#i might be able to salvage my emergency savings now..........

[mspeevee]

update

barely contained relief and rage

[bardic-inspirjaytion]

Why do you call your cat piss king? Is he really good at it or something?

hi anon!

we're gonna learn a bit about cat urinary systems and issues! it may be a bit TMI for the scope of the question but, given how few cat guardians know about this, I'm always looking for chances to educate since being informed can literally save a cat's life.

the main takeaway: if you notice that your cat cannot pee, HEAD TO THE EMERGENCY VET NOW, DO NOT PASS GO! full stop.

if they cannot pee, that is one of the few true emergencies in a healthy cat, and you NEED to treat it as such.

usually you'll see a blocked cat straining and vocalizing in the box, licking themselves, whining and highly reactive to being touched on the lower belly, and - of course - you won't see any proper urine in the box. there may be dribbles or blood, but no pee. this is a problem that escalates really fast, and can easily be lethal. do NOT fuck around with it.

what qualifies me to talk about this? it's exactly what happened to pekoe (peek for short) about three years ago.

proper Storytime and more detail below the cut.

see, the thing with cats is that their bladders are tiny and their kidneys are, uh, bad! so if they can't pee, not only is it incredibly painful, but the liquid and toxins building up in their system can do a LOT of organ damage in a VERY short amount of time. this can get very bad, very fast, and it is very easy for them to die from it if the issue can't be fixed easily and promptly.

usually, the vet will be able to get a catheter into the blocked cat to relieve the pressure, flush out their bladder if there's a physical blockage (ex, if they've made bladder crystals/stones, we gotta get those out of there!), and give them medication to prevent spasms and infection as they heal. a cat then needs to go on urinary-friendly food to prevent additional blockages for the rest of their lives, and some other lifestyle adjustments should be made to treat any underlying risk factors that the animal might have.

sometimes, however, that doesn't resolve the issue, and they block again. and if you're extra unlucky, they'll block AGAIN after that. and maybe again, for extra spice. if you're extra extra unlucky, this will all happen in the same week.

this is the situation that peek and i found ourselves in.

picture the urinary system of a cat as a funnel, with the external bits being the tip of the funnel. when you ultimately need to make a funnel bigger because it can't drain anymore, what do you do?

you remove the tip.

this is an operation called a perineal urethrostomy, or a PU for short. it's a last resort salvage procedure that essentially removes the external genitalia of a male cat to widen the exit of the urinary tract and prevent future blockages. it's a difficult and delicate operation with a very long recovery time. it was also the only option left to save peek's life.

real talk before this next bit: i will never judge pet guardians for impossible decisions made in good faith based on qualified medical advice, in the interest of trying to do what's best for their pets. flat up, i don't stand for that shit.

okay? cool, let's keep going.

a PU is definitely not a surgery that has any guarantees, it can be very painful, it needs a very skilled vet to do it, and it's both expensive and difficult to see an animal through it safely. it was also the one option we had left to save peek, who was very very VERY sick at that point. the vet told me that she was also willing to do euthanasia, if the PU was not right for us, with zero judgment - the little guy had been through a lot of pain and several surgeries already, and doing this operation would be asking a lot more from an animal that was already very weak, with no guarantees of success.

he was briefly stable so i took him home to think about it and sat with him overnight. hours in the darkened living room, with my fluffy best friend sleeping fitfully in my arms like a sick baby. in the morning when he woke up he gave me a little lick on the face, and then a headbutt with a weak but undeniably hungry little meow. he hadn't had an appetite in a week, but now he wanted breakfast. in that moment, i knew he was letting me know that he wasn't finished fighting yet, so i knew the right decision for me was to keep fighting for him.

i called the vet, and we went ahead with the surgery.

i'll spare you the rest of the grisly details - the procedure was a success, and i was lucky enough to be able to work remotely and nurse him through the recovery. it was long and difficult and stressful. it sucked! it was crazy making. i would break down weeping with relief every single time i saw a dirty litter box for WEEKS. if you're reading this and going through it yourself, please feel free to reach out to me any time, okay?

but we persevered. i took care of him, and he rallied like a goddamn king. and hey. anon. guess what?

that was almost three years ago. his life went fully back to normal after he healed. you wouldn't know that this had happened if you didn't already know, because that fluffy little king still pisses like a champion race horse.

so, that's the story of how pekoe became

THE PISS KING.

[fioreofthemarch]

Finding Her - Chapter 18

Link makes notes, takes photos and keeps time on his quest across Hyrule, in the hopes of finding Zelda and staying sane until he does. [ Previous | Next | First | AO3 ]

Warning: The Purah Pad has exceeded maximum operational vertical speed. The Purah Pad is not rated for a descent rate of more than 3000 feet per minute.

<&lt; HARD STOP DETECTED >>

<< EMERGENCY LOCKDOWN INITIATED >>

Would you like to continue operating the Purah Pad?

> Yes

Please enter extreme conditions authorisation code Core functions shutdown in 13… 12… 11… 

> LINK

Incorrect code. Core functions shutdown in 9… 8… 7…

> I HAVE TAKEN THE PURAH PAD FROM THE HERO ALLOW ME TO USE IT 

Incorrect code.Core functions shutdown in 5… 4… 3…

> INFERNAL DEVICE DO AS I SAY!

Incorrect code. The Purah Pad has entered an emergency lockdown. Next passcode attempt in: 999 minutes

---

Log date: 12:05 9th month, 12th day 104AC Location: Lookout Landing Weather: Cloudy

The Hero of Hyrule is famous for his bravery and his strength, but even he sometimes has a bad week. This morning, the swordsman Link arrived on our doorstep looking worse for wear. His hair was muddied, his clothes were torn, and he was covered in cuts and bruises. We had not heard from him for nine days. In this report, I, Josha (Head of Depths Research) will piece together what we know about Link’s disappearance. 

The Purah Pad logs show that nine days ago, it was dropped from a significant height. This is because an overspeed warning was triggered, followed by an emergency lockdown approximately ten minutes later. Additionally, the last log entry is partly corrupted and overwritten in code. This may occur when the save function is interrupted. Finally, anecdotal evidence supports this theory. When Link arrived at Lookout Landing, he handed the Purah Pad to Dr. Purah and said, “Might have dropped it”. Taken together, it is clear the Purah Pad fell a significant distance, however where it was dropped was a mystery - until now. 

A series of notes found in Link’s inventory may provide clues to his whereabouts for the past nine days. These notes are short and each ends with the words ‘Glory to Master Kohga’. The paper the notes are written on is marked with a red, upside down Sheikah eye. This indicates that the authors of these notes are none other than the Yiga, who moved to the Depths of Hyrule four years ago, after the defeat of Master Kohga by Link. Therefore, the only place Link could have collected these notes would be the Depths themselves. 

The notes have been scanned using this Purah Pad, which belongs to Link. This is because I am, apparently, not yet old enough to have one of my own. The Yiga appear to have taken the Purah Pad from Link, and write in the notes that he is following them. Therefore, we theorise that the Purah Pad was dropped into a chasm where it was stolen by the Yiga, and then was retrieved by Link at a later point. My next report will attempt to reconstruct how Link was able to escape and return to us. 

A photograph of Mineru, the Zonai Construct, helping one of the residents of Lookout Landing repair the roof of his mini-stable. 

Caption: This construct is also here. It arrived about a day before Link returned. I must go introduce myself! 

---

Appendix A: Salvaged Yiga Notes 1-4 of 8. 

Yiga Note 1 A day for the history books! The Purah Pad has been won from the villain, Link. Our scouts on the perimeter reported seeing him fall through the nearby Naydra Chasm. They say he appeared to be reaching out for something as he fell. 

Unfortunately for him he fell into a frox den. While he was dealing with that, we pounced. At last, the Sheikah technology that was kept from us for millennia is ours! 

We are using our network to transport the Purah Pad north, to the Abandoned Lanayru Mine, so that our Master can unlock it… and its secrets. 

Glory to Master Kohga. 

Yiga Note 2 The Purah Pad has been delivered to the Ploymus Canyon Hideout. Tomorrow, four of our field agents will take it north-west to our Master.  

Now we turn our attention to the hunt. There is a situation unfolding that must be dealt with.

The Hero has been spotted on our trail. Each time we think we have lost him, he finds us again. We are unable to remain in the shadows. He keeps activating those damned light roots…

We will find him and stop him in his tracks. 

Glory to Master Kohga. 

Yiga Note 3 Finally, shelter. We have not slept in days, but we cannot stop moving. Link gains on us with each passing hour. He wants that useless Sheikah device back, clearly. If only we could get it to work…

There are whispers that our hideouts have begun to go dark. Each one that we pass through cuts off all communication within a day. We have also heard reports of a blaze, a large one. But surely, one Hylian could not do that much damage.

The others are getting worried, but not me.

Glory to Master Kohga. 

Yiga Note 4 To any Yiga who finds this note. Do not engage the Hero under any circumstances. 

Shortly after we delivered the Purah Pad to Master Kohga, the Hero arrived to exact his revenge. The weapon he carried shone as bright and terrible as the midday sky. How he survived this long in the Depths is beyond me. 

Praise Ganon - we managed to hold onto the Purah Pad, and our Master survived the encounter. We have taken him to a secret location in Hebra, far from Link’s reach. Without the Purah Pad, he will be trapped in this part of the Depths. 

Or so we hope.

Glory to Master Kohga. 

---

Log date: 17:45 9th month, 12th day 104AC Location: Lookout Landing Weather: Light rain

In stories told of heroes, it is said that their chief goal is victory in battle. However for real people, victory doesn’t always get them what they want. The swordsman Link is still recovering. He has a fever from an untreated cut, but Lady Jerrin is looking after him. In this report, I will… well, I was planning to write about Link’s escape from the Depths, but now I’m not sure. 

The final four Yiga notes tell a simple story. Link tracked down the Purah Pad and went in search of Master Kohga. Except it’s not clear if Link defeated him. It’s really important that we find out. Master Kohga is our oldest enemy, except for maybe Ganon himself. But no one in Lookout Landing is talking about it. They’re not even talking about the Demon King anymore. So I went to visit Link to find out what happened. 

He was only half awake and seemed whoozy. I said, Hi swordsman, it’s Josha. Sorry you were stuck down in the Depths so long. I wasn’t sure if he heard. He was mumbling to himself but the only words I could make out were: gone, gone, gone. I said yes, Master Kohga is gone, right? Then he had a moment of clarity. It was scary. He looked me in the eye and said, “Who cares about Kohga?”

I don’t know. I care. Someone should. Kohga tormented my people for over a century. And the Yiga have rebelled against Hyrule for even longer than that. Shouldn’t we care? But something else is going on, isn’t it? Something that a kid isn’t going to get told about. 

I’ve attached the final Yiga notes to this log, whoever reads this can look at them if they want, I guess. Link definitely gave the Yiga a hard time when he was down there. I wish I could have helped. 

A photograph of Mineru, the Zonai Construct, being doted on by Slergo and Offrak, two Goron children. One child is swinging off of one of her arms, while another has climbed onto her back. Whether the construct is enjoying this, or is merely tolerating it, is not possible to determine. 

Caption: Her name is Mineru. I really should introduce myself. Maybe later. 

---

Appendix B: Salvaged Yiga Notes 5-8 of 8. 

Yiga Note 5 To all Yiga, living or dead. Remember me?

Tell your Master: I will find where he is hiding. Even if I have to search every single one of your little outposts. 

It’s been less than a week but I’ve sacked more of them than I care to remember. At least more than than I can count on both hands, since you stole my only other way of taking notes. 

You think I’m trapped down here with you. No. You’re trapped down here with me. And I’m not leaving without my Purah Pad. 

Glory to Master Kohga. However much he has left. 

Yiga Note 6 Terrible news. We have lost the Purah Pad. It pains me to write of this failure. 

It was Master Kohga’s decree that we keep the Purah Pad moving through our network, rather than hold it in one place. That way, we would reduce the chance of Link finding it… but that didn’t stop him. 

He tracked us to the Elma Knolls hideout. We threw everything we had at him. Every Zonai contraption he neutralised, every footsoldier he struck down. Then our hideout was on fire. I don’t even know how he started it. 

In the panic, the idiot Battlemaster in charge of the Purah Pad dropped it! That was all it took. Link snatched it back, unlocked it (something even Master Kohga could not do!) and teleported away. 

He was gone in an instant, to Ganon knows where.

So much for our victory. 

Glory to Master Kohga. 

Yiga Note 7 I hate to admit it, but we are getting nervous. 

It has been two days since anyone in our network has sighted the menace, Link. 

Our agents above ground have not seen him. None in the Depths have been able to recover anything. Link and the Purah Pad have vanished. 

Reports indicate that our leader is safe and sound, but with no news of Link, we must take precautions.

We have dispatched scouts to Hebra, just to make sure.

Glory to Master Kohga.

Yiga note 8 ALL AGENTS BE ADVISED: THIS IS AN URGENT CIRCULAR. 

Any agents in Hebra must immediately report if they have seen Link, otherwise known as the Hero of Hyrule, the Princess’ Appointed Knight, or other alias such as ‘the demon’, ‘the villain’ and ‘the blond menace’

Contact has been lost with the Abandoned Hebra Mine Hideout. REPEAT: contact has been lost with the Abandoned Hebra Mine Hideout. This was Master Kohga’s last known location and was the site of top secret research and development. 

Contact your local hideout if you have any and all leads. Do so as soon as possible or the worst may come to pass.  

Glory to Master Kohga. 

---

Log date: 10:00 9th month, 13th day 104AC Location: Lookout Landing Weather: Cloud clearing. 

I went to see Link again. He was awake and sitting up in one of the beds in the Emergency Shelter. Jerrin says his fever has passed, which is good. He didn’t even remember me visiting yesterday and apologised if he said anything weird. I lied and told him he didn’t. 

Since he was feeling better, I asked him again what happened to Master Kohga. Link explained to me that he survived for nine days in the Depths on nothing but mushrooms and moss, with no gear except his clothes and the Master Sword on his back. Eventually, he fought Master Kohga in an abandoned mine below Hebra. Kohga tried to use a big Zonai construct, like Mineru, but it didn’t work, and now he’s gone. I don’t know if Link means he’s dead or something. He just said that Kohga won’t be troubling us anymore. 

Great news, right? Link didn’t seem that excited. He just said, “Is it?” I answered that I thought it was. “But I feel nothing,” he said. And then he started crying. Like, crying crying. 

I was dumbstruck. Ever since the whole Upheaval thing, you’d think more people would be crying, but everyone’s been soldiering on. I thought, what did my parents do, the last time I was really upset? All I could remember was my mother putting her arms around me, so that’s what I did. I put my arm around Link’s shoulder and hugged him tight. I thought maybe you just have to squeeze the tears out of a person until they feel better. But…

She’s gone, he kept saying. She’s gone. I asked who he meant, was it Zelda? That did NOT help. He cried harder, but with no sounds now, just tears and shakes. So we sat there for a long time, until Jerrin noticed what was happening and chased me away, telling me to let Link sleep.  

So now I’m here, outside the shelter, feeling useless and very sad, and not really knowing why. It sucks. This whole situation just kind of sucks. I don’t know what to do… but maybe it’ll come to me later.

A photograph of Mineru, sitting on the steps leading to Josha’s research station on Lookout Landing. She is looking directly at the camera, and is waving. 

Caption: Oh shoot. I think she noticed. 

---

Incoming message… [MINERU (UNKNOWN)] Processing…

Connection established.

10:15 MIN| Hello there, Josha. My name is Mineru.  

10:15 JSH|Hello. Sorry about the photo.

10:15 MIN| Do not worry.  It is flattering. 

10:15 JSH| I see. Did you want to talk?

10:16 MIN| I prefer using the Purah Pad. Sending messages via text is simpler.  

10:16 JSH| Quieter too, I guess.

10:16 MIN| Yes. Everyone is nervous about Link. I thought it better to stay discreet. 

10:16 JSH| Yeah. Hey one moment, I’ll join you.

10:16 MIN| Be my guest. 

10:19 MIN| Is it not a pleasant view from these stairs? You can watch everyone in Lookout Landing go about their day. 

10:19 JSH| I’m usually focused on my research. Not that it’s helped much lately.

10:19 MIN| I understand the feeling. I was once much the same. 

10:19 JSH| You were a researcher?

10:19 MIN| Many years ago. Zelda and I shared this interest. Did you know her? 

10:21 JSH| Oh, not personally. I grew up hearing about her, everyone did. It helped knowing the Princess was once like me. I might have been a weirdo book nerd, but I could be a scholar, just like Zelda. She’s the reason I’m a researcher.

10:24 JSH| I wish someone would tell me what happened to her. I asked Link but he got pretty upset about it. So stupid…

10:24 MIN| Your actions were not stupid. Curiosity is natural.

10:24 JSH| You should have heard him. It was like Zelda had died. But that can’t be it, can it?

10:25 MIN| Your elders have forbidden me from telling you much but… Princess Zelda indeed still lives. Unfortunately, it is no longer in a way that she can share with us. 

10:26 JSH| That’s terrible. Poor Princess… I wish I could help somehow. Link survived the Depths fine on his own, so my research was all for nothing.

10:26 MIN| Your presence was not ‘all for nothing’. You were there for him. You helped him through that dark and terrible moment. 

10:27 JSH| I made him cry.

10:27 MIN| Not all tears are bad. Often they are the first step on a long journey of acceptance and peace.

10:29 JSH| I suppose when you put it like that. Mineru, is Zelda really gone?

10:29 MIN| I do not know. Time will tell. But we honour her memory by protecting her beloved Hyrule. Speaking of, it’s time we recalled the Sages to Lookout Landing. They each have a message medallion, but someone has to make the calls. Someone with a voice. 

10:30 JSH| Do you mean…me…? Well, say no more! Josha, Head Assistant to the Five Sages of Hyrule, at your service!

10:30 MIN| It is very much appreciated, Josha. When you are ready, we can get to work. 

Connection terminated.

[tundrainafrica]

Hey so how does it feel to carry the entire Levihan fandom on your back? I absolutely love all your stories! I always look forward to when you update! I had an idea for a fic but I haven't seen anyone do it. Where past levi wakes ups ( when he only sees hange as a friend) in the future to find that he's happily married to hange or living domestically with her and just contemplates his feelings for her

Title: Unwritten

Summary:

“Hange Zoe. One of the reasons why she creates really quality works is because aside from writing the script, she’s very hands on with everything from the direction, to the design and just the overall production… And she knows how to do it. When I watch her movies, it feels like they're peering into my soul or something.”

“Peering into your soul…” It was a tacky choice of words and Levi could only repeat them with some level of disbelief.

“What makes Hange Zoe's writing special are those in betweens. The unwritten parts... if you know what I mean?" 

Levi is assigned to work with screenwriter Hange Zoe and he is left constantly wondering why the hell she's taking her work so seriously.

Link: AO3

Note: I conceptualized this long fic after looking through a some of the prompts in my inbox and playing with them.. TYSM to everyone who sent those. I won't be dropping all the prompts I used when making this now because it might end up spoiling the fic as a whole but I will be dropping the prompts with every chapter I updated.

This fic doesn't actually follow any prompt strictly, I twisted the prompts around them, tore them apart, put them together so they might seem unrecognizable for some.

Either way, I'm very grateful to readers who are sending me prompts. It keeps me writing and brainstorming even when life gets terribly busy.

So thank you for them :D. I'm trying to get back to posting my writing more regularly again and this fic has been sitting in my folder for a while, I was just a little nervous to post it. Thanks to itShailaAM for looking through it!

If neither of us remember anything… Then it’s like it never happened right?

The voice was nostalgic, heart wrenchingly nostalgic. It had a unique way of twisting at his gut, spidering up his spine then leaving an almost painful pang in his chest.

Despite the overwhelming sensations, Levi found himself still able to take control.

So he reached out.

Then he was chasing after her again.

Chasing… He then wondered. How long had he been chasing? How long had he been awake?

With the first light of morning, whatever message, whatever meaning he could have made up for himself dissipated.

Or maybe it was never there to begin with.

For the first time in years or even decades, Levi was wasting his early morning window before work. He wasn’t doing much of anything but staring up at the white ceiling in some feeble attempt to make sense of it again. He came up empty save for two things: a faint throbbing in his head and a half hearted conclusion that maybe it really was just some fevered dream.

“Good morning!"  Someone was right next to him. Her voice was higher, more mellow. A hairs breadth away from his ear though, it grated.

Levi narrowed his eyes and the blur cleared somewhat. “Petra?” He heard himself speak. He was in an unfamiliar in-between, completely in control of himself, yet strangely disconnected. “What the hell are you doing here?”

Petra put one hand on the back of her head and gave him a sheepish grin. “Sorry about barging in like this…” She didn’t have to apologize. They were childhood friends and with all the family gatherings they had spent together growing up, they were more than comfortable just flitting in and out of each other’s apartments.

Levi didn’t respond. There were more important things to think about like the slow and almost painful process of sitting up. That morning, he was a little more careful than usual.

“Your mom told me to check on you.” Petra continued.

“Typical,” he muttered coldly. He turned towards the window, and took in the view of the blue sky, a few stories above ground. It should calm him if he stared at it long enough. “She always overreacts,” he added. At that point, the crankiness had started to subside and Levi realized he didn’t mind the doting too much. His mother had always been like that anyway. Growing up, a sprained ankle or an animal bite from a family pet had always been enough for Kuchel to insist on a visit to the doctor.

Petra let out a dry chuckle. “I don’t blame her though. Since the accident, she’s been asking about you every...”

Everyday. Levi completed it for her. He wouldn’t be surprised if his mother had asked about him every hour. “She can always ask me directly,” he said out loud before Petra could finish. He didn’t feel too bad about interrupting. Petra had been speaking particularly slowly since a while ago and if he let her speak like that for any longer, they might not get anything done.

As if she had read his mind or at least noticed the impatience, she immediately gathered herself. “You always downplay it,” she said, more clearly this time.

“She always exaggerates it.”

“That accident was pretty bad though.” Petra cocked her head to the side. “I’m sure you understand that, right?”

Levi averted his gaze for a brief second. He couldn’t deny that part. That accident had apparently been bad enough to merit a month long hospital stay, bad enough for Levi to not remember much of it aside from the phantom pains in his chest, And bad enough to take the brunt of the pain and the inconvenience of dealing with the symptomatic disorientation, the fatigue and the begrudging need for some support.

A few seconds of reflection later, Levi concluded maybe there was good reason for that overreaction. “But I can take care of myself.”

Ironically, his body chose that moment to teeter.

“Hey, you okay?” Petra put one warm hand on his shoulder. “You think you can make it to work today?”

The throbbing at the back of his head had dulled to a bearable ache but he could have sworn it had been worse in the hospital. “I don’t have enough leaves,” he said. He focused for a while longer on Petra’s eyes and saw reason.

Maybe I can take a longer break?

His body was probably silently begging for more leaves. On the contrary, another part of him had been yearning for normalcy for a while. Practicality had been the deciding factor. Although Levi had more than enough leaves, did he have more than he would have been comfortable giving up? Maybe not. He wouldn’t take it anyway. He had more than enough strength to push himself out of bed and pad lightly to the bathroom.

Unwillingly or willingly? He was too tired to tell.

“You were in the hospital just a week ago.” Petra was a voice of reason or a voice of temptation.

“I can’t take any more leaves,” Levi repeated again, as if saying it louder somehow made it more convincing. He made his way to his closet, keeping his strides purposeful, partially for himself, partially for her.

Even for a long time friend, Petra had always been shy and conservative. As soon as Levi motioned to pull his shirt up, she rushed out of the room in some characteristic gesture of modesty.

His bedroom door closed with a click and Levi started to slip his clothes off much faster. His head continued to throb. There was a strange ringing in his ears and the room was a little drafty, typical for early spring.

Levi didn’t have the mind space to prepare for that brush with icy wind. Fucking hell. Discomfort then the desperation that followed had him considering calling in sick again.

After using up three week’s worth though, vacation leaves were starting to feel more like a scam than an actual benefit of the job. He ran through the motions of his typical morning routine. Or at least, what had been typical a month ago. Since the accident, he hadn’t worn anything but loose shirts, pajamas and hospital gowns. Back in the hospital, he had been asleep a lot of that time.

He pulled his pants on, then sluggishly pulled his sweater over him, dolefully noting how snug fitting clothing seemed like strangers to his skin.

He didn’t feel like the same person anymore.

It looked like Petra did notice something was different. Over breakfast, she had pushed the plates closer to him. She did the honors of pouring the scrambled eggs onto his plate, then placing a loaf of bread right next to him. “Eat, we have a long day ahead.”

Levi mumbled something that could have been a ‘thanks’ or a ‘yes.’ He didn’t think too far about it either. There were more pressing things to deal with, like internally psyching himself up for his first day back at work and finding routine once again in the recovery process.

For a few minutes after, the two were silent in the small kitchen save for the sound of chewing and the sound of cutlery clacking on the plate.

“Hey Levi,” Petra hesitantly broke the silence. “You really don't remember what happened?” She had asked that question countless times before, back at the hospital, on his first day back at home and every single time she paid a visit.

He chalked it up to worry. In some semblance of a response, Levi downed the bread in his mouth in one painful gulp, then took a sip of tea. “I remember waking up in the hospital.”

“Before that.”

Levi dropped the half eaten bread on the plate and stared straight up at the ceiling for a second. “Leaving work,” he answered. It was too vague of an answer and Petra didn't seem satisfied.

Of course she wouldn’t be satisfied. He always walked the same route home and routine wouldn’t give too much of an answer to the question of how the hell more than a month ago, he had ended up with a severe concussion and a few contusions in the hospital emergency room, a few towns away from his own.

Past was past though. There was no use digging into it. At present, he had medical bills to pay and a career to salvage. No time for a personal investigation. He attempted to digress. “What did I miss?” Levi asked. “At work?” He noted Petra’s very disconcerting expression, a combination of pity and uncertainty. It was starting to get annoying.

Petra furrowed her brows, a little more hesitant to speak that time. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about...”

In protest, Levi put the bread down and stared at Petra, his stone cold expression unwavering. He wouldn’t be eating unless Petra continued. He wasn’t hungry anyway.

A few minutes of silence later and it seemed to work. Petra looked down at the bread then up at him. Whatever was plaguing her mind then had taken some control over her. “A lot has changed since the accident,” she started.

“With work?” Levi asked again. He dropped the bread on the plate, deliberately allowing the clatter, as if the loud jarring sound would be enough to drive away the disbelief. Three weeks or fifteen business days wasn’t supposed to be a long time taking into account the speed of office bureaucracy.

Petra nodded, a wry smile on her face. Her expression, her demeanor gave the uncertainty away before she spoke of it. “You’re probably going to have to talk to Mr. Zackley about it…”

Levi’s mind was racing. Despite the throbbing, Levi had managed to fill in the blanks for himself. Even before Petra expounded on it, Levi had started to accept already, going back to work was probably not going to be such an easy ride.

Being gone for weeks had done a number to his job.

Three weeks to be exact. It was just three weeks, fifteen business days. Despite Petra’s apparent discomfort, her incessant warnings not to ‘expect,’ Levi had expected some semblance of normalcy. When his hopes were dashed, Levi felt like he had been body slammed out of nowhere by an oncoming train.

“I’ve been working on their set for years…Since the pilot episode, ” Levi said slowly. Hell, since even before the pilot episode if you consider the preproduction stage. He didn’t want it to seem at all like it was an argument and he subdued his tone to something lighter, with the intention of reminding himself not to talk back at authority.

“And we’ve transferred you,” General Manager Darius Zackley said matter-of-factly. “Underground City has been garnering a lot of attention lately and we couldn’t afford to be undermanned at such a crucial point of production.”

“But was it necessary to transfer me?”

Mr. Zackley’s expression softened. He didn't have a natural expression that demanded authority but he made up for it with reason. “It’s a primetime show,” he explained. “One of our best, and given the uncertainty regarding your accident…” For some reason, he had hesitated at that word. “We couldn’t take a gamble. We had you immediately replaced after the first week.”

“And?” At face value, the new developments were starting to seem terribly, terribly disappointing. “I can still work there.” Levi was perfectly aware of where the conversation was going. Still, it didn’t hurt to try.

Mr. Zackley was surprisingly patient. “It’s not an issue of you not fitting in. But we want to properly and more efficiently distribute our labor. The production of Underground City is currently…” He cleared his throat. “Oversaturated.”

Oversaturated with budget, resources. Underground City was a crime and mystery drama, one of their more high budget productions. Levi wasn’t too surprised at that piece of information, having worked closely with the producers and the writers since the pilot.

With a boss a few reporting levels above his own though, Levi couldn’t do much but listen quietly. Disappointment and uncertainty loomed over him and he was tiring more quickly.

“We’ve made some arrangements, set you up with a new role.” Mr. Zackley was taking his sweet time, his painfully sweet time.

At the butt end of Mr. Zackley’s whims, Levi was a mess. He racked his brain for all possible outcomes of the ‘arrangements’, a painful process, hampered by the weight of too many possibilities. They were a medium sized network that produced most of their own TV shows on top of news coverage and documentaries, still too many for Levi to have cared enough about to count.

At that moment, he was determined to make up for lost time. Naturally, his mind first flew to the more well known productions, those that had been receiving the best ratings in prime time TV since he had started working there.

Underground City. Military Police.

Working at the set of the crime drama ‘Underground City’ had been a good run for Levi, one he would have liked to continue but Mr. Zackley said so himself, they replaced him. ‘Military Police,’ one of their more popular historical war dramas, also received one of the bigger chunks of their budget. With Zackley’s very sullen expression, it looked like he wasn’t at all there to give Levi a promotion.

He didn’t really mind not working on the ‘Military Police’ set anyway. Everyone there seemed like a lazy prick and that long running drama had always seemed overrated to him. What else would be waiting for him though? “To where?” Levi pressed.

The old man hummed for a second, leaned forward on his seat. “I talked to Erwin about this and we have an opening in one of our daytime shows.”

“Erwin?” Levi repeated. The name was more than just familiar and he allowed himself a brief moment to recall. Erwin Smith. One of the more prominent in-house directors. Just digging deep into his mind, riling up whatever was causing the headache in the first place. He sat still and waited for it to subside again.

Then he wondered if it had been physical or just an emotional reaction to the mess he found himself in. He was barely recovering, he was plunged into a new position and he was confused, utterly confused.

“Consider it a temporary position until something else opens up,” Mr. Zackley added. “Given that you just got back from the hospital, it would be better if you started small.” He shot Levi a placating look. “Either way, this is a good opportunity for you, Ackerman…” It didn’t seem so genuine. “To ease you back into the hustle and bustle of working in TV production.”

Zackley spoke for an eternity longer after that but it had done nothing to make the transfer any better.

Levi had been working with that same hustle and bustle for years and he was confident, a three week break at the height of production wouldn’t have been enough to throw him--- hell, most people off completely.

But he was being treated like some invalid. Zackley’s warm words yet his uninviting demeanor sent some alarm bells ringing inside Levi.Mr. Zackley was overly consoling, overly placating and Levi’s mind was racing.

Levi took a deep breath and dropped his shoulders, willing himself to relax and focus on the present. Whatever the catch was, he’d find out soon anyway.

To ease you back into the hustle and bustle of working in TV production.

What a magnificent fucking lie.

“Start small my ass.” With the stress just piling up and his body barely catching up, Levi was tempted to let it out as anything louder, accompanying it with the very dramatic motion of dropping the paper work on the floor and relishing the loud thud. He imagined scattering the pages on the table, spilling them onto the floor and maybe kicking them out onto some curb.

Then he brushed off that mental image completely.

That would only create an unnecessary mess, maybe even cause a scene in that small cafe. Although his life seemed like it was complete chaos, his fastidious side wouldn’t have allowed him to make it any more worse. Then and there, he deemed it the best option to just take a sip of his tea, allow it to warm him up slowly and create a comfortable distraction, somewhere convenient.

A minute or so later, Levi accepted, tea didn’t do too good of a job. After all, what could tea do, aside from supporting him through the long and painful two days of ‘adjustment’ and the journey to the very frustrating conclusion that the general manager of the studio, Mr. Zackley was too out of touch with the struggles of the average worker.

“Just for long enough to get back to the hustle and bustle of TV production? What a fucking liar,” Levi muttered again. He dropped the tea cup on the saucer with a clank.

“Well, technically you are starting small,” Petra said. “They don’t expect too much quality wise from a soap opera on a day time slot.” She flipped through the pages of scripts and the storyboards that formed an overwhelmingly thick pile of papers on the coffee table.

It wasn’t too thick. Levi stared for a while longer and he decided it was a manageable pile of documents. The soft copies on his laptop were also of a countable number.

The deadline to be completely functional in two days though wasn’t as reasonable.

In search of some semblance of a break, Levi shifted his gaze towards Petra.

Her familiar presence had made the job change bearable. A half hearted response with her attention mostly channelled towards the piles of scripts had still been enough to have Levi more at home in the middle of the coffee shop in the late afternoon. “You didn’t even need to transfer,” Levi said. The indignance and the bitterness of a while ago seemed to be mellowing into something almost sweet.

Petra turned a beet red and she put her hands up in defense. “No no… I wanted to. Besides, this type of set is always in need of more people.”

Levi raised one eyebrow in response. Soap opera sets? Or maybe just daytime soap operas in general. Or maybe just that particular soap opera set. He turned back to the pile of papers on the table then back to his laptop.

The pile of papers on the table was the script for that month alone. The folders in the USB were eight seasons worth of soap opera scripts and episodes. Levi was once again reminded why such a project could have been so undersaturated.

Scratch that, he had never forgotten and he didn’t think he would ever forget anyway.

The script for just that month was much larger than the piles Levi worked with at his previous production. By the second day, he was starting to conclude, working with daytime soap operas was turning out to be a grind, a seemingly thankless grind.

Soap operas ran with the expectation of producing five episodes a week with a shoestring budget. The pressing deadlines and just the amount of content that had to be produced meant vacations and holidays were few and far in between for the average employee. And the unreasonable demands usually meant that quality would naturally suffer.

Since he started assimilating into his job, he also started to wonder. What audience were they even producing soaps for in that day and age?

“Do you think you’ll even enjoy this?” Levi challenged.

“It’s too early to tell,” Petra said.

Levi didn’t want to admit it then, but he was convinced that she would even find a way to enjoy it. The question should have been for him. He was the one who could barely even get past the first page of the script.

Petra flashed him a knowing smile, flipping the pages a little faster. She wasn’t reading them and all attention was on Levi.

Her face could have been asking questions. Or Levi could have been projecting. He repeated the question to himself. What now? More specifically, what was he supposed to do?

Then he answered it. Get used to it? Or maybe just accept it as a job. The grind would eventually get less painful he was sure. But would he ever see the beauty in it?

Levi had never taken the time to watch that particular soap opera but he had seen too many in passing to know what he would be working with.

The stories didn’t make fucking sense. The sets were cheaply made. The lights, the cameras and the resources for special effects were far from what he was given when he was still working with the twenty-one-episodes-a-season, one-season-a-year ‘Underground City.”

According to Erwin, they just didn’t have the budget. Besides, the average viewer didn’t expect much else anyway from a soap opera.

Either way, he was still hired as the cinematographer. This is still your job. Levi took a deep breath then exhaled with a soft huff. First things first, he had to familiarize himself with ten to fifty episodes worth of scripts. That night, he would be watching the blocking, the lighting, the editing, the overall production.

That was the job of the fucking cinematographer anyway. Erwin had warned him though, they were severely undermanned in all facets of production, pre production, production proper and post production. And for shows that aired multiple times a week, that meant, the grind wouldn't end.

So he wouldn’t just be the cinematographer.

At the impending workload that followed his orientation phase, Levi closed his eyes tight. For a second there, his mind flew to other opportunities and just the process of editing his CV and applying elsewhere.

Maybe in a year he would reapply, or maybe even in months.

He wondered if Petra was thinking the same thing. If she were, she didn’t make it obvious. Petra enjoyed the production process just as much as he did and she had been the reason he had found a job there in the first place.

“Welcome back to the working world.” Petra chuckled.

Levi blinked back the surprise in his eyes as he was once again pulled back to reality. Admittedly, he was overwhelmed. The weak throbbing returned and after spending too many hours insisting to Petra that he was ready to go back to work, he didn’t think it right to take a break.

He sipped his tea and deemed that a quick break.

“God I miss our tea times,” Petra said, looking pointedly at Levi's tea caup. She flipped the script over and pulled her teacup towards her.

Levi noted the wistful expression on Petra’s face. “I was only out for a month,”

Petra shook her head. “But for a week or so, we thought you wouldn’t make it.” There was a subtle crack, not too noticeable if Levi hadn’t tensed up and watched her closely.

It was bringing up too many unwelcome emotions at once, and somewhere in the back of his mind, a haze of memories aggravated the throbbing in his head.

Levi turned back to the pile of papers. With the amount of work to do, he would never have the time to ponder what happened anyway. In an attempt at digression, he pulled the script towards him, and started to flip the pages, poring over words yet only taking in half of it.

A very boring half.

Eventually, he gave up. “Let’s go back home. We’re not getting anything done here.” He gathered the pages, and meticulously returned them to each envelope.

He was supposed to be reviewing the scripts to get some idea on how the TV show worked. They had chosen to work in the cafe to escape from the bustle of the sets and attempt some productivity. Yet, they had been in the cafe for a few hours already and he still didn’t remember what the story had been about in the first place.

Soap operas didn’t have logical plots anyway. Levi thought to himself. Maybe just accepting could make his work feel more unbearable. He watched as Petra gathered the pages on her end, stuffed them into her bag.

“Sorry, I thought you would have wanted tea. You always liked this place…” Petra was explaining herself. The not-so-eloquent way at which she did it was a distraction. In fact, everything at that point was either a distraction or even irritating. Levi took a deep breath, closed his eyes and let the throbbing take control for a second.

One step at a time. Levi slung his bag over his shoulder. “The tea was good,” he said, more for her than himself. That was a lie. In fact, the tea tasted underwhelming. Tea usually didn’t disappoint though and Levi was starting to suspect the fault was in him. “Just give me some time to get used to life again,” he added, his tone more apologetic that time.

A few seconds or even minutes of reflection later and Levi had to admit, he felt like he really had changed during that break.

Cinematography is visual storytelling. Or so, that was what he had been taught when he started working with TV shows years ago.

When there was no story he could follow, there was no essence or heart to portray. So, Levi naturally approached it like a cold hard science. The hard copies on folders lay abandoned on the coffee table. His laptop remained unopened.

Levi's attention was trained on the big screen. He had silently been sprawled on the sofa since they arrived back to his apartment hours ago. Bundled up in a sweatshirt, legs propped up on the coffee table, Levi was in that convenient trance between relaxing and analyzing.

He had no idea what the couple on the TV had been arguing about. He had no idea who had fathered the large overly tacky baby bump sticking out of the woman.

The latest episode was playing on repeat and Levi remembered two things happening in the past ten minutes. A pregnant woman entering the crappy set of their mansion, hand on her oversized belly and  man looked back at her then approached her, a look of abject horror on his face. He was shouting something, obscenities maybe?

By that point, Levi’s mind started to wander with too many other passing thoughts.

The horror at finding out the protagonist was pregnant was overly exaggerated. Were baby bumps really supposed to be that big? And why did it take them that many months to figure it out? How many pregnancies did the protagonist go through? How many love interests did she have?

Then the cinematographer and the photographer in him took over.

There were more important things to look into. The camera never moved. Levi was familiar with multi camera setups and he didn’t need to think too hard about it. Most of the scenes were filmed in the house, in the office, all conveniently made sets, the conveniently written scripts were written around the shitty budget.

And the high frame rate, in tandem with the inorganic lighting, the lack of special effects and just the lack of some careful camera movement, made the overall story and the overall view, underwhelming, not at all cinematic.

The soap opera effect.

Some wouldn’t see it. Others would probably notice it but not glaringly enough to complain. Levi had worked in film for years and when he would search for the characteristic motion blur, he would immediately find it. The culmination of a simple camera set up, a few sets, a cheap camera, and with a studio and network always in some hurry to cut the budget, the soap opera effect was very apparent.

And they would be expecting the same cooperation from him in putting together a cheaply made production. On the bright side, that meant that despite having to deal with some shitty soap opera plot that didn’t make any sense, he wouldn’t have to do too much thinking with lighting, blocking and editing. Planning sets and scenes would be a light stroll in the park at best, soul suckingly monotonous at worst.

Levi reached for the remote and started to rewind, his interest suddenly piqued.

“So what do you think happened to the baby?” Petra asked. She dropped a bowl of popcorn on the coffee table.

Levi wasn’t in any mood to eat. More importantly, he in the mood to speculate the cheap excuse for a plot. “Am I supposed to care?” He pulled his legs close to him and leaned further on the armrest of the sofa, giving Petra more than enough space to get herself comfortable.

“Well, you’re working on the set right? Better to at least know the major plot points of what you’re working with.”

“Spoil me,” Levi said.

Petra reached for the popcorn and grabbed a handful. She turned to him, a wry smile on her face. “You really don’t even wanna try to enjoy it?”

“This is a job. ”

Petra dropped her shoulders in defeat. “Well… Hanako gets kidnapped…”

“Hanako?”

“The baby…” Petra answered, looking pointedly at him. “They literally spent an episode discussing the baby’s name.” A laugh was very much evident in her voice.

And there are a hundred episodes to sift through. “I don’t have to know the baby’s name to do my job.”

“The baby will be the main character in the next season. If you have been reading the script--- Or even just following the story...” Petra put her hands out and pointed at the TV, starting to look more exasperated by the minute.

“Okay,” Levi responded firmly, not in any mood to stomach accusations. “Then I’ll learn her name when I start working. Just tell me what I need to know to do my job. ”

Petra sighed. “When we get back on air, there will be a time skip. Then the season post time skip picks up after Hanako’s first day of college. So before that she grew up with her adopted parents who found her abandoned in a box. They went through some tough times financially and in the latest pages of the script she gets a job in a coffee shop.” She turned towards the thick envelope on the table then glanced accusingly at him. “I could have sworn you were reading through that back in the cafe.”

Levi didn’t notice it. He had only half heartedly read the script. Still, he feigned a look of interest.

“Then a lot of the writers quit,” Petra continued. “So a lot of what happened hasn't been written yet.”

Levi flashed Petra a knowing look.

Petra sighed. "Apparently, people were overworked, the job didn't pay much so a lot of the crew, cinematographer, production designers, they all left which was most likely why they put you there.”

Levi only had to look back at his first day and his second day to understand the turnover rate. He had spent a little less than an hour familiarizing himself with systems that seemed to be put into place for show. Soon after that, he was bombarded with unreasonable deadlines, timelines, responsibilities outside his actual job title and a little less than two days to sift through eight seasons worth of scripts.

“And why they easily transferred me. We're really behind now.  Post production for the last few episodes should be completed this week, aired by next week.

"Then we have a hiatus at least," Levi said, repeating it with that same cold professional tone Erwin had used with him on their first day. Except he knew that was a scam too. They would be using that two week hiatus to start filing.

That reminder at least pulled Levi back into reality. He couldn’t flit mindlessly from side to side and clock it up as ‘learning the ropes’ forever. Eventually, they were going to ask him to actually know the ropes. “Erwin said something about me working with production proper and post production,” Levi mindlessly rewinded some of the scenes again. “But they can’t expect me to write the script right?”

Petra shook her head. “No, I don’t think you will,” she said. “I talked to a few of the crew. They said they were hiring a writer. A whole writing crew actually--- And you know, among them, there are rumors about a big name screenwriter.”

Levi raised one eyebrow in disbelief. “Joining the set of a daytime soap opera.”

She put her hands up in defense. “It’s just a rumor.”

“A stupid rumor. What kind of screenwriter in their right mind would want to work here?”

Petra paused for a second, deep in thought. “Fine, it might just be a rumor. Still, ask yourself, why would there be rumors circulating in the first place?"

Levi sighed. “Which screenwriter then?” he asked, mostly in an attempt to humor her. And himself. The fact that a big name screenwriter would work in soap operas, might actually make ‘soap operas’ work.

“Hange Zoe,” Petra said, a wry knowing look on her face. As if it was a name Levi was supposed to know.

“Hange Zoe?” And if he followed the same ups and downs of Petra’s tone, he could pretend it was familiar to his lips. “Hange Zoe,” he said again.

Petra nodded. “The writer of the Titan series? The final movie of `Advancing Titans’ is coming out in the fall.”

Advancing Titans. The name had seemingly come out of nowhere, especially when Levi had already run through a few possible names in his head. Hange Zoe hadn’t been one of them. Although she was a big name in the screenwriting industry for sure, the idea of Hange Zoe working with soap operas seemed almost preposterous.

“Hange Zoe…” Levi said it one more time, in surprise or in some attempt to practice saying it. “You’re seriously talking about that writer?” Levi looked to Petra for confirmation. Hange had only ever written one movie series from a completely different genre, which begged a question.“She has some experience in soap operas?”

Petra unlocked her phone, opened the browser and started typing and scrolling. “No… Just the movies…” she muttered a second later.

“Then why do you think she would suddenly want to work in a cheap ass day time soap opera?”

Petra looked back at him, a dumbfounded look in her face. “But the timing just fits too well. The final movie is about to be released. Apparently, she didn’t renew her contract with her studio. There are even rumors of her leaving the movie industry… And there were speculations and everything.”

“Retirement?” Levi suggested.

“Why retire in your thirties?” Petra said.

“Well, when you’re earning millions per script…” Levi trailed off. Thinking up an argument was too much of a tall order. He continued flipped through channels in silence and he had managed to pick out the movie ‘Advancing Titans’ by just a few seconds worth of a scene.

Speak of the devil.

But it wasn’t strange at all to come across the movies while flipping through channels. After all,  Advancing Titans had become a household name over the past few years.

A person in a green cloak was flying, killing some man eating a zombie. It was a familiar scene, Even Levi, who almost prided himself in never having watched the movies, was familiar enough with the iconic movements, the colors and the insignia on the back.

The wings of freedom. How the hell that was connected to the story, Levi never watched enough to find out. Nor was he interested. Science fiction and fantasy were just never his cup of tea.

If Levi had to guess, soap operas and crime dramas shouldn’t have been big wig screenwriter Hange Zoe’s cup of tea either, especially after dedicating years of her life into a production as complex as a science fiction, dark fantasy cinematic universe..

“Do you really think Hange Zoe can actually work with low budget soap operas?” Levi asked.

Petra shrugged and Levi wondered why he had even asked her in the first place. Of course, she wouldn’t know. Still, she spoke up. “Even if the rumors were wrong and it wasn’t Hange Zoe. The important thing is they get someone to pump out scripts right? And your job anyway is to make sure everything gets filmed.”

“I guess.” Levi kept his eyes trained on the screen. The scene shifted from a forest, to the cobblestoned streets in town. A parade of miserable soldiers entered the town within the walls. The camera focused on a father, who navigated through crowds of people, zooming in one of the shorter soldiers.

Captain, I wanted to talk to you about my daughter… She wrote me a letter… She’s too young to get married.

Something about the expression of the soldier pulled Levi in. For a moment, he was frozen on his seat, completely hypnotized.

Petra’s voice tore into his trance. “That’s one of the scenes I can never forget.”

In some desperate bout of retaliation, Levi switched the channel of the TV. “Let’s watch something else.”

“Why? You okay?” Petra asked.

“I’m fine. I’d rather watch something more productive.” Levi flipped more rapidly through channels. He was tempted to just turn off the TV and call it a night.

“There’s a lot to learn from watching that,” Petra started.

"Like what?" Levi asked, his grip on the remote was still firm.

Petra opened her mouth, then closed it again. She sighed. “It's hard to explain... but remember that scene just a while ago. The father approached the captain about his daughter… She died while fighting the titans and they had to empty the cart so they lost all the bodies..."

Levi kept his eyes glued to the screen, suddenly hyper aware that there might have been a judgemental or impatient look on his face. “Go on,” Levi said, as if that could do anything to placate the discomfort already apparent in her voice.

“I guess the point I wanted to make is…” Petra still seemed far from calm. “Hange Zoe. One of the reasons why she writes really quality works apparently is because aside from writing the script, she’s very hands on with everything from the blocking, to the screenwriting and just the overall production… Which makes the storyline and the movie so gripping. When I watch it, it feels like the movie is peering into my soul or something.”

“Peering into your soul…” It was a tacky choice of words and Levi could only repeat them with some level of disbelief.

“A lot of the novelty of Hange Zoe’s writing… The parts that make it special are those in betweens. The parts she left unwritten... if you know what I mean?"

“That’s cool,” Levi responded, only barely. He switched to their local channel, to the late night reruns of the soap opera. .

“They’re good movies. I don’t think they were overrated," Petra said, a hint of defensiveness in her tone.

"I never said they weren’t good movies."

"You don't seem to want to hear about it at all."

"I'm just not interested. Besides, I'm too busy with work." That was the right moment to feign business. Levi held his phone in front of him, opened up the browser and wrote out a few familiar keywords. The movies of the titan series were all ranging from four to five star ratings. Whether it had been commended for cinematography or writing, he had been too lazy to check the more detailed reviews.

The reviews were most likely raving, sloppily made and potentially biased and Levi didn’t want to hear another synonym for ‘peers into your soul.’

His eyes were drooping, he was exhausted. Petra seemed to be ready to leave as well. But he had some space, he needed some break. And what better way to spend it than to do a little stalking? "Petra, could you send a file of the first movie? I think I might wanna watch it."

"You can stream the older ones on demand," Petra said.

Levi only had to open the menu on his TV to see the option for streaming. Right. Watching movies was starting to feel like a chore though and he was in no mood watching that night.

He didn’t say much else after that and the night ended with greetings exchanged. Petra only lived a few floors below him and it didn’t feel any different from being alone.

Before he knew it, he was half asleep already. He gave up, turned off the TV and allowed himself to doze off. When he came to his senses again, the sun was streaming through the window, and with work starting in an hour or so, he had little to no time to even start the movie.

The set was small. The budget was miniscule. The turnover rate was high.

And for projects that wanted to disguise themselves as official and corporate, it was utter chaos. One week into his job, Levi had to admit, he was reaching too widely, and he was spread out too thin.

There was a semblance of structure within his team. Petra and Eld worked with cinematography, filming and camera management and all he had to do was make sure the blocking looked good, limit the amount of retakes needed. Gunther and Oluo worked in post production and video editing.

But structure was an illusion.

The actors hadn’t arrived yet. Other new roles hadn't been finalized. The script was still unfinished. Yet, they were under the mercy of the vision of higher ups

"We're heavily delayed,’ or so that was what Erwin had explained. ‘Feedback of the higher ups.”

There were deadlines, unreasonable deadlines for the employees, yet a reasonable wait for the average audience. They had less than a month to finish filming and post production for the first few episodes of the new season, less than a week to produce everything for the old season.

When he was in a pseudo-management role, as a cinematographer, it was automatic. When filming, he should be going down to the set. But they weren't filming yet. In fact, there were people in the set not doing anything.

In the chaos, everything didn't seem to add up. So Levi forced one memorandum, one attempt at structure. He would finish the final editing by that night and start the next day with a blank slate. Even if he needed to, he would stay until midnight to make it work.

That new writing team should be coming soon. Levi repeated to himself. Erwin had said so himself, Petra had also mentioned it excitedly over lunch.

All Levi had to do was get the episodes ready for review by the higher ups, then ready for airing then he could start that new season with a healthier approach, maybe find some way to add more structure to his already hectic job.

“Petra, don’t wait for me. I’m working overtime today.”

Petra jumped on her seat.

Levi only realized then, he had come up from right behind her. And Petra had been busy reading through something in her laptop, a quick glance confirmed, it was the unfinished script.

Levi continued. “You don’t have to wait for me.”

Petra looked back at him, a worried look in her face. She opened her mouth to speak.

“Deadlines,” Levi answered.

“You need any help? You know Oluo and Gunther, they can stay too. Or even me.”

“I can finish it myself,” Levi said. He was completely aware either way that it was his job to review everything before anyone else reviewed and before it went on air.

There was an indignant look on Petra's face. But Petra never really imposed. She nagged, doted, argued but she never imposed.

And he managed to pacify her by requesting an espresso and a cup of tea from the tea shop right in front of the studio. Beverages were frowned upon in the video editing room. Levi though was particularly meticulous, he was tired and stressed and he allowed himself some leeway.

Just today. And when they start filming the new season, during the hiatus, Levi would reopen his work with a more organized approach, more suited for his personality. He constantly reassured himself of that as he continued to edit the videos, crosschecking with storyboards and scripts.

Most of the work had been done. Most of the work had been easy to scan through. Still it was hours of sifting through retakes, reviewing and setting them up for reviews and cuts. In the silence, completely alone, He gladly gave the task the required focus, more than enough not to have noticed the sound of the door click behind him.

“This is the coffee you asked for right?” The voice wasn’t Petra’s but still it didn’t seem at all hostile. In fact, the voice seemed friendly.

Friendly enough for Levi to feel obliged to respond.”Thanks.” A new hire maybe? In the one week he had been working there, three people had already quit.

It wasn’t worth a second thought. The important thing was he got his coffee and tea. So he didn’t bother looking up, only looking with his peripherals to see the paper white of the cup just a few inches away. He reached one hand towards the cup and surprisingly, his hand didn’t grasp for paper. It went for something a little softer, something a little cooler but still warm to the touch.

And it moved. A bug? A pest? That had been Levi’s first speculation, being the paranoid clean freak he was. Before his guesses could get anymore creative he looked at the cup and saw the cup was stable on his desk. He had a grip, not on the cup itself but on the other hand which held the cup. The movements were from a hand underneath his..

A wild hand. It slipped out of his grip, and before Levi could pull away, it gripped him in return, squeezing harder on his pointer finger and his middle finger.

For just a second. A painfully awkward second.

A second of realization was all Levi needed to pull away. “May I help you?” he asked. It took a lot more willpower not to curse at that strange invasion of privacy. A second later, reason took over and Levi realized that he was the one who had gripped her first.

He had planned to grip the coffee cup, he justified himself.

“They said… You needed some coffee.” The voice was nonchalant. Yet somehow, nonchalance had managed to make his blood boil. “So I came here to drop it and say hi,” she added, as if that was the most natural response.

‘Say hi’ didn’t usually involve two hands gripping one another, then interlocking. Her hands were still gripping the tip of his fingers and for a second they were frozen.. “Are you always this touchy then?” Levi pressed. Especially with a total stranger. Levi looked up, turned his head towards the voice and confirmed it, she was definitely a familiar face but they were barely even acquaintances.

Brown hair tied up in a ponytail, glasses propped comfortably on her nose and just underneath them, warm brown eyes that had no problem just staring, studying… And in their own way, leaving Levi very very jarred by the mundane gesture called ‘eye contact.’

“I was hoping to talk for a bit,” she said. “If you’re not too busy, we can---”

“I’m busy right now,” Levi said. He pulled the coffee closer to him, suddenly careful when awareness dawned on him abruptly. Suddenly, he was completely aware that the coffee cup was only a few inches away from the computer. “Can this wait?”

Those brown eyes were suddenly wider, a hint of surprise. Then they narrowed at him and Levi felt some pity blanket his already sluggish and aimless movements. Before he knew it, he was very very unproductive.

He had to do something. “My name is Levi by the way.” He was deliberately gentler that time and usually lowering his voice and slowing down did some magic to make him seem kinder than he usually seemed to new people. Or so, that had been what Petra had advised multiple times before.

Levi looked up, forced a subtle smile, a combination between a tightlipped line and crinkles at the edge of his mouth. The most he could manage for a courteous introduction.

Her reaction was unexpected to say the least. He noticed her eyes first, the way they widened. Her jaw dropped. She closed it again, a subtle twitch in her lip.

Did I say something wrong? Levi thought to himself. He looked back at the computer screen. “Levi… Levi Ackerman,” he added. Would that help ease the tension of the room?

Even when Levi started to make a game for himself, playing video edits again and again, he realized he was more focused on pretending to concentrate than in actually polishing the transitions between scenes.

Hange eventually spoke up. “Hello Levi. Nice to meet you.” Her voice was softer in that last sentence.

“Nice to meet you too.” That had been surprisingly difficult to say. He sensed the discomfort in her voice, and maybe he had unknowingly mirrored it.

“My name is Hange Zoe. I’m going to be working as a screenwriter here…”

Oh. Oh. So that’s Hange Zoe. For someone who spearheaded blockbuster hits, who had people talking like crazy over rumors, it turned out she was a very underwhelming presence.

“I’m the cinematographer here,” Levi said. Technically, that was his job title but at that point, he was doing everything. “So I guess we’re going to be working together a lot.”

“We will,” Hange responded. Her presence was underwhelming. So underwhelming that Levi felt no need to even be excited that they had a prodigy screenwriter in their midst. Her voice was soft when she spoke to him. Her eyes were some mix of disappointment, nervousness, uncertainty.

Levi suspected it was her demeanor, her approach towards him that had caused such tension to settle in such a tiny room. “Thank you for coffee,” Levi said. Any nice gesture seemed like a worthwhile attempt to ease it.

A wide smile played at Hange’s lips, still far from what Levi would have considered confident though. “Happy to help.”

That’s the award winning screenwriter? “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

“I’m going to be working on a few scripts tonight, have Erwin look at them in a day or so,” she said. Her voice had shifted to something more professional, and her meekness was starting to feel more like a misinterpretation on Levi's end..

“Looking forward to them,” Levi said.

The door slammed behind him, a little louder than the click that followed. The room was dim, it was almost distracting. When Levi turned towards the lights, he considered turning it on, to save himself the discomfort of sore eyes.

He turned his chair, put enough wait into one leg only to notice the sluggishness, the numbness underneath. His legs were jelly. Her hands were trembling and his breaths weren’t coming out in predictable bouts. He turned back to the computer and prepared to review what he had already edited.

The video was playing and Levi was convincing himself that he was productive.

Halfway through the episode, or even a quarter through the episode (Levi wasn’t counting), his mind had wandered. When his surroundings just became a little too overwhelming, Levi let loose just a little bit. He let the heaviness in his chest and the stiffness of his limbs speak for him then.

That voice of a while ago, Hange Zoe’s voice. That voice was nostalgic, heart wrenchingly nostalgic.

[dent-de-leon]

Do you think we all (cast included) misunderstood Lucien's plans and intentions (and a few of his actions) as surely evil because of our impression of Molly? The closer we get to the city the more I think it's less of a world ending emergency and more of a conman's dreams and delusions, twisted by a hive mind entity. I can't say he's just a victim but I have my doubts on where he actually stands without Nonagon. Any thoughts on...everything...? I love reading you talk about all of them!

Oh, this is definitely a tricky question. I think it’s hard to pin down what Lucien wants exactly--especially since he, that shard of Molly, and the Somnovum have all bled together. But we do get some interesting clues to try and piece together where he’s going in terms of the big picture. And I think you’re very much right about Lucien’s original intentions being misguided by the Somnovum. 

I think Caleb is able to express a very intuitive understanding of what ultimately drives Lucien. When he’s explaining everything to Essek, Caleb says, “Our understanding of this is rudimentary at best, but these Tomb Takers--this purple one we have mentioned--believes that he can achieve all his dreams if he brings this city of dreamers back into the world, we think.” At his core, I think that’s what Lucien really wants. And during the last episode, he echoes this again and again:

Lucien: “Long ago, there was a group of people who had an idea to get away from oppressive minds, and pursue their dreams. And when destruction came out of their making, they were ready, or so they thought. And they shunted their people across the planes to safety, in the Astral Plane, where they knew they could make their dreams a reality...And there’s so much that they could do, but they just lack the guidance. It’s a waste of potential. But, I think I could show em. And, maybe if you decide to be more friend than foe, when all is done, I could make your dreams come true as well.”

It’s reminiscent of when Lucien asked each of the Nein if they had an imagination, and what they’d do if they could have any wish of theirs granted. He’s a dreamer. He believes he has some grand plan for the City that will bring clarity to them, change the course of their doomed fate. He’s doing this for himself, certainly. But bizarrely enough, he sees himself as a kind of misguided savior, as someone who simply knows better. Who, given the chance and power, could salvage the remnants of the City and break them free of their living nightmare. 

“I’m their savior as they were mine. I will save them from their pain. From their wasteful existence.” I mean, he calls himself a king so we know he has a nice seat on the throne lined up for him when this all goes down. But still. He seems to think he’ll be a good king for these people, someone who can save them. And that’s....certainly interesting. It suggests there’s a kind of misconstrued sense of supposed nobility to his intentions. 

Of course, it’s important to remember that Lucien wasn’t always this way. He’s not someone like Vess, who started off seeking this kind of otherworldly power, who set out to rule the world. He was scared of the book, once. When he first saw the Eyes of Nine, he admits to Jester that he was horrified. “But, then the dreams started coming. Something was spilling into them. And it wanted my help.” At a certain point, Lucien himself and what he originally wanted began to fade. “So at that point, Luicen became more of a--more of a costume. The Nonagon became more of a presence.” His wants and dreams became one with the City, and he was powerless to resist.

Lucien is quite literally the perfect candidate for the Nonagon, because he’s exactly like all those denizens of the Cognoza ward. Lucien describes everyone in that city as having their souls shattered and slowly reforged by the Somnovum, put together until they became one with the Eyes of Nine, entirely driven by this world of dreams, the fanatical belief that they could make all their desires a reality.

Lucien: “Unfortunately, they didn’t account for was this terrible psychic storm that awaited them, that wracked every mind and spirit and shattered them until they became one with their own city. Death would have been a mercy. But instead, thousands of people, and the Somnovum that guided them, were broken. And overtime slowly reformed. Powerful. The instinct of their dreams guiding them, in the place where they could will their dreams to be--were their will not so fragmented.”

Sound familiar? It’s exactly what happened to Lucien after Vess broke his spirit and scattered all the broken pieces into the Astral Sea.

Lucien: “Imagine if you will, you, the very idea of you, your singular conscience and every thought you had, was accompanied by a hundred screaming thoughts fighting for attention...That was the prison I was sent to. My spirit broken and blown across the Astral winds. But it took the Somnovum following my scent, much like I followed hers, to find all my pieces and put them back together again.”

Lucien was himself destroyed, his sense of identity obliterated. He is whatever shape the Somnovum have made them, a patchwork of their ceaseless chorus of screaming voices in the endless dream. Lucien expresses gratitude to the Somnovum for saving him, painstakingly piecing him back together. And he seems to genuinely believe he can save them in turn. But they undoubtably did so in a deliberate design, with their own path for him in mind. He is of their own making, and I think that shows in his all consuming desire to rejoin them in their world.

But I think he does believe, in his own misguided way, under the thrall of the Somnovum, that he can change this City for the better. Make both their dreams and his--even the Nein’s--a reality. I don’t think that was just him baiting the Nein. Molly’s fondness for his friends still holds some sway over Luicen, even if he can’t quite understand it. “Because try as I might, a part of me still likes them.” Molly seems to be waking, bit by bit, and I think his wants and impulses are now bleeding into Lucien. It’s why he can’t seem to bring himself to kill them.

So yeah, I don’t think Lucien wants to bring about an end to the world, or some large scale destruction. I think he wants a new start for himself and Cognoza. A rebirth. Lucien may not have been “good,” but certainly some part of him was. Or was at least capable of it, as we’ve seen through the softer heart of Mollymauk. But I don’t think Lucien was ever really evil either. I think he’s more complicated than that, and his intentions reflect that. 

“And you plan to go there and stay there? Or bring something back, and make this world better than how you found it?” I think there’s a reason why Lucien was able to look at Caleb and say “Yes” so easily, so genuinely. I think some part of him really does believe it. But those wants and dreams are also tangled up in that shard of Molly’s desire to keep the Nein close and grant their dreams as well, and both of them are caught up in the web spun by the Somnovum. It’s messy. 

[beautifulterriblequeen]

What do your elf eyes see? Runaan and Nyx

This is exactly the kind of distraction I needed today, so please feel free to get inordinately excited about this like I did.

First, a collection of fun but seemingly unrelated eye facts in TDP:

Runaan has mild heterochromia, with his left eye being just a little lighter in hue than his right.

Viren’s eyes are gray, until Aaravos puts bug spit on one of them and turns it a nice purple like his own astral-projection eyes.

Nyx has obvious heterochromia, with one blue eye and one brown.

And the oasis in the Midnight Desert sure is fun, pretty, and mysterious.

Eyes are cool, eyes are fun. They’re pretty, and there’s some cool subtext about seeing clearly, vision, etc. etc. going on too.

But I’m gonna talk about color today. Actual literal eye color. And what it means for Runaan, Nyx, and the defense of Xadia.

Here’s a smidge of background: @kotikala​ had an awesome hc that Nyx was actually guarding the oasis, that her endless nomadic lifestyle was really so someone was always nearby for some reason. I added the observation that the big weird swoops in the black sand looked not-random, and kind of like huge (warding?) runes one might draw with the tail of an ambler, which could be refreshed against windstorms on every circuit around the desert.

The oasis is clearly Moonshadow. The obelisks, the towers, and even the tents are bristling with Moonshadow motifs.

Maybe Nyx is there because Skywings like to be mobile and Moonshadows don’t. And also because shadows are hard to come by in a desert.

So what does the oasis have to do with eyes?

Let’s set the scene with some S3 developments.

Viren’s eyes used to match, until Aaravos performed some kind of spell and turned one of them a different color.

The thing is, when one of Viren’s eyes changed color, so did one of Aaravos’s.

he looks so adorkable right side up, omg

Aaravos’s top of pupils, right and left:

Aaravos’s bottom of pupils, right and left:

In the dungeon, too, because lighting is lighting and I don’t have a 3D turnaround for his astral form:

Aaravos’s top of pupils, right and left:

Aaravos’s bottom of pupils, right and left:

His right eye, presumably, has changed to match more closely with Viren’s right, as if he has given up some of his color to affect it.

*rubs hands gleefully* So let’s take a look at Nyx and Runaan’s eyes. If their left eyes have some kind of similar connection, the blue of her left eye should match pretty closely with the blue of his right eye. So, just a quick dropper test to get us started:

Bottom of Nyx’s left and Runaan’s right eyes:

Top of Nyx’s left and Runaan’s right eyes:

UMM!! 

I... I can barely tell them apart, guys. And I can’t remember who’s is whose, so:

<Mythbuster> Remember kids, the difference between science and messing around is writing it down. </Mythbuster>

Runaan, upper iris, right eye (bg color is Nyx):

Nyx, upper iris, left eye (bg color is Runaan):

Runaan, lower iris, right eye (bg color is Nyx):

Nyx, lower iris, left eye (bg color is Runaan):

(They’re not perfectly identical--and pixels be pixels--but I don’t have a 3D turnaround headshot for Runaan to compare with Nyx’s, so I had to use a screenshot in the best lighting I could find. Even then, it’s nearly impossible for me to spot the difference.)

The design team could’ve picked any color for Nyx’s left eye if they only wanted her to be a cute Skywing with heterochromia. But they picked the colors of Runaan’s right eye. (btw I checked, and her right eye doesn’t match Ethari’s) And since we’ve seen Viren’s eye change color due to magic, and we can tell that Aaravos’s eyes don’t 100% match after the eye spell he did, I think this counts as a secret parallel in the show.

I think it means that Runaan can see through Nyx’s eye, at least sometimes. Probably with some extras that Aaravos just skipped over with Viren, like asking permission and being able to withdraw it. Consent is not Aaravos’s strong suit, but Runaan would want a willing ally for security’s sake--even if he has to work with a chaotic Skywing. (omg the Rayla parallels, omg the Callum parallels)

Why would Runaan want to do a spell like this? Security of the oasis. It’s a Moonshadow place, clearly very important since it’s guarded by the Wonderwall. And he’s the leader of the assassins. Security--protecting Xadia--is his whole job. Nyx could be some kind of ambling security camera for him.

Why would Nyx agree to something like this, though? This trope can be very iffy, and as we’ve seen with Viren, it’s easy to abuse it. Maybe their arrangement gives her almost complete autonomy in the desert with no one pestering her except some random bossy Moonshadow elf every full moon or something, and he’s not even there in person, he just knocks on her eye and asks to take a look around for a second, maybe to make sure the Wonderwall looks tip top and the tents are okay. (because Moonshadows like tents, apparently) 

We don’t know anything about the oasis yet other than what it looks like, so maybe it doesn’t get much, or any, use, and Runaan’s connection to her is more of a Use In Case Of Emergency kind of thing and they’ve never even talked aside from when the spell was created. Either way, changing eye color via a watching spell might be a small price to pay for all the cool salvage she finds all over the desert while she’s “working.”

Additionally, Nyx’s staff has Moonshadow motifs in it. Moonshadow colors, Runaan’s actual shoulder markings, Moon rune points! I love headcanoning that Ethari made it for her--and then she used it to smack his arrow. What a chaos bird.

Rayla seems to recognize something about it, while Callum’s all “Something so strangely familiar.” Yeah, you think?

Alternately, there could be some angst in here. Just because Nyx has Runaan’s eye color and an Ethari Special in her hands doesn’t mean she really wants them. Maybe she, and maybe Runaan too, feel this is one of those “duty first” kinds of things. I can see Runaan making this part of his “my heart for Xadia” mentality, doing whatever it takes, but maybe this explains why Nyx is her particular brand of chaotic. Skywings like their independence, and living with the possibility of a broody Moonshadow borrowing your eye sometimes is likely less independence than Nyx would like if she had her druthers. If she didn’t enthusiastically sign up for the eye spell, she could act more rebellious and chaotic than she normally would--destroying lighthawks, stealing dragons, you know, the whole Hanna Solo bit.

If I had to guess, I’d go with some cooperative shenaniganry, like echoes of the Order of the Phoenix from 300 years ago. Standing against Aaravos put the elves all on the same side, so Runaan resigns himself to this extra duty pretty quickly, and Nyx finds a way to answer the question “But what’s in it for me?” pretty quickly.

As for how Runaan might use this, say, while he was in an extreme situation? Well, first of all, he wouldn’t if he was planning to die in Viren’s dungeon. If he called for help, he’d only be endangering more elves. Plus, his honor was a bit tattery at the moment, and he might’ve felt he didn’t deserve saving even if it were easy (don’t, don’t get me started). 

And second, I’ve got no idea how their connection might function, except that it’s got to be different than Aaravos and Viren’s. Is it to do with her staff, maybe, and certain phases of the moon? That seems very Moonshadow. 

Also, thirdly, I don’t know how much these two characters interact, so it’s possible Runaan “I have trust issues” of the Moonshadow Elves wouldn’t trust Nyx to carry a message for him to the nearest shady pawn broker, let alone Ethari. But I did think about it, ha. I’m really hoping now that we get to see some hints or use for this connection in future seasons, whenever we get to learn more about the oasis! 

The only downside I’m getting from this wild detail and fun headcanoning is that I really enjoyed Nyx having natural heterochromia. But she’s still amazing, and her eyes are still brilliantly pretty, and I support her. 

Anyway here’s Nyx giving Rayllum the bird.

I’m cackling at the thought that she gave it to Runaan at some point, too.

[angelicjadamv]

The story so far

One month after graduating high school in 2015 I was finally able to move away from my family. I was 18 and moved to California for college. Fortunately one of the scholarships I earned was accompanied by a summer program that started in the middle of the summer before fall semester. Shortly after settling in a safe, stable environment for the first time in my life I started to get better. A lot better at first. Then life happened, as it does, and 18 years of repressed trauma and abuse broke me. My nervous breakdown ruined my fall semester, I couldn't go to classes or take exams or function as a student anymore. Until this point, being an exceptional student was all I had and basically how I survived. My safe and stable environment now was dependant on maintaining a certain GPA, among other requirements I could no longer meet. I failed one of my main courses because I had a 0 on 2 exams, including the final. When I went home I was put on antipsychotics. Returning to campus for the 2016 spring semester, I attempted to seek more therapy. I wasn't successful in finding a good therapist (for me, therapy is a personal thing. Just because someone isn't a good therapist for me doesn't necessarily mean they are a bad therapist). I did continue to see my 2 psychiatrists (emergency and regular) often as they attempted to adjust my medication to find something that work. My agoraphobia worsened, I stopped sleeping, I could barely eat, I was manic one moment and dissociative the next, SH and suicidal ideation worsened. I was a burden to my friends and loved ones. I made it through this because I had a beautiful support system that I will forever be grateful for, but I ended up taking a leave of absence academically for my second semester, earning no credits and putting my scholarships at further jeopardy. I was allowed to stay on campus because it was clear I was dangerously unstable with no safe environment to return to and because I had incredible advocates looking out for me. I had realized that I wasn't going to get better in time to salvage my academic career and my life, and was mostly clueless as to how I would survive. I had had an internship in my field since I started college, but I earned basically no money. STEM internships aren't really made to be livable for undergrads, so I had mostly been working for experience in a field I would no longer be able to progress in. Bummer. My physical health had taken a huge dive for all of 2016. I basically always knew I was chronically ill, but I had been abused and gaslit my entire life to believe and act like I was fine, I was just a weak baby, I didn't know what real pain or suffering was, seizures were to be ignored, no I didn't have migraines or pinched nerves (um hello SCOLIOSIS), etc etc. And 2016 was the year my body finally started to break, so I knew "regular" jobs weren't going to be a viable option for me, at least not for long.

And thus I became a survival SW. I stayed in college for a final semester, because I didn't want to miss my friends, I loved my campus and didn't know where else to live, I still needed a lot of campus resources. I also kept my internship as long as I could, because I knew I would miss it for the rest of my life. I didn't really go to classes, again, because as much as a desperately wanted to and as much as my advisors moved heaven and earth to try to make it work for me, I couldn't handle it. I was finally able to find 2 great therapists who I started seeing regularly who actually knew how to diagnose and treat me, one at school and one outside. This is also when I met Daddy (Jace) online. After talking for what is probably a stupidly short time, we fell in love and started dating. This is honestly my first real relationship and time actually catching genuine feelings for someone, something that I hadn't thought I was capable of. Despite being happier than I had ever been in so many ways, my mental and physical health was still steadily declining. My migraines and pain were getting worse, I hadn't been able to eat normally in months and relied entirely on medication to eat or sleep at all. Many people recommended mmj at this point in my life, but I was afraid of how it would interact with my other meds. I only smoked occasionally at parties at this point (because no way was I spending my super duper limited money on weed). I wonder if medicating with something that actually worked well for me, like weed, would have allowed me to finish college. Oh well I guess. Because of my inability to attend classes, I had to take another leave for the fall semester 2016. I worked at a strip club briefly, but my health couldn't handle it for long.

I didn't want to go home for the first winter break in 2015, but campus closed and I had nowhere else to go. It was turbulent. When summer 2016 came, I still didn't go home despite having no place to stay. Until a month or so later, it was revealed to me a relative had terminal cancer. I had to go home again. It was worse than turbulent. When winter 2016 came, my relative was in much worse condition. They only had a few months left, and this was probably my last chance to say goodbye. This visit was by far the most traumatic, and more because of my parents than watching a loved one die. At least Jace was able to come meet me for the first time in person. He also got to meet my relative before they passed 🖤

Freshly fucked up by family, I retuned to California at the beginning of 2017. I was mostly taking a break from SW because of my health and was working vanilla jobs as I could (so not much). I had a pretty decent job that I was really good at and had been promoted, but then my relative passed. I started losing consciousness again ( I had many seizures and fainting spells in my childhood and during high school) and had to quit my job. the funeral was in spring 2017, I flew to Jersey to be with Daddy for a few days and then he drove me several states over for the memorial. That was the last time I saw my family. I wanted to transition to online/content creating, but I had no tech knowledge or equipment (even my phone was a potato). In high school I wasn't allowed to have a smartphone, most social media other than what was heavily monitored (and still had 0 experience with platforms sw is popular on besides Tumblr I guess), I didn't really know much about cameras. Way too sheltered and broken to feel like I could start anything. I was now seeing my outside, or I guess regular and only, therapist twice a week and doing treatments that while working for me were insanely (literally) hard. I had been able to get an apartment with roommates at a super discount in return for taking care of their crazy dog, which was a win win for me (he was a good boi just crazy from a bad past and had the worst separation anxiety). The agreement was that I would live with them until the lease was up in September, and then we would reevaluate the situation. Then they both got promoted at their mega corporation jobs. And after their wedding found a really gorgeous apartment in a much fancier part of the city, and paid to break our lease early in June leaving me homeless. I had been fired from my last 2 jobs (probably for being disabled because California is at will employment but who knows I might have been fired from the nanny job because the husband wanted to fuck me). I had no money or anywhere to go. All of my friends were almost as broke as me, so while I had offers to couchsurf at a few of their places they had other roommates who would have been pissed and in a few months they would be going back to school anyways. Daddy and I had been trying to save up to move in together for months, but he was going to move to California. We didn't have any money for that, so instead he asked me to move in with him in New Jersey. Leaving meant I lost my health insurance and my therapist. It was supposed to be much more temporary and we were supposed to move back to California much sooner than we were able to. I try not to be mad at those roommates because being angry doesn't change anything, but it really sucked.

Moving in with Daddy meant we could start our blog! And I was super happy at first, the happiest I could ever remember. But the years had been too hard and my health started to get worse than ever before. Without treatment and so traumatized, my brain and body were constantly at war. I would wake with splitting migraines, throwing up, my chronic pain became completely unmanageable. I started to need weed all the time because it was the only thing that stopped my cyclical vomiting episodes and kept me out of the hospital. My antipsychotics and other meds had been high-key fucking me up (probably shouldn't have been on them in the first place, thank you doctor who also ignored my seizures even when I had one in front of you) and were almost impossible to come off of because the withdrawals. (Seriously, kicking xanax was easier for me than my antipsychotics.) I'm not anti medication or anything, I just know the ones I was on were not good for me anymore. I'd actually like to be on something again, I just need a doctor who actually understands PTSD and DID.

My health continued to be shit for most of 2018, with several ER visits for severe dehydration from vomiting for days on end. We started to make videos and do snapchat and online sessions to be able to make ends meet. Despite being in the worst situation and thus everything being a trizillion times harder, we really loved (and still love 😇) doing SW and creating content. Our fans and clients have been there in some of our darkest moments, just being lovely or pulling through for us when we needed it most. During 2018 and 2019 I became actively suicidal for the first time since I was 13. I struggled with self harm again. I have gotten worse than I ever thought possible. But I wouldn't have made it at all if it wasn't for SW, this community and our supporters.

At the beginning of 2020 we were finally able to move back to California. Obviously, the pandemic severely disrupted many of our plans, especially regarding my recovery. Despite things being delayed or shifted, we are in a much better place currently. I have what I need to get better and I can build a support system again. I will get better.

Talking about things is hard for me. Being open and honest is hard for me. For 18 years I was trained and abused to not be sad or show negative feelings, or talk about upsetting things, and it has been killing me slowly my entire life. I genuinely don't want pity or to make others feel bad, but I do want to give you the chance to get to know me. I don't always talk about things so much. But I'm trying to get better at it.

[stovmborn-arc]

𝐃𝐀𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐘𝐒 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐌𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐍 & 𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐎𝐍𝐒.

**   this meta contains book, show and personal headcanons following daenerys’ relationship with her dragons. one thing that really stands out to me in the show is that the dragons are literally used as weapons of war, rather than maintaining the relationship that daenerys had displayed with them during the earlier books. yes, they will help her win the seven kingdoms but they are her children, instead of ways of winning battles. crafted and constructed over lots of heartbreak with the help of daisy over on @perzyr​  ( a literal living dragon encyclopaedia )  so please go and give some love with a follow for top quality dragon lore & content. it’s going to be a long one so if you do read this then get comfortable. i will always reference and inform my writing partners of any important details regarding the dragons, should they be of any relevance to our plots or threads.  give that like button a   ♡   if you do read this  –-–  just so i know   !!!

◈        first things first, daenerys is not immune to fire. although in the show, she does not suffer any injuries from the funeral pyre in which she burns drogo, she is given the name of the unburnt because of emerging from the the flames alive, not unscathed. the hatching and birth of drogon, rhaegal and viserion was incredibly unique, a miracle even. three petrified eggs were placed into the pyre of her husband and dragons returned to the world for the first time in centuries. in the books, she loses her hair as a result of being within the flames and much like any other human, sustains at least some injuries. as a targaryen, she can tolerate high levels of heat and resist the pain of being burnt for a short while but too much time in fire can be severely damaging. albeit receiving wounds, they are quick healing given the magic in her valyrian blood. ◈        there is a level of understanding between daenerys and each of her children. although she cannot physically speak to them, there is a bond that she believes cannot be broken between her, drogon, rhaegal and viserion despite eventually becoming drogon’s rider. the bond she forms with them is one that grows with the time she spends nurturing them. to form a closeness, she cooks their meat as they are only babies and even speaks to them in valyrian. daenerys does not only rely on them for warmth but for comfort at times where she is feeling uncertain of the path ahead. dragon cuddles are a thing, it is known. cradling them in her arms, letting them huddle around her and sharing warmth with them, she attempts to create a physical bond between herself and her children. viserion is known for curling up on dany’s chest in particular. whilst drogon and rhaegal tend to occupy themselves more in play, viserion can be found by daenerys’ side as she reads. rather than caging them, daenerys ensures that they have their own safe space they can return to where they are free  –-–  their own sanctuary almost unless they are travelling. she allows them to fly above her and the khalasar along the red waste but also has a horses cart in which she places them when they grow tiresome.  ◈        when it comes to the chaining of viserion and rhaegal, daenerys is at odds with herself. beginning to lose control of drogon and learning that yunkai has returned to their old ways, a weight rests upon her shoulders. jorah mormont has too recently betrayed her and so, daenerys feels control slipping from her fingers. remembering that she is still young and somewhat naive ( despite being a queen ), an overwhelming amount of guilt falls upon her as the body of a child is brought before her claiming that  ‘the winged shadow’  was responsible. whilst it is suggested that the death has been caused by the masters in a bid to shame her, daenerys decides that it is a risk she simply cannot take. grudges have been held against her ancestors for the pain they instilled upon their own dragons, confining them to a pit. her liberation of slavers bay has been dedicated to freeing people of their chains and yet, she finds herself submitting to exactly what those of house targaryen did many years prior in the dragon pits. with a heavy heart, she makes a temporary measure to confine them below the great temple though, it is not as simple as what the show depicts it to be and instead, she faces a struggle.

◈        ❝  once, not long ago, she had ridden on her shoulder, her tail coiled around her arm. once she had fed her morsels of charred meat from her own hand. she had been the first chained up. daenerys had led her to the pit herself and shut her up inside with several oxen. once she had gorged herself, she grew drowsy. they had chained her whilst she slept.  ❞   –-–   the capture of viserion, her smallest and youngest baby. having to lead viserion into the pits personally, it felt as though she was leading viserion astray. an immediate guilt resides within daenerys, knowing that it is only her who has the power to bring viserion into the pit, it felt as though daenerys was leading her to her own demise. she had been named for viserys, the very person who had bargained with her freedom and now, she has in turn, chained the dragon she had named after him into a slave. ◈        ❝  rhaegal had been harder. perhaps he could hear his sister raging in the pit, despite the walls of brick and stone between them. in the end, they had to cover him with a net of heavy iron chain as he basked on her terrace, and he fought so fiercely that it had taken three days to carry him down the servants’ steps, twisting and snapping. six men had been burned in the struggle.  ❞   –-–   the capture of rhaegal, her most stubborn and defiant child. following the tales of rhaegar, she knew that rhaegal would not go down without a fight, though she did not anticipate the difficulty that would come with it. knowing of the struggle that he puts up, it only stirs more distress within daenerys, a sense of grief she has not felt before. watching the struggle increases her guilt and she cannot face rhaegal, employing members of the unsullied instead to lure him to the pits as she cannot bring herself to face him beneath iron nets. ◈        there are many occasions in which daenerys struggles to live with the decision that she has succumbed to the very thing her ancestors did and in an attempt to quell her own sadness and keep a bond with viserion and rhaegal during drogon’s disappearance, pays visits to them in the pits. though on one occasion, one lunges towards her as teeth snap in darkness, daenerys barely able to make out what is happening. the only thing that saves her is the fiery breath in which viserion releases, lighting a path so that she is able to quickly flee from what turns out to be an attack from rhaegal. the time he has spent in darkness has shaped his vision of his mother, stirring a rage inside of him ( not only for himself but for his sister ). paying mind to the devastation that she has bestowed upon her children, the pit is sealed abruptly once more and daenerys is left with a raincloud lingering above her. she had named viserion to do what her brother could not  –-–  protect her and that was exactly what viserion attempted to do as a fire lit within rhaegal’s throat, ready to engulf their mother as punishment. ◈        when the fighting pits are reopened during her wedding to hizdahr zo loraq and the sons of the harpy attack, drogon is lured to daznak’s fighting pits by the noise and the smell of blood. no whip is used to berate him or mount him and instead, the bond that formed between them is returned to her eyes as she looks at him in fear. she pulls a spear from his side, teeth bared as he lets out a scream of pain, though he soon realises it is his mother. it is within that moment that she remembers she is the mother of dragons and instead, takes to climb atop of him where she is carried to safety and taken to his lair in the dothraki sea where he has been living in his absence. falling ill and growing weak after eating wild berries and the scraps that drogon has left behind, daenerys begins to hallucinate. not only does she have visions of quaithe and the message she has delivered but she dreams of her children too, chained and betrayed by their own mother. it is in these visions that the impact of her actions begin to stir inside of her, realising that her children were never the monsters but instead, it was her.

◈        freed by tyrion, daenerys and her children take to the skies to defend meereen which is under siege at the hands of yunkai, astapor and volantis who are adamant in ending her ‘reign’. whilst this might not necessarily be a moment of rejoice and destruction for rhaegal and viserion, it is the first time in which they have been free from the pits beneath the temple in which they had been chained. viserion flies in out of loyalty to her mother ( and feeling somewhat responsible for having been chained ) as rhaegal follows closely behind, having grown protective of his sister. following the victory, daenerys dedicates most of her time in making amends to her children she has betrayed and willingly chained. 

◈        with viserion, she takes baskets of apples having known it is her favourite food and sits upon clifftops, reading to her in an attempt to salvage the bond they had. she tells her tales of the dragons that lived centuries before them, teaching her of dragonstone and the history of house targaryen’s reign in kings landing, on occasion also speaking in high valyrian. it takes weeks in order to strengthen what she had severed and at times, has to sit with her back to viserion to provide her with some comfort. each day that passes, she inches slightly further forward until one day, realises that viserion is wrapped around her  –-–  too big to now curl around her neck like she had done as a child. at first, when daenerys goes to touch her, she realises that rhaegal is scared ( particularly if her neck is touched from where she almost strangled herself, worried for her mothers safety as the sons of the harpy erupted within the fighting pits ). instead, she makes contact by scratching at her nuzzle, allowing her palm to stroke between her nostrils until she reaches up to the point between her eyes. 

◈        with rhaegal, the process is a much longer and difficult one. as noted in the words of barristan selmy, he was always the more aggressive dragon and quite often, became possessive over things such as food. when attempting to rebuild the bond she had with rhaegal, daenerys ensures to bring him extra meat and cooks it herself, starting a fire and charring it before retreating further away. there is little she can do in terms of comforting rhaegal and for the first couple of weeks, sits with him in silence knowing that no words can convince him of how she believed she was doing what was best for meereen. on one occasion, rhaegal snaps at daenerys, pinning her down to the point of almost crushing her. it is a cry from viserion that tears rhaegal away, the sadness within her windpipe causing him to leave daenerys and fly off elsewhere to escape from his mother. on her next visit, she ensures that viserion is there, becoming aware of the protective instinct he feels for his sister. eventually, daenerys attempts to create toys and little playful games like she did as they were babies. this consists of making balls of ribbon, much bigger than what they once were as drogon joins them too, living in the memories they did when the three of them were newly hatched. the trust between rhaegal and daenerys has never fully returned to what it once was, though she notices that tyrion’s presence instils a sense of calm within him  –-–   one she has not seen before. it fills her with sadness, having named him for her brother who died on the green banks of the trident, daenerys had hoped she might feel a closeness to rhaegal out of the connection he holds with rhaegar and yet, this will never happen. though, she knows she only has herself to blame. 

𝐀𝐃𝐃𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐋.

◈        following the chaos in daznak’s pits and realising that spears ( although not deadly ) can cause damage and hurt to a dragon, daenerys readies her dragons to have armour as she prepares to sail for westeros. it is not full body armour but more so protective layers that shape around their throats and shoulders. shed skin is used to form a second layer of scales, used for measurements too. a saddle is also made for drogon, simply to make things safer and to provide him with more comfort as she rides him. more details are later added to their armour using dragonglass mined from the caves of dragonstone. 

◈        it is suggested by some that to maintain a relationship between her and the dragons, so that they accept her as their ruler, daenerys uses a whip to control them. when she acquires the unsullied, daenerys is seen mocking the masters by tossing the whip that master krazyns provides her with to the ground. and if this does not promote her attitude towards cruelty and control, i don’t know what does. as much as she would like to be able to tame her dragons, she understands that they are creatures as smart as she. they have their own mind, their own will and it cannot be bent or controlled. she does not use a whip or any kind of weapon to command them but instead, relies on the physical and mental bond that she has instead as a means of trying to show them what is right from wrong. the first time when this is questioned however, is when she locks rhaegal and viserion in the pits below her pyramid. 

◈        if more eggs were to come into her possession, daenerys would not be so hasty in attempting to hatch them. she knows that it was a miracle for her own eggs to hatch and would not rush to do so but rather, let the dragon insides grow until they are ready. as she did with drogon, rhaegal and viserion, she would spend time with them and attempt to bond with them. the difference this time around however, is that any babies will have older dragons to look up to    –-–  to nurture them and daenerys would rely especially upon viserion having shared such a tight knit bond with her since she was small enough to fit in her palm. 

◈        if either rhaegal or viserion showed interest in allowing another rider, it would not bother daenerys so much, providing that the person they had shown an inclination to was somebody she too trusts. the dragons and daenerys share a bond ( even if it was severed when she betrayed their trust ) but they have seen many people enter and leave their mothers life. some lost to war and protecting their queen, others with ulterior motives. the dragons have a good judge of character, particularly drogon and viserion who daenerys shares the closest bonds with, simply from the consistent contact and affection they keep. daenerys’ feelings and reactions to things rub off on drogon and viserion, with thanks to the emotional and physical connection she shares with them. rhaegal too is capable of picking up on his mothers emotions, though he usually only acknowledges them if they are of threat to viserion. 

[so-i-dont-forget-again]

So I Don’t Forget Again: A Breath of The Wild fanfiction

Entry 167: Rito Village

 Though Amali and Saki were apprehensive about it they allowed me to move around. I didn’t move around too much for their sakes though. I probably would be worried too and I don’t want to worry them… well too much at least, Amali and Saki had apparently been watching Vah Medoh since yesterday morning wondering if they could catch glimpses of our battle. They already had medical supplies on hand and beds ready for us. I’ve worried them enough already.

I spent a part of the day writing letters to most my friends, like Sidon, Leather Smith, Riju and such, I have no idea where Calisa is though so I’ll just have to hope we bump into one another again soon. I tryed to fill them in on some of my adventures but being rather vague admitting that I much rather tell them in person. I more so wrote these to show them I was alright and might be visiting again… soonish, I still have business here after all. Though most of the world has been destroyed the mail service managed to survive, it is important now more than ever given towns were now so few and far between making keeping contact and trade routs working all the harder. Most of the mail carriers are Rito since they can by far travel the furthest and fastest of all people, they can skip all the terrain and just go straight there so I hired a few, one for each letter.

I asked Kass where he had seen the fire being. Tanagar Canyon. I’ll probably have to camp out there for a while, I just hope it returns there.

I’m glad Teba and Kass finally get a break, they’ve both been fighting for so long to protect their families. It’s also rather sweet seeing them with Amali, Saki and their children. Kass is very affectionate, always giving Amali hugs, nuzzles and kisses. He’s always more than happy to play with his daughters letting himself get dragged into whatever mischief they’re cooking up, even if it’s a prank on someone else. Teba though not as affectionate I can still feel his love and care. He teaches them both fighting techniques for self-protection should there be an emergency and he wasn’t around. He helps Saki in lots of little ways, like placing items on a lower shelf that he knows she’s going to need later, or just finishing up a chore Saki started so she could have a short break, things like that. It’s just so sweet, I don’t know. I guess I don’t get to see domestic stuff like this too often, even back in Hateno, I was living in my own place away from everyone else, while here, Kass, Teba and their families are allowing me to stay with them, so I get to see their family life. I just… really like this, even if I’m just a helping hand, or… family friend? I don’t know.

Teba showed me Revali’s diary. He had found it years ago. In our conversation yesterday I had mentioned that unlike the other champions there doesn’t seem to be much left of Revali and I wanted to know more about him, it took most of the day but he refound the one thing that could probably show me more of him. The title is ‘The diary of Revali, the Rito Legend’. From the start he was skilled winning competition after competition but that was thanks to his endless, dedicated practice. It seems with everyone always praising him his ego was stroked quite a bit, but I think it was well deserved. His prize for winning so much was a wish, and he wanted the training ground to be built. He took detailed notes of his training, even included illustrations. He soon allowed everyone, even the children to use it so they could get stronger too and stay safe. He wrote of rumors about the Calamity returning, about how the Royal Family was searching for someone to pilot it and how such a person would need immense skill, apparently there was also a rumor that the person’s soul must have great sacred power to pilot the things. I guess this is why the elder and Teba thought only a descendant of the Champions could step foot on Medoh. He said they should just ask him by name. He said piloting the beast and defeating the Calamity was the only way he could prove himself to the world. He was finally asked to pilot but when he wasn’t please with the plan. The Divine Beasts were to serve as back up for me. He only agreed because only he could pilot the beast and Hyrule needed him. He also agreed because of how earnest Zelda was in wanting to protect everyone in Hyrule. Still he was training, now to best me and be the one to defeat the Calamity. He also went on rather self-indulgent tangents about us begging him to fight the calamity directly… several times… it… was just so embarrassing to read I had to step away a few times. He didn’t care about the ceremony, saying it was all pomp, true strength is what is important not some uniform and a title, anyone could wear those.

He wrote about me. How silent and emotionless I was. He’d call me Zelda’s shadow with how I always followed her around. Even when he tried to make conversation I never spoke. I never reacted to anything. Just some emotionless husk that only moved to follow and protect the princess or when given an order.

Nothing else

He tried everything even provoking me into a fight, likely my memory of him, but nothing.

 If I can even still be considered the same person from back then… I wish Revali could have met this me. One who actually let himself be a person and not merely a tool. Even if I was a person back then, I certainly showed it to few. With how competitive he was, I think he’d make for a good training partner. Maybe we’d have a kind of rivalry like relationship, something like the dynamic between Kass and Teba maybe.

Why is he dead? He was supposed to be skilled so why? Is he not well known because he wasn’t notably skilled? Then why have him pilot a beast? This isn’t making any sense. Why is he only known through his title and physical structures and not his skill, why just the pomp? Even though the Gerudo and Gorons don’t live as long as Zoras and can’t remember they still have legends and such, but not Revali.

Are they all dead because I failed to kill the Calamity? If he was there, someone so dedicated to self-improvement and true strength instead of me who happened to have some sword, would we have won? Would everyone have not died? It was just a theory before, but… it… feels more true now.

Teba asked if I was alright, I was looking rather pale and said maybe I should still be resting. We helped Saki make dinner, Amali joined too. We ended up having dinner with Harth’s family too. It was nice hearing everyone talk of older days of training and horsing around. I ended up talking about some of my adventures, felling the other beasts with Sidon, Yunobo, and Riju, all that I had learned from them and some battles I had along side Bossa Nova when traveling. At one point Saki said my ancestors must be proud with how strong I’ve become. I don’t know about that. I wasn’t strong enough when I needed to be, to save them, all I’m doing now is desperately trying to salvage what’s left. I don’t think any of them could be proud of that. I hope they’re proud of Sidon, Yunobo, Riju, Teba and Kass though. Without any of them, I never would even have been able to get aboard the beasts in the first place. Even now like back then I’m just relying on others. How can I keep doing this? I need to get stronger, not rely on them. I have to protect them. Their families. So they can come home and be in a safe world. I can’t let anyone else die for my sake.

I’m going to protect them all no matter the cost.

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[treeni]

Sanders Side Theory: Creativity’s Name and Roman’s Struggles

Theories Masterpost

Well, apparently some people were interested in my Orange side theory and stuff.

So let’s talk about “King Creativity” and why I disagree with every name theory I’ve seen so far and what I think instead. I’m not certain “King Creativity” is ever going to be named in the show, just knowing he existed is probably enough, but wouldn’t it be fantastic if there was a backstory episode? Or even aside episode?

First! Let’s start with the fact that I actually think it’s really interesting that everyone’s defaulting to Creativity being “King” when it is in fact Emperors who ruled Rome. Not a criticize, just interesting thought. Second, Kings were supposed to sit back and let their knights and armies basically do all of the physical work (Unless your Arthur, but it usually got him into trouble so! Moving on!) while you lead them as whatever supreme ruler title you take. However, a Crowned Prince was often at the head of said adventures and battles, in the thick of it all, but was basically indisputably the accepted next in line. (Approved by the courts and all that jazz, I mean historically it didn’t always go that way, but that was the intention). However, a regular Prince and a Duke could absolutely have a power struggle, especially in the situation where the Duke was previously “next in line” before the Prince’s birth. So if Roman and Remus ever did duke it out (also mini theory that Remus chose Duke for the fighting reference) I think one of them could/would become King, but I don’t think that’s who creativity was before the split.

Now I have a particular crowned prince in mind that creativity is named after, but lets not get ahead of ourselves. Let’s start by talking about some of the most popular theories and why I disagree with them.

CW: for before the “Keep Reading” section. There is mention of metaphorical and fictional murder, war, lgbt theory (not that, that should surprise anyone). Roman backstory (aka things he might regret now.)

Romulus: While I suppose it’s convenient in the fact that its sort of the names combined, Romulus is already the role that Roman is filling in his relationship with Remus. Twins that supposedly found Rome, but Romulus killed his brother Remus to do so and become the ruler. Romulus literally named Rome after himself. This isn’t a hint, this isn’t something that’s upcoming or anything, this is backstory. Roman is literally just a modernized version of the name Romulus. Remus’ banishment to the darkside was his metaphorical murder. It also suggests that Roman took an active role in sending Remus away, which also helps explain a lot of Roman’s current struggle with Janus. Can you imagine the kind of guilt he might be feeling if he was the one who decided his brother was evil and he was good and then he passed judgement? If the darksides aren’t evil, then Roman and he metaphorically murdered Remus, then he wasn’t the hero slaying the beast anymore. Instead, he’s suddenly the bad guy.

Buuuut Treeni, what about Patton??? I hear you say. It would have had to have been morality right?

And to that I say you’re WRONG! And also right. Patton’s kinda been shown to be the most accepting bean of the whole lot, he doesn’t really try to force the others away the way some of the other sides do. Instead, he puts his foot down on his own convictions and refuses to listen to reason. (I didn’t say he was perfect.) Still, he doesn’t try to physically push the others away, not Virgil when he tried scaring Thomas, not Janus when they argued and Patton was clearly distressed by the courtroom situation, and not even Remus when Patton was clearly scared of him (also defensive of Roman). He doesn’t need to, he’s self-assured in his own place and convictions that he doesn’t worry about Thomas pushing him out. Instead, Patton kinda takes the family holiday party route and will do his best to put out the emotional fires and stand his ground on his opinion to Thomas when he needs to. (The ONLY time I could find Patton sort of pushing someone away was when they were in his room and Patton asked Logan to stop. While that could weaken my argument about Patton, I think it strengthens it because it shows how big of a deal it was at the time that Patton tried shutting him down. Logan reacted the way he did by immediately storming off because it’s not something Patton does.) While it could absolutely be Patton’s influence that caused the split, it would be out of character (as he’s currently defined) for Patton to actively push a side away. (I’ll get into some of his more negative aspects in another post if ya’ll wanna hear about it.)

Remember, Roman was the one who tried shutting down Virgil with bullying tactics, Logan too sometimes. Then he tried to use the same tactics on Janus when he tried putting his foot down on maintaining a black and white view point of the world after Remus’ appearance. Keep in mind that Remus actively told us that he blames Roman for his banishment. He compared himself and Roman to Cain and Able. While c!Thomas and even the audience as a whole were sort of led to think of Remus as Cain because of the “dark and evil” association, Remus is telling us that he is Abel. Roman is his destroyer. (Before you feel too bad for Remus, that misconception was also on purpose because while Remus isn’t a liar, he can manipulate a situation with honesty. Again, another post if you wanna hear about why.)

So now there is some general understanding of the twins backstory, you’ll see why Romulus would be a terrible fit for their combined name because Roman is already Romulus. Period. He’s the one who betrayed his brother by “murdering” him and taking over.

Making Romulus the name of who creativity was before because the names kinda morph together would lazy writing compared to very carefully woven details the show has had thus far (particularly in season 2). Okay, that went on a bit of a tangent, so next!

Caesar: This is a person who brought about the destruction of Rome, not the creation of it. (With Rome basically being the metaphorical state c!Thomas is living in now with clear lines between good/bad, right/wrong etc.) While it’s not a horrible ideology, it would be moving forward in a historical timeline instead of backwards. If you subscribe to the idea that Roman and Remus cannot go back to who they were (even with some kind of theoretical re-morphing) Caesar might be who they become, but it seems unlikely that is who they were. Remember that both sides are individuals now and those individual traits they’ve gained since splitting may not re-mesh cleanly back into who they once were. I personally don’t think there’s any “going back” for Creativity.

If they show him as he once was, it would likely only be in either a backstory bit or in a temporary situation where the re-combining doesn’t hold. However, if Creativity ever did become one thing again, I think it would be something completely new and I think Caesar would be a good fit for that in particular.

Aeneas: Again, it would be kinda lazy writing comparatively. Instead of using a sorta combination of the names that had some historical basis, this theory is based entirely on the idea of a convenient ancestor who quested and failed over and over to create Rome. I could have bought this had it been from lesser writers, but Thomas, Joan and the whole team do not mess around in story crafting and really carefully woven in references. I am literally degreed in writing and analysis and I keep finding myself impressed at the layers.

The name Aeneas also implies that the character Creativity was specifically questing for a change and that seems doubtful given the resentment between the brothers. Aeneas was essentially a left-over scavenger trying to scrape together a new home from what he could from already broken pieces and that does not sound like what Creativity is implied to be.

If we look at child development, I would theorize that Creativity is the oldest side. In the creative process, there are two major steps, first is information absorption, then second is application. The first thing any child must do is learn, anything and everything. The world is a limitless and imaginative playground. New material is around every corner and there it takes a while before the distinction between reality and fiction to be understood. It was probably just c!Thomas and Creativity for a while and as the others emerged, they looked up to him. It could even be potentially argued that Creativity was literally their creators.

This would imply that Aeneas would be a pretty terrible fit for him in that case because there’s nothing broken that he’s trying to salvage. The kingdom is his and c!Thomas’ to preside over with the other sides as his subjects. (c!Thomas being the distant “King” and Creativity being the “Crowned Prince”).

So, with all of that out of the way on why some of these theories are probably wrong, what do I think?

I think Creativity’s name is Hector.

Now, hear me out on this. For those of you who have read the Iliad you probably know exactly who I am referencing. You just may not know why. So stay with me here.

1. First, for those of you who don’t know, Hector was the Crowned Prince of Troy, the leader of the army that the Greeks (the perspective we’re getting) are facing off against. He’s also cousin to Aeneas, but actually accomplished things during the war beyond being saved by Aphrodite. This means he’s also an ancestor to both Romulus and Remus (albeit technically less direct). However, Hector’s family is where the royal lineage of Aeneas comes from. Though we follow the story mainly from the perspective of the Greeks (and the gods because they’re TROLLS), the Greek’s are pretty villainous in a lot of their actions throughout the story and they are most definitely the invaders. In this case, I would liken the Greek army to “outside opinion” for c!Thomas. Others interjecting their views on to someone and breaking his own beliefs. In this situation, Creativity would have been his biggest defender and hero, retreating into magical imaginary worlds to escape judgement.

2. So lets get onto the character and why him, shall we? Hector will literally do anything for his family. The war takes place because his little brother, Paris (one of a whopping 49 brothers mind you) either kidnaps, has Aphrodite kidnap or runs away with the Spartan Queen Helen because he fell in love with her. (It varies on the version and she was forced into her previous marriage at about 13 anyway, so Helen leaving willingly for the guy who the gods deem is the most attractive man alive is a popular modern reading.) It would have been so easy for the Trojans to yeet Helen back to Greece, but they don’t and Hector’s defense of her and his brother is a big reason why. Hector even chastises his brother for the mess he’s caused, but still stands by him and defends him. He also defends the hell out of Helen and refuses to blame her for their problems. Then in Troilus and Criseyde (Basically published Iliad perspective shift fanfiction with OCs) he defends the hell out of Criseyde when even Troilus, (apparently one of the 50 brothers) the person who claims to be in love with her, wont. Hector’s truly an all around good guy, great leader and has a very distinctive and personal moral compass that doesn’t always align with what’s being told to him is right. You want a character representation for someone who led the sides despite their clear struggles? Someone with Roman’s charm and heroism, and Remus’ understanding and drive? Hector is probably it.

3. Hector’s death is both a huge symbol for the end of Troy, but also isn’t? Let me explain, narratively speaking, Hector’s death is the point you know that Troy is basically doomed. His end is the representation of the end of it all. His corpse was literally paraded around as Achilles’s dragged it on the back of a chariot for days to show their doom. There was a distinct “aura” shift from Hector’s death as all of Troy mourned his death. We as an audience know Troy is basically doomed from Hector’s death alone. Hector was a person that even the enemy Greeks hella respected as a warrior and leader. Essentially, this was the point that the war that had been raging for about a decade became serious. At the same time, it just simply isn’t the end of the war. There’s the whole horse thing still to come and all that jazz. Still though, Hector’s death is very much a symbol of “everything changes, but nothing does.” Which is the perfect symbol for the twins split to me. Just because they split doesn’t mean that all of the sides did immediately, yet it was still probably the turning point that drove a wedge between the “dark” and “light” sides.

4. The character Hector arguably died in the name of gay love. Okay, story time. So in the Iliad, Achilles is being a little bitch and refusing to fight anymore because drama between him and the king of Athens, but he’s their best fighter and the Greek’s are basically sorta loosing because of him not helping. His boyf- I mean best friend Patroclus goes out in Achilles armor and leads his army in his place because Achilles is a whiny baby. Except Hector kinda immediately kills Patroclus, thinking he’s Achilles with reinforcements.(This was full body armor baby and distinctive cause baby of a god and all that mocha frappe.) Of course, Achilles has to immediately get angry revenge for his boyf- BEST friend and ends up killing Hector. This would make the character Hector a great metaphor for Creativity if his split had anything to do with sexuality or even acceptance as a whole. (Though we know acceptance is definitely a part of it considering Remus.) We know that Remus wants c!Thomas to explore darker themes and the struggle of sexuality and acceptance could be a possibility in what is to come as a previously “off-limits” theme.

5. A big one is that the destruction of Troy is what eventually brought about the creation of Rome. Essentially Troy would be the metaphor of c!Thomas’ existence/mentality before the sides split into dark/light factions. Then Rome would be the metaphor of c!Thomas’ existence/mentality after the sides split into factions.

6.Finally, the name Hector literally means “to restrain” which would work well for Creativity as he was likely trying to reign in the others from infighting (and you can see how well that went with him being gone). 

Cheers to another rant into the void. Huzzah! God this is nearly as long as some of my seminar papers. Do what you will with this information.

Please keep in mind that I adore Roman as a character. This post isn’t meant to hate on him. It’s meant to bring awareness of the layers of his character. Every Prince Charming was a villain to someone, every hero that slays the beast is a murderer from a different light. 

I don’t bring these things to light to cause pain, I bring them to light to help bring awareness of what’s probably going through his head.

(Yes, in regards to the Creativity being made first thing, I DO even have a theory about existence order, I promise you I have theories about everything. My mind does not stop with this crap. I have theories on everything from what animal association Roman and Logan have to Virgil’s key role in Roman’s backstory. I’ve ranted about a bunch of these things to a few specific people so if you ever want me to go on a rant about anything in particular let me know. I didn’t expect anyone to actually look at the other theory post tbh. Inbox me if you want me to go to unnecessary lengths on something else.)

(Also, correct me on the Patton thing if I’m wrong. I took notes on a recent watch through, but I wasn’t specifically looking for his rejection sooo, if there are other moments of it you can find that didn’t jump out at me I totally accept criticism.)

[jaxl-road]

The League of Extraordinary Rockstars, ch.1

Summary: LA is a hub for music and mutants, making it the perfect place for Motley Crue, Guns N’ Roses, and countless other mutant musicians to call home. But it’s not all easy, especially when it comes to finding a decent place to live. So what better solution than moving in together in the mansion of an immortal? Love, drama, and super powers. If nothing else, it’ll be interesting.

Chapter Warnings: Language, genderswap!Steven

AN: This is a collaboration between myself and @the--blackdahlia​! It combines elements from her fic “It’s So Easy (And Other Lies)” (specifically her genderswapped!Steven) and my super powered GnR series. It is completely AU and ignores timelines like Woah, but hopefully you’ll have as much fun reading it as we’re having writing it! Let us know what you think!

~~~~~

Los Angeles. The city of angels. Also, the highest per capita mutant population in the United States. With it’s history of welcoming minorities, it was no surprise. And West Hollywood was the hot spot. Humans hanging out with mutants, getting their cigarettes lit by a bass player who could control fire, getting their joints from a singer who could control pot. Things were great in LA.

Well, pretty much. They painted a picture perfect world of mutants living in the hills with the rich and famous, when in reality, they were living in small apartments that had more mice than people in them. But the one nice thing about LA? It was usually sunny. Rarely a cloud in the sky. Stevie Adler smiled as she looked up at the sky.

And then there was the honking horn.

“Get out of the street you bitch!” A guy screamed from his car. Stevie sighed and shook her head, crossing the street towards the recording studio. Yeah, LA was a great city.

“What was that about?” Izzy asked from his designated smoking spot.

“Asshole is impatient,” Stevie shrugged. “Where’s everyone else?”

“Slash is hiding because Axl is screaming at someone on the phone,” Izzy explained. “Duff’s not here yet. But Baz is, and he’s getting a kick out of watching Axl trying to avoid going supersonic.”

“Is there a betting pool started yet on if he’ll lose it?” Stevie grinned.

“I’m giving him about ten minutes,” Izzy smirked. “I think it’s Neil he’s yelling at.” Stevie rolled her eyes.

A cold gust of wind blew past them, causing Stevie to shiver. It seemed to get darker all of a sudden, a cloud covering the sun, but before she could comment on it, Izzy was looking past her with a raised eyebrow.

“Uh-oh, looks like someone’s in a bad mood.”

Sure enough, when she followed his gaze, she saw a very sour looking Duff stalking towards them. The weather witch looked deep in thought, a scowl on his face, which made sense as he usually didn’t lose control of his powers like this, especially since he knew Stevie needed as much sun as she could get.

“Hey, stormcloud!” Izzy shouted, getting the bassist’s attention, “Reel it in, motherfucker! The weather report said clear skies today!”

Blinking, Duff seemed to notice the shift in weather for the first time, “Ah, fuck,” the clouds quickly dissapated, the wind dying down as the sunshine returned. “Sorry guys,” he sighed.

“What’s got you all worked up?” Stevie asked.

Running a hand through his hair, Duff glared, “A fucking pipe burst in my apartment. The place was shitty enough with cockroaches crawling all over me, now I’ve got two inches of water covering everything.”

“Hey, if you need a place, Tracii moved out so Slash and I have an empty room,” Stevie told Duff. “I might be able to dry your stuff out. I’m sure Nikki would help.”

“Yeah, because you know that Axl loves those guys hanging around,” Izzy laughed. “Let’s go inside.” The three of them headed in, seeing Baz and Slash, but no Axl.

“He’s in his tantrum hole,” Baz laughed, pointing at the soundproof room. “He’ll be out in a minute once he calms down.” Stevie headed over to Slash to talk to him, leaving Izzy and Duff standing there together. A few moments later, Slash was hugging Duff.

“Roomie!” Slash laughed.

“I see Stevie talked to you,” Duff chuckled.

“Dude, this will be awesome!” Slash grinned, “Now I’ll have my two favorite drinking buddies in the same house!”

“This is a terrible idea,” Izzy muttered to himself.

“What’s a terrible idea?” Axl finally emerged from his designated anger room, with a look on his face that said he was very consciously keeping himself calm.

“Duff is gonna move in with Stevie and me!” Slash exclaimed, “Apparently his place is underwater, and we’ve got some space since Tracii moved out, so it’s perfect!”

“...Yeah, I’m gonna agree with Izzy and say that’s a terrible idea,” Axl shook his head as he moved to lean against Sebastian’s side, “The three of you? In one place?” 

“It feels like a threat to public safety,” Izzy chimed in.

“You’re just jealous cause you know we’re gonna be the most fun house on the strip now,” Stevie teased. 

Izzy smiled tensely, looking briefly between Duff and Stevie before glancing away.

“Wait a minute, I thought Motley Crue had the most fun house on the strip,” Baz pointed out before Axl glared at him. “Sorry babe, but you gotta admit, they know how to throw a party.”

“I think that Nikki’s party trick of catching himself on fire is annoying and overused,” Axl huffed. “And you’re supposed to be on my side.”

“Okay, before Sebastian and Axl start fighting to make up later, can we record some music?” Stevie asked with a laugh. “Duff, we’ll go get your stuff that can be salvaged. I’ll call Tommy to come help.” Axl groaned but Stevie pretended she didn’t hear.

“Think you can get through a couple songs without shattering the glass?” Slash joked at Axl. The singer merely flipped him off as they finally made their way into the booth. Stevie took a seat behind the drums, not noticing Duff and Izzy glancing at her. Slash just sighed and got his guitar.

Baz smiled as he listened to Axl sing, and soon, they had a couple rough tracks down before their studio time was up. Stevie bounced to the payphone to call Tommy while Slash, Izzy, and Duff talked.

“So...you’re moving in with Stevie…” Izzy said, staring at Duff.

“And Slash,” Duff pointed out. “Not just Stevie.”

“Right, right…”

“Gee, way to make a guy feel loved,” Slash pouted.

Izzy rolled his eyes, shoving Slash’s shoulder lightly, glad for the break in the tension as the three chuckled. At that moment, Stevie jogged back over, giving a thumbs up as she smiled.

“Alright! We’re all set! Tommy should be here s-”

“HEY GUYS!”

A gust of wind swirled around them as Tommy skidded to a stop beside them, his hair a wild mess around his face. The speedster gave Stevie a quick hug as he chattered, “Stevie told me what happened, that sucks dude!” He gave Duff a sympathetic pat on his shoulder, “I’ll totally help though! Nikki’s dealing with Vince right now, apparently he’s having a bitch fit cause of some phone call or something, I dunno, but he’ll be by to help out later. Anyway, how are the rest of you guns?”

Tommy gave Slash a quick hug, but when he moved to throw his arm around Izzy’s shoulder, his arm fell right through the other man, sending the drummer stumbling forward. Slash, Duff, and Stevie laughed as Tommy pouted at Izzy’s deadpan expression.

“Oh come on, man, don’t be like that!”

The next couple hours were spent bickering and joking as they waded through Duff’s apartment to clear out his meager belongings, Tommy running between the flooded space and Slash and Stevie’s apartment while Duff chewed out his landlord until he got his deposit back.

Duff came back to the soggy apartment to see Stevie standing there, holding a book and smiling. He raised an eyebrow until he saw what she was looking at, then he tried to run to grab it.

“Duff, you were so cute!” Stevie laughed.

“Let me see!” Tommy ran by, grabbing the book. As he did, a photo fell out of the back. Slash picked it up. “Duff, you were a dorky looking kid.”

“Says the guy who was wearing tights in a picture his mom showed me the first time we met!” Duff pointed out.

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Tommy groaned.

“At least you don’t look as dorky as Stevie,” Slash teased, showing Tommy a picture of Stevie asleep next to Duff, her head on his shoulder, and most definitely drooling. “I’m just surprised you didn’t burn up the camera. Either with your sunshine crap or being so ugly.”

“Love you too,” Stevie rolled her eyes. “Why do you have that?”

“Just liked it,” Duff shrugged.

“Okay, well, do you guys mind like, getting out of here?” Tommy asked. “Everything that can be saved has been saved, and I can feel the mold growing on us as we stand here talking about how I’m much cuter than everyone else.” He smirked. “And Nikki said he’s gonna try to meet us over at your place to help dry things out.”

Nodding in agreement, the group made their way over to the apartment that housed Stevie, Slash, and now Duff. The place wasn’t much better than Duff’s old apartment, but it was dry, so they couldn’t complain. Plus, the bassist was happy to note that there were significantly less cockroaches than his old place contained (not no cockroaches, that’d be asking for too much, but less at least). 

On top of that, despite being small and dingy, Slash and Stevie still managed to make the place feel like a home. Cracks and stains on the walls were covered by posters, fliers, and magazine cutouts of their favorite bands, the pictures layered over each other excitedly. Their garbage dump couch was covered in an old tie dyed bed sheet to mask the tears. The kitchen counters held rows and rows of empty bottles, some of them containing the dried remains of long dead flowers that would probably give Vince a heart attack if he saw them. A lingering scent of cigarette smoke clung to the whole apartment, there was trash everywhere, and a pile of records reached halfway up the wall next to a thrift-store record player.

Duff immediately felt right at home. 

“So, your room is right over here,” Slash led the way down the short hallway. They passed a bathroom that had definitely seen better days, a bedroom covered in KISS merch that simply had to be Stevie’s, and another door covered in caution tape that was closed tight.

“That’s Slash’s room,” Stevie leaned over to whisper in Duff’s ear, “He thinks I don’t know about the python he’s got in there, but at least he keeps it contained.”

Shuddering at the idea of being in the same space as a large snake, Duff debated about turning right back around and returning to the lake of his apartment, but before he could, he was being steered into the final bedroom. It was a little smaller than his old place, but it’s not like he was picky. Tommy had piled his stuff along the walls in two groups- the stuff that needed drying, and the stuff that was okay.

Right on cue, there was a knock on the door. “Oh, that’s probably Nikki!” Tommy cried enthusiastically, and with a gust of wind was off to the door.

Sure enough, Nikki was there with Vince and Mick in tow. Nikki had a couple pizza boxes in hand, Vince had a sour look on his face, and Mick, well, was Mick.

"We brought pizza!" Nikki announced. "Two large supremes!"

"Did you get something not supreme?" Stevie quizzed.

"Just pick off the black olives and shit," Nikki teased. Mick smacked the back of his head and handed Stevie a pepperoni pizza.

"Here you go," He grumbled. "Nikki just likes to tease you."

Sticking her tongue out at the bassist, Stevie happily accepted her pizza, the group gathering in the living room to take a break before tackling Duff’s damp belongings. As they ate, Vince kept scowling, pouting, and muttering under his breath. Finally, Slash sighed dramatically.

“Alright Neil, I’ll bite: what the fuck is your problem?”

Glaring, the blonde singer huffed, “My problem is that your singer is an asshole!”

“Are we supposed to be surprised or something? This isn’t news,” Stevie chimed in.

But Vince continued as if she hadn’t said anything, “That bastard stole my favorite pants, I just know it, and when I called to nicely ask for them back-”

“He wasn’t remotely nice. I was there,” Nikki contributed.

“-he had the fucking audacity to say, ‘why would I ever steal your ugly-ass pants?’! Like, we all know that my style is MILES better that his garbage, midwest grunge look!”

“Don’t let Izzy hear you talking like that,” Duff snickered.

Meanwhile, Stevie’s brow was furrowed in thought, “Which pants are these?”

“My acid-wash jeans with the white stitching on the side,” Vince answered, sighing wistfully.

“Oooooh, shit,” Stevie grimaced, “Yeah, I’m pretty sure I gave those to Axl after last laundry day.” Slash and Stevie’s apartment building was the only one in the group that had a laundry facility on-site, so once a week all the rockers showed up on their doorstep with a bag of dirty clothes and handfuls of coins for them. Slash and Stevie used to deal with it together, but ever since Slash decided that laundry detergent and dish detergent were interchangeable, he had been banned from the laundry room.

“What?!” Vince screeched, “Stevie, how could you?” he cried, his voice full of betrayal.

“I didn’t do it on purpose!” Stevie threw her arms in the air, “I was tired, we all dress the same, and you and Axl are the same size!”

“You take that back! I am a quarter inch taller than him and you know it!”

“Oh, excuse me,” Stevie rolled her eyes, “how could I forget? How’s the weather up there, skyscraper?”

Gasping in exaggerated offense, Vince turned to his bandmates desperately, “Do you hear this blasphemy? She’s trying to sabotage us! She wants to break my spirit and give my superior wardrobe to her singer!”

“Yes, Vinnie, she is clearly an evil mastermind,” Nikki chuckled as he looked at Stevie’s pouting face.

“Aw, come on man, look at her!” Tommy reached over, putting his hands on either side of Stevie’s face to squish her cheeks, “How can you stay mad at her? Look at this face!” Stevie giggled as the other drummer pulled her closer, both of them giving Vince puppy eyes as Tommy sang, “You know you loooove herrrrr.”

To Vince’s credit, he put in a good effort fighting off the smile on his face. But eventually he couldn't resist breaking into a wide grin at the drummers’ antics, “Goddammit, you guys, I have a reputation!”

“You do?” Nikki laughed as Vince punched his arm, the group descending into playful bickering and laughter.

"I think I saw something about his reputation on the bathroom wall at the Roxy," Duff teased, making everyone laugh.

"Guys I gotta pee," Stevie laughed. She got out of Tommy's hold and headed to the bathroom, Duff taking a peek.

"See something you like?" Nikki teased, elbowing Duff.

“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he huffed, shoving Nikki’s shoulder, “Didn’t you come over here for a reason? Come help me with my shit before it fucking dissolves or something.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m on it,” grinning, Nikki rubbed his hands together as they glowed lightly, the two bassists making their way back to Duff’s new room to try to salvage more of his stuff.

Tommy shook his head lightly and turned to Slash, “Dude, Duff and Stevie in the same apartment? Have fun with that.”

“God, don’t remind me,” Slash groaned, “You should have seen Izzy’s face when we were talking about it.”

“I can’t believe Stevie still hasn’t noticed.”

“Hasn’t noticed what?” Stevie chirped, narrowing her eyes suspiciously as she rounded the corner, making her way back to her seat.

Without missing a beat, Slash smirked, “That Tommy’s been trying to flick olives down your shirt for the last ten minutes.”

“Dude!” Stevie cried indignantly, smacking Tommy’s arm, “Not cool! This shirt isn’t even low cut, you’re just gonna just fucking marinara on it or something!”

“Sorry, sorry,” Tommy grit out, glaring at Slash as he, Vince, and Mick laughed at his misfortune.

The night went pretty smoothly, other than Vince calling Stevie ‘Benedict Arnold’ various times throughout the night, and Nikki almost catching a couple of Duff’s books on fire. But soon, the Crue headed out, leaving the three roommates in their home.

“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m beat,” Stevie yawned. “I’ll see you in the morning.” She said goodnight before heading to her room, Duff watching her as she went. Slash slapped his shoulder.

“I’m not living with you pining over her,” Slash groaned.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Duff stood up and headed to his room. “Stevie doesn’t even like me like that.” With that, he headed towards his room, leaving the guitarist there to groan.

“It is a sad, sad day,” Slash muttered to himself, “when Axl is the one in a stable relationship.”

With one last shake of his head, he made his way into his own room, bracing himself for what was sure to be an interesting new living situation.

[pagesoflauren]

Ride & Prejudice Ch. 3 (Steve Rogers x reader; cowboy AU)

Summary: A take on Pride & Prejudice, certain circumstances in your life have led you to take refuge and work in a farm village, particularly on the ranch owned by Steve Rogers. He doesn’t take kindly to you, having bad perceptions about city folk. Your only reaction to that is the one you deem acceptable: get annoyed at every little thing he does whilst doing your best to annoy him and still keep your job.

Warnings: mentions of violence, reader has PTSD & traumatic flashbacks, guns, mentions of animal violence, animal injury, swearing, angst, slow burn, eventual smut. 

Specific warning for this chapter: the reader goes into detail about what has brought her to the farm. It involves gun violence and death. 

Masterlist

Previous Chapter

Word Count: 3,657

Posted January 5, 2020

“...She’ll be ready to join y’all in a month, I'm tellin’ you!” Nat absolutely gushes about you and how well you've been while breaking Brego. 

The first two weeks were easy, just getting the horse used to your touch and presence, having him understand you weren't a threat. He cooperated well enough, though when you brought a bridle into the picture, all bets were off. 

He stomped and kicked and whinnied, absolutely terrified and forgetting everything you had worked on in the few seconds you had shown him the bridle. You threw it out of sight and he calmed down, allowing you to pet him to salvage what trust hadn’t been lost. 

You easily found the trick was singing and slow movements to keep him relaxed and focused on you, rather than the harness that would go around his head. He was also very much like a toddler, enjoying physical touch like forehead touches and pettings. Nat smiled whenever she saw you two interacting, proud of every step you made to create a bond with him. 

You worked your way up to saddling and mounting, eventually learning to direct him in turns as he trotted laps around the corral. You and Nat were stupid excited, squealing and high-fiving each other profusely after doing exercises for a week. 

“That’s great!” Peter says happily, smiling at you widely, then sadly adding, “It’ll be so fun to have you with us, I won’t feel like a third wheel.”

You coo at him, pinching his cheek. “Don’t worry, Peter, we’ll be the cool ones.”

“Yeah right,” Bucky says, “Steve and I already got that covered.”

“I thought you were going for a fun and boring friendship paradox,” you verbally poke, raising laughter from everyone except the man you called boring. 

“And I thought you were going for someone who’s actually trying to earn my respect.” 

Silence falls almost immediately, tension rising in the room. 

“And I thought for a man who demands respect from someone he met only two months ago he would at least treat me decently.” 

“You’ve given me no reason to--”

“And I’ve also given you no reason not to!” you burst, having enough.

More silence. It’s thick in the room, like a heavy blanket pressing into your skin. 

Steve stands suddenly and all eyes are on him. Even Ransom in the corner of the room perks up, ears at attention. 

“I gotta go to the bathroom,” is all he says, awkwardly stalking off.

More silence, broken by Bucky this time.

“Well, time to wash up, yeah? How about some cake?” he suggests, offering the leftovers from Nat’s trip into the market to satisfy her sweet cravings.

Steve is more mindful of his steps as he passes the bathroom and goes into the guest room--your room. He slowly opens the door to avoid the squeaking hinges and turning on the light to help him see better.

You’re hiding something. He knows it. 

He starts with your drawers, opening and shutting them when he finds nothing. He looks on the floor under the bed, lifts the mattress from the bedframe to check there. He presses his face to look behind the headboard against the wall and finds nothing still. 

He scoots across the bed to eliminate noise and cross the room to the closet, turning the knob and slowly opening the door. 

There’s nothing on the walls or the shelf above the rod where your clothes hang from. Your suitcases are stacked on top of each other on the floor. He picks up the top one, setting it on the floor and opening the zipper one tooth at a time. When he flips open the cover, there’s still nothing there. He moves to the other suitcase opening as slowly as the first.

It’s empty.

Save for the manila folder that rests on the bottom, stamped with a red “CONFIDENTIAL” across it. 

He takes it out, sits down and reads it. He scans the court report, eyes scanning. He spots one phrase, “accused of second degree murder,” and marches downstairs as he hears you all laughing in the kitchen, you and Nat splitting a piece of chocolate cake. 

“The fuck is this?” he spits, throwing the file on the counter.

Cold runs from your scalp and prickles down your spine.

“Nat, you hired a murderer?” Steve continues, hands on his hips, expression severe.

Bucky’s eyes go wide with betrayal, shocked that his wife would lie to him.

“Baby?” he asks, grabbing the file. He flips through it quickly. “What is this?”

“You gonna explain yourself?” Steve asks.

Tears are already brimming in your eyes and you breathe deeply. “Did you read it?” you ask.

“I read enough.”

“No, you didn’t.”

“I did!” he shouts, “You murdered someone and are sitting here expecting us to help you?”

“Steve, you don’t know the whole story,” Nat interjects.

“I don’t need to know the whole story. She leaves in the morning, I’m not letting her--”

“He would have killed me!” you scream over him. Everyone looks at you this time.

“Honey, you don’t have to--” 

“No, I do,” you interrupt Nat, “I’m not gonna let another man try to accuse me of something I didn’t do.”

You set your fork down, piece of cake still speared on it. 

“My friend and I were out getting drinks. I drove her home and waited for her to get into her apartment. She didn’t live in the nicest part of the city, a lot of really shady things happened there.” You pause, closing your eyes. “I saw...I saw these men in the alleyway. They had a gun pointed at someone. I knew I had to leave before things went any further. When the trigger was pulled I started my car and they saw me.”

Nat says your name quietly, putting a hand on your shoulder as a way to tell you to stop.

You shake your head and keep going. “When I was turning to leave, they shot out my tires. When I had nowhere to go, they pulled me out and threw me onto the ground. They were yelling they were gonna kill me too. They put a gun to my head, Steve.” 

You raise your chin to look at him. His posture has sagged significantly, listening to you intently. 

“I don’t know what I did, I might have kicked him, but the gun fell out of his hands. I grabbed it and just pulled the trigger.” You press your hands to your head, hating the memories emerging in your mind. “The police came and arrested everyone, including me. It was a mess, God, it was a mess. They accused me of being some scorned lover of the guy I killed to try and discredit me as a witness and create a case for murder. Their lawyer was really good.

“There was no way to prove I wasn’t seeing him because I had gotten rid of the pictures I had with the guy I was seeing during the time frame they used. They were able to twist everything I said, everything my friends said until the DA pulled my ex in to testify. The judge dismissed the case but they were furious, yelling threats at me and telling me I was getting what was coming to me. The police gave me protection before they offered to relocate me here.”

You shut your eyes before placing your hands on the counter and daring a look at Steve.

“I killed someone. But there was no other way. I wake up in the middle of the night feeling the barrel of the gun pressed to my head. I dream of scenarios where they succeed and I’m lying cold six feet underground.”

“Stop,” Steve says, and you think you can see tears in his eyes.

You continue.

“Even now, when I’m meant to be safe, I still pay for it because everyday I have to deal with you and your petty feelings. Things could be worse, I get it. But I know I don’t deserve all this because I am nothing like whatever city folk you’ve encountered. I’m just trying to move on with my life. I don’t need you to dig into me like this, especially when it’s none of your business, how did you even get this?” you ask, pointing at the file in Bucky’s hands.

He tells the truth, then apologizes immediately after.

You scoff, jumping off your stool and walking around the island. You snatch the file out of Bucky’s hands and he flinches away from you. You approach Steve and look into his eyes, long and intensely. You don’t know what’s behind them, what emotion or thought. You’d like to think it’s regret. 

You break gaze and head for the stairs, stepping onto the first one.

“By the way, you may as well use my real name from now on.” 

You introduce yourself from there and head upstairs to get ready for bed. 

“Jesus fuck Steve, I told you!” Bucky shouts. “I told you to stay out of it, keep your damn nose out of these things.”

“Do you know what could happen now?” Nat adds, “An agent’s comin’ in a month to see how she’s adjusted. If they find out there’s a risk of her name and location getting out because you snooped--”

“Which I told you not to do!” Bucky says again.

“They could take her back to be relocated again! If they find out she’s in the city, she won’t stand a chance. It was a mob gang, Steve. They have connections everywhere.”

Steve is beside himself, head hanging in shame as guilt rests on his shoulders, weighing heavier and heavier with each second. He doesn’t need to be told that he fucked up.

Nat finishes her cake and dumps her plate in the sink.

As she passes Steve, she stops.

“Steven Rogers, I have never been so disappointed in you.”

Bucky follows her.

“You better fix this.” 

Steve stands in the entryway, shifting from side to side. He runs his fingers through his hair, looking at Peter, who’s still looking at him. He reminds Steve of a sad puppy, like Ransom when he was told he couldn’t go outside when it rained. 

He and Peter leave in silence that night, using the spare key to lock the front door for them. 

You stay in your room in the morning, skipping breakfast and listening to the sound of cutlery tapping against the plates and heavy slurps of coffee. 

You stare at the window, thinking back to when the agent first drove you here. You were scared, but also had first-day-of-school nerves. You remembered thinking what you would do if the people here didn’t like you. Nat, Bucky and Peter had done everything to make you feel welcome and you had grown to like them. 

Steve was like another curveball. He’s so handsome, you weren’t stupid. When he went in not liking you, you were stupid enough to think it was a game. But it was all him trying to find any reason to dislike you and now he had tried to twist your story like the lawyer who accused you of murder. 

“Can I come in?” 

The voice is too deep to be Peter’s and the drawl is too thick to be Bucky. 

“Why? Here to find another reason to try and kick me off your farm?”

The floorboards creak and shift with his steps. You think he’s going to sit on the bed with you, but instead he sits on the floor next to you, knees bent, elbows resting over them as he clasps his hands together. His back rests against the bed as he faces the window too. 

“I’m sorry,” he says so quietly that you can barely hear him.

“Are you so proud that you can’t even look me in the eye when you apologize?” you bite, still bitter. You don’t know if you can ever forgive him. 

You watch with surprise as he moves to his knees, right hand rubbing the back of his neck and he wills himself to look at you. When he takes in your expression, stone cold and penetrating, his own face becomes desperate. 

“I’m sorry,” he tells you, blue eyes clear in showing you his regret. “My ma always told me to not stick my nose in places where it don’t belong.”

“I see you take her advice well,” you say sarcastically.

“Why don’t you lay down your own pride for once!” he says indignantly. “I’m here tryin’a apologize and make amends--”

“How can you ever expect to make amends for what you did?” you stand as you reply, using the same tone.

“I don’t know, I’m on my damn knees! Figured that was a good place to start and we could go from there.”

You can see he’s at a loss. This is a man who either has had little to apologize for in his life or is as stubborn as some of the cattle he herds, having a hard time bending.

“I know I can’t expect you to forgive me. But I want to move forward from this, please. However we can. You can stay, f’you want. And if you do, I’d just like to know I could--we could--be friends one day, when you forgive me.”

“If I forgive you,” you correct.

“Yeah.”

He’s still on his knees.

There’s a lot of thoughts going through your head. You’ve been here for two months and made friendships with Nat, Bucky and Peter. You’ve had fun with Nat and when Bucky is around, you feel like a lifelong friend, not an intruder or third wheel. Peter holds a special place in your heart, like a little brother you never had. 

Though you hate to admit it, in the past two months, you’ve also harbored a tiny (huge) crush on the man in front of you. With every word of banter caused an elastic stretch in your chest, giving a squeezing feeling in your heart and butterflies in your stomach. And his damn eyes…

“Can I tell you something?” Steve asks, gesturing for you to sit on your bed again. 

You slowly sit down and he sits back on his heels, running his hands through his hair and God, you hate how attracted you are to him. 

“When my pa was younger, he grew up here and didn’t want to stay. He packed his things and moved to the city to start a business. He partnered up with some guy he met, who seemed really trustworthy. You can probably tell where this was going,” he said, looking up at you.

You nodded. Though your prediction was right, you still listened as Steve told you how the man stole his father’s money, leaving him only with the clothes on his back and the items in his suitcase. He came home with no choice but to take over the farm and settle down there. While Steve loves being a cattle hand, it’s not something he learned from his father.

“Pa never liked farmwork much. Brought me and my brother up with the idea that city folk ain’t worth trusting because the first one he met took every opportunity and dream away from him. When my brother and I graduated high school, he made it known that he wasn’t gonna stay, so he took his inheritance and left for the city. Hasn’t been in contact since. Just another reason to not trust city folk, they just think they’re too good for us.

“I know I don’t know you. Though you been here months, I just haven’t tried. That’s just all I knew. Pa died shortly after he hired Bucky. Nat helped take care of Ma when she got sick. I just...don’t talk to many people. I’m not good at it. Never was. And I know this all sounds like a bunch of excuses but I’m trying to use them as an explanation, not an excuse.

“I’m sorry. I am. I never should’a tried to get ridda ya. I shouldn’t have been so judgmental about you.”

You breathe deeply, taking in all the information you’ve learned about his prejudice. Though the generous part of you wanted to forgive him, you knew you shouldn’t. 

“I appreciate your apology,” you say evenly. “Thank you for telling me that, you didn’t have to. But don’t think it automatically fixes everything.”

“I don’t,” he says, making to stand up, “I just thought it’d be good for you to know.”

You hum, keeping your face neutral. You weigh the scenarios of harboring your anger towards him for what he’s done versus the idea of slowly letting it go over time, though probably never forgiving him fully. 

You liked living here, you liked Bucky, Nat and Peter. The trajectory of you life here entailed you going out every day with the boys to herd the cattle out of pasture. Everyday you will eat meals with Steve and Peter. Even now, when you’re angry with him, you still have a crush on Steve. Granted, you’re completely aware of the fact that your crush is the lowest priority, but it’d be nice to be able to look at Steve everyday. At least until you find another man who actually likes you.

If you left, you would go back into danger’s path, have learn an entirely new alias, adjust again and bank on the hope that those people won’t completely hate your guts the way Steve does. 

Was the risk worth it?

You closed your eyes, huffing a breath. You opened them to find Steve still giving you that desperate, morose look. 

“Well, I guess we should go downstairs, they’re probably waiting for us to get started on the day.”

Nat had been right. Within a month, you and Brego were ready to ride out daily with the boys. 

You kept distance from Steve apart from pleasantries and strictly business talk. You’re certain that sometimes you catch him looking at you, though you think it’s just because he still feels guilty.

You don’t feel much anger towards him anymore. Mostly you just wonder how you’re meant to move forward. It’s been an awkward dance around each other, jokes falling flat on the ground or ending in dissolving laughter without a follow up. You try to stay near Bucky and take commands from him, but of course there’s the odd occasion where Steve has to tell you what to do. 

You’ve learned more about your colleagues/housemates. Bucky speaks Romanian. His horse is a palamino, tan with white at the bottoms of his legs. He’s named him Sesoto, the Romanian word for “socks” because, “Don’t he look like he got some on?” Peter’s aunt lives in the next town over, running a grocery store. She worries about him all the time. Despite his naivete and boyish nature, he’s very clever and quick on his feet. 

Steve continues to remain a bit of an enigma, though Bucky tells you what he feels at liberty to say. Steve’s favorite color is blue. He originally wanted to join the army, but his father ingrained farming into his head. 

“His horse is like his girlfriend,” Bucky says with his mouth full during lunch.

“What?” you spit, hating the image Bucky has put into your head.

“Oh, no, not that way. Jesus, woman, get your mind out the gutter!” 

“Then what do you mean?” 

“They’re like best friends, I guess. I mean, I’m his best friend and Ransom’s his other best friend but the man and his horse, like...s’almost like you and Brego. She won’t let anyone else near her with a bridle. She’ll really only listen to Steve.”

“Did he grow up with her?” 

“Nah,” he says, swallowing the bite.

“Do you always talk with your mouth full?” you interject before he starts his story, earning a bump on the shoulder from him. 

“Anyway. Steve’s kinda always been reckless all our lives. He’d get into fights all the time in school. Was a bit of a pipsqueak. Then he got big when he really started working on the farm, lifting all the heavy shit. 

“But he didn’t stop being stupid. One day he was up on the hayloft in the barn and the ladder fell. I was gonna get something for him to land on when he jumped off, but he said it was fine. He landed on his side, broke his ribs and arm real bad. He spent weeks in the hospital and going through physical therapy. His ribs stopped him from getting on a horse so that was a real struggle. 

“Meanwhile, Ash was found really badly abused. We don’t know what she was used for, but whatever it was, she ran away even with a broken leg. Steve’s dad got her and helped her recover and thought she’d be perfect for Steve cuz they were going through the same thing ‘n all. They needed each other.”

“Like me and Brego,” you say, watching Steve sit with his horse and a drawing pad under a tree across the field. 

“Yeah,” he says, “You two needed to get out of the situation y’all were in. And it brought you here.” 

You look down at your sandwich thoughtfully, thinking about how 1. You and a horse could be so similar and 2. You and Steve could be similar. Steve needed to see deeper into you to stop being so bitter. It took a huge fight and the entire dynamic in the houses turning upside down, but you were in a better place now.

Maybe now it was your turn to see deeper into him. 

“You’re either thinkin’ a lot about Steve and his horse or thinkin’ real hard about that sandwich,” Bucky jokes.

You pop the last bite into your mouth, wipe the crumbs off your hands and swipe your hand up to knock Bucky’s hand off his head. 

Tagging: @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123​ @viarogers​ @jamielea81​

Next Chapter

[tellmealovestory]

How It Began

Summary: Helping you move Bucky stumbles upon something curious and learns more about you.

Notes: Also posted on my a03. This was written for @ussgallifreyfics​ 550 followers writing challenge and the prompt I had was Bouquet. Congrats on your milestone!!

Warnings: fluff

"Shit,” Bucky grumbled to himself as he watched helplessly as a pile of books tumbled from your bookshelf landing in a pile in front of him with a loud crash. 

Sighing he crouched down, his hands sifting through heavy dictionaries, lightweight paperbacks and a handful of what looked like journals, each one with a different plain colored cover. His eyes drifted towards a light blue one which had landed on it’s spine, pages splayed open. He knew that he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help himself. 

Glancing up to your bedroom doorway he sighed in relief when he didn’t see you, his fingers inched forward, picking up the journal as he glanced through the pages. 

It was wrong, he knew that, invading your privacy like this and though he knew if he saw anything written in it he’d place it back and come clean, but as he flipped through the journal he was surprised not to see words overflowing, but what looked like flowers pressed against the cream colored pages. 

His eyebrows knitted, the tip of his fingers brushing over them, his eyes glancing to see dates and one or two words, sometimes little doodles covering the pages. Flipping through the journal he saw each page was the same, flowers, dates, words, doodles. Closing it he set it down, his fingers reaching for another one even as warning bells were ringing in his head telling him this was an invasion of privacy, a bad idea. The next journal he picked up had a pale green cover and was filled with the same thing. 

“What are you doing?” 

Bucky jumped at the sound of your voice. Had he not been so busy looking through your journals he might have heard the sound of your footsteps, smelled the faint scent of your perfume, heard your voice before it was too late. He might have even found the situation comical, but being caught red handed like this he swallowed, closing the journal and placing it on the floor. He couldn’t quite read your expression, your face was blank, but your shoulders were tense, your eyes flickering between the mess he had made on the floor and the journal that he had set down next to him.

“I can explain,” he started, watching as you crossed your arms over your chest. “I’m sorry. I was trying to help you pack and your books fell and then one landed open and I got curious and I started looking through it and... fuck, I’m sorry.” He swallowed the lump in his throat, his eyes staying steady on yours as he watched. 

“When I agreed to move in with you that didn’t mean you could go through my stuff when you helped me move,” you said, stepping into your bedroom and moving aside the books to sit down next to him.

“I know.” 

Glancing over at you he wasn’t sure what to think. Your expression was still blank as your eyes stayed locked on the mess he had made. Usually he was able to read you better than this and he felt a wave of guilt wash over him for invading your privacy. “’M really sorry, Y/N. Your books fell and then one landed open and I got-.”

“It’s okay,” you said with a shrug of your shoulder. You weren’t mad, a little embarrassed maybe, but not mad. “Did you find anything interesting?”

Raising his eyebrows Bucky was taken aback by your question unsure of how to answer you. 

“What are these?” he asked, gesturing to the journals that littered your bedroom floor. He could hear you sigh next to him and for a brief moment he wondered if he was pushing you by asking you that. After all he had been the one to invade your privacy and if you had wanted to tell him he was sure you would have. 

“Dried flowers,” you replied, shrugging your shoulders as if the answer was obvious. 

Lifting your gaze up to him you debated with yourself if you should explain. On the one hand he had invaded your privacy, but on the other hand it wasn’t that big of a deal. You knew that a lot of people kept mementos of things that were important to them, this was no different. 

Bucky could sense you were hesitant to explain and he felt even more guilt about invading your privacy. Nudging your shoulder with his he said, “Come on, I’ll clean this up and we can get back to packing your stuff up.” 

“Bucky, it’s okay, I want to explain, just... promise not to make fun of me?”

“I would never make fun of you, doll,” he said, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. Part of him was offended that you would even think he’d make fun of you for something that obviously meant a lot to you. He could feel you relaxing as you leaned against his side and he wrapped his arms around your shoulder, pulling you closer.

“When I was a kid my mom used to love flowers I think that’s where I got my love for them. And anytime she’d pick some from her garden or buy herself a bouquet before they died she’d press them into a book to save them. I never understood why, you know? I always thought they’re just flowers. When they die you can pick more or get yourself another bouquet, something prettier than the last one. And even though I thought they were pretty when they were dried and I liked the idea of saving them I still didn’t get the appeal of it. Not until... well, do you remember our first date? When you arrived way earlier than we agreed on with a bouquet of daises?” you asked, glancing up at him. 

“I thought we agreed not to bring that date up again?” he asked, groaning next to you which earned him a soft giggle from you.

“I know, I know, we agreed never to speak of it again, but come on, if it wasn’t for that disaster of a date we wouldn’t be where we are right now.” 

Bucky thought phrasing it as a disaster of a date was putting it mildly. When he had asked you out he had been so nervous, convinced that you would say no, that you weren’t interested that when you had said yes he was shocked, shocked and terrified at the thought that he was going to have to go through with this. It had been a long time since he had gone on a date and he was no longer that suave, ladies man he had been in the forties that Steve used to tell him about. 

When the night of the date approached he was such a nervous wreck he had asked Steve multiple times if he could cancel. When Steve had said no he resorted to begging him to come along. And when Steve said no to that because it would be weird with him there as a third wheel he had suggested he bring Natasha along, a double date, less weird. But still, Steve said no, which left Bucky with sweaty palms and nerves so bad he was sure he was going to pass out despite Steve convincing him he was going to be okay.

Wanting to make a good first impression he had left so early in his nervousness that when he arrived at your apartment he was over a half hour early. Standing outside with a bouquet of flowers had been fine for a couple of minutes, but he couldn’t help noticing the curious looks he received from people passing him. 

No stranger to people staring he went up to your apartment early and when he knocked on your door he could see he had caught you off guard. He had all but thrown the flowers in your hand, wanting nothing more than bail right there and head back to Steve. But when he watched your eyes light up at the flowers, when he watched you so delicately bring them up to your nose inhaling the sweet scent, when he watched you place them so gently down on the counter as if they would break while you got a vase and filled it with water placing the flowers in there only to take another inhale, your eyes lighting up again, a smile gracing your perfect lips he was a goner. 

He could tell you were nervous too and when you opened the door for him he could smell the roast chicken and vegetables. It was only after you had invited him in, after the two of you had sat down on your couch and started up a conversation that he had begun to relax slightly. You were easy to talk to and he had liked that about you, getting lost in conversation he had thought maybe this night would turn out okay. Until he saw the smoke and smelled something burning. 

Dinner had been ruined beyond repair. You had been so embarrassed you couldn’t even look at him, but Bucky took it in stride suggesting a diner he knew about a couple blocks over. The food was good and maybe he could somehow salvage the disaster of a first date. The walk over had been smooth with no problems. The fresh spring air seemed to soothe both of your nerves as the conversation slowly flowed, your fingers brushing up against one another every couple of minutes, but each of you had been too nervous to reach for the others hand. 

The diner wasn’t crowed which Bucky appreciated, still nervous around big crowds and as he led you to a booth near the back that offered you some privacy he had thought to himself he could do this. First dates weren’t so bad, there was nothing to be nervous about. That was until the waitress had placed your drinks down on the table and Bucky had spilled yours all over you and your dress. 

You had assured him it was okay and when you left to go to the bathroom to try and dab out the stain he had called Steve in a panic begging him to pick him up, to show up with Natasha or even Sam, to rescue him. Unbeknownst to him when you had left to go to the bathroom you had called Natasha in a panic, begging her to come pick you up, to make up some emergency that you needed to attend to. What neither of you knew once you hung up the phone was that each of you had called your best friend, something that you wouldn’t be revealed until many, many dates later. 

When you arrived back at the table your dress a little wet from the spilled drink the conversation was awkward to say the least. Both of you speaking at once before pausing and telling the other to no, go ahead first. It was that, that awkwardness that had finally pulled a laugh out of each of you and allowed you two relax, if only a little. 

Dinner had been good, the conversation ebbing and flowing as each of you began to open up just a little bit. On the walk home Bucky took you the long way back, wanting to spend a little bit more time with you. It was on that walk home that he finally reached for your hand, your fingers intertwining with his as if you had been made for him. 

When you had arrived back at your apartment he paused, wanting to kiss you, but unsure if you wanted to, unsure if he should given the disaster of the date. Pausing at your door each of you stood their awkwardly, not knowing what to say or do. When he felt your lips brush across his cheek he couldn’t help the sight blush that covered his cheeks before he stuttered out a murmured reply of how he had fun tonight and would you maybe wanna do this again? his words coming out so quickly they sounded like one long word. Surprise had been written across his features when he watched you nod your head yes, a small smile curving up your beautiful lips. 

“Even though the date was a disaster you decided to keep the flowers?” he asked, coming out of his thoughts, his eyebrows knitted as he looked down at you shaking your head no.

“Not at first. I kept the flowers because I love flowers and the bouquet was beautiful. It wasn’t until our second date that I decided to start pressing the flowers into journals so I’d always have memories.”

The second date had gone a lot better. Bucky had taken you to a farmers market where he bought you a beautiful bouquet of sunflowers as he searched for the ripest and brightest fruits and vegetables. After you had burned dinner during the first date he had promised to cook for you, teasing you that he’d show you how you were supposed to cook dinner. 

The third date arrived with another bouquet, this one full of brightly colored purple and pink and yellow and blue and orange wildflowers that had taken your breath away. 

Each date, another new bouquet and another page of a journal to fill, but it wasn’t only dates that Bucky gifted you with bouquets. Sometimes it would be because he knew you’d had a bad and day and had wanted to cheer you up. Other times it was simply because he had been out, saw some flowers, knew you would like them and got them for you. 

Not every bouquet he brought was a happy occasion though. There was the time you two had gotten in a fight. Coming home from a bad mission bruised and bloody and when you had tried to get him to talk to you he had pushed you away, refusing to talk, trying to convince you that you were better off without him. It was only when Steve told him he was being an idiot and once he had cooled off did he show up at your apartment, a bouquet of daisies, your favorite, an embarrassed gleam in his eye, his feet shuffling back and forth, apologies tumbling from his lips. It was that day that he had finally begun to open up to you and it was the day that your relationship grew stronger.

There was also the time he had promised you he’d be back in time for your birthday, but when a mission had run long and he didn’t get home until a week after your day he had showered you with bouquets, daisies again, to make it up for it. 

And of course there were the countless times during the summer on a hot day that would turn into a muggy night when there was nothing better to do and you were itching to get out and do something the two of you would take a drive upstate, stopping at far away diners in towns that time had all but forgotten. Pulling over on the side of the road when he spotted wildflowers growing in ditches he’d stop the car getting out and pick you bouquets as you picked your own flowers to put behind your ear.

“I know it’s kind of... cheesy, but I don’t know. I guess I just always wanted to have memories of our dates. Even the really really bad ones,” you teased, breaking him out of his memories as you glanced up at him through your lashes.

“It’s not cheesy,” Bucky assured you. He wasn’t going to say it out loud, but he kinda liked the idea, liked the idea that someday when you guys were older and had kids and grandkids that you’d have journals filled with memories of all the bouquets he had bought you, stories to tell your friends and families. While the flowers wouldn’t last forever, even if they were dried, the dates and doodles would. A forever memory of your love story, all the good, all the bad, all of you two. 

[writing-the-end]

Exodus- Part 1

An Edolas Hermit AU story. 

Impulse has become public enemy no. 1 in Hermitland. Making the impossible escape from General Xisuma and his cohorts Doc and Cub, Impulse and his friends need to do the impossible- escape Hermitland, beyond the walled city. Where will they end up? Who will make it? 

How does Impulse become Edolas Impulse? 

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

I didn’t intend to make an 8 part story of how Impulse found his way to Edolas, how he came to become a part of the guild, but Red’s story is just too good to not tell it all! I’m very proud of this story, I hope you guys love it as well. 

Warning: This story includes general dark elements and language

“It’s only a matter of time before they find you, Impulse.” Tango whispers, watching as Zed presses the last of their medical cream against Impulse’s bruised neck. Impulse flinches at each touch, even though he knows he has no reason to. 

Impulse knows these are his friends. They saved his life, cut him free and fled through the underground tunnels together. But it hurts either way, and any sort of pressure around his neck makes his throat close up all over again, and the tears well at the corners of his eyes. A whisper in the back of his mind says this isn’t real, that he isn’t really alive. He’s still on the noose, and his mind is playing tricks with what he sees, the time he feels passing. Or that he's still in the rehab center, hallucinating it all after the effects of the shots that are forced into his veins. 

He has to quiet that voice, remind himself that it is real. His friends really did save him from the gallows. It’s been a week since they made their great escape, into the long forgotten tunnels of Hermitland. Tango and Zed only took short trips to the city above, just to get food from safehouses littered across the place. Impulse was public enemy number one, he wouldn’t be able to show his face above ground. Not unless he wanted to get captured again. 

In the week that he’s been hiding below ground, the red marks around his neck have turned into horrible black bruises. In a fractured mirror salvaged from an abandoned house, he can see where the noose constricted against his throat. It aches at all hours of the day, and in any reflection, he has to pause to look at the mottled skin. When he gulps, or eats, it stings like someone just struck him in his trachea. He struggles to sleep at night, both from the pain in his neck as well as the nightmares that haunt his dreams. 

“We need to leave.” Impulse breathes out, once Zed’s fingers are away from his neck. “We need to get out of Hermitland.” 

“Where will we go?” Zed questions, bouncing in his shoes at the thought of leaving. Excitement glitters in his eyes, the closest thing to sunshine Impulse has seen all week. 

“Anywhere we want. We’ll be free, we don’t have to listen to anyone. We can go anywhere, do anything.” Impulse sees Tango sit up, determination and hope filling tired eyes. 

“Do you really think we’ll be able to make it out there? How do we know what’s on the other side of the wall?” Tango wrings his hands, unable to not be skeptical about such idealistic beliefs.

“We’ve made it here for this long. Survived all the city had to throw at us, survived living off the grid down here. We’re three smart dudes, we’ll figure it out.” Impulse runs a hand through his hair. They have different skills, different pasts. Impulse knows how to make things last, when he doesn’t know what the future will hold. Zed sees uses for things no one else would think to make use of. And Tango has years and years of private schooling and work in the underground to understand what they’re dealing with. 

“We should leave sooner rather than later.” Tango concedes, a wispy smile starting to appear on his face. They’re really going to escape. “It’s only a matter of time before they find us.” 

“Let’s leave now!” Zed tosses the empty medicine tin over his shoulder, scrambling to his feet. 

Tango grabs Zed by the tail of the white button up shirt they all wear. “We need supplies if we’re going to leave. Food, water, tools.”

“I know that my family has some stone tools at our house.” Zed offers. “And we can get food as well. Pack up what we want to take with us.” 

“Can I come up with you guys?” Impulse wants to go to his apartment. Get his own things, his own clothes. Maybe even say goodbye to his family. He hasn’t been home in so long, not since he was captured by the guards. That was...well, he doesn’t know how long ago it was. He can’t remember how long he was in the rehab facility. 

Even Zed’s face loses the joy, both frowning at him. “It’s too dangerous, mate. They know what you look like. Everyone knows what you look like after the…” 

Zed doesn’t need to say it. Mentioning the public execution by name wasn’t necessary, they all knew what Zed was saying. Tango stands, brushing his black pants clean of the dust and dirt the underground carries. “Besides, the bruises would be a dead giveaway as well. You stay down here, we’ll be back soon enough.” 

Impulse watches Zedaph and Tango disappear down the dimly lit tunnels, wandering down the subway that was half built then forgotten. Leaving Impulse to his own devices, pacing nervously around the small cave they’ve claimed as theirs. His worries of them getting caught start morphing as time goes on. What if they’re wrong, and Cub does know who Zed and Tango are? What if they’re waiting to catch them when they can’t escape? What if they're walking right into a trap, and he can’t do anything from down here? What if Cub has been watching them all this time, and there’s cameras even in the underground? Impulse looks around, trying to find any sort of telltale hint of their little hideout being bugged. 

He peels back maps, careful not to smudge his sloppy handwriting. Handwriting from when they were looking for a break in the wall. He presses the corners of the map back up, noting the empty area surrounding Hermitland. Whoever made this map didn’t even bother to fill in what’s beyond the wall- it might as well be the void, or not exist at all. Hermitland is the entire universe, the entire life of everyone left in this world. 

He digs through chests, shaking bottles of redstone and flicking comparators. Nostalgia whispers across Impulse’s mind, remembering when he first met Zed and Tango. They were all first years in engineering school, having just passed their placement exams. Tango came from a well off family that had adopted him, Zed was a genius that won a competition, but Impulse just got lucky. Lucky to get a scholarship to become a redstone engineer. To help the people and the city. Back then, his idea of helping was developing better redstone lines, fixing old tech. Now, helping the city was freeing it from the corrupt hands that toy with them. Three friends, enjoying school and hassling over tests, turned into three rebels just trying to find their freedom. 

Impulse goes through everything, even their beds, leaving the room a torn up disaster in his wake. He doesn’t find anything, but that doesn’t stop him from feeling like he’s being watched. Cub knows everything. He knew things about Impulse that even Tango and Zed didn’t know. But there’s nothing Impulse can do- just sit, waiting and twiddling his thumbs. Hoping for his friends to return. 

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

“Do you think that’s enough food?” Tango whispers, looking at the bag full of apples, baked potatoes, and even some bundles of golden carrots. 

“Once we’re out of the city, we’ll be able to find food no problem.” Zed laughs, putting the stone axe into the bottom of his bag. Hidden in case curfew officers ask what they have. 

“How are you so sure it’s going to be lush and green beyond the wall? How do we know everything still isn’t fucked by the war?” Tango knows that Zed is a glass-half-full kind of guy, but even this surely must give him some pause. No one knows what’s beyond the wall. Not even the most knowledgeable rebels have ever even attempted to leave the city. That fear, that unknowing of what lies beyond. It could be nothing, it could be everything. 

And that’s all they needed, all Impulse and Zed had been banking on. That everything is just beyond the wall. Tango was less sure, but the more that the others would chatter and dream, they would spark hope in him as well. That there was something beyond the wall. His friends gave him the hope that no other member of the underground ever gave Tango. It will be better beyond the wall- it has to be. 

“All those years, and nothing grew back?” Zed giggles. “I know you’re from the inner city, Tango, but I worked in the farming industry. Plants are tricky little buggers. You can’t get them to stop growing when they really wanna. I’m sure there’s stuff out there.”

Tango shrugs the pack onto his shoulder, nodding towards the door. Towards the dark streets, distant figures scurrying towards home before getting in trouble with curfew officers. “Let’s get back. I want to be out of here before sunrise.” 

The pair walk onto the streets, blending in with the other citizens. It’s easier for Zed, he doesn’t look so different as Tango. Tango always gets stopped by officers, questioned as to why he’s out. Lucky for the both of them, their jobs as redstone engineers grants them a certain amount of wiggle room. They can just claim they’re going to a build site that needs emergency maintenance. They slip through the night, unnoticed among the other people on the streets. Exact same clothing, exact same demeanor. They shouldn’t be out past curfew. Zed stops in the middle of the street, scrabbling his fingers against Tango’s arm. “We need to go to Impulse’s house.” 

“What? Why?” That’s a stupid idea. If there’s anywhere they’ll most likely be seen, mostly likely get investigated, it’s Impulse’s apartment. It’s probably bugged to hell and back. Where they first thought to search for Impulse after his escape. 

“We both grabbed things from our homes...it’s only fair he has one thing from his childhood. I know exactly what to get too. Please, Tango. It’ll be quick. No one will notice. You can use that jammer of yours to keep Cub and his drones from seeing.” The two look up into the sky, beyond the dim street lights to see if any of the surveillance drones are listening in. 

Tango sighs. “It’s only a few blocks. Let’s go. But we need to be quick.” 

They take off down the street, creeping down alleys to avoid busy intersections or patrolling drones. Out of the luxurious upper class sector, into the blue-collar apartments and homes. Smaller, looming over one another. Some houses are in disrepair, but still housing families of people. 

And there’s Impulse’s apartment. One of many doors to a long line of apartments, but his is the only one with the door wide open. The hinges nearly off their bolts, thin wood slowly creaking in the wind. Zed pauses at the doorway, looking just to his left. Into the brush and bushes that surround the steps up to Impulse’s apartment.

“Zed?” Tango waves his hand across his friend’s blank stare. They shouldn’t be seen here. 

“I saw it happen, you know. I was here when they took him. Right there.” Zed points out where he hid in the foliage. “Impulse saw them coming, and shoved me out the window. Told me not to move no matter what. They tore the door open, and dragged him out by his hair. Kicking and Screaming, no sense of humanity towards him. I should’ve done something to stop them, but Impulse told me not to move. They disappeared into an unmarked vehicle, off towards Bastion Towers.” 

He takes shaking steps up to the door, each rise up the stairs weakening his knees. All the optimism in Zed is gone, shadowed by memories so much worse than dreams. He should have done something, anything, to stop them. To help his friend.

Inside Impulse’s apartment was a disaster. Drawers flung open and contents spilled out. The sparse furniture broken and scattered. It looks like a horde of monsters came through here. The truth isn’t that far off. It’s a small apartment, really just a living area and a branched off bedroom. For this part of the city, having it’s own bathroom is fancy. Impulse was proud of the hard work he did to get this place. And now it’s all destroyed. 

Zedaph knows exactly where it is. What he knows will be the one thing Impulse would take with him. And lucky for them, it wasn’t harmed. The clock had been knocked off the shelf it sat on, but the arms still clicked along at their steady, equal pace. The brass frame was dented, but it didn’t stop the intricate clockwork from continuing to run. Zed crouches down, picking up the redstone infused clock. 

“His first redstone project. That’s a brilliant idea, Zed.” Tango whispers, looking at the moon continue to rise against the black night sky. Impulse even painted stars onto it. “I remember when he showed us this. Our first time going out to lunch together, all three of us.” 

“Let’s get back to him. I’m sure he’s on the verge of a breakdown.” Zed carefully stows the precious, cobbled together clock into the pocket of his slacks. Just as they slipped out of the underground, they returned. 

None the wiser that they’ve been watched. 

Always watched.

[fallenfurther]

A drop into silence

Written for @gumnut-logic‘s Sensory Sunday Challenge - Hear. I had this image in my head, originally for my OC, however it worked so well for the hearing prompt that I had to do it. My favourite got the short straw though by ending up with the last sense prompt. 

******

Drip

The soft sound was soothingly, however as his brain slowly acknowledged the heavy feeling of his body all Scott could do was let out a moan. The cold metal grate was pressing into his face and his first instinct was to push away from it. He moved his arms to push himself up, his right elbow hitting metal and jarring him slightly. Scott's hand was soon where he wanted it and he pushed up, aiming to end up on his hands and knees. Instead, sharp searing pain shot from his shoulder, causing him to cry out. He didn't get anywhere with the lift. Scott breathed through the pain until it had settled enough for him to think straight.

 Drip

As his breathing because less laboured and his heart was no longer pounding, the stillness enveloped him. There was a dull ringing in his ears and Scott slowly struggled to put the pieces together. There had been the roar of Thunderbird 2 flying overhead to join him. The calls of the people he'd come to save. Those screams had been replaced with words of gratitude as he ushered them out. Then he'd gone in again, the light buzzing of Mini-MAX flying after him with Brains' hologram floating above the little robot. Scott couldn't remember the instructions Brains had been relaying to him, but they had been important. Maybe he couldn't remember because he’d hit his head, or maybe he had just expected Brains to repeat them when they were at their destination. Not that it mattered now.

 Drip

 He'd gotten used to the chill of the metal. His cheek pressed into the holes of the grating. Virgil was going to kill him when he found out Scott had removed his helmet. The explosion had made it unusable anyway. He remembered the feeling off relief that he'd had upon seeing the damage; grateful he'd been wearing it. He needed to thank Brains that he wasn't dead already. Thank Brains, survive Virgil. Both added to his to do list. What else should he do? Contact John. Scott moved his right hand carefully and was thankful there was no pain. He reached around, sliding his hand under his neck to try and reach his baldric. He just needed to press the iR symbol. But he also needed to not be lying on it. Reaching along the tough fabric caused his body to rock and excruciating pain made tears come to his eyes. Scott tried to bite through it. He tried to reach but it was all too much. He felt himself slowly slipping. He continued to push forward.

 Drip

 The engine room had drowned out Brains instructions. The grinding of metal, the hiss of steam from old machinery that should have been decommissioned years ago. It should be in a museum. He had barely heard the pounding of his feet as he'd run to the console, following Mini-MAX who started to push buttons. Why was he even there if MAX could do it all? Scott had chased after the robot, who led him further into the engine room. He knew they had to stop the machine or risk the whole area being damaged by a catastrophic explosion. Scott knew first-hand how hard evacuating an area from an unseen threat could be. MAX flew around a handle and Brains, the genius he was, projected simple instructions for him. Scott had tried. He'd worked as fast as he could, the clunking and grinding getting worse. Only it hadn't been enough, and the word 'RUN' hovered above MAX. He didn't need telling twice.

 Drip

 Scott couldn't speak, his jaw clamped shut against the pain. Thankfully, he didn't have to. The sweet chime of his brother's voice, no matter the panicked undertone, was music to his ears.

"Scott!? Scott!? I've got your location. Stay put. Virgil is on his way."

The pain intensified as he brought his hand out from beneath him. Tears escaped and ran down his face. There was a dull splat as one hit the metal, though Scott barely registered it. The pain had taken over everything neuron in his brain. He stilled and waited once again for the pain to subside, to become manageable. At least his brother was coming. John knew where he was, and for once Scott would have to wait for rescue. Though he was sure when Virgil found him, he'd prefer a stubborn, walking, wounded brother. Scott knew it was bad, even without looking. The eerie emergency lighting did nothing to ease the feeling.

 Drip

 He had run too late. Scott had almost reached the door when the machine had overloaded. The explosion caused by the built-up pressure, shredded the rusty old metal, and sent it flying. One piece flew directly at him. It had thrown Scott into the wall, his helmet taking a significant amount of the blow. It was not salvageable. Scott had discarded it and continued to get away. As he ran along the corridor in search of an exit, the high-pitched ringing in his ear was a constant reminder of why he had to be quick. The build-up of pressure wasn't localised. In the dimly lit corridors, the blue light of Mini-MAX was Scott's guide. The buckling of a pipe as he ran spurred him on, his focus on the light and the pounding of his feet on the metal walkways. The maze felt never-ending and his legs and lungs were starting to burn. But he couldn't stop. Mini-MAX led him across a tank of water, which led to another. The door ahead was so close, but Scott never made it. Metal gave in above him with a mighty groan, as his body hit the gangway and great splashes below joined the symphony of destruction. He hadn't been fast enough.

 Drip

 Twisting his head, Scott placed his other cheek to the metal, his eyes took in the horror that was his right arm. There was enough light to make out the source of his pain. Jagged angled metal was pinning the top of his arm to the broken metal walkway. Other ragged edges had skewered his lower arm and forced it into an angle that shouldn't be possible for human bones. It was broken. An injury like that should hurt. It should hurt more than it currently was, Scott knew that much. Some would call it a blessing, but he knew enough about medicine to know it meant something worse. Damaged nerves. Blood, not red in this light but a colour much darker, coated the jagged metal spines. They glistened with his blood. It was slowly pooling at the ends, silently building up, until it fell to the water below.

 Drip

 His heart was heavy with the realisation. He would be lucky if they could save it, let alone for it to be functional. He was going to lose his arm. He would have to step down as an International Rescue operative. He might still be able to fly Thunderbird One, just not on a rescue. He'd have to sit and watch his brother's risk their lives unable to help them. He'd would have to watch from the side-lines. He'd have to hope they'd come home in one piece. Hope they won't pay the same price he had, or worse. A tear slid down his face.

 Drop

Part 2

[perspective-series]

Pet Perspective (17/19)

By: @arc852 and @hiddendreamer67

Warnings: injuries, pain, talk of death, hospitals, oof

First Chapter || Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

————————————————————————————–

 “Oh no, oh no…” Virgil bit his lip as he gently nudged Roman. “Roman, please say something? Let me know you’re alive?”

The borrower’s eyes suddenly shot open, and he gave a blood curdling scream from the tiny amount of contact.

 “Ah! Sorry, sorry!” Virgil flung his hands away from Roman, holding them close to himself. At least Roman was alive but...if he reacted like that to a simple nudge then...this was not good at all. “Roman, can you talk? Where...Where does it hurt?”

Roman seemed unable to form words, he just kept on screaming and screaming, his eyes darting around rapidly and looking like he recognized nothing. The borrowers legs were placed at an unnatural angle, having served as Roman’s landing point.

 Crap. Virgil bit his lip, looking around as if that would give him an answer of what to do. He knew he had to pick Roman up and take him to the vet now. It would probably hurt Roman but there wasn’t any other choice. Even if Roman was coherent, he wouldn’t be able to walk on his legs as they were now. They...They were probably broken.

 “I’m sorry about this, Roman.” Virgil said softly, before scooping Roman up as carefully as he could.

Of course, Roman’s reaction was to scream again, the sound now interrupted by a strangled sobbing as Roman attempted to curl in on himself but everything hurt. It felt as though someone had snapped him like a twig and then ran him over sandpaper ‘til he was raw. His- his legs… he couldn’t feel his legs…

 “I-I know, I’m sorry, just hold on, Ro. Please hold on.” Virgil pulled his phone out to give Patton a call.

 “Hello? Virgil? What happened? We lost sight of you guys.” Patton asked through the phone and Virgil bit his lip.

 “He-He crashed, I think both his legs are broken, I-” Virgil’s voice cracked and he took in a breath. “I need you to pick me up and take us to the vet, we’re on uh…” He looked around for a sign. “Thomas Street.”

 “Wha-what? Y-yeah, of course, we’ll be right there. Oh no…” Patton hung up and Virgil put his phone away as he waited for Patton to come, anxiously watching Roman.

 Patton put his phone away turning to Logan. “We have to go, Roman got hurt.” He said as he took Logan into the car with him.

“What happened?” Logan asked, fear creeping into his tone. Even if he expected Roman to take some form of injury, the way Patton was acting worried him.

 “Are you okay going in my pocket?” Patton asked first, wanting to get going already.

“I- yes, but what is going on?” Logan pressed, growing ever anxious.

 Patton placed Logan in his pocket and then started the car, pulling out of the driveway. “Roman crashed. He...Virgil said it looked like both his legs were broken. He’s in a lot of pain. We’re going to pick them up and bring Roman to the vet.”

“What? The vet?!” Now Logan was truly alarmed, having only been told horror tales of the borrowers taken to be ‘put down’.

 Patton nodded sadly, but realized Logan couldn’t see him. “Y-Yeah, it must have been a really bad crash.” He hoped Roman would be okay.

“NO!” Logan shrieked. “No, surely it cannot have been so- so-” Virgil and Patton wouldn’t do that, would they? Logan assumed they cared enough to keep them safe. 

“We have to take him home.” Logan insisted, tugging himself up in the pocket. “He needs to heal, we can still save him.”

 “What? Logan we can’t take him home. We don’t have the ability to help him! Only the vet can.” Patton said. He supposed he could understand Logan’s fear of the vet, some adults feared the doctors after all. “It’s going to be okay,”

“No, I will not allow you to harm Roman!” Logan protested again, passionately emotional despite the fact his threat could hold no weight.

 Patton blinked. “Logan, what are you-” He cut himself off when he saw Virgil. “Nevermind, we’ll talk later.” He pulled to a stop and Virgil wasted no time in jumping in. 

 “We need to hurry.” Was all Virgil said and Patton nodded, moving the car again and heading for the vet. And if he was going a bit over the speed limit well then he didn’t care.

Roman’s screams had dulled to a pathetic set of whimperings, his voice too hoarse to produce much sound for the moment as he trembled.

“Virgil, cease this!” Logan cried out, attempting to prop himself up to be seen. He froze, his skin turning unnaturally pale at the sight of his friend lying so…. Broken.

 “Huh? Logan what?” What was Logan talking about?

 “He’s scared of the vet, I think.” Patton explained. “But Logan, I told you it was fine. Roman needs to go there.”

“No, he- he doesn’t.” Logan’s voice cracked, refusing to acknowledge the fact that Logan had no idea if Roman was truly salvageable at this point. The thought that the humans could be correct about putting Roman down was too savage to bear, however, and their flippancy about the matter made Logan want to scream until his own voice was gone. 

“Please don’t do this.” Logan pleaded, and tears came to his eyes at the sight of Roman’s limp form but he couldn’t tear his gaze away. “Please, Roman can still be okay, he has to be okay, Roman you’re okay-”

 Patton and Virgil’s eyes widened and they shared a confused look. “Logan, he’s going to be okay. It’s-it’s alright. The vet will help, we promise.” Virgil said softly.

 Patton pulled into the parking lot and Virgil got out. “I’m going to check Roman in, meet me in the waiting room?” Patton nodded and Virgil took off into the emergency part of the building as Patton actually found a parking spot.

“No!” Logan cried out, reaching desperately as though he could have grabbed hold of Virgil himself. For the first time since removing his collar, ‘No’ was no longer pleasing to say, because what did it matter what he said if no one would listen?

 Patton got out of the car after he parked and took Logan out of his pocket. “Logan, you need to calm down. Roman is going to be fine. You don’t need to be scared of the vet. They just want to help.” Patton tried, rubbing Logan’s back to help calm him down as he headed towards the entrance.

“That is a dastardly way of putting it.” Logan seethed, rubbing furiously at his eyes and refusing to look in Patton’s direction. Vets were inclined to help humans, the ones who paid their bills, not the borrowers brought in to suffer.

 Patton took a seat in the waiting room and looked down at Logan. “Logan, what are you so worried and scared about?” Patton asked, wanting to get to the bottom of Logan’s behavior.

“I- “ Logan looked at his own hands, finding them to be trembling. And blurred, why were they blurred? Ah, yes. Tears. “I do not want to lose Roman.”

 Patton’s heart went out to Logan. “Logan, we-we aren’t going to lose him. These guys are professionals. They’ll save him.”

“You seem to possess a vastly different understanding of the veterinary field than I.” Logan gave a forced chuckle that came out quite strained. “That- back at the shop, they spoke of it often, and I saw it happen, the weak ones who couldn’t survive on their own, packed up in boxes and shipped to the vet and-” Logan drew in a shuddering breath. “-and they never, never came back.”

 Patton was confused for only a moment before his eyes widened. “No! No, Logan, oh my gosh honey, no.” He held Logan close to his chest. “We would never do that to either of you. No matter the situation. We’re at the vet to help patch his legs up and get better. He will be coming home with us alive.”

“What? But- how could you possibly know that?” Logan murmured, but Patton’s sudden shift in demeanor convinced Logan it was alright to cautiously lean into Patton’s embrace.

 “Cause we’re going to do everything we can to make sure he does.” Patton said, face and tone determined. “I’m so sorry you thought that Logan. That you had to witness that before.”

Logan buried himself into Patton’s shirt, trying to rapidly process this new line of thinking. “...what if it’s not enough?” Came Logan’s muffled question.

 Patton shook his head. “We can’t think like that.” He said quietly. “We can’t. We just have to keep believing he’ll be fine. Keep...hoping. He’ll be fine.”

“That isn’t enough!” Logan tugged on Patton’s front, feeling the fabric grow wet as it was pressed against his face. “Someone- we need to go back there! We have to save Roman! He- he needs us.”

 Patton gently shushed him, continuing to rub Logan’s back. “Virgil’s back there and Virgil won’t leave him. We’ll be let in once everything goes through, okay? The vet will do all they can to save him.”

Logan tried to picture Virgil watching over Roman, scaring off any vets that might try to harm Roman in any fatal manner.

“I’m frightened for him.” Logan cried out, allowing himself to be comforted. He must look a mess, but he did not care.

 “I know…” Patton said, closing his eyes as he held continued to hold Logan close. “So am I.”

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

 Virgil bit his lip as he watched Roman just lay there on the small cushioned bed, waiting for the veterinarian to come in and actually do something to help Roman. “Come on, where are they.” He glanced from the door then back to Roman. “Roman?” He asked, hoping something might have changed.

Roman gave a whine, physically unable to force words out of his mouth without screaming again or possibly biting his tongue in half.

 Virgil turned his attention back to the door when it opened, revealing someone wearing a white coat. The doctor, finally. “Alright...Virgil Storm?” The doctor asked and Virgil nodded. “And this must be Roman.” Again, Virgil nodded. “Can you explain to me what happened?”

 “I...I got him a small car as he present and...he lost control. Crashed and flew out of the car. I-I think both his legs are broken…” The doctor wrote everything down, nodding. 

 “Alright, well, let me check him over but it looks like he’ll need x-rays.” The doctor knelt down next to Roman and looked him over, gently touching his side.

Roman gave a high-pitched noise of displeasure, fresh tears sprouting in his eyes.

 The doctor hummed, writing something down. “He may have a broken rib as well...yes, we’ll need x-rays for sure. I’ll get everything set up and a nurse will be here shortly to sedate him.” He turned to leave but Virgil’s voice stopped him. 

 “W-Wait, sedate?” Virgil asked. The doctor nodded.

 “Yes, just to make sure he isn’t in anymore pain. Better to give it to him early since he’s in so much right now as is.” The doctor said. “No need to worry though, it’s perfectly safe.” And with that, the doctor left. Virgil sighed and he went back to watching Roman.

 A few moments later, the nurse came in. “Alright, I heard someone needs a sedative?” The nurse asked, heading over to Roman. “Oh, poor thing. Don’t worry hun, we’ll fix you right up.” She administered the sedative and Roman fell into a deep sleep.

 “There we go, now if you could pick him up carefully and come with me to the x-ray room.” Virgil nodded and did so, following the nurse out of the room and into another. The doctor was there already and smiled when Virgil came in.

 “Ah, Virgil. Go ahead and put Roman down behind this screen and we’ll get started.” Virgil did as told, backing up a few steps and watching Roman carefully just in case. The doctor and nurse did their thing, setting up the machine and pressing buttons. There was a low hum as the machine turned on and both the doctor and the nurse watched the screen carefully.

 “Hmm, it’s slightly worse than I thought…” The doctor murmured, making Virgil’s eyes widen and panic set in. The doctor noticed and was quick to reassure. “Sorry, it is worse than I thought but it is still just a break all the same. It appears as though both of Roman’s legs are broken in about three places, however he doesn’t have a broken rib, just a bruised side, so that makes things a bit easier.”

 Virgil bit his lip. The information didn’t really put him much at ease but he trusted the doctor. He watched as they shut the machines down. “It seemed the breaks can be fixed with a cast, which is easy. However, just in case, you will need to come semi-weekly for check-ups and updates.” Virgil nodded, not caring about that. He would come in as many times as he needed to as long as it helped Roman get better. 

 “So, you’ll be putting him in casts now?” Virgil asked and the doctor nodded. 

 “Yes, we’ll go ahead and do that now...did you want to stay in the room or wait out in the waiting room?” The doctor asked and Virgil’s lips pressed into a thin line. 

 “I’ll stay, thanks.” He said and the doctor just nodded, starting to instruct the nurse on everything they would need. Virgil hung back near Roman, looking down at him sadly. Was this his fault? It sure felt like it. If he never would have given Roman that car this wouldn’t have happened.

 At least he was going to be okay. Although something told Virgil he wouldn’t be happy about not being able to walk for a while.

 He texted Patton a few times, tried to make him go home for dinner but Patton refused to leave. As did Logan, apparently. Both too worried about Roman. Virgil made sure to give them updates as the casts were placed on Roman and the doctor did a few other things to make sure the breaks healed correctly.

 Finally, after two hours, they were done. Virgil scooped Roman up and the doctor handed him a prescription. “This will help with any pain he’s having. And I’ve already booked an appointment for you for the end of next week. One of my assistants will call to give you the details on that.” Virgil nodded.

 “Thank you for your help.” Virgil said and the doctor smiled and nodded and bid them farewell as Virgil finally came out into the waiting room. As soon as Patton saw him, he flew out of his chair. 

 “Virgil! How is Roman doing?” Patton asked, looking down at the little borrower in his friend’s hands.

 “He’ll be fine. And he should wake up soon, according to the doctor. We have to stop by the pharmacy to pick up some medication for him too.” Virgil explained and Patton nodded.

Logan looked longingly at Roman from his own position, reaching out a tentative hand. “May I…?”

 Patton looked down at Logan and smiled a little before gently transferring the borrower onto Virgil’s hands for a moment.

Logan crawled up next to Roman, watching the stuttered way Roman’s chest rose and fell. He chose not to look down at Roman’s legs, the bulky foriegn object being too much to handle as instead Logan focused on Roman’s face. Logan brushed at the hairs in Roman’s face carefully, pausing when his action received a groan.

“L’n?” Roman’s one eye blinked blearily open, his slurred words unable to pronounce Logan’s full name.

Logan’s breath hitched. “Hello, Roman.” Logan heard his own voice crack just a tad, overwhelmed by the relief that Roman was alive and the terror of what was still to come.