trip into town. It was about three miles from the last dump site. The Memory Motel, a little rinky-dink bar that is usually filled with an older crowd of locals, chain-smoking cigarettes with little tasteless conversation, a real hole in the wall place. Definitely not a place someone would expect a girl of our victim’s age. They do have a great deal for burgers on Mondays though, so it was worth the trip. Robbins and I stopped by to chat with the bar proprietor, “Rusty” as he was called.

We showed him a picture of Cindy. “Yea, she was in here the other night, a real natural beauty, you couldn’t miss her. She ordered a cocktail and waited in the corner over there for about a half hour, then she got up and left. That was at about 10.”

“Did she speak to anyone while she was here?” Robbins questioned.

“I don’t think so, but the boys were gawking at her, she seemed to like the attention. But no, she sat by herself over there in that corner until she left.”

Well, we didn’t gather as much useful information as we hoped, but Rusty’s recollection did initiate a timeframe. She was still alive at 10pm that Thursday night.

 The next morning I got up at my usual time. It was still dark out, but the birds were chirpin’. It was that kind of weird dawn time when people were awake before the sun. I’m not a man of long showers, but for some reason the warm water on my face felt so strangely good. I hadn’t slept much last night. When I finally emerged from my steamy hideaway, my wife, Kate, was already downstairs.

“They wrote an article in the herald about that girl you found yesterday. She graduated from Columbia Law School a few years ago. Her parents had no idea she was even living on the island.”

This poor girl. Her parents hadn’t even known where she was when she was killed. Imagine the devastation on the other side of the line after she was identified. I went back upstairs and gave each of my children a kiss on the head. They were still asleep; school didn’t start until 8 for them. They all looked so innocent laying in their tiny beds with their superhero and princess comforters, hopefully dreaming big. Never tell a kid they cant be something when they are little. They have the rest of their lives ahead of them to become whoever they want to be. At least that was my view on the situation.

Walking back into the station, I was met midway between the door and my desk with a handful of papers shoved into my face.

“This is the full report from yesterday’s victim, and you’re never going to believe this. We found DNA on that stiletto that wasn’t from Cindy. No matches for it yet but we are gonna continue to run analysis on it. Makes me feel a little better that she clocked the sucker and didn’t go down without a fight.”

This was the best news I had heard in a while. All night I was running scenarios in my head of how the next victims were gonna look, each more unpleasant than the next. But this made me hopeful. There was a positive aura around the whole station and everyone seemed to benefit from the good news.

After lunch, Robbins and I headed back to the victims apartment to do one last sweep while waiting for the DNA results. For some reason I had a feeling that we were gonna find something new, something we missed and overlooked before. It was a good day and we wanted to keep the momentum going. It was eerie walking around in this dead girl’s apartment. It was a place where she lived her own individual life and now it was nothing. It was no longer a home, no longer a place to come home to after a long day of work, no longer a place to laugh or cry, it was just nothing. Unfortunately, we found nothing of substance, and it was time to head back to the office for the results.

“The cross reference came back without a match, I’m sorry Howie.”

That one sentence was basically the end of my day. All hope I had from early had simultaneously left my body at that moment and I was immediately exhausted. I went back into my office, shut the door, and laid my head down on my desk. This is where I stayed until it was time to go home.

People say not to take your work home with you, but I couldn’t help myself. My Dogfish Head IPA had run dry and the Mets were losing 7-1 to the damn Cardinals. It was hard to distract myself from work. I wanted to pull myself away. It was late. I needed something stronger, so I poured myself a handsome glass of maker’s mark, slugged it, and poured another one. I made my way to my office where I sat the glass down on my desk and began looking over some old files that I had laying around. Most of them just cases from earlier in my career. None of them particularly stuck out. But all these cases were closed. In fact every case I had ever worked on was closed. It got me thinking. I’m going to catch this catch this monster, or it’ll drive me insane. I was tired, it was late.

 My alarm woke me up the next morning, I felt like I had barely slept a wink. It was time to embark on another days work. When I made it back to the office I was again assaulted by Robbins while I was till only halfway in the door.

“There’s a girl here that wants to speak to you. She said she may be able to give a description on our guy. Apparently she was at a bar the other night and a man approached her. She said he offered to buy her a drink, but she was with her fiancé so she refused. But guess who she said she saw leaving with the guy later that night. Our fifth victim, Cindy Kouffax.”

Immediately, I was thrown into the hurricane of hysteria created by this girl. She was crying. I told her to calm down, go slow, and start from the beginning. It was honestly too early for this.

“Okay, okay, well,” she started. “We were at the Sloppy Tuna on Seacliff Street and this man approached me. He was wearing glasses and was very nicely dressed. He was actually pretty handsome.” Her fiancé sitting next to her didn’t seem to appreciate that comment. “He offered to buy me a drink, but I told him that I was actually getting married in a few weeks. Then he kind of chuckled, bowed his head, turned around and left. And that was pretty much our entire interaction. But then right when we were getting ready to leave I saw him leave with that tall blonde girl from the paper! He must have been the one that killed her!”

“What time would you say that was at approximately?”

Looking at each other the couple collectively responded with “2 am”. I glanced up and down at the man. He was rugged and had a band-aid on his face. It was strange but I disregarded it. I was giddy that we had gathered more evidence on a potential suspect. This also narrowed our timeframe even further. Our victim was still alive when they left the bar around 2 that Thursday.

I sent the women and her husband to describe the man to our facial sketch artist. I thanked her for coming in and reiterated what a huge help it was. And it truly was. On the outside I was calm, but on the inside I felt like a little kid on Christmas. This was a crucial development in a case that has been looking more empty and hopeless each day. If we could match a face to the killer then there is no doubt in my mind that we would close this case by the end of the week.

 It was Thursday, exactly a week since we found the last victim and with the weekend approaching I was nervous that our killer would strike again. Having watched too many episodes of CSI: Miami and other Hollywoodized cop-show propaganda, I had a gut feeling that our killer would strike again because they begin to murder more frequently when their thirst simply cannot be quenched. It was a rough morning and my wife found me day dreaming over my bowl of lukewarm oatmeal. It was already 7, I was late for work.

Swinging open the doors to the station, I was surprisingly not met with the loud cacophonous chaos that had greeted me everyday this week. The office was pretty dead. Was it a Holiday? Then I heard Robbins voice call me into my office. He handed a laminated piece of white paper. Hesitantly, I snatched it from his hands and turned it over. There on the other side was the pencil drawn sketch of our killer to the best detail that our witness could remember. It was weird because at first I couldn’t process exactly what I was looking at. It was somewhat surreal because after analyzing the page for about a half minute, it dawned on me. I knew this guy. I felt so dumb that I hadn’t noticed it right away. It was the guy from Al’s Hardware Store. It was Al Olson from Al’s Hardware Store! I jolted to the door, but stopped when Robbins said “Too late”. “Too late?” I questioned.

“We took a sample of Al’s DNA and compared it with the DNA that we recovered from the victims shoe, and I don’t know how but it wasn’t a match. We still have Al in custody if you want to go question him.”

How could it not be a match, we had a witness identify him and work with a facial artist and it matched. Why was this not adding up? How could our victim have been seen leaving with this guy, but he not be the killer? It was the last time she was seen, it was the night she disappeared, how could it not be him? It didn’t make any sense to me. I needed to sit down.

I went in finally after a tall glass of water to chat with Al. He wasn’t very talkative, more annoyed than anything. He said he was trying to take our victim home, but as soon as they left the bar, a gentleman approached them and the victim willingly left Al’s side and left with the new mystery man. Al hadn’t seen his face and the description he gave could have matched any male on the east coast. Needless to say it was not a very enlightening interrogation.

“His alibi seemed fishy, but I think he’s telling the truth. I mean the DNA doesn’t match.”

There wasn’t much more we could do but let Al go. In the back of my mind I was kind of glad that Al wasn’t our guy. He always gave me the employee discount whenever I shopped at his store. I guess that’s what he had to do to compete with the big franchises like Home Depot these days.

I headed home with an empty feeling in my stomach, and no it wasn’t hunger, it was the fact that another day passed and we still had a killer on the loose. It was sickening, the feeling of failure and inadequacy. Anyway it had me thinking, but I was tired so as soon as I got home I passed out. I need a good night’s rest.

 Waking up Friday morning, for some odd reason I felt refreshed. It was the first time in weeks that I might have actually gotten a good nights rest. The real reason I felt refreshed might have been because it was Friday and tomorrow was the weekend, but it was probably a combination of the two. With my wife still soundly asleep I gently rolled out of bed and made my way to the bathroom. I cut myself shaving my face. Those are the worst little cuts. They were deep and bled profusely. I didn’t want to put a bandage on my face so I just dabbed a piece of toilet paper on it and waited for the blood to coagulate and scab. I splashed water in my face, I did have bags under my eyes but I wasn’t too tired. God I looked old; my hair was already beginning to gray. The cut on my chin didn’t make me look any better. The stress from work had really taken its toll on my appearance.

I put on a pot of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table to think. I must have been missing something, overlooking some detail that would break this case wide open. It seemed as though the closer we got, the further we got. It was frustrating. I sat at my table for almost an hour, blankly looking into empty space, but my mind was racing over so many details it felt like my head was going to fly off my shoulders. I snapped back into reality, I was again late for work.

During the drive to the office I just couldn’t get out of my head when that couple came and described Al to us. It was strange that they had acted so quickly in coming to the police. How did they even remember what the guy looked like? They only had a minute interaction at most. Something didn’t add up. I pulled up to the station and again it was quiet but I was expecting some development in the case.

Surprisingly Robbins didn’t have anything for me, no words just lips smacking together as he shoved two jelly-filled donuts down his throat. I sat down at my desk, leaned back, and folded my hands behind my head. As soon as I became comfortable it hit me. Why did the man that came in the other day have a band-aid on his face? Cut himself shaving? No, he had a beard. We needed to call him back in, something about that guy made me suspicious. Me and Robbins decided to make a house call.

Robbins drove, and I was in the passenger seat of his black police-issued dodge challenger. It was a nice car, surprising that this was in the budget. I joked with him in the car of a potential gun fight when we got there, but in reality it was nothing to joke about. There was a real possibility that some action would take place, but that’s what made this line of work so exciting, the danger came with the territory.

We pulled up to 86 Sycamore, the couple lived in apartment B3. Robbins knocked.

“Suffolk County Police Department open up, we just have some more questions for you two.”

There was a chance that they weren’t there, it was 10am on a Friday, surely they had somewhere to be. I tried the knob, the door was open. Cautiously, guns drawn, we entered the residence. I called out again, and again there was no response. The place was a wreck, there was broken glass all over the floor.

“It looked like Hurricane Sandy ripped through their living room,” Robbins uttered jokingly.

Just then a figure emerged from the bedroom, it was the women who had come in. She was sleepily moving towards us rubbing her eyes. I told her not to move any closer. She asked what we were doing in her apartment, and we told her we just needed to ask her and her fiancé a few more questions regarding the “Gilgo Jack” murders. She complied. Just as she was about to sit down, a noise came from behind us in the kitchen. Before I had a chance to turn around, I felt a burning sensation in my lower left back. I looked back at Robbins and he had a growing red, wet patch on his shoulder. We opened fire. As soon as I spun around, I was grazed again on the cheek. I fired two shots back at the man and hit him in the chest. He got off one last shot that hit me right in the neck, before crumbling to the floor. I hit the ground. The room was spinning. What the hell just happened? That entire moment felt like it was moving in slow motion. I thought of my wife. My field of vision was then filled entirely with Robbins who began applying pressure to my neck. It had missed my wind pipe and aorta thankfully. I was still alive but I was bleeding out, and if I wasn’t rushed to the hospital immediately then I certainly wouldn’t make it. Robbins threw me over his shoulder, fireman-carry style and began calling for backup to secure the premise. Robbins threw me in the back of his cruiser and slammed the gas.

 Its funny how the mind works. Sometimes you just can’t control your thoughts. Your conscience wanders through your mind like a lost traveler trying to find his way. I felt warm. My mind drifted to memories of when I was a kid playing at the beach. I saw my dad, he tossed me a football as I dove into the sand. I saw my mother, she was so beautiful and happy. Then I saw my kids, and when I looked to my left I saw my wife smiling. The sound of the water was so relaxing, I could practically smell the sea. I started walking towards the water, then I dove under a wave and as soon as the water hit my face I was thrown violently back into reality.

 I blacked in for a moment and looked up at a team of doctors trying to frantically save my life. The room was so bright. I was hot, but the warmth soon began to fade and I again fell unconscious.

When I finally awoke again Robbins, my wife, and my kids where there staring at me.

“I think he’s waking up! How are you feeling buddy?”

I didn’t know if I was still dreaming or not. I reached up my arm and touched my neck. It was tender and bandaged up. I was alive. My wife started to cry tears of joy, and came over hugged me and kissed me. I was definitely alive.

“Howie, you took that bullet like a champion, I thought we were gonna lose you there for a second. We got the killers, that couple that came in and identified Al, it was them working as a team to court young girls in and butcher them. You did it Howie.”

I began to cry, it was an emotional release that I was not expecting. I never cried, I hadn’t cried since my mother passed away. I was so happy to not only have closed the case but also to be able to live another day with my beautiful family. This whole time we were calling the killer “Gilgo Jack” while we should’ve been calling them “Gilgo Jack and Jill”. I faintly uttered that to Robbins, to make sure he added that in the press release. He chuckled and said, “Good to have you back Howie”.

[hard-care]

Puppies, Participants and Patients: Thinking of care roles as choreographic tools

15, December 2016, Performing Care Symposium, Central School for Speech and Drama

Meg Stuart

In the video playing behind me I am carrying out an exercise with artist and friend Paul Hughes called ‘Use Me’ by choreographer Meg Stuart (Peeters 2010).

It’s an exercise that she has come back to many times in her process as a way to warm up dancers imaginations as well as their bodies and it’s been used to produce material for her work Splayed Mind for example.

In the exercise there’s at least three elements that work to produce the choreography of this duet

Firstly there are two distinct fixed roles - one passive and one active.

Secondly there are practical suggestions of what the active person could do. Stuart writes:

“Try different actions to find different relationships, stories, images. Put your head on their shoulder, imagining they are your lover. Tell a story in their ear. Work with memories of touch, like scratching, kissing or tickling. See them as an abstract shape. (...) lie on top of them (...) teach them how to move” and so on

The finally element and the most important to this presentation is that there are roles to try out, that relate to real-world, imaginary or impossible relationships. Stuart writes:

“Both partners identities shift as they stay in their fixed occupations of passive or active.” offering a list of roles that the participants can try including

Lover and Lover

Intruder and Hostage

Voyeur and Object

Vampire and a Familiar place

Protector and A fantasy

(…)

Guardian and Victim

(…)

Rescuer and Burden”

I am particularly interested in how the use of named roles can be considered in terms of care relationships. And what use these roles can have in developing care relationships.

Distinctions between a theatrical space and a non-theatrical space can be undone from at least two directions. From a sociological tradition Irving Goffman and others in the area of Dramaturgical sociology adopt frames from the theatre - things like roles, scenes and audiences to think about human relations generally. And from a choreographic tradition such as my own, expanded choreography extends the application of choreographic theory and practice beyond the theatrical setting to human and other relations more generally.

Of course care is only one way to read Stuart’s exercise and to do so ignores other things that it involves but the exercise is a starting point to think about how we can play with roles as a choreographic tool and how those roles can produce or reveal particular performances and aesthetics of care.

The roles in the exercise might involve drawing on existing understandings and recollections of caring relationships, for example if we are treat the passive person as we would a lover. And this is not just a representation of care because I know Paul is alive and aware of what is happening and so I am considering how exactly we are holding or moving or touching the other. With roles or actions that do not relate explicitly to typical caring relationships for example more abstract arrangements, there remains an underlying caring relationship of colleagues, friends and fellow humans and so I, the active partner, am taking into account how I touch or lift another - vulnerable - human being.

But there are other states, actions and images that the exercise call for that are less obviously about care.

[pause]

Intimate care

The ethics of care focuses on the moral consequences of attending to and meeting the needs of the particular others for whom we take responsibility. (Virginia Held)

What I am interested in about in Stuart’s exercise is intimate care which is ideally characterised by Tamara Metz in three ways.

One. It is unmonitored by the state or other outside parties

Two. It is not primarily involving a material transaction

Neither Paul or I were paid but he took part wanting to help me and out of an interest in my practice and ideas. Just as I am interested in his practices and ideas. And we have a kind of cautious but also very open friendship in development. But there is work to be done here to understand whether the context of a performance or practice or workshop remains intimate if there are material transactions. If I were to pay him or if an audience were to pay us to perform this. How do such situations test the meaning of intimate care.

So

One. It is unmonitored by the state or other outside parties

Two. It is not primarily involving a material transaction

Three. most importantly here intimate care is “characterised by deep, diverse, particular and non-contractual ‘terms’, ties and motivations”

Deep here means to the point of life sustaining. That they are diverse means they are material, emotional, physical and spiritual.

The particularities and diversities of intimate relationships are worked out in private in different ways verbally and non verbally; and as I have mentioned they are importantly not contractual - unlike the care of a nanny for a child for example.

Roles

Our intimate relationships may be named in broad terms for example friends, parent and child, uncle and niece, husband and wife, lover, companion etc. that end up being negotiated at a macro-sociological level. By this I mean that although the exact ways that each of these is constituted and practiced varies from case to case and from time to time, because they are words and made with language, there is some kind of working and contested understanding at a social level. For example we might think how husband has been expanded to include men in same sex unions; or how godparent can now refer to people with a non-religious interest in a child’s upbringing.

Or when people feel that a term like ‘husband’ cannot accommodate changing practices and arrangements or cannot be purged of their heterosexist, patriarchal origins, terms like partner and significant other are put into use as alternatives.

The development of these terms occurs case by case but the pace at which they might evolve at a social level is often slow and generational.

However different kinds of care roles can be invented and negotiated more quickly at the micro (face to face) or meso (group) level for example in professional, sub- or informal cultures.  As Metz puts it “protected from outside interference, [intimate caring] relationships can serve as meditating institutions and sites of potential resistance to the totalizing tendencies of states” p125 since the state also has the upper hand in deciding how many relationships are constituted.

A mundane example is to have particular names for people in particular intimate relationships - what we might call pet names.

Kink

Kink sub-cultures are particularly well known for the adoption of roles and practices that allow for the adoption of non-normative intimate and sexual relationships.

For example the roles of dominant and submissive which may be fixed through a relationship or may switch even within a particular encounter

In a study of of dominant and submissive BDSM roles in 2005 Hébert and Weaver 2005 write that

“Most participants, including both dominants and submissives, indicated that dominants should be, and usually are, empathic and understanding. Both roles stressed that dominants need to be caring and sensitive to how the submissive is feeling.”

A particular variation of the dominant submissive dynamic is daddy - little dynamic. The little  takes the role of a innocent, playful individual. They are not role-playing a child - although some others may do this for sexual or non sexual enjoyment - rather taking on the characteristics of a child, a puppy, a goblin and so on. The daddy may be any gender but takes on a nurturing parental role.

Medical aside

As an aside I would like to turn briefly to non intimate care in medicine which involves both formal roles of patient - including specific diagnoses - and and medical professional. But there is also a fair amount of literature that describes the unofficial terminology used by medical professionals to describe patients.

Sometimes these are affectionate for example Boyfriend refers to “A little old man who is a simple joy to take care of. This patient is sweet and unintentionally funny.”

but more often the literature describes derogatory terms like

Albatross “A chronically ill patient who will remain with a doctor until one or other of them expire”

or GOMER which stands for Get Out of My Emergency Room. Usually a male patient whose senility, chronic illness or lack of compliance portends troublesome and unrewarding care. (Coombs et al 1993)

These might often be presented as a way to avoid slipping into intimate care for example a study this year into What makes a compassionate relationship between caregiver and patient?  highlighted that “Professional training emphasises the importance of developing an ability to detach oneself from the patient’s distress and personal circumstances. (...) In order to protect themselves from such anxiety health professionals need to be sure that they don’t identify with patients.” (Goodrich 2016)

But a study from 1961 by medical sociologist Becker and colleagues (Boys in White) suggested that the detachment of name calling may be as much to do with disdain for patients that are not obedient and useful to their own progression within the existing system. (Wear et al 2006)

We are getting a little away from this presentation now but it does remind us that names are not automatically pro-care and that care practices - including those in performance settings) - may also be vehicles or even covers for power plays.

Choreography

So I see here a connection with Stuart’s exercise where roles are used to play with different forms of intimate caring relationships albeit cycling through them with some speed, fluidity and ambiguity.

Her’s is a particularly interesting exercise for me but other contemporary western European choreographers and American choreographers working in western Europe have been working with roles as choreographic tools and it is perhaps not a coincidence that these people are friends and colleagues with Stuart and each other as well as peers.

For example in Hana Lee Erdman’s work Animal Companion people enter an exhibition space where they are offered the opportunity to engage with an ‘animal companion’ (a human performer) who accompanies them during their visit.

Then there is Alice Chauchat who works with companions and lady companions - she works in the same circles as Lee Erdman so these ideas are in circulation - to choreograph relations between performers, the dance and the the audience.

And Keith Hennesy works with death and dying rituals in which the passive person takes the role of a corpse to be cared for.

And so in my own enquiry which has begun with an experience of these other practices that I have mentioned.

Traditionally choreography has been an aesthetic of mastery. Of certain kinds of skills and crafts. But how can care and particularly intimate care be an aesthetical practice as well as an ethical one.

I am starting to produce a lexicon of care roles taken from across different fields - choreography, kink, medicine and others. Not to produce a definitive menu of caring relationships because both personally and artistically we will want ambiguity and diversity and complexity. Rather such a lexicon can highlight the complexity and diversity of care relationships. And in their application they immediately become disturbed. A lexicon starts from the concrete real world practices of care and builds a bigger but not abstracted understanding of how what care might be.

So how might such a lexicon be used this expand the repertoires of care practices we have available to us as artists, citizens and humans - as beings constantly in relation to other people, beings and things.

Bilbliography

Coombs RH, Chopra S, Schenk DR and Yutan E. (1993) Medical Slang and its Functions’ in Social Science and Medicine. 1993 Apr; 36 (8) :987-98.

Goodrich, Joanna (2016) What makes a compassionate relationship between caregiver and patient? Findings from the ‘anniversary’ Schwartz Rounds in Journal of Compassionate Health Care

Hébert, Ali and Weaver, Angela (2015) ‘Perks, problems, and the people who play: A qualitative exploration of dominant and submissive BDSM roles’ in The Canadian Journal of Human Sexuality (2015),24(1):49

Metz, Tamara (2010) Untying the Knot

Peeters, Jeroen (2010) Meg Stuart: Are We Here Yet? Damaged Goods. Les Presse Du Reel

Wear, Delese, Aultman, Julie M., Varley, Joseph D. and Zarconi, Joseph (2006) ‘ Making Fun of Patients: Medical Students’ Perceptions and Use of Derogatory and Cynical Humor in Clinical Settings’ in  Academic Medicine May 2006 - Volume 81 - Issue 5 - pp 454-462

[mcgurganatorzx-blog]

Wednesday Review:  Undertale

I guess I enjoy making reviews of things I don’t 100% like.  I refuse to like something for the purpose of irony, I suppose, but I also think that nothing is without it’s own faults.  The truly successful books, games, pieces of media in general, tend to take their issues in stride and move past them.

So why in the world can I just not dig Undertale for what it is?

I need to preface this before I get into the meat and potatoes:  I did a dubbing project with some friends a while back for this game as a way to mess around and help someone on a digital media project.  I will do my best not to let my experiences cloud whatever thoughts I have, as it was a voice acting venture alongside a pacifist view into the world below the crust.

Undertale is a role playing game at its core where you control a nameless, voiceless character as they attempt to find their way back to human civilization.  You see, they fell down a hole in a mountain and landed in the world of monsters.  The catch is that “Monster” is just a race of creatures.  Most of the denizens of this subterranean world act just as human as a “human” character would.  They have thoughts and feelings, they like to goof around and have fun, and very rarely, if ever, act truly monstrous.  They’re wary of this new individual but genial to strangers as a whole.  But, there are your main cast and your supporting cast, after all.  What I call the main “cast” consists of all of the boss-fight characters who end up coming back into the story or constantly exist thematically.  Toriel and her concept of creatively figuring out how to clear a fight without killing your “adversary”.  Sans and Papyrus, the skeleton brothers who are both silly yet powerful during their encounters.  Undine and her quest for GREAT JUSTICE, and anime references.  So on and so forth.  These main characters are a wonderful source of organic chatter throughout the game, bringing character to themselves, their world, and the main ensemble.

But man, I wish the side characters were more than cursory blurbs for their environment.

Don’t get me wrong, Heat Flamesman is hilarious.  Mettaton steals the entire second act of the story (I would know, I got to ham it up as him).  Spider Dancing all night and all that jazz.  I just can’t bother with these side characters because outside of side material that you have to truly search for, these characters add very little to the overall story.  It’s not a bad thing though, minor characters and the secondary ensemble of MTT Asgore, and other various tertiary characters just come in too late to the story once the concepts have been cemented into place.  They add more to speculation about the game more than anything.

“But, those are some of my favorite characters”, both you and I scream at each other.  The characters are fun after all, this is an RPG game.  So why is it also a bullet dodger?

The RPG system is broken down into two steps.  The first is selecting your action using a UI that is very similar to Earthbound/Mother.  That’s fine, it’s a nice little reference to what Toby Fox did through the Earthbound community.  What I have an issue with are the action steps.  If you select ACT and don’t end the encounter peacefully, you play a projectile dodging mini-game to stay alive, else you take damage.  If you FIGHT, you play a timing minigame to land a mark as close to the center of the fight bar to deal high damage.  Few enemies in the game actually take more than one hit to defeat, so FIGHTING is no fun.

No, the problem is that there are multiple pathways in the game.  Depending on who you fight and who you try to interact with, you change the game on a sliding scale of what I’m calling the INTERACT/FIGHT system.  The more you interact with the denizens and learn how to

non-violently pass each battle, the more interesting mechanics and story you get.  However, the more you fight against the monsters, the more boring your journey becomes, although you get some interesting challenges as a result.  The game is more fun and entertaining when you interact.  But more endings require you to fight certain bosses or eliminate all of the random encounters, and that’s just tedious.

To compound onto this, the game has an active save so that it remembers everything you do across all runs.  If you fight one too many characters, your file is forever ruined.  Going down the tedious and boring “Genocide route”, eliminating all bosses and random encounters in all areas of the game completely ruins any and all playthroughs you do moving forward because one time, in a game, in one save, you were a very naughty person and killed everyone to get a specific ending.  Yes, the message of doing this stands out but the only two compensations are you get two interesting boss fights.  Both of which are nigh unbeatable at the point you get them.  Other than that, the content is unrewarding and it ruins your save, so why even do so?

Also, never play this game in front of people.  For one, anyone sitting in the room will become a backseat driver because of their previous knowledge and experience with the game, ruining an organic playthrough.  Second, if you letsplay this game, be entirely prepared for people to always tell you “you’re doing it wrong” for the same reason.  I refuse to play this game in front of anyone for that reason.  It’s a game for me to enjoy, not for everyone else to critique.

At this point, I think the popularity of the game comes into question.  It is a magnificent piece on how gameplay and storytelling can and should intersect, yes.  But because it is so popular it is inversely affecting how many people will organically experience this game.  All of the letsplays, voice overs, comics, guides, theory speculation, etc. ruin this game because the best part of any RPG on the planet is the story.  And because it is a 6 hour game at best, the alternate endings are more like branching paths rather than supplements.  You don’t always get more information and story, sometimes just a different ending.  More often than not you get slight differences.

Again, I think the music, presentation, and most of the storytelling is top notch for Undertale.  I really think this paves the way for indy developers to create almost instant classics for all of the work they do.  I do think that duality of the gameplay and the save file holdovers actively ruin the game.  The message that there are non-violent ways to end fights is a nice one, but ultimately does not translate into other games very well.  I recommend you play it once.  Just once, without anyone watching.  Then you can wiki-dive as much as you want.  Just do your best to experience this organically.

Play this game as much as you want, just try to do so alone the first time.