#if you hate the terms you need to examine why exactly its a problem for you for it to be easier for tma people to talk about

[idealism-world]

need y'all to realize tme doesn't mean transmasc. tme doesn't even mean afab (and the idea that tma people are attacking tme people for their agab is extremely transmisogynist) a cis man is tme. a cis woman is tme. transneutral people who are afab, amab, and intersex are mostly likely tme. intersex people can be tme or tma. tme just means Transmisogyny exempt. i'm tme. my parents are tme. You are just making it endlessly harder for tma people to talk about their oppression because you think every time they say tme they're attacking transmascs. maybe if you gave a fuck about tma people you wouldn't nitpick their language. just saying.

edit: an anon (rudely) pointed out that cis black women and gnc men are also affected by transmisogyny at times. i didn't mean to exclude them and i think it's important to note that people who are not transfem or intersex can be affected as well. regardless, it's even more important to acknowledge that the terms were made by and for transfems, and not to push them aside for cis people who are sometimes tma.

[inkblackorchid]

I watched this duel again yesterday and I honestly wish I had any sort of fresh take or unusual perspective on it, but I think the truth is that I just don't. This duel is three things for me:

Proof of concept for a very intriguing larger narrative (whose execution sadly doesn't land all the way for me)

The introduction of a character who has several interesting key aspects to them (and who could have, perhaps, been handled a bit better)

Emblematic of all the issues I have with the WRGP arc's writing.

As I said, I don't think I have any truly revolutionary things to say about this duel, but I feel like getting my thoughts out, so expect a fairly non-structured, stream-of-consciousness post below. There are multiple things here that bother me and I finally want to dissect them. Feel free to follow along if you also like examining stuff like this in more detail than it perhaps needs to be examined in. And I really mean examine them in unnecessary detail. Be warned, this post could count as a dissertation in terms of length. But I'm passionate and like analysing things, so no attempt to control its length was made.

So, I won't mince words here. The Team New World duel is absolutely where several major aspects of the time-travel-Iliaster plot completely fall apart for me. I want to make it clear that this isn't the fault of Aporia's character writing or what this duel is building up to, though. Nor do I think that the concept of a secret shadow organisation using time travel to influence world events is too out there. Lbr, this is yugioh. The time-travelling-cyborg-shadow-organisation is absolutely not the culprit of why I think some things don't work here. (And by here I mean specifically the WRGP arc.) Moreover, I'll be the first to admit that the finale this duel builds up to, with everything from the Ark Cradle beginning its descent to Yusei's final duel with Z-ONE, is stellar. So there are several things that do work here—but I think that may be exactly the reason why the other things piss me off all the more.

So what are the "other things", then?

Well, simply put, a lot of this arc's supposed setup and worldbuilding falls apart as soon as you start asking a few simple questions, first and foremost "why". And again, I will likely not be treading new ground here, but this just irks me to no end. However, so this post doesn't devolve entirely into unproductive whining about a part of the show I wish had been better than it was, I'll be doing another thing here: Trying to provide solutions for the things that irk me as I go along. As a kind of thought exercise, and because it's not hate motivating me here, merely extreme frustration about an arc that feels like it was fumbled like a hot potato. So, let's start digging through this mess.

The elephant in the room.

This whole arc (and in fact even the pre-WRGP arc before it) hinges on the concept of antagonists using monsters that can absorb synchro monsters, which is treated as such a monumental problem that we see Yusei, our protagonist, in downright anguish about it not one, but several times. Like, this eats at him.

(Pictured: A troubled boy brooding about his synchro summoning issues.)

And look, I know everyone and their mother has brought this up at this point, but this is already the first bit that falls apart under the weight of the question "why". Why is Yusei so hung up on the fact that duelling against Meklords means using synchro monsters becomes pretty risky? Why is this enough of a problem to supposedly drive the plot for a not insignificant stretch of episodes? Now, I know Yusei uses mainly synchro monsters as his heavy hitters, and I have seen someone bring up the fact before that even irl, completely altering the strategy of your entire deck is a pain in the ass, to say the least. And I do want to admit that this is a valid argument. If Yusei genuinely had to change his whole deck to accommodate the new circumstances, that would be a Herculean task, to say the least. However. While I can see the merit of that argument, I have to raise two counterpoints: One—who said he had to permanently change the entire structure of his deck? The show never gives us reason to believe that anyone other than the cyborgs will suddenly jump out of the woodwork and also use an anti-synchro strategy, and it doesn't show us anyone else who uses a strategy like that, either. And two—note the framing of this issue. The show never suggests that Yusei needs a new deck, or that all his old tricks are completely invalid now. It harps on and on about how he needs a new strategy, yes. But is that the same thing? In my opinion, nothing really demands that Yusei needs to restructure his deck completely. If anything, he only needs to keep in mind that this is now a possibility when duelling people, and thus start keeping a backup plan. And unfortunately, he kind of does, which is where I need to address the Dragon Knight Draco-Equiste-shaped elephant in the room, because it sadly undermines that sensible argument something fierce.

(Yeah, remember this thing? Because I do and sometimes wish I didn't just so I wouldn't have to get frustrated about it all over again.)

Listen. We're all not stupid. Even before the Team Unicorn match, the vast majority of people watching 5Ds would have been aware that tribute summoning, ritual summoning, and fusion summoning are very much methods to get around the dreaded synchro-killers that already exist in the card game and don't require any supernatural shenanigans to be acquired. But speaking only for myself for a moment, I was still at least a little bit willing to suspend my disbelief and accept that not being able to synchro summon would be a categorical impossibility for our beloved motorcycle family before this scene. Except, then Draco-Equiste comes out. And naturally, you're left to wonder "ah, so this is the solution to the synchro problem, then"? But no. No, it very much isn't. Because unfortunately, this is the one and only time Draco-Equiste even shows up. Immediately before and after this duel, this card is treated as though it never existed. Even though this thing could have posed a serious threat to the Meklords, what with being able to absorb the effect of a dragon synchro monster in the graveyard and being able to bounce back effect damage. (Can you imagine how differently the Team New World duel might have proceeded if Yusei had summoned this again?)

So, of course, we're left with the question: Why the fuck was this even here? And on the surface, the answer is super simple: To sell copies of Dragon Knight Draco-Equiste, naturally. But narratively? Narratively, this card's appearance is a disaster. It's a miscalculation of such insane proportions I can hardly find the words for it. Because it proves the assumption many viewers, especially TCG players, would have had from the start: Fusion, ritual, and tribute summoning are still a thing and would definitely work against Meklords. To say this takes the wind out of the sails of the central problem of "oh no, what are we going to do without synchro summoning" would be an understatement. And that's without addressing the fact that the actual "solution" the show provides against the Meklords, as cool as Shooting Star Dragon and Red Nova Dragon are, is, on paper, ludicrous: In a bind because your synchro monster gets absorbed? Just synchro summon harder! And I just. Please. We can agree that this is silly, right? Even if they're very cool dragons and I definitely appreciate them, this is almost looney tunes logic.

Swinging around to a more productive discussion, could they have done their "uh oh, synchro summoning is now impossible"-bit in a better, more coherent and less silly way? Probably, but depending on how they might have handled it, they would have probably needed to sacrifice some other things. The issue here is the thematic element. Synchro summoning is hated, and thus punished, by the emperors of Iliaster because to them, it's a symbol of humanity's greed and subsequent destruction. And originally, the show ends up vindicating its use despite their warnings about the destroyed future in a sort of awkward "with great power comes great responsibility"-way. As in, synchro summoning still has the potential to ruin humanity by the end of the show, but Yusei and the others "earn" their right to use it anyway because they and humanity as a whole learn the lesson not to overdo it. Supposedly. The metaphor is, frankly, a bit wonky, which might be another problem in and of itself. But what's relevant here is that any attempt to fix this conundrum would thus have to keep the thematic element intact. To do that, our protagonists would therefore have to rely on synchro summoning at the start of the arc, as they did before, and would also have to rely on it by the end of the arc (again). The in between is, I think, where more interesting things could have been done with the concept, though—moreover, it's where I think the plothole of "hey why doesn't anyone tribute/fusion/ritual summon" could have been addressed. Say the gang learns that synchro summoning might now get dangerous and actually tries to shift gears. Say they do try out fusion, ritual, and tribute monsters to account for that—only to run into an in-universe meta wall and realise that sure, these monsters might not get absorbed by Meklords, but their effects and strength can't keep up with the synchros their opponents use, or that they're flat out too cumbersome to summon! It could have been as simple as showing scenes where trying to get tribute fodder onto the field or play a fusion or ritual spell card would have been too slow, too inefficient in a duel. They could have also gone an even simpler route and flat out made it so that Meklords could have absorbed any extra deck monster. Would this have made them stupidly overpowered? Sure. But wasn't that kind of the point, anyway? The Meklords were supposed to be a nigh insurmountable obstacle that ultimately required discovering not one, but two new, unique ways to synchro summon—and even then, the solutions still weren't perfect because Shooting Star and Red Nova can still get absorbed under especially tricky circumstances. So I doubt making them that much more powerful would have mattered. (And they had to be heavily adjusted for the irl TCG as is, so there's not really a need to factor in that concern, either.) Finally, and I admit this pains me a little to say, I think that any version of the synchro dilemma that wanted to make sense should have flat out removed Draco-Equiste. The card does nothing except open plotholes, and especially if we want to keep the themes intact without opening the can of worms that is alternative forms of summoning possibly being a better solution than Accel Synchro or Burning Soul, its presence just becomes a hindrance. Sorry, Dragon Knight Draco-Equiste.

So much for the synchro dilemma, then. But unfortunately, this is not the last aspect of the worldbuilding surrounding the three emperors of Iliaster and especially their Meklords that's built on a shaky foundation, to say the least. Onto the next one.

2. The Meklord genocide and the many questions it asks (and never answers).

I'm gonna roll several points into one here because they're all related to the Meklord genocide—that being the supposedly unavoidable catastrophe in the future where Aporia received all his trauma from. And I want to preface this with two statements, one good and one bad. Firstly, Aporia and the way his backstory gets exposed, quickly getting us intimately acquainted with the utter devastation of the Meklord genocide, is extremely compelling. You really get a sense of the terror at play and it gives him a perfect, understandable motivation for wanting to avert that future at all costs, even if human lives have to be sacrificed along the way.

(Ahhh, the lovely smell of childhood trauma in the making.)

Secondly... The Meklord genocide makes zero sense, and it has everything to do with the fact that once again, several major aspects of it buckle under the weight of a few simple questions. But let me roll that back first and examine what those major aspects, which the Team New World duel introduces us to, are.

Number one: I went back and checked, and this is the first time in the series that we are introduced to the concept of synchro summoning resonating with Moment reactors. Previously, the reactor itself, through the concept of planetary particles, and, by extension, the Moment energy itself was only implied to be something like a perpetuum mobile, infinitely producing its own energy.

Number two: Now, we have heard of Moment rotating backwards and exploding in the show before. But there are two new things here, one being that the Iliaster trio explains that in this instance, it caused a chain reaction, and that, for some reason, all the Moment reactors began exploding one after the other. The other, more crucial part being that they claim the Moment reactors responded to people's hearts. This ties in with another small thing introduced much earlier, where Bruno/Antinomy explains that Clear Mind, Yusei's accel synchro technique, is a way of "controlling Moment". Both link the reactor and its energy, which are pillars of 5Ds' worldbuilding, to human emotions. And I already need to say this here: This doesn't make lick of sense. But more on that later.

Number three: We don't get an outright explanation for this in this duel, as in, it's not stated verbally, but right after Moment supposedly "responds to people's hearts", the Meklords show up, heavily implying that the reactor, for some reason, summoned a robot army to destroy humanity.

Now, I'm going to give you the quick-fire round of questions these three concepts immediately sparked in my mind when I saw these scenes, because I think that will illustrate just fine why I have such a problem with all this: Since when is synchro summoning linked to Moment and how? If humanity already knew through the Zero Reverse incident, which is the foundation for 5Ds' canon, that Moment reactors could spin too fast, gain a negative rotation, and subsequently explode, why on earth did nobody think to install safeguards against that? Why are the Moment reactor and its energy linked to people's hearts now? How does that even work? And how is a human supposed to "control" a sodding energy reactor that was implied to stay in perpetual motion through a set of gears, which famously know how to read hearts, through achieving a clear mind? And why, oh why did the reactor—independently of its human creators, apparently—have a killer robot army at its disposal to let loose on humanity when it grew sick of their shit?

This plot has so many holes, it may as well be a net instead. And you know what the worst part is? The show answers none of the questions above. Moreover, the implications behind the concepts introduced for the sake of setting up the Meklord genocide are buckwild, to say the least. Let me run with this real quick to highlight the absurdity here.

Taking the idea that an energy reactor can respond to people's hearts and summon an on-demand murder robot army of apocalyptic proportions when humans around it grow too evil at face value honestly makes me wonder how the Moment reactor in NDC hasn't exploded five times over since its creation. You mean to tell me that between Goodwin's Iliaster goons, the Arcadia Movement, the corrupt security forces, and all the duel gangs in Satellite, there weren't enough evil people there to make the reactor go crazy? Plus, all of these people were already synchro summoning as if their life depended on it! Synchro summoning is basically ubiquitous from the moment the show starts, to the point where it's more unusual to see a duellist who doesn't synchro summon than one who does. But somehow, that wasn't enough to affect the reactor yet? Or is the implication here supposed to be that the part where the man-made machine meant to produce limitless energy can suddenly see into people's hearts was added later into the reactor's development? That humans for some reason decided, "yeah, that's what our new energy source needs! A way to shame and punish us with violence on an unimaginable scale for our transgressions!" And that's without addressing the robot army. Who built these things? And who decided it was a good idea to put them at the disposal of the very reactor itself? Do you mean to tell me some team of utterly cracked up scientists decided that the best entity to put in charge of the robot army that was constructed for some reason was the reactor system supplying the world with energy, "computers can't be blinded by human error and would thus never deploy this army for selfish reasons"-style? (Honestly, I almost wish that had been the idea here, but I'm absolutely certain it wasn't.)

I can already hear two major criticisms to the above, purposefuly hyperbolic extrapolation in the back of my head here. Allow me to talk about them for a moment.

One—"Okay, so the WRGP arc has plotholes. Didn't the dark signers arc have those too, though? It's not like they explained everything about all that stuff."

You're right! It did! As much as I love the dark signers arc, it hardly has the most tightly-written worldbuilding of all time, either. There are lots of things, some small (why was Rudger/Roman somehow a signer and a dark signer at the same time), some not so small (why on earth did Rex' plan to summon the king of the underworld and remake the world seemingly hinge on one of the signers failing to seal their tower, which he could have never guaranteed in a million years) that the DS arc never properly takes the time to explain. But even so, the dark signers arc doesn't fall apart under questions such as "why" and "how" nearly as easily as the WRGP arc for a reason that is as simple as it is stupid: The DS arc has a much less ambitious premise, and though its antagonists are cool, they don't actually pose a greater, moral dilemma. Think about it. The premise of the DS arc is a run-of-the-mill prophecy thing. You've got your chosen heroes, your destined enemies, and a battle for the world using supernatural shenanigans. And a lot of questions of "why" or "how" are relatively quick to be brushed aside with "magic" (or rather, Crimson Dragon/Earthbound Immortal shenanigans). Moreover, the dark signers themselves, while having interesting stories relating to the heroes on a personal level, are still, fundamentally, pure evil. They're not fighting to prevent a devastating, apocalyptic future, they just deadass want to get revenge and destroy the world. And all the more complicated, major themes the arc has (class discrimination, police brutality, how societal alienation can lead teenagers to join cults, poverty, etc.) are actually not really tied in with the Earthbound Immortals, instead happening on the sidelines or only being tangentially related to the dark signers (such as when Kiryu becomes a dark signer through the abuse suffered in prison). The only major theme that ties in with the dark signers is destiny VS. freedom of choice, which also gets resolved in the battle with Rex Goodwin. (Interestingly enough, all the more complicated themes on the side were also dropped after this arc, but that's a rant for another time...) Perhaps the arc still has some inconsistencies here and there, but largely, it stays fully coherent. Thus, the DS arc makes it way easier to suspend one's disbelief, making the unexplained parts seem much less egregious.

Two—"Calm down, this show was made for twelve year-old Japanese boys. They don't need to explain any of this."

If you honestly think children don't deserve well-made entertainment whose concepts and worldbuilding can hold up to scrutiny, I have nothing to discuss with you. Sure, children will swallow some concepts much easier and will suspend their disbelief much longer and more artfully than any adult on average, but that doesn't mean "kids are dumb anyway so why bother putting as much effort into worldbuilding for their shows as for adult shows" is the hot take you think it is. I am fully congnisant of the target audience for this show—that doesn't make me any less convinced that said target audience deserved a show where things made sense while they were watching it and where things could still make sense if they decided to rewatch it years later. Because, you know, that's what I think a good show should be able to do.

And with that, I can come back to the WRGP arc and an issue that ties in with both things I just addressed: The WRGP arc's actual story premise, buried beneath the well-known, equally beloved and beloathed tournament arc format, is a lot more ambitious than the DS arc and has several, fairly heavy, core themes that it sets up and tries to resolve by the end, among them: learning how to cooperate as a team (during the WRGP) and learning how to be independent (by the end of the show), destiny VS. forging your own path (round two), and, most importantly, taking responsibility and fighting for one's future. That last one especially is not only a good topic to address in a show specifically made for 5Ds' target audience, it is also represented by both Team 5Ds and Team New World in-story. Spicier yet, both teams are actually fighting for the same thing. Team New World, having seen the supposedly unavoidable, tragic future and thus decided to take action against it, is fighting for a future that doesn't have to be marred by such tragedy, by whatever means necessary. And Team 5Ds, young, hopeful, and trusting in their connection to one another and humanity as a whole, is fighting for a better future because they believe that tragedy can be avoided. The future these two teams want is almost the same—the only, crucial difference is that Team New World has embraced the use of drastic measures to bring that future about, while Team 5Ds hasn't. To Team New World, the future presents something like a trolley problem, if you will: They think doing nothing will lead to that inevitable tragedy and erase humanity, whereas sacrificing New Domino City in the present will still kill people, but preserve humanity in the long run. And they have firmly decided pull the lever and set the course so the trolley runs over just one person instead of many. Team 5Ds, meanwhile, isn't even thinking about the lever, instead insisting there has to be another way, and that even thinking about getting anyone killed for this is stupid. The whole conflict is, on paper, wonderfully compelling, because you can see where both sides are coming from. Sure, Team New World's members still act like absolute dickheads in true yugioh-tournament-opponent fashion, but ultimately, their goals make sense. Viewers can put themselves in their shoes and perhaps think that, faced with a horrible dilemma like theirs, they would make the same, awful choice to set the course and cause suffering now to avoid greater suffering later. For the greater good.

Unfortunately, the questions I listed above undermine all this somewhat, because as good as these antagonists are on a character level, it's incredibly easy to poke holes into their backstory and especially the circumstances surrounding the horrible, distant future they want to avoid so desperately—which, in turn, undermines that terrible future somewhat, because this is a narrative that demands weight (in my opinion). But if the supposed threat at the end, the terrible thing even our protagonists briefly aren't sure they'll be able to avoid, begins falling apart at the seams in terms of logic when you think about it for more than two minutes, where is that weight supposed to come from? There is also another question to be answered here that I need to discuss so I can touch on a central aspect that hampers the plot in this arc somewhat later:

Why are they so convinced that horrible, destroyed future is utterly unavoidable?

I want you to really think about this question, with me. Canon... never really gives us any direct proof that they're justified in being this certain. However, that doesn't mean we don't get an answer, per se, though the answer is a bit vague.

The implications here are... something, to say the least. First, as our basis, we have to assume that every "correction" Iliaster has made has been to avoid humanity's destruction in the future. Because frankly, that's all we get as far as Jose, Placido, and Luciano's definition of the "correct path" goes. Then there's the second bit. Apparently, they've been merrily "repairing" history for a good while already, yet, for some reason, they always get the same outcome: The Meklord genocide. This, in turn, has led them to take more and more drsatic measures to try and avoid it. And I want to point out the very obvious, mind-boggling implication that comes with this: Apparently, after every "correction" they made, these three have either let history run its course to see where it ends up this time, or have quickly zipped over to their own time to check whether things were still shit. Meaning Iliaster's whole deal of fixing history to make sure the Meklord genocide never occurs has been a very, very long run of trial and error. (I want you to think of all the possible "fixes" this could have included for a moment. We know from BBT that killing Pegasus was one of the ideas they had, for example. Did they also try to kill the presumed Industrial Illusions employee who came up with synchro monsters? Did they try to kill Yusei's dad so Moment would never be invented? Could they not have tried to simply inhibit the creation of the robot army, then? Or made sure someone installed some bloody safeguards on the reactors, as Yusei later does in-canon, which somehow works when he does it? The list goes on.) Now, we know that in canon, their newest idea is that the future can be fixed if they just destroy New Domino City altogether.

Here, the questions begin again (you may sense a running theme): If Moment is already invented and internationally known, why would destroying its place of invention do anything? If synchro summons are already a thing, doesn't that mean destroying NDC would only slow the catastrophe down, at best? And most importantly: Why are these guys so utterly convinced that this "repair", of all the ones they've already done, will save their future? How can they know that this particular plan will work when they've supposedly already tried everything?

(There is, of course, the tragic possibility to consider that perhaps, they know that there's no guarantee this will work. They've tried everything, after all. So maybe they know this won't fix things, either. But we know that Aporia, like Paradox, like Antinomy, and like Z-ONE is, somewhere at the bottom of his despairing heart, still desperate for a shimmer of hope. And maybe, just maybe, he has reached such a point of desperation that he'll watch an entire city getting destroyed if it has even the faintest chance of succeeding. But unfortunately, this is purely speculative—the show never states this, and so, I can only leave it in the realm of fan interpretation.)

The show never answers this question, either, instead relying on the audience to suspend their disbelief some more and assume that Iliaster has put in the work and is 100% certain that the future can and will absolutely end in disaster unless they destroy NDC now. It almost acts like they have some sort of supernatural foresight; they know things nobody else in the show's world does, and due to this (and their non-human status) they label themselves as superior to the "foolish humans", who, without their guiding hands, will only bring about the apocalypse. But their superiority and the internal consistency of their actions is already wobbling under the weight of all the half-assed worldbuilding I mentioned above, which is an extra big problem due to another, major difference between the WRGP and the DS arc: While the DS arc stylised itself as a sort of funky genre mix between cyberpunk dystopia and urban fantasy (in a very broad sense, given that ancient Inca gods are very much real and their prophecies come to fruition in the modern day, yet we are not presented with any sort of magic outside of the conflict with the dark signers), the WRGP arc, aside from its tournament format, stylises itself much more as science fiction. The antagonists are no longer ancient, evil shadow gods, they're cyborgs from a destroyed future. Their motivation isn't as simple as wanting to destroy the world, either! In fact, they want to save the future! And they don't pose a threat to our antagonists through shadow duels in rings of fire and giant, magical monsters that sacrifice human souls to be summoned. No, they have advanced technology like high-tech robots that cut our protagonists off from one of their go-to tactical options, and they send out duel robot armies, and they travel through time by means of sophisticated wormhole-technology.

...But do they?

Now, I said I don't just want to complain here, I also want to provide solutions—and I intend to stick to that. But first, because these two things are so intrinsically tied together, let me address the final aspect that puts Team New World as antagonists and the WRGP arc on such shaky ground from a writing perspective.

3. Wibbly-wobbly, timey-wimey, magic-science cyborg nonsense.

So, I've talked about the strongly differing methods the Iliaster trio uses in comparison to the dark signers. Sci-fi is the name of the game now, so we've got robots, cyborgs, advanced tech and... time travel. But amidst all this, you may have noticed something. Even though our plot is supposedly decided by futuristic tech now, the magical/occult element that was there in the first half of the show doesn't actually get dropped. Why? Because it can't be. Because the signers, our protagonists, are defined by their status as a group of magical chosen ones, hand-picked by an ancient Incan deity. Regardless of what the writers of the show wanted here (and my personal guess, based on hearsay and what I've read on forums, is that they wanted to hardcore-pivot to sci-fi because they hoped it would engage audiences more), this was an element they couldn't erase. (Or, well, technically, they could. The signers do lose their marks at the end of the show, after all. But perhaps they thought doing that earlier was too risky.) So genre-wise, we've got a bit of a situation here. From the pre-WRGP arc on, 5Ds is more of a sci-fi show, yet, we've still got all this occult stuff wandering around that can't be cut out of the narrative and still influences it because it's too intrinsically tied to our main actors not to. And you might have noticed that this actually doesn't just extend to the signers. As in, they're not the only ones where sci-fi and magic elements mix. This happens for the Iliaster trio, too. Placido gets a sword that can randomly cut a hole in space-time (and it's never explained how). The Meklords can cause real damage in duels even though they're supposedly not supernatural. Moment reactors can suddenly read people's hearts. Not one, but multiple cyborgs get a magical girl transformation where they change clothes and runners, or even combine from three people into one. And for some reason, the Crimson Dragon, even though its "own", central enemies, the dark signers, are already defeated, doesn't take its marks away from our heroes until after the cyborgs are taken care of, suggesting that the ancient, magical entity recognises the robots from the future as a supernatural threat of some sort. None of this is presented with any sort of attempt to get it to make sense, yet, we're supposed to believe it isn't magic, because we're all about robots and time travel now.

(Insert the magical girl transformation song of your choice.)

And I want to make one thing clear: I'm not saying this weird genre-mix couldn't have worked. In fact, I think it's hilarious and low-key brilliant even in the wonky state we got. Sure, let's make the antagonists robots from the future while keeping our protagonists the agents of an ancient Incan god on the mortal plane! If nothing else, you absolutely can't argue the idea wasn't original.

However, even with all the love I have for the show, I can't help but feel like there's an issue here, and the only way I could put it into words would be genre dissonance. We are supposedly in a sci-fi show now, yet the central antagonists, who are also the fundamental reason for this genre shift, seemingly can't decide whether they're actually using technology or magic for their schemes. And this becomes a problem insofar as that seemingly no effort to meaningfully fuse the fantastical elements with the pseudo-scientific ones is made, yet at the same time, they aren't properly separated, either. Specifically the latter might be harming the show even more than the former. Let me explain what I mean.

I'm no stranger to the fact that sci-fi sometimes likes to use technology that's supposed to be so advanced that to an outsider, it begins looking indistinguishable from magic. And in all fairness, that is probably what the 5Ds writers were gunning for. What hampers this a little, though, is that we're just coming from an arc that had actual magic in it, which leads to the allegedly scientific elements sending some mixed messages. Especially because they're never explained. And I'm not saying we needed super hardcore, internally fully consistent sci-fi worldbuilding here. Frankly, with all the weird nonsense 5Ds has already mostly handwaved by the start of the pre-WRGP arc, that would have been absurd. But I think a few explanations here and there, hell, even just the occasional off-handed remark, could have done a world of good for this arc, and especially for the Meklord dilemma and the setup of the ruined future. I don't need a whole breakdown on how exactly a reactor knows about the greed in people's hearts, but a remark somewhere on the side about how, for example, the particles that are the central player in that reactor also happen to be copious within the human heart (which would be impossible to prove, but ignore that) would have been nice. And I don't need a full breakdown of how the robot army was built; a throwaway remark that humanity created it as weapons in their supposedly endless, petty wars could have been cool, though.

My point is, fundamentally, that unlike the occult nonsense, which can skirt by on prophecies and simple, black-and-white, good VS evil stuff, the sci-fi elements feel like they demand a surface-level justification for their existence, at least. A surface-level justification they didn't get. And this is without addressing the much, much bigger problem that may actually be the root cause of most, if not all the things I've listed above so far: The time travel.

I don't think it's any sort of new, groundbreaking opinion to say that time travel is a notoriously finicky worldbuilding element that many writers, regardless of medium and/or skill, have already massively shot themselves in the foot with. And unfortunately, I feel like this has happened in 5Ds, too. Specifically because the time travel has seemingly absolutely no limits. The Iliaster trio (and even Paradox) can seemingly be everywhere they want, in any time period, and do whatever they want/deem necessary. Worse yet, the time travel is actively shown to have massive consequences more than once. And I think it's under the weight of this massive, utterly uncontrollable element that the plot really begins to collapse. Because frankly, with the implications we're given, things just really don't look good in a universe where limitless time travel can be used! Let me circle back to two questions from above to really emphasise this: Why are these guys so utterly convinced that this "repair", of all the ones they've already done, will save their future? How can they know that this particular plan will work when they've supposedly already tried everything? In a universe with limitless time travel, these questions become an absolute mess to deal with. And the real problem is that canon never even entertains the idea of answering them. Sure, you can begin to fill in the gaps for yourself if you feel like it. Maybe it's not that all the previous "repairs" Iliaster did truly didn't work, maybe they brought about even worse futures and that was the reason why they were discarded. Or maybe there's a hidden in-universe rule that people from the future who go back to the past actually don't have the power to change anything, as in, no matter what they change, it will never affect their present, because their actions will always loop back around to causing the same things they already know. But there. Precisely there is the problem. I'm not getting this from canon, I'm making it up from scratch. And sure, all stories have gaps—that's where a lot of fanfiction lives, after all. But when you reach the point where you have so many gaps that the audience can no longer suspend its disbelief over these gaps, that's when there's a problem. And the WRGP arc, for all that its antagonists are extremely compelling, pose genuine, moral dilemmas, and for all that it resolves in one of the best arcs of 5Ds, has precisely this problem for me. The worldbuilding is stretched too thin, and my suspension of disbelief breaks and leaves me wondering why so many good themes have to be buried in an arc that is this frustrating to watch sometimes.

*deep breath*

Okay. So now I've aired all my grievances and laid out all the problems that make me shake my fists in frustration at this arc, at the Meklords, and at the Team New World duel. What about the productive part, then, you might ask. I did say I wanted to provide solutions, as far as I can, anyway. How would I try to solve this mess?

Well, honestly, I think the solution here, at least to me, would be fairly basic: More consistency. Make it make sense. The genre mashup can stay exactly the way it is, but maybe tone down the magic on the cyborgs a bit. Make them actual cyborgs. Even if their tech is justified through bullshit, at least justify it. Why does Placido have a reality-splitting sword? Oh, it's actually the Moment Express wormhole technology in miniature. Why can Moment reactors see into people's hearts? Well, duh, they contain the same, special particles as human hearts. Why is there an army of robots in the future to begin with? Humans built it. For war. Like they did so much else. And why did the reactor use it against them? Because it was just responding to their own negativity. Their own, constant desire for strife and petty conflicts amongst one another made them actually turn the weapons against themselves (or rather, against the people they personally didn't like, which ends up being everyone when everyone has a grudge against someone) through the reactor. (The show almost does this one, but not quite.) How do the three emperors of Iliaster know destroying NDC, specifically, will fix the future? They don't! They're doing this on trial and error, and more importantly—and I think this would work best if it was introduced purposefully late—they can't actually save the future by changing the past, because they're not from the past. They just don't actually know that this is a rule of time travel.

None of these fixes would have to be big, episode-spanning things. Off-handed remarks would have been enough. But I think just that could have saved many points from becoming the plotholes they did.

And with that, I think I'll finally leave you be, I've rambled quite enough. To anyone who has made it all the way to the end, I can only give a sincere, heartfelt thank you. I realise this is a LOT of words. Moreover, I'd like to leave you with one more statement: Though I can absolutely understand if this post comes off as me getting on a soapbox and cupping my hands around my mouth before yelling, it's not meant to be. I absolutely invite discussion about the the handling of, the themes behind, and all the arguments I gave regarding the Meklord worldbuilding and the Team New World duel. So, feel every bit as free as I did to yell about this. This post encourages yelling.

[absynthe--minded]

wattpad vs. ao3

so this is an examination of Wattpad as an alternative to Archive of our Own, largely in response to the ongoing criticisms of AO3 when it comes to their content policy and what’s permitted onsite in terms of tropes and ratings. I’m not going to be talking about anything in the context of the completely separate and justified debate about how Archive staff handles racism and racist harassment. First off, I agree that AO3 needs to take more action against racist commenters and stories intended to harass fans of color (I’ve received a few comments like that myself) and second off, I don’t know how Wattpad handles racism.

I’m pro-AO3, but I do believe that if people have problems with AO3, they should be free to leave the platform and find something that suits their needs and wants better, and no one has brought up Wattpad in these conversations, which I think is a shame.

Wattpad:

commercial site with ads and a premium membership option

general fiction focus with fanfiction section (not a dedicated fic archive)

mobile-friendly with a dedicated app on App Store and Play Store

basic user tagging (think Tumblr, Instagram) with some native filtering

allows for user blocking

community forums on-site with direct messaging feature

RTF-only text input (no HTML editing)

native image support, including gifs and video files

ability to upload custom art in-story and as a cover for your fic

no native self-archiving/story download feature unless you’re the author

extremely large userbase, with popular fics getting hundreds of thousands of hits regularly

primarily M/F, including large amounts of selfshipping, reader insert, and canon/OC romance

site demographic skews young, with many adolescents “aging out” and moving to FFN or AO3

comprehensive, well-enforced content policy restricting and banning many story concepts and thematic elements, including erotica, all underage stories where participants are younger than sixteen, and glorification of suffering such as self-harm or sexual violence. encourages users to report stories that violate TOS.

basic content rating system, with the requirement to tag stories as mature to warn of adult content that is permitted in the TOS, including sex scenes that are part of the plot, sexual violence or dark themes that aren’t written about from a perspective of horror or condemnation, etc. no option to opt out of ratings.

can and will delete stories that are found to be in violation of the TOS, or will render them private and viewable only to the author.

Archive of our Own:

nonprofit organization with no ads or premium options for site members

dedicated fanfiction archive, though original works and nonfiction about fannish things are permitted

mobile friendly to an extent, no apps of any kind

comprehensive, thorough tagging system custom-built for maximum user customization and labeling. enables native filtering for all tags, always present and usable regardless of searches or preferences

no current options for user blocking, though change may come

no forums, direct messages, or social element except comments on fics, which can be moderated and deleted or turned off by the author

supports RTF and HTML text input for stories

limited image embedding, requiring offsite hosting and HTML editing for mobile viewers

no native image upload feature or ability to create “covers” for stories

allows the option to download all fics in multiple formats

large userbase but fics with hundreds of thousands of hits are relatively rare, and subcommunities/fandoms have different standards for a “popular” fic

primarily M/M on a sitewide basis but most popular ships and story styles vary based on fandom.

site demographic skews older than Wattpad, with many users considering themselves “fandom olds” or being present since the site’s launch

allows anything to be written and published in their stories, with content policies banning user harassment and photographs of illegal pornography. users are expected to accept that they might see fics in the listings that upset or disgust or squick them on some level, and tag filtering/external browser extensions are expected to be implemented by the user to block out upsetting content

comprehensive rating system, with fics expected to be tagged and rated and warned for accordingly. option given to opt out of warnings and ratings entirely with “Unrated” and “Choose Not To Warn” categories

will rarely delete stories, and will never do so without warning and emailing the author a copy of their fic along with an explanation for why it was deleted

Wattpad’s Content Policy:

The full policy is linked above, but Wattpad explicitly bans underage sex, purely pornographic content, graphic self-harm, suicide, hate speech, underage sex where one party is younger than sixteen (the age of consent in Canada), sex with animals, revenge porn, sexual solicitation/roleplaying, and harassment of other site users, among other things. Stories cannot focus on sexual violence in a positive way, and sex scenes must meet content standards even in mature-rated stories. This is in contrast to AO3, which (as stated above) doesn’t have bans against any of this. Their TOS FAQ is linked here, and contains extensive discussion of their content policy, while affirming that they believe in the user opting out of content they dislike rather than banning that content on principle. I can confirm anecdotally that they do take action against embedded photographic images of illegal pornography, but that’s the only ban they seem to have.

My final conclusion is that abandoning AO3 for Wattpad sacrifices user friendliness and an extremely comprehensive tagging system that will get you exactly the results you want for a heavily moderated, much less risky experience that has sitewide standards designed to protect users from graphic or controversial content. Both have fun interfaces, and both are easy to use, but I personally would recommend the latter site to anyone who felt AO3 was too free and open with the kind of stories it permits on its site.

[infinite-xerath]

Runeterra Retcons 2: Aatrox and the Darkin

I did another one. There’s one more character I have in mind to do, but then I’ll probably take a small break from these))

Aatrox is an interesting case; while I don’t necessarily believe his current lore is BAD per se, I think he’s more-so a case of missed opportunity and wasted potential. Aatrox, to me, reeks of a case where Riot gave zero forethought to the future of this character when they created him. To fully understand why I feel this way, we’re going to have to take a step back and analyze some of the history of League itself, as well as some characters connected to Aatrox. So, with that all said, let’s look back at the history of this angry red swords and see if we can make sense of the changes given to him over the years.

Aatrox was released into the game back in 2013, under the title “The Darkin Blade.” Now, what’s a Darkin, you ask? Well, at the time, we didn’t really know, and it kind of became obvious that Riot didn’t either. Let’s have a read of his original lore, shall we?

I was always a fan of Aatrox’s original lore: an ancient, mysterious figure who shows up to help you turn the tides of a war, but only after you’d effectively surrendered your own humanity for the sake of victory. The fact that there was an entire race just like him became the center of fan speculation of years, and countless theories cropped up as to who and what the Darkin even were. Some assumed that they were related to the Seven Deadly Sins, while others thought they might be akin to the Horsemen of the Apocalypse. Some thought they might just be a dying race, and that some might actually be benevolent, unlike Aatrox.

Unfortunately, Riot wouldn’t give us an answer for quite some time. All we knew was that Aatrox was a Darkin and that he looked a lot like typical modern depictions of demons. That does raise the question though: why didn’t they just make Aatrox a demon? He helps turn the tides of conflict with no apparent goal beyond just prolonging the chaos and suffering brought about by war. A lot of his voice lines even painted him as a psychotic “artist” of sorts, prior even to Jhin, that viewed conflict and bloodshed as elegant. Well, to better understand the full picture here, we need to take a step back and examine the broader picture here.

Now, admittedly, we’re delving in some speculation territory here, as it’s impossible to really say what Riot’s original plans for the Darkin were, if any. That being said, the inclusion of something like a demon would have had a lot of implications back in the day, as the Runeterra as we knew it then didn’t really have a “Heaven” or “Hell.” Sure, we had “angels” with Kayle and Morgana, but they were treated more like how Asgardians are treated in Marvel: more like a race of super powerful aliens than actual divine entities (keep that in mind for later.) If anything, what little we knew of an “afterlife” in League came from Yorick’s old lore, in which he acted like a psychopomp similar to Charon from Greek myth.

It wasn’t until Tahm Kench came out in 2015 that Riot properly introduced demons as a concept in the lore, retconning several other champions like Evelynn and Nocturne into being demons. For a bit of context: in Runeterra, demons are effectively malevolent spirits from the spirit realm that feed on negativity: fear, pain, hatred, and so-forth. When other characters started getting turned into demons, a lot of people, myself included, thought that Aatrox would meet the same fate. After-all, they hadn’t actually DONE anything with the “Darkin” outside of Aatrox’s bio, and he functioned in a manner similar to them. Some even theorized that the Darkin would be made to represent a specific breed of demon, and this theory gained even more traction when Tahm Kench was given special voice lines for taunting near Aatrox.

Then, on July 12, 2017, we got Kayn, and with him: Rhaast. Rhaast is the second Darkin character added to the lore: a talking scythe with an eye that possess its host. Kayn is able to hold back Rhaast’s influence, keeping it to a single arm through the use of shadow magic, but depending on your actions in-game, you can see what happens if Rhaast manages to win their struggle and take over Kayn’s body completely. With Rhaast’s introduction, it pretty-much cemented that the Darkin were living weapons that took over the hosts of their wielders, which made sense given that Aatrox’s sword was always hinted to be alive and have a mind of its own. In fact, the idea of the Darkin being living weapons, or at least being bound to their weapons in some way, was one of many fan theories raised since Aatrox’s release all the way back in 2013.

Unfortunately, the new champion’s bio didn’t give us a lot to work with. Rhaast was the weapon, but Kayn himself is the Champion, so a lot of his bio tells us more about Kayn’s backstory: how he joined the Order of Shadows, how he acquired Rhaast in the first place, etc. While this isn’t exactly a problem, it gave us no further information on the Darkin; what they really were, where they came from, and why there are only five left in existence all remained mysteries for the fans to speculate about. It still wasn’t even clear if the Darkin were connected to demons, or if they were something else entirely.

Now, it’s around this time that another theory began to start blowing up in popularity; technically, this was another old fan theory, but now that we had a general idea of what the Darkin actually were, there was another Champion wielding a living weapon that fans started to speculate might be connected to them: Varus. Varus is an old character, and though we won’t be deep-diving into him too much into this video, allow me to give you a tldr of his original story.

Varus was an Ionian archer set to guard the Pit of Pallas, a giant hole where his people had long ago sealed some unexplained corrupting purple entity that seemed like it maybe should have related to the Void somehow but didn’t. Varus resisted the entity’s influence for years until Noxians one day showed up and started slaughtering his people, wanting to get their hands on Pallas so that they could use it as a weapon because of course they did. Varus was faced with a choice: stay and guard the temple built around the pit or go back to his village and help his people fight. Varus chose the former and was apparently SUCH a badass archer that he single-handed kept the invaders at pay with his arrows, though this choice came at a cost: when Varus returned to his village, everyone he knew and loved was dead, including his wife and son.

Enraged, Varus returned to the pit and struck a deal with Pallas: he would allow the entity to inhabit his body in return for vengeance against the Noxians. Varus proceeded to wander the world with a bow made from the entity’s own solidified essence in the hopes of finding and killing… Basically every Noxian he could. Yeah, Varus wanted nothing short of full-on genocide, starting with the surviving soldiers that attacked his village. There’s a lot to go into there, but you’ve probably figured out the relevance of this by now: Pallas turned itself into a bow for Varus to take his vengeance in exchange for possession over his body. Not too dissimilar a living sword and scythe who also possessed people and had an insatiable hunger for death and destruction, right?

Riot seemed to agree, and in 2017 they released a music video along with a comic and an entirely new bio for Varus. Together, these updates served to not only retcon Varus’s backstory (a topic for another episode) but finally give us an update as to who and what the Darkin were. In a word: they were aliens.

In short, the Darkin were a race from another planet/dimension drawn to Runeterra for its abundant use of magic. They tried to conquer the planet, causing the Great Darkin War, which ended only when the races of Runeterra figured out how to seal the Darkin in their own otherworldly weapons. Varus, Aatrox, Rhaast, and two others were trapped in their weapons, which an unnamed warrior queen (possibly an Aspect) used to drive back the other Darkin and seal the portal to their world. The five that were imprisoned in their weapons were then scattered and hidden across Runeterra.

This, at last, brings us back to Aatrox’s new bio:

“One of the ancient Darkin, Aatrox was once a peerless swordmaster who reveled in the bloody chaos of the battlefield. Trapped within his own blade by the magic of his foes, he waited out the millennia for a suitable host to wield him - this mortal warrior was corrupted and transformed by the living weapon, and Aatrox was reborn. Though tales of the darkin have now passed into legend, he remembers only too well the destruction of his race, and wreaks his vengeance one sword blow at a time.”

So Aatrox was made into a general for an alien race who sought to finish what his people started by having the Runeterrans fight and slaughter one another in a series of bloody conflicts… For a few months, at least. Literally the next year in 2018, Aatrox finally got his visual and gameplay update, turning him into the World Ender we know today. Along with this came entirely new lore for him, as well as the Darkin.

Insert lore here

So… The Darkin are no longer invading aliens, but Ascended who went nuts and were trapped inside their own weapons. In other words, the Darkin went from being a race to being more of a derogative term for fallen demigods. What’s more, Aatrox received a VERY substantial alteration his character and personality: he went from being a war-loving “artist” who causes conflict for the sake of it to being a tortured soul who wants to die so badly that he’ll end all of creation to do it.

Now, like I said before: I don’t think this backstory is bad. I don’t hate it. It does a lot to flesh out Shurima as a region, gives us more info on the Ascended, and it adds a bit more nuance to Aatrox as a character. Imagine being trapped inside a weapon, losing all access to your senses. Imagine that the only chance you get to move is when you take over someone else’s body, transforming it into a warped version of your own former glory, only to realize that you’re on a time limit and the only way you can continue to walk, talk, see, hear, or feel anything is by slaughter’s people and consuming their blood. Imagine spending CENTURIES trying to find a way out, only to repeatedly learn that any means to free or even kill yourself ends in failure. Imagine being SO desperate to rest that you’re willing to end all of existence just to find peace.

I like Aatrox’s new story. I do. Honestly, the only real complaint I have is that Aatrox doesn’t exactly have a PLAN for how he aims to end existence? Like, he calls himself a World Ender and a god-slayer, but we only know of one god he’s actually slain (Pantheon) and given that Runeterra is still around, it seems like his world-destroying count is still at zero. Honestly, if he wants to end all of existence, I feel like turning the Void, a reality-consuming threat that he has FOUGHT BEFORE would kind of be the obvious solution? Honestly, I imagine that just chucking the sword into the Void would be a good way for him to end his own existence, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

So, if I like Aatrox’s new lore, why am I rewriting it? Simple, really: even if I overall like his current lore state, I feel like the road we took to get here was… Kind of long and unnecessary. It seems kind of obvious looking back that Riot didn’t have a clear long-term plan for Aatrox or the Darkin, as years of unanswered questions followed by multiple retcons kind of entails. From being the last survivor of an ancient race, to MAYBE being a demon, to being an alien, to finally becoming a fallen demigod. Aatrox’s history is practically a whole story in-and-of-itself, and I’ve long wondered how things might have turned out if Riot had, you know, picked a direction and gone with it a bit sooner?

So, here’s the basis of my rewrite: I’m gonna try and incorporate elements from all of Aatrox’s various backstories into a single, coherent biography. Can I manage it? Well, I’ll leave that for you all to determine…

When the skies are blackened by the flames of war and the earth is dyed red with blood, Aatrox draws near. For as long as conflict has existed among the races of Runeterra, the Chaos Blade has manifested to those deemed worthy, turning the tides of battle in exchange for the flesh of whoever wields it.

The true origins of the Darkin have long been lost time. Some say that they are the first weapons ever forged, corrupted by the malice of those who have wielded them over ages. Others claim that the Darkin are a rare breed of demon, of whom only five remain. Only one thing is certain: the Darkin exist only to bring death and destruction, and none embrace this more than Aatrox himself.

Tales of a wicked blade manifesting amidst the heat of battle exists across all cultures, from the frigid north to the blistering south. The sword is said to appear before warriors on the cusp of defeat: those who would give anything, even their own lives, for the sake of victory. Those who wield the Chaos Blade are granted inhuman strength and endurance, often haled as heroes for turning the tides of battle. With every foe slain, however, the Chaos Blade grows stronger, consuming the mind of its wielder and warping their flesh. In time, the hero becomes a mindless vessel, slaughter all in its path until slain. When its host falls, the Chaos Blade returns from whence it came, waiting for the moment that another might heed the sword’s call.

For ages this cycle persisted, until the day the sword manifested before a warrior of Shurima’s Ascended Host. After the Fall of Icathia, the Sunborn were called to face the encroaching threat of the Void, wielding celestial might and magic great enough to crush a hundred mortal armies. Before the Void, however, even the mighty Ascended began to falter.

The horrors summoned by Icathia steadily pushed north, consuming everything in their path and twisting the earth into maddening shapes. As their numbers dwindled, many Sunborn called to retreat, hoping to regroup within the capital and think of a plan. As some fled, however, the Ascended general Aatrox stood his ground. Pushing his draconic form to its limits, Aatrox struck down one abomination after another. When his great blade, soaked in the Oasis of the Dawn itself, was wrenched from its grasp, Aatrox fought with tooth and claw. Even if he were to fall, Aatrox would do everything in his power to slay as many Voidspawn as possible, resigning himself to death so the other Sunborn might rally their forces.

It was then, amidst the sea of madness woven by the Void, that Aatrox saw a sword embedded into the twisted earth. The blade seemed to call out to him, and Aatrox took it without question. In an instant, the general was filled with unimaginable strength and fury, and his allies watched in amazement as Aatrox fought with strength of ten Ascended warriors. Inspired by his newfound fury, the Sunborn rallied, their fighting spirits renewed at last.

When the conflict against the Void drew to a close, Aatrox was haled as a hero among heroes, though many of his former allies became wary of him and the wicked sword he now carried. Some suggested that the blade should be destroyed, while others, such as Aatrox himself, argued that its power would be instrumental if the Void ever returned.

Resentment and suspicion began to grow amongst the Sunborn, and the cracks only grew larger as Aatrox aided the other Ascended in summoning weapons similar to his own. The warriors of the Ascended host began to distance themselves from one-another and the capital, taking up posts across Shurima’s vast empire. They remained united only in the shared goal of protecting their empire.

And then the Sun Disc fell.

Following Xerath’s Ascension and the death of Emperor Azir, years of growing tensions erupted across the desert. Some Ascended raced for the chance to fill the now-vacant seat of power for themselves, while others insisted on finding a means to restore the royal dynasty. Debate soon turned to bloodshed, and Shurima was engulfed in a war that lasted centuries. It wasn’t until the Aspects of Targon intervened that the war was finally brought to an end.

Those wielding Darkin weapons were bound to their armaments with powerful magic, in-turn trapping the wicked weapons in the physical realm. The Darkin were scattered across Runeterra, and yet the souls of the Ascended persisted, stripped of bodies and senses.

For ages, Aatrox stewed within the sword that had become his prison, his soul slowly being corrupted further and further by the Chaos Blade until the two had become a single being. Ages passed and the sword was slowly forgotten, until a band of thieves broke into the Darkin’s prison in search of ancient treasure. When the thieves’ leader touched the sword, his mind was overwhelmed in an instant, his body transformed into a twisted likeness of Aatrox’s Ascended form. The Darkin slew the other thieves in an instant, drawing strength from their blood before breaking free of his long confinement.

Aatrox emerged into a frozen landscape with but a single goal: to bring about a war so violent, so destructive, that it would be the end of all things. He would be the World Ender, herald of a conflict to end all others. With every foe he slays, with every swing of his sword, Aatrox sews the seeds for violence and carnage, drawing one step closer to his magnus opus.

So, what did you think? As stated before: my primary goal this time around was to try and combine Aatrox’s various origin stories into a single narrative. Admittedly, I could only manage to do this by adding an air of mystery to the actual origin of the Darkin; maybe they’re demons, maybe they’re aliens, maybe they’re something else entirely. I know that might seem like a bit of a cop-out, but a large part of what made the Darkin so interesting to the community in the first place was the air of mystery surrounding them, and the room it offered for speculation and theorizing.

Another main concern, though, was that I wanted to find a way to blend old Aatrox’s personality with his new one. The thing I miss most about the OG Aatrox was that, despite being obsessed with war and bloodshed, he wasn’t just another rage monster. He was calm and composed, and a lot of his lines hinted at a deeper philosophy toward the inevitability of conflict rather than just “I wanna kill everything because I’m angry!” League has way too many of those, in my honest opinion. I thought that, by combining his mind with a semi-sentient sword that brings about carnage because that’s simply its PURPOSE, a little but of that old Aatrox might shine through.

But, as always, this is all just my opinion; how I, personally, would have gone about reworking the character. If you prefer Aatrox as he currently is, or think my version of the story is inferior, that’s fine! Feel free to share your thoughts and comments, but please, let’s try to keep it civil. After-all…

The last thing we want is to start a war over this…

[bellalikeskitties]

mixed ☾

pairing: jung jaehyun x reader x seo johnny

being a rare half-turned and half-true born vampire with dangerous men at the tip of your fingers proves to be difficult

word count: 2.2k+

genre: vampire au, doctor au (just a dash)

warning/s: blood, injuries, kidnapping, suggestive themes

It wasn’t even late at night yet, but here you were. Tall men cornered you in a dark alleyway after a small chase away from the city. “You’ve got nowhere to run, lady!”. One of them says, and he takes something out of his pocket. Seeing the silver glint, you groan. “Okay. Let’s not be hasty". They laugh as your back hits a wall. 

“Give us everything you have, and we won’t hurt you". Exhaling, you take out your wallet and phone, placing it on the ground before raising your hands up. “Will you let me go now? I don’t want any-”. He quickly presses the knife into you, watching the light disappear from your eyes. “Can’t sweetie. You’ve seen our faces so letting you run isn’t an option”. You sink to the floor as he pulls it out.

Chuckling, he wipes his weapon off and bends to pick up your items. “You should have just let me leave, man". They freeze. You lift your body, grimacing at the pool of blood around you made. “What? Don’t act like you’ve never seen a dead person talking before". He gasps in horror as he stares into your red glowing eyes. 

You smile and flash them your fangs. “V-vampire! A vampire!“. He stutters and crawls back. The rest of his friends flee, leaving just you and him. You take your belongings and taunt him, “Boo”. He shrieks and blacks out. You laugh but quickly wince, the wound in your stomach proving to be a problem. Groaning a bit, you leave the scene and head home.

In this world, vampires existed, but they weren’t the sparkling, garlic-hating, can’t-see-reflection kind. They were the blood-thirsty, undead, God-fearing kind. They were divided into two halves. The Divine and Cursed, or in easier terms, the trueborn and turned. You were a rare kind. Made from a true-born mother and turned father. 

You were a myth, the impossible. The blood of the divine was not compatible with those of the cursed, any child conceived from a turned would die. That’s why most male trueborns rarely select turned females as their mates, wanting to keep their bloodline sacred. Your mother was one of the elite; powerful and well respected within the Divines.

She fell in love with a male human. Turned him into her kind and did the unthinkable. She was pregnant with you. They were beyond elated, but their happiness was short-lived, just like your mother’s life. As soon as you were born, her own divinity passed to you. It killed her and drove your father insane. 

Unfortunately, the turned were called the cursed only because they were. As their bodies accepted partial divinity, they were burdened to love and worship the vampire that made them so. Your father, out of grief, killed himself. Leaving you in this sinister world alone.

You push your body into the tub, grimacing when the warm water turns red. You didn’t expect to be mugged, even more, because they were human. Most of your kind avoided you, they hated your rare case. Scoffing, you remember the disgust and fear your trueborn relatives had when they first saw you. Only your aunt liked you, she raised you and helped you get on your feet. Telling you weird stories about your sort. 

One day she told you about why they disliked you. You had the power to rule over all the vampires. You were the most perfect kind; the most loved and blessed by God. You could walk under the sun, but you had no heartbeat. You could eat human food and human blood too. But most importantly, you had the authority to make every vampire worship you.

“(y/n)! You’re hurt!”. Just like this one. Jaehyun was a trueborn vampire from a noble family who had been alive for centuries. Their family was one of the richest, dealing with major businesses all over the world. He met you while you worked at the hospital, immediately going on his knees and saying you were the love of his life. “It’s not that bad, Jae. Just a few stitches and I’ll be good to go”. With a small pout, he crouched and moved closer to the tub. 

“It doesn’t matter you’re still hurt”. Another man says, leaning into the door frame. Johnny was also trueborn, but his folks were one of the more terrifying ones. They dealt with shady stuff and attacked humans for no reason or for fun. While Jaehyun was ‘courting’ you, he found you. Smelling your scent from a distance, he approached you and quickly became attached. After a few months, they were both endurable. They visited often and would do anything you asked them to do.

You sighed, watching the two fuss over you. “Johnny could you pass me the kit?“. He nods, reaching over the cabinet to pass you a container. As you pretended to be human, you landed yourself a decent education and even a well-paid job. Working as a doctor had its downsides, you were constantly tired and overworked. But you had access to an excessive amount of blood for your monthly cravings.

At the hospital, you were the kind and talented senior, always looking out for everyone while still being competent to save tons of patients. Among your race, you were the samaritan, handing out ‘food’ and help to the vampires who had no power or weren’t able to suppress their hunger and harmed humans. Slowly, you had a group of individuals under your protection. Their lives changing, because of your kindness.

Wincing, you poke the needle through your skin again. You finally finished after a few knots here and there. Sighing, you press your head on the mirror. A hand brushes on your shoulder. “You okay?“. You watch your reflection in the mirror. You looked paler than usual. Johnny lifts you and walks to your bed. Clutching onto his shoulder, you relax, thankful they were there to help you. “Get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning“.

One of them tucks you in and the other brushes the hair from your face. You close your eyes, feeling the exhaustion of taking a knife directly. The men continue to talk. The last thing you hear was something about ‘fucking someone up’. The next morning you’re up and ready. The boys asked up to stay home and rest for the day. You argued, saying your work would definitely make you better.

You walked through the hallways, your coworkers greeting you. Fortunately, your day went by with no complications. A few ‘people’ you’ve helped before dropped by and gave you flowers, saying they got news of your attack last night. You remember the two, they said they would stop by and check up on you during your shift. Your visitors left after you thanked them, but now your office was filled with different plants. That’s why you were walking, looking for places where they needed some help. Fortunately, the ER paged for you.

It wasn’t that far, but you still had to walk there. It was fairly short, but due to the injury you had, it took longer than expected. A longer and a more unexpected turn. While you rounded the corner, you had accidentally bumped into someone. Although you didn’t mind and made your way, that person didn’t. He forcefully took your arm and hauled you to him. “Found you“. He whispered. He had bloodshot eyes, chapped lips, and deep bags. He scared you.

“Oh, my God! I’ve been looking for you everywhere!“. You knew exactly what he was, a crazed trueborn who wanted the ‘ruler’ to reign over them. You’ve met one in the past and successfully escaped from them, but his grip on you was unrelenting. “Let go“. You pushed away from him, terrified. He grinned, jabbing his hand into your wound. You gasp and fall back. 

“You can’t leave. You can’t leave me, us! You’re the only hope for us!“. He snaked his bloody hand around you, dragging you away. Looking around, you searched for someone to help. You could’ve stopped him, but you were practically human at that point. You hadn’t fed in weeks and your body was too busy healing you.

Heavy breaths left your lips. You were essentially dead, but everything still hurt. Somehow, you had grabbed his shoulder to stop him and he turned to you. “Why can’t you understand?“. He yelled. “You are our only salvation! Only you can deliver us from evil, you can be one with God!“. 

Tears slipped through your eyes. You were drained, tired of your life constantly at risk. He was talking about you being a God and that made you sick. “Please, just let go“. You choked and screamed, but he was determined to take you with him.

“What do we have here?“. A familiar voice echoed in your ears. You whipped your head back and there they were. The man turned to them. “Nothing. Turn away if you don’t want to get hurt“. You sobbed, the relief washing over you. “I could say the same to you“. Johnny’s eyes flashed and in a second his hand was on the man’s neck. Jaehyun rushed to your side, holding you as you cried. 

You buried your head into his chest, not wanting to listen to whatever Johnny was doing. “What took you so long? I was waiting for you“. The younger man cradled you. “We were dealing the man from last night, princess. I’m so sorry we were late“. He was stroking your back gently like you might break if he did anything else.

You finally felt your nerves ease, sniffling a bit before looking at Jaehyun. “Can you tell Johnny to stop? He doesn’t need to go that far“. He looked reluctant but signaled to the other male. You hear something drop and footsteps moving to you. “(y/n), how long has it been since you fed?“. You jolt and push yourself up. A bloodied mess in front of you. You grimaced, patting your side. 

“(y/n), I asked you a question. I expect an answer“. Johnny was staring at you, eyes glowing. They held no evil intentions towards you, you knew that, but he still frightened you. Licking your lips, you murmur. “2 months“.

They both sighed. Knowing you fasted again. It’s not like you hated drinking, it just seemed unethical and weird. Johnny lifted your blouse, examining your wound. “If you had just fed, this-“, he poked your wound teasingly, “would be gone by now”. You pushed him away, and the younger growled, “Don’t give her more pain“. 

Rolling his eyes, Johnny used his nail to make a slight cut on his wrist. His blood flowed freely and your senses spiked. Hunger resonated in you, the tips of your fingers tingled at the scent. It wasn’t like you couldn’t feed on each other’s blood. Actually, it was something only mates do. The two men frequently feed you with their own blood. It should’ve marked you as theirs, but because of your divinity, it never did.

“Stop, (y/n). Don’t fight it“. Jaehyun held you in place, his hands firm on you. The other placed his wrist gently on your lips, letting you suckle on his skin. You sighed, the deathly thirst in you burning down. You felt lighter, and the stab didn’t bother you anymore. As you sighed and relaxed, the other men watched with a sinful gaze. Filling their minds up with your vulnerable state. To male vampires, feeding each other was as similar to having sex, but you didn’t know that.

You continued to lap and suck at his skin, whining when he removed his arm. “Ah, Johnny“. He clenched his jaw and watched you pout. Only then did you realize the heavy breaths Jaehyun was making and the tight grasp he had on you. You feel your face flush when you notice the tightness in their pants. “Princess, don’t say my name like that in public, unless?“. You choked, stepping away from them. “W-what? I-I mean, we should, um, clean this up“. They both chuckled. Your stuttering made their hearts melt.

You were glad none of the patients walked by. If they had, Johnny would have killed them on the spot. Jaehyun found out who your attacker was. A deranged turned vampire whose trueborn died. He was looking for something to ease the pain, and sadly, it was you. 

“I’m fine, auntie. It wasn’t serious at all“. You lied through your teeth, pressing the phone into your ear as you leaned into your couch. They finally persuaded you to stay home this time, focusing on healing instead of work. “Don’t lie, I heard from one of my friends that the Jung and Seo family helped you“. You could feel her fuss through her voice.

You hummed. You weren’t sure what to do with them, but they didn’t mind. They were content with you by their side. “With them with you, you could just really be the ‘supreme ruler’!“. You laughed with her. When she said that, you felt like you could do it. But you weren’t influential, nor did you have the strength to do it, for now. “Yeah, leading the entire race doesn’t sound too bad, sounds fun actually“.

You had said it with no intentions. You just went with the flow, chatting with your favorite relative. But to the two trueborns who were secretly eavesdropping, it was a mission. Their smiles were wide, blood rushing, they were excited. Excited to see you rule over them.

~

yay vampire au! how was it? im not used to writing about graphic scenes yet so

anw, hope u guys liked it

[xlady-saya]

better than a night light [fic]

Relationships: andrew minyard/neil josten

Summary: Neil hasn’t had the chance to examine the feeling of fear in a long time. He’s all too familiar with it though; from the nightmares, to the memories of a cold basement floor, he knows the feeling like the back of his hand.

But this fear is new, loaded with ridiculousness and a complete lack of reason. It’s nothing more than pixels on a screen, far away theories that can’t hurt him like his past can.

Maybe that’s why he’s beginning to not mind it as much. It doesn’t hurt that Andrew is also there to hold him through it.

Tags: neil is a scaredy cat, fluff, fluff and humor, the monsters watch alien movies

Read on ao3!

The movie poster Nicky keeps shoving in Neil's face doesn't exactly do much in terms of persuasion.

Neil stares at the bold graphics, at the text of the title that drips as if it’s oozing blood. It's got an almost static quality to it, not original, but not trying too hard to be. It's an older movie, that much is clear, so not exactly Nicky's usual taste. There's nothing there to tell him about the plot, just a few shadows and a stark silhouette standing in the center. Neil stares at the poster on Nicky's phone, then at Nicky's expectant expression, and then back.

Surely there has to be some kind of clue to tell him what this is all supposed to mean, but he's not seeing it.

Nicky does his best to show Neil a few more posters from the same movie, some restyled and revamped for the modern era, but...

Nothing.

"For fuck's sake," Nicky huffs, putting his phone away. "It's a classic horror movie, Neil, and we're watching it tonight."

Oh. Neil's not sure why he had to know that.

It's never up to him to pick the movies for movie night, mostly because most do nothing for him or bore him to tears altogether. Watching them with Andrew is typically the only time he bothers to pay attention, and that's for the commentary about the stupid characters.

Nicky is the opposite.

He and Allison fight over the films every Friday night like it's a ritual, but on the rare occasions the upperclassman are busy, Nicky takes over and tries his best to drag Neil into it too. A seasoned movie buff, he's made it his mission to find a movie genre Neil actually likes. Neil's attempts to convince him otherwise have fallen on deaf ears.

After weeks of action spy movies and no luck, Nicky's obviously decided to up his game by switching to a new theme altogether.

Neil's not sure what this will do, though. The horror movies Nicky has picked in the past only served to annoy Neil or make him laugh with their horrible effects and impractical plot points. Nicky had still labeled that as progress.

Already, Neil is rolling his eyes. Neil has dealt with real horrors; ghosts and poltergeists aren’t what haunt him. He's only seen one or two slasher films with the team, but those were just nonsensical.

It's not something he enjoys thinking about, but it's hard to be afraid of being sliced open by some fictional asshole in a mask when his childhood already made him numb to the feeling of a blade.

As if sensing the underlying truth behind Neil's annoyance, Andrew makes his presence known with a loud thump of his soda can against the counter.

Nicky jumps, but Neil turns on instinct, a small smile on his face. They have new barstools, and he swears they're a little taller than the other ones. Andrew's legs swing, almost carefree in nature, and Neil averts his eyes at the glare he receives for staring.

"I said no horror movies," Andrew says finally, flicking another page of his novel over. It's for a class, Neil notes, and beams a little brighter. Part of their pact; if Neil has to do better in school, Andrew has to start trying to, too.

With some encouragement...it wasn't a hard compromise to make.

"Technically, you said no slasher movies," Nicky says, smirking at the loophole. Andrew stares, thoroughly unamused, and Neil blinks between them. He hadn't known about that. He glances back over to find Andrew already looking at him, resignation clear on his face. It's a common expression from the beginning of their this—less rare now, but just as endearing in Neil's mind.

It's Andrew's 'you caught me caring about you, and I hate that because it's not hard' look.

Neil hops up to sit on the counter, and Andrew's gaze flicks down to his knee as if debating resting his chin on top of it.

"You don't need to baby me, those movies don't affect me," Neil says with a fond smile. It's the truth; he's not sure why, but the masked villains and their carving knives just seem tacky to him at best. He understands Andrew's reasoning though, and appreciates it more than he can say.

Andrew would never think of him as weak, and Neil can handle most things no matter how painfully they might stir up old memories. Regardless, Andrew will spare him if he can.

The look of acknowledgement passes between them, and Andrew nods.

Then: "Even still, they're bad," Andrew says, aiming the statement at Nicky. "I refuse to suffer through them."

Aaron, who up until this point has been a silent bystander on the couch, grunts an affirmative. Kevin's got his headphones in, not even listening.

"Killjoys," Nicky mutters, clutching his phone tight to his chest. He points an accusatory finger right at Andrew, and keeps it there in challenge. "You might like it too, if you would just give it a chance!"

Andrew, highly unconvinced, raises a brow at Neil. The blond and Nicky are a lot better at having actual conversations without Neil now, to the point where Neil wouldn't even call Nicky afraid of Andrew anymore. Still...looks like this is not a case Andrew has the energy to make.

Neil smiles, all too smug.

"I thought you said horror movies were overrated?" he asks Nicky, grin just the right amount of shit-eating. "And by overrated, you meant you're super scared of them and won't be able to sleep for days."

"First of all, Neil, fuck you," Nicky says without hesitation. Aaron snorts in the background. Unwilling to be defeated, Nicky holds up his hand, counting off the reasons. "Second of all, this one is different! It's an alien movie, and those don't scare me as much. I mean, they're super impractical!"

That's what's super impractical?

Neil rolls his eyes. Their whole lives are impractical. Ha.

But ah, Neil realizes. Maybe that's the reason for the weird poster silhouette. Aliens. He'd almost prefer a slasher film. He crosses his arms, blowing his overgrown bangs out of his eyes. "Yeah, I'm sure Jackson with his goalie mask is just as realistic."

The room goes silent, and Neil isn't too prideful when it comes to pop culture. It's clear he fucked that up. Nicky blinks at him, and even Aaron is confused enough to turn around and lean over the side of the couch.

Neil blinks back, combing his brain for the revision. Nothing.

Andrew sighs below him, long and suffering, and this time he really does put his chin on Neil's knee. He glares a hole into Neil's abdomen, but Neil suspects it's mostly self directed.

"I think he means Jason," Andrew says, closing his eyes to ground himself. Neil's always been quite impressed with his self-control. "He's just trying to provoke me."

Oh, yeah. That prick.

A small chorus of realization goes through the room as Neil smirks down at his boyfriend.

Nicky squints. "Huh? Provoke you how?"

"Don't ask about their weird flirting," Aaron interrupts, making a slicing motion over his throat. Then, after a beat, he shoots a glare at his brother, who actually meets it for once. "Though for the record, you deserve to have a thing for morons."

Hey.

"That time, I really thought his name was Jackson," Neil defends, not caring that he just exposed how sometimes he will say the wrong shit on purpose just to get Andrew...in a mood. Aaron gags, and Neil is quite done with the conversation.

He squeezes Andrew's earlobe because, well...it's right there.

Nicky throws his hands up. "Oh my god, who cares! Neil, the point is that yes, a serial killer terrorizing a summer camp? Unlikely. But if someone were inclined, they could. And at minimum, slasher movies are scary because I could actually be stabbed on any given day."

"The chances of you running into a slasher are still pretty low," Neil tries, and Nicky gives him one of those looks like he's missed the point entirely.

"I'm talking about Andrew."

Ah.

"That's fair," Andrew says, eyes closing once more as Neil kneads his ear gently.

Done with the lot of them, Nicky shows Neil the button to rent the movie on his account, and rebelliously presses it. As if that somehow traps Neil in this apartment. Like he can't just leave.

The sad thing is that he won't.

Even without the upperclassman to join them tonight, this is his family—despite all their shitty taste.

"Your point?" Neil asks, though he's fully resigned at this point.

"So, alien movies are way cooler than anything else. Plus, the effects in this one are practical," Nicky says, and Neil tilts his head. Instead of bewildered, Nicky's excitement only grows. "You know, none of that cheap computer crap. You'll see, you'll love it."

Nicky squeals lightly as he goes to make snacks, dropping a few dishes in the process. It's a chorus of curses and clanging that Neil is all too used to, and Andrew barely flinches from it. It's hard to mind anything with Andrew's head in his lap and Neil's hands moving into his hair.

Neil stares over at the television, and sees his own annoyed expression staring back from the void.

Love it, will he?

Yeah, whatever you say.

--

They're about thirty minutes into the movie when Neil realizes there's a problem.

Nicky, for effect, has turned out all the lights, and the television illuminates the whole room despite its dark ambience. Neil's perfectly prepared to not pay attention, especially when the movie starts off slow and without any of the promised aliens. Nicky scolds him for his impatience, and things gradually start to get more suspicious between the characters on screen.

Neil's not bored out of his mind, but he's yet to see the full appeal. Because it's his spot, he curls up into Andrew’s side, sharing the bag of plain gummy worms between them since Neil hates the sour ones. Neil's more fixated on that at first; sometimes if they grab the same one on accident, they'll start the contest of pulling the poor worm and stretching the gelatin until it snaps. So far, Neil has won the longest piece two out of three times.

Then, in a shocking twist, the alien shows up.

Nicky was right about the practical effects. It's a grotesque creature, animatronic and padded with a fleshy substance that looks like bile. Its limbs are coated in it, sticky and disproportionate to its thin, skeletal body. Neil can see every disgusting ridge, and grimaces at the bubbles of flesh and pus that the effects team coated it with. After a while, he stops viewing it as a product of humans, as a robot. He starts seeing it as just the creature, in all its vileness. Random limbs and appendages shoot out from it, impaling some of the unlucky side characters, and the squelching sounds make Neil want to vomit.

Neil's throat begins to feel tight, and he's not sure why.

Throughout the next fifteen minutes, the creature starts its ruthless hunt after the team of scientists which make up the main cast. Only when it disappears does the audience realize the creature can shapeshift—that it's among them, somewhere on the base.

At first, Neil thinks he might have to go to the hospital. His pulse is fast, and he's sweating a little. It's weird, and he finds himself trying to calm down his own breathing. His muscles aren't usually this tense, and there's a nausea-inducing lump in his stomach, swimming around like the goop on screen. Maybe he's sick, maybe he ate some undercooked meat for dinner. That has to be it. He tries his best to stretch out, but his ankle hits Kevin's fancy metal flask, and Neil nearly jumps out of his skin from the cold when it coincides with a character being ripped in half on screen.

"Damn, that was pretty cool," Aaron concedes from his beanbag, watching the characters rush to safety from the gore they just witnessed. Even Kevin is invested, though he's still occasionally checking Exy stats on his phone. The creature is gone again all too soon, blending in, and the scientists begin to arm themselves against one another. Nicky looks over at Aaron gleefully, triumphant for his good choice.

At this point, Neil hates to admit he's fully invested. The characters in the movie have started to suspect one another, and the focus has shifted from the gore and the alien’s origin over to pure paranoia. It does a remarkably good job of capturing that feeling—one Neil knows all too well. Neil begins to suspect some of the characters too, even the main protagonist. The theories run through his head, but the film leaves everything as vague as can be.

There's a blanket of dread over him he's never felt before, because it's not real. There's no imminent danger to his person or his family, but he wonders what he'd be feeling if he were in this situation. The idea of imposters, walking around and having no way of telling them apart from your friends, from a human...

It takes Neil awhile, perhaps a little too long given his acquaintance with the emotion, to understand the tension in his body is fear.

He's afraid.

And isn't fear a strange thing?

He tries to remember fear, and it's not hard. It's always cold, piercing. It narrows down the world so that the fear is all that exists, along with the impending doom of the consequences that come with it. For him, fear has always eventually had a result. His fear was always well-founded. But this is nothing like that fear. Real, genuine, valid fear. This is not being threatened by his mom's scowl from across the room, or being on the basement floor, seconds from death. This is a queasy, unrealistic fear. One he can't get rid of, as much as he knows it shouldn't exist. There's nothing on the horizon, nothing coming to get them.

It's a lot of what-ifs and how-comes.

Neil hates it.

He can't look away as the characters all perish, eaten alive in part by the alien, but mostly by their own suspicion. In the end, the discord between them kills them all, and the ending hints heavily at the creature's survival and spread into the outside world.

Maybe here.

Neil scoffs at his own ridiculousness, rolling his eyes. That would never happen. He knows that, it's just—

"So?" Nicky says right in his face, and Neil jumps. Luckily, no one notices, and Andrew has already moved to switch the television off. Good. He surely would've felt the jump of Neil's body.

"So?" Neil parrots, unable to keep up. He keeps looking out the dorm windows, watching the darkness for any sign of life beyond it.

"Did you like it, Neil?" Kevin asks, turning around from his perch on the floor. He's also been weirdly committed to finding things for them to enjoy outside of Exy. Neil has a feeling that's mostly Thea's and therapy's doing, an attempt to get them some distance from the harsh Raven routines of old.

Kevin's attempt at getting them into trivia had been a disaster, and he'd abandoned it quickly.

Neil swallows the lump in his throat, eyes tracking Andrew to keep himself grounded. Aliens or no aliens, the sight of Andrew is a relaxant that's fifty times stronger.

Still, all he manages is a small: "It was okay."

It's a compliment coming from him, since his standard response is to shrug whenever any credits roll, and Nicky heads off to shower for bed with an extra lightness in his step.

Neil is not so fortunate.

An hour later, they're all turning in. Kevin has already passed out while Nicky takes his time in the bathroom with his twenty minute skincare routine. Neil had done everything in his power to not be alone once the lights began to go out. He's lucky his proximity to Andrew isn't unusual, but he keeps a few steps of distance just to throw off any suspicion the blond might have about why his boyfriend’s clinginess is off the charts.

The night sky is still pitch black through the windows, and any passing noise has Neil turning around and checking on his family critically. No, no—if Kevin were a creature, he wouldn't be snoring so loud.

Right?

He feels like a child, and does his best to go about his business without reading into everything so much. Even still, he hops onto the bed so he doesn't have to stand in front of the bottom of the bunk for too long. Something could grab his feet.

Andrew, per routine, wraps his arm around Neil's midsection to pull him closer, not yet aware of what's happening. Neil usually delights in this each time it happens, though he's certainly used to it by now. The path to sharing a bed had been a cautious one, and spooning even more so, but now he can't imagine sleeping without being cocooned like this.

Tonight, however, there's a problem.

Neil stiffens when Andrew moves to scoot him closer, a stark contrast to how he usually relaxes all his muscles. It's kinda fun when Andrew drags him. Andrew pauses, regarding Neil curiously, and Neil's dry throat seems to close up even more. The dread in his veins obviously isn't apparent, but it feels that way. Paling internally, Neil says, "I want a glass of water."

He really wants a glass of water. Fuck.

But is it worth it? Is he willing to die for a glass of water? He can make it until morning. If he were smart, he would've thought about this when everyone was still in the living room and he had access to knives to defend himself.

Andrew, calm as ever, concedes with a short nod. He removes his hand and waits for Neil to get up, and that's when Neil can't hide it anymore.

See, he doesn't move. Neil just lies there, staring up at the ceiling, and feels Andrew's eyes grow more and more critical with each passing second. Neil is torn. Does he get up despite his fear to preserve his dignity? Andrew of all people deserves to know when Neil has none to spare. Neil doesn't hide anything from Andrew, no matter how ridiculous.

The truth is, he'd love nothing more than to stay here on this bed with Andrew, where it's at least kind of safe. But, if he thinks more critically, he'll never get over this fear if he doesn't venture out into the dark common area to get his goddamn water.

Also, he's thirsty.

What to do, what to do.

At this point Neil begins to squirm, his gaze flicking over to the open bedroom door. It's black on the other side, inviting him and his imagination to wreak havoc.

Humans can survive a few days without water.

The whole time, Andrew doesn't stop staring at him, and Neil winces when he feels a gentle tap against his collarbone.

He's hesitated too long to keep the secret now. Better get it over with.

"Neil."

"Uh. Y-yes?"

"Look at me," Andrew says, and Neil can't disobey a request like that. Andrew's sleepy voice is gravely and soothing, like enticing smoke from a cigarette, and Neil follows it with all his senses. He turns over, then tenses up. Now his back is to the door. Can't have that.

He goes back to lying flat, and turns his head to send Andrew a desperate look.

It's stupid, it's pathetic. But...

"It's dark." That’s all he says.

Andrew's brows knit together, searching for the truth under that statement. "It's one in the morning."

Oh, but I'm the smart mouth.

Neil glares, and jumps when Nicky drops something in the bathroom. Neil waits for a sign of movement, and breathes a sigh of relief when Nicky's routine resumes.

Andrew sends him another look, no doubt already piecing it all together, and Neil huffs to himself.

"Asshole," he says, and picks at the thread of their blanket with his finger. He tries not to think of the aliens splitting open. Quietly, he admits: "The creature in the movie could see better in the dark."

It should be helpful to say it aloud, but it's not. It should convince Neil he's being truly unreasonable, that the odds of something otherworldly coming to target him are slim. He should be more worried about real killers coming for him on any given day.

But here he is, still afraid.

Andrew, in his own Andrew way, actually looks surprised. Something swims across his features that Neil has seen before, but can't pinpoint in the moment due to his own shame. He groans, turning away.

"Shut up, I know, forget it, I'm—"

A hand comes out to grab his chin, and Andrew turns Neil's face back towards him in one firm motion. Okay, now Neil definitely knows there's something in that look, and it renders him speechless for a moment.

"You're afraid." He swears he sees the corner of Andrew's mouth twitch, and he's so fixated on it that the truth comes easily.

"Yes."

"Of the...aliens. From the movie?"

Ah, but when put that way...

Neil groans again, pouting slightly. It's hard for Andrew to ruin anything for Neil, but it's difficult to stare fondly at one's boyfriend when he's trying to wring the embarrassing truth out of you. "Yes! I don't know why, okay?"

Andrew just nods, not judging. Not yet. Taking that into account, he taps Neil's chin a few times, maybe to the beat of invisible cogs moving in his head. Then he pauses, and gives Neil's earlobe a tug. Because...it's there. "Nicky said aliens are impractical. They aren't real. You know this, I assume."

Neil glares, but doesn't refute the statement. He's familiar with Andrew's process of retracing their steps, hypothetically. Trying to understand where the fear came from, how to best help Neil push it aside.

"Neil, confirm these things for me," Andrew says, and Neil nods, counting the freckles that dance over Andrew's nose. "You have dealt with members of a deadly mafia family."

Neil, because he's a shit, takes time to think about it. It's worth it when Andrew huffs.

Neil nods. "That is true."

"You are arguably more capable than me when it comes to killing someone," Andrew points out, and Neil does his best to ignore the spark of heat in Andrew's voice from that knowledge. "In fact, you've probably killed many people without remorse."

Hm. Okay.

"Mhm." Neil hums, and while he sees where this is going...

"You could potentially be Jackson, minus the hockey mask," Andrew finishes, and Neil is only somewhat insulted. What does he want with a summer camp?

Feigning stupidity this time, Neil squints. "Wasn't he immortal?"

"Neil."

Neil's laughter dissolves into a desperate whine, and he throws his hands behind him, hitting the headboard. Dammit. "Just—I know it makes no sense," he huffs. He scrambles up to a sitting position, an explanation on the tip of his tongue, and Andrew follows him calmly. "I know they're not real but...I think that's the problem. It's an unknown. I'm familiar with killers, with knives on my skin."

Neil almost feels guilty when he mentions it; Andrew accepts all his scars and experiences, but it doesn't mean he likes that they happened. They can't change the past, but the idea of either of them being hurt never fails to put a little pit of anger in their guts. He sees it bloom in Andrew's right then, and Neil smiles gently to quell it. It's not about that right now.

"But this is so removed from any of that," Neil explains, laughing at himself. It's sort of amusing if he thinks about it—that he’s made it to the point where he has the luxury of being afraid of such things, but he still doesn't feel relief. "I know it should be stupid and ridiculous. But that's probably why it bothers me. I mean, okay, what do we really know about aliens anyways? Nothing! No road map, no weapons. We're completely unprepared."

And...his explanation goes off the rails just like that.

Neil thinks he has a good point though. Like...who is really to say aliens don't exist? And if they do, they're all pretty much fucked. Who wouldn't be afraid?

Andrew only stares at him.

At the expression of disbelief, Neil whines and does his best to backtrack, but Andrew is having no more of it. Andrew just lays back down, hands covering his face.

It's a novel reaction, considering this is Andrew. He looks so beside himself, unable to process whatever is going on in his head, but not in the bad, overwhelmed way he might be used to. Neil leans over him, and artfully pokes Andrew between the eyebrows.

"Andrew?"

His boyfriend sighs. "I don't ever know what to do with you," he concedes, removing his hands so Neil can see his pissy expression. "Alien movies. It's goddamn alien movies."

Neil's not sure what to make of that, but even in the dimness of their room he can see the reluctant fondness in Andrew's face, poorly concealed behind a facade of neutral indifference. That, and the tips of his ears look a little red.

Neil's confused as hell before he realizes what it must be. He perks up, fear momentarily put on pause. "Oh...oh, you like this," he observes, not smug, just factual. Andrew glares. "You think it's—uh..."

Not hot, at least Neil doesn't think so. But—

"The word you're probably looking for is cute." Andrew grimaces when he says it, like it's a crime for the word to come out of his mouth. If Neil's being honest, he's surprised too. Not that Andrew thinks it, but that he actually said it. Hm. That's new. Neil likes it. He always insisted to Andrew that he didn't have to try harder at verbal affection just for Neil's sake, not if he didn't want to.

Clearly, part of him does.

Andrew glares at Neil's small smile, pushing his face away. "And you're wrong, so don't read into it."

Neil ignores that advice completely. "Oh, okay. So you think it's cute," he repeats, and mulls that over in his head.

"I just said—"

"Wait, why?" Neil asks, suddenly offended. Here he is trying to tell Andrew his alien attack plan, and the blond thinks the severity of the situation is cute. "Does my terror mean nothing to you?"

"Not in this case," Andrew admits, and this time there's clearly a small smile threatening to break the mask. Neil tries (pettily and unsuccessfully) to not let it affect him. "Now quit it, and go get your water."

Shit.

The fucking water.

The source of his woes comes back as a painful reminder in the form of his parched throat, scratchier now from all the discussion.

Noticing Neil's stricken face, Andrew wordlessly gets up with him, pulling him along to the edge of the bedroom so Neil can't talk himself out of it. Flicking on the light for the living area, Andrew pushes Neil out in front of him, a silent nudge to hurry up.

The room definitely looks a lot less sinister like this, but Neil's brain is reluctant to let him relax. He walks quickly and stiffly into the kitchen, turning back halfway to make sure that yes, Andrew is watching him.

"I'm here," the blond says, despite the roll of his eyes.

Neil practically runs to get his water, moving back to Andrew faster than the speed of light. As absurd as Andrew finds it, he dutifully waits for Neil to step fully back into the light of the bedroom before turning off the living room light again, and offers to take Neil's glass back when he finishes. Unwilling to lose Andrew by making him go alone, Neil takes his turn watching from the door.

Andrew looks back—not out of fear, but just to see the way Neil tracks his every move, wary of the surroundings. Something soft escapes Andrew's mouth, a vulnerable sound Neil swallows when he gets back into their bed.

He still can't fall asleep, but at least Andrew holds him a little tighter that night, a silent reminder that Neil's not alone in the darkness.

Neil's entire being burns with embarrassment, and he can't wait for a few days to pass so his brain will forget the movie entirely.

At least then the fear in his veins will be but a lingering memory, teasing fuel for Andrew at most.

--

Except, per routine, Andrew is a giant bastard.

"We're watching this tonight," he says a week later, throwing a library DVD into Nicky's lap.

Neil doesn't think much of it as he finishes the last of his math problems at his desk, kicking his legs happily since this means he'll be done with homework and his kissing ban will be lifted.

Nicky's voice has all his expectations shriveling up and exploding like alien guts. "Aliens again?"

Neil's head snaps up to meet Andrew's gaze across the room, betrayal lining his face. The DVD cover Nicky is looking at is old school again, another classic Neil assumes. It's less detailed than the first one, with nothing but a green, glowing egg on the front.

Hell no, Neil thinks, and glances back at Andrew with a desperate look in his eyes. Maybe it's a joke.

But Andrew's sense of humor is cruel.

"It wasn't awful," Andrew answers Nicky while looking right at Neil. There's nothing amused or challenging in his features, but Neil still senses it. Andrew has weighed Neil's fear, has no doubt picked it apart and tried to decide whether or not that fear should be quelled, or if it's fair game to prod.

The conclusion is clear.

"Awesome!" Nicky shouts, unaware of the turmoil between the two of them. "Finally, we found something you don't tune out completely."

"I'll make the snacks," Aaron says, and Kevin actually seems okay with the selection. He shoots them both a weird look—which, given the intensity of Neil's stare, is appropriate. However, living with them has given Kevin enough insight to know when and when not to intervene. He walks past them, as he should.

When they're actually getting settled in to watch the damn film, Neil has switched tactics. He's refusing to meet Andrew's gaze, foot tapping impatiently against their stained carpet. As peeved as he is, the fear is starting to outweigh it. What if this movie is worse? Is he ready for another night wondering if aliens are going to come absorb him into some hybrid monster?

What the fuck does the egg mean? Aliens lay eggs?!

Neil refuses to sit by Andrew at first, and Andrew's legs are spread in such a way that his lap is wide open and inviting.

It's difficult to resist.

Eventually, Andrew sighs, and slouches into the couch a little more, leaving a perfect Neil-sized spot next to him.

"You're going to sit over there by yourself?" Andrew asks. With the rest of the group out of earshot, he adds lowly: "Aliens pick off the stragglers first."

Neil's glare would melt flesh from bone if it wasn’t directed at Andrew. The blond is unaffected by Neil's threats, though there's definitely power behind them. Just...never towards him.

An unfortunate fact, but one Neil would never betray.

Sulking, he climbs up onto the couch and fits himself snuggly into Andrew's side, head on his chest. Completing the dance, Andrew manhandles Neil to rest more comfortably against him, and Neil ignores the smugness radiating off the blond.

When Aaron walks in, he regards them suspiciously. Neil hates him for smiling that knowing, shit eating little grin once the realization hits him.

Fuck Aaron. Neil knows he's afraid of possession movies. He better be ready.

"This one is especially gross," Aaron says, offhand, but aimed at Neil entirely. "I've seen it."

Neil stares into the television again, done with all of them, and hopes his brain is over it. He hopes this movie is as boring as it can be. "Let's get this shit over with."

And they do. But no, the movie is not boring.

This film is arguably worse than the one they watched last weekend. The aliens are somehow grosser, with tar-like skin and oozing orifices. Even worse, they're more parasitic than the other aliens, and extremely hard for these idiot characters to kill. Neil sees one of the alien babies jump down someone's throat and has to look away.

He supposes it's too late to ask how he got here, to wonder why he can't get over it and understand none of it is real.

But then again, what does he know about the universe?

Neil's glad everyone else is too into the film to notice him burying himself further into Andrew's chest, eyes glued to the screen reluctantly. That's the problem with fear—it takes hold of him. He's not one of those people who can look away or close their eyes, so he just wrings Andrew's shirt between his hands into a wrinkly mess.

At a certain point, the alien from earlier bursts through the character's chest and makes Neil jump away from Andrew's, but the blond grabs Neil's head gently in anticipation of this (which means he's seen this shit already, the asshole) and guides it to rest over his heart. It should make it worse, the rhythmic beating, pumping in time with the chest burster's onslaught. Instead, it's grounding, as it always is, and he sighs.

He wonders if this was Andrew's plan all along, but would that make sense? Having to comfort a scared Neil can't be anything but annoying.

Later, when he's having a mug of hot chocolate with Andrew and Aaron before bed, and steadily getting grumpier with the thought of the sleepless night to come, he says as much.

Aaron just looks at him, as if he can't believe Neil exists. "You really are a moron."

And with that, he goes back to his own dorm.

Neil tries to get clarification, but Andrew only takes the mug from his hands. He avoids Neil's questioning gaze and laces their fingers together, pulling Neil into the room before the lights go out.

--

It's hard to look serious when he's lying on top of Andrew's chest, glare peaking out, but he tries.

It's weekend three of Andrew's onslaught of alien movie sequels, and luckily he's promised to back off from now on.

Still. Neil's gonna pout all he wants.

A sound from outside makes him jump, but it's just an extra hard downpour knocking against the windows. If Neil closes his eyes, he almost sees the alien claws tapping on the glass, trying to get in.

"Poor, frightened little bunny," Andrew states without any inflection or tone, but Neil can sense the teasing underneath.

"Fuck you," he says, but it's dampened by the way he leans over to close the window blinds.

It helps. A little.

"And risk the alien contamination?" Andrew adds, tugging on Neil's bangs for his attention. Like he has to; he somehow always has it, even when Neil is less than pleased. "Tell me, just what do you think is going to happen? Nothing's going to burst out of you just from watching that movie."

Neil feels his stomach flip flop from the thought of it, his heart taking the tower of terror through his body. He makes a disgruntled noise in the back of his throat, and Andrew pulls him up by the scruff of his neck to get a better look at him.

"I still feel queasy," Neil says, a poor attempt at revenge. Andrew doesn't move away, isn't even remotely grossed out.

The blond just sighs, and rolls Neil over to the other side of the bed in a display of vulnerability. Instead of being pressed to the wall, Andrew's back is open to their room, to the world. Neil balks for a moment before he gets himself under control. They've done this a few times, so he closes his jaw. He knows he should be happy for these moments, not surprised by them. Because he knows they're not small. It's Andrew telling him something, it's Andrew giving. And that's nothing new.

Still, Andrew never has his back to the door, and it probably won't last long. Eventually they'll go back to their normal positions, but for now Andrew shields Neil from the world.

It's a silent emphasis, a promise.

Despite the dimness and the new tension in his shoulders, Andrew's gaze is like a spark to the gasoline pooling in Neil's body. "Neil, you're safe."

Yes. Deep down, that's the biggest truth of them all.

Neil sighs, and gently rolls them back over. It's his own affirmative, his own way of protecting Andrew—whether it be from real threats, or fictional ones. He slides over Andrew until he's on the edge of the bed, and is happy when the bits of tension bleed back out of Andrew. Much better.

"I know that." Neil curls up, and though his back is to the door, he doesn't turn away. It's another silent response. He's afraid, but he knows if an alien were to suddenly bust through the door...

Well, Andrew would let him know. "But I'm still...mph," he grunts, glaring at the blinds above Andrew, and this time, the edges of the blond's lips lift easily. Just for Neil to see.

"Scared?"

Neil rolls his eyes for the billionth time, mostly at himself. "Yes, Andrew, the stupid alien movies scare me. I'm glad you're enjoying it so much."

He won't lie; he expects a silent response, maybe the old 'I don't enjoy anything' just to make him laugh, because they both know it's not true.

Instead, Andrew grabs his wrist, tracing the veins there with his thumb.

"You're right," he admits, slow, as if he's considering taking it back. Neil waits with bated breath, and Andrew must ultimately decide that it's impossible to. "I am."

The blatant admission catches him off guard, and well...Andrew can be pretty cute too, when he avoids Neil's gaze like this. The blond fixates on where they're connected, tracing the scars farther up Neil's arm.

Neil hums. "Because you're a cruel otherworldly imposter, or because you know I secretly have a thing for when I amuse you?"

The master plan, all along.

At Neil's cheeky grin, Andrew rolls onto his back, questioning his existence. He slides Neil's hand over his chest, draping it across him. "You're a nuisance," he mutters, and Neil's grin softens at the edges. He still doesn't understand it all, but when Andrew's being so open like this he can't help but dive in. He slides his hand lower, resting it over Andrew's heart.

"Your heart's beating fast," he says quietly, nearly a whisper. "Could be a chest burster."

"Mourn me," Andrew responds, and Neil smothers his laugh in his pillow. It's got that fresh lavender scent, and reminds him that there's no way he's going to do laundry by himself this week. That room is dark.

For whatever reason, that makes him laugh more. He hears Andrew move closer, hears the stuttering breath of words kept back, and peeks an eye out. Andrew tends to look kind of constipated when he's trying to say something especially revealing, and Neil has long since stopped telling him he doesn't have to.

Because...Andrew told him it wasn't necessary.

'If I want to say something, I'll say it.'

Neil smiles; he remembers thinking it was such an Andrew answer. So now he waits patiently, letting his giggles fade into staggered huffs.

Moments pass, and then, quietly: "I like it," Andrew says, voice barely above a whisper. It hasn't lost its firmness, its inability to be argued with. "I like that you're scared of something that actually can't ever hurt you."

Neil's smile falls, but he's not upset, not in the slightest.

Andrew's statement from weeks ago feels wrong now. It's Neil that doesn't know what to do with him sometimes.

There's plenty of things Neil is scared of—things that have actually hurt him, ruined and scarred him. Those fears are more deeply ingrained and clawing, impossible to erase completely with a few nights of sleep. He doesn't have to wonder if they're real, how they'd hurt him or how painful it would be.

He knows. He can feel the ghost of a blade often, the searing scent of burning flesh whenever he's near a bonfire or when he touches his scars. He sometimes still wakes up from nightmares of being held down, except this time he's not able to get back up. He's never able to run again.

And as much as Andrew would like to, he can't go and reach into the past to stop those things from happening. The realities are so much more frightening, and that terror has no remedy. Andrew knows that better than anyone.

So maybe it's nice, maybe it's just a little rewarding, to see Neil so scared of fictional aliens and monsters instead. Those are the things that can't hurt him, that can't reach him. Perhaps it's better that they occupy his mind instead so that the other demons do not.

And that's the consideration that has Neil so at a loss; he can't do much more than echo Andrew's name in his head over and over, and scoot closer to him until he's all he can make sense of.

It's quiet, aside from the rain, but now it actually sounds like itself, calm and cleansing.

"Well, yeah," Neil whispers into Andrew's chest, then sits up. He wants to say it more firmly, with no room for doubt. This way even if Andrew doesn't believe him...he knows how Neil feels. "You protected me from all that other stuff, so those fears...they're easier now."

He's never put it into words before, but it's the truth. He'll always have nightmares about knives and guns, about fires and cold, blue eyes. But he knows any new threats that come crawling back from the mafia underworld won't have just him to deal with. He'll have Andrew by his side, fighting.

So he's not as afraid of that.

Andrew's grip around him tightens, a promise that never has to be renewed. Neil knows it's forever in place.

On the other hand...

Neil nudges Andrew sheepishly, tapping his finger right between Andrew's pecs. "I just don't know if you stand a chance against an alien hivemind," Neil admits. Though to be fair, no one does. They're all fucked.

Andrew, after a beat of silence, concedes. "For once, I think you're right."

Neil nearly feels better from that, light and warm, but then Nicky comes back into the room and turns off the lights abruptly, plunging them into darkness.

And suddenly, nothing is okay.

He scoots as far away from the edge as possible, practically pinning Andrew to the wall, but the blond takes everything with a sigh.

He deserves it anyways.

Neil still jumps from any little sound the next few nights, and yes, Andrew has to walk him to the laundry room, but that's alright. The teasing he eventually gets from the rest of the Foxes is more than worth it if he gets to make Andrew hold him extra tight.

The fear eventually fades, diluted, but if he pretends to cling to it a bit longer…no one has to know.

If Andrew catches onto Neil's dramatic, fake flinches and continued unwillingness to go anywhere by himself, well...

He certainly doesn't point it out.

[stupidsexyfandom]

Atonement

@helsa-summer-event

Rated M: Mature themes, SFW // Angst

CONTENT WARNING: Major Character Death, Suicide

Twenty-five years later, a body washes up in Arendelle. 

Written for Prompt #4 of Helsa Summer: Gorgeously tan. 

The morning after the storm dawned cool and gray. Queen Elsa rose even earlier than usual after a night plagued by insomnia. She stood on her balcony, watching as the city began to stir. The sea lay still as glass, slate blue and impenetrable. She wished she could stand staring at it forever. Her mind had been greatly troubled, and today, she did not feel like speaking to anyone.

Unfortunately, she reminded herself, being queen left no room for fits of pique. She would have to go downstairs to tend to her duties eventually, as she had every day for the past twenty-five years. Casting a last longing look at the gray sea, she steeled herself to face the world.

Breakfast with Anna, Kristoff, and the children could always lift her spirits, even on such a dour day as this. Elsa supposed she should no longer think of them as children en masse. The oldest, Isolde, would be twenty-one in the spring. Watching her niece, Elsa could hardly believe she had become queen at that age. She seemed so young. Surely she herself had not been such a child when she had taken the throne? But perhaps she had been so young once. In any case, it was her prerogative as a doting aunt to remember all her nieces and nephews as babes in arms no matter how old they got.

After breakfast, she reviewed her itinerary for the day. The bulk of her time was occupied by a foray into the city to assess storm damage. The high winds and heavy rains of the previous night had wrought havoc on structures private and public alike. Beyond the usual cleanup, Elsa had to decide where to allocate funds for repairs and assistance.

She was accompanied on her inspection tour by the castle’s steward, Kai. He had worked in the castle since her father had been crowned. Although his hair was now white, he seemed to grow shrewder with each passing year. Elsa valued his opinion more than those of most of the diplomats and aristocrats on her advisory council.

Together they walked through the streets of the city. Elsa was pleasantly surprised. All told, Arendelle had weathered the storm much better than she had feared. She knew her people were strong, but the wind and rain had been particularly fierce. When the pair reached a damaged building, Kai would make note of it in his little book, and Elsa would do her best to help. Where shingles had blown off the baker’s roof, she created a patch of ice to keep the rain out. Where the upper story of a tenement sagged, she created an icy scaffolding to support it until repairs could be made. All throughout the city, she did what she could. It was times like these when she was thankful for her powers, and she could tell that her people were, too. Every snowflake was an atonement for what had happened so many years ago.

There was a small crowd gathering at the top of the cliffs overlooking the sea. They appeared to be looking at something caught on the rocks below. Elsa thought the wind must have blown something over something over the edge in the night, perhaps a signboard or even a cart. Perhaps she would be able to get it back for them with her powers. She and Kai joined the townsfolk in peering over the edge. At first, Elsa could see nothing. Then she caught sight of a flash of red and felt suddenly sick. There, where the waves were lapping at the rocks, lay a body.

She immediately conjured a staircase to the foot of the cliff, careful to give the treads an anti-slip texture. Kai was the first down it, moving nimbly despite his advanced age. Elsa followed. When they reached the bottom, they had to pick their steps carefully along the slippery rock. The body lay face down. Its hair had been the red that caught her eye from the clifftop. Kai knelt to check its pulse, although they both knew it was a vain gesture. Sighing, Elsa created a broad platform of ice beneath the three of them. She raised it into a pillar until they were even with the head of the cliff. Two fishermen rushed forward to carry the body onto solid ground.

They lay the dead man face up on a patch of grass. For the first time, Elsa could see his face. A chill of recognition ran through her, and she wrapped her arms around herself instinctively. When she looked down, she was shocked to see spirals of frost covering her cloak. She had not lost control of her powers like that in decades.

“Is something wrong?” She could feel Kai’s keen eyes upon her. With anyone else, she might have been able to pass it off as the shock of seeing a dead body so close. But Kai had known her for too long. He had seen the recognition in her eyes.

“I know this man,” she said haltingly.

“Oh?” Elsa had to think fast. She couldn’t let anyone know what she knew, not even Kai.

“I saw him yesterday. He told me the last time he was in Arendelle was for my coronation, and he wanted to pay his respects after twenty-five years.” This was not exactly a lie, although it was far from the whole truth.

“Did he tell you his name?”

“I believe he said it was Anderson. Hans Anderson.”

-

She had seen him in the town square. All around, the city of Arendelle was bustling with preparations for the oncoming storm. He was standing at a produce stall, examining the varieties of fruit. She might not have recognized him if not for his eyes. He wore the garb of a simple sailor, and his face was tanned and weather-beaten. But she would know those eyes anywhere.

She paused for a moment, uncertain of whether to approach him. Part of her wanted to ask why he had come here, or how he dared to show his face here at all. The other part of her wanted to turn away and forget she had even seen him. She had learned long ago the value of letting sleeping dogs lie. But soon enough the choice was made for her. He had seen her.

“You haven’t changed,” he said by way of greeting, and Elsa hated that he was right. Age had taken its toll on her, but its price had been lighter for her than for most. Her hair had always been white, and her time indoors had kept her skin smooth. He could not see the achy joints and stiff muscles that lay beneath the surface. Nor could he see how she had grown, no longer fearful and isolated. She had learned to be strong for her people, to make difficult decisions and navigate stormy seas.

“You have,” she told him, although she was not sure that it was true. He dressed coarsely and had clearly spent the last twenty years working under the sun, his red hair streaked with gray. He still carried with him a certain air of refinement, but his face held an open simplicity she had not seen before. Still, she was wary. He was an expert pretender, and it was likely the same frozen heart lay beneath this roughhewn exterior.

“I need to speak with you.”

“Then speak.” Her tone was chilly.

“Not here. Somewhere private.”

“I have nothing to say to you.”

“You only have to listen.” Elsa wanted to dismiss him out of hand, to tell him that she didn’t have to do anything. But there was something in his eyes that was both dangerous and desperate. She found herself assenting. He tried to give her his name and current ship, but she brushed them away. They would meet on her terms.

Sitting at her dressing table that evening, Elsa mulled over her choice. She was not going to allow herself to regret it. So much of her life had been stolen away by fear and regret. As she had grown older, she had learned not to let them dominate her thoughts and actions. But that evening, those emotions threw her back to the day she became queen. What’s done is done, she thought. And although she could not eliminate her regret, she could keep moving forward.

Lost in thought, she removed the pins from her updo and began brushing her hair. As she braided it for sleep, she realized the actions were pointless. She would be going out again anyway. But seeing the braid over her left shoulder gave her an idea. Standing, she replicated the first ice dress she had ever made. She had not worn one like it in many years, finding it too daring to be taken seriously at court. Now, she remembered the power she had felt when she first created it. Perfect, she thought. It was the same dress she had worn that day on the fjord. She wanted him to remember what he had done.

-

The wind whistled as she stole down to the side entrance. Elsa could see the backs of the leaves, but no rain yet fell. When she opened the garden door, she was surprised to find him already waiting.

“Did the guards see you?” The last thing Elsa needed was for anyone to know about their secret assignation.

“I climbed over the wall,” he said, gesturing behind him. Elsa could barely make out a patch of ivy growing over the stonework, and she made a mental note to have it cut back later. But tonight, it had been her ally.

She led him to the chapel. None of the lamps were lit, so the only illumination came from the moonlight streaming in through the windows. She set the lantern she carried on the dais. The flame cast weird shadows across the flagstones.

She whirled to face him and said, “Why did you come here?”

“You don’t know? I came to beg for your forgiveness.” A cold wind blew through the chapel, extinguishing the lantern. Elsa swore under her breath, any cutting response forgotten. She knelt to fumble with the wick, realizing she didn’t have any matches. That was the biggest problem with this ice dress: no pockets.

He was beside her in an instant, proffering a matchbook from his waistcoat pocket. As she reached out to take it, their hands brushed, and Elsa realized neither of them wore gloves. She wondered if it had been as long for him as it had for her. She struggled to light a match, finding the striking pad slick with ice. When a flame erupted at last, it fizzled just as quickly in her cold hands.

“Here, let me,” he said, gently taking back the book of matches. She watched silently as his tanned, agile hands lit the wick. They sat side by side on the edge of the dais, staring into the shadowy corners of the chapel.

Suddenly he said, “I hear the princess is married.”

“Yes,” said Elsa, “Happily married for more than twenty years now.”

“To the iceman?”

“Yes, to the iceman, Kristoff. They have several lovely children.” Elsa was stalling, not eager to return to the subject that had brought them there.

“Children? Will you tell me about them?” It occurred to Elsa that Anna probably would not want her to. Anna probably would be upset that she was speaking to him at all. She was ready to ask him what business the children were of his when he held up a hand.

“Please. Let me hear about the children that could have, in another life, been mine.” His words stung Elsa, especially because she often thought the same thing. She loved her nieces and nephews as though they were her sons and daughters. But sometimes, she imagined an alternate path, where she had loved and married and had children of her own. So she told him. She started with Isolde, who would be queen one day, and worked her way down. He listened with rapt attention, but his eyes held a sadness she knew too well.

When she had finished (with Wilhelm, age nine, avid collector of frogs and turtles), he asked, “And you? You have never married?”

“No. I discovered long ago that it was better to keep power for myself than to trust too easily and share it with anyone whose motives were uncertain. You taught me that. I suppose I never found anyone whom I could trust.” He barked a dry laugh and leaned back on his arms. Elsa studied his face among the harsh lamplight shadows, and she could see his expression soften.

“It is a shame, your Majesty, all that we have missed in life.” She wanted to tell him that he was wrong, that she had missed nothing. But instead she just sighed. They sat in silence for a while.

“You’ve never married either?” asked Elsa. She felt suddenly ridiculous. Here she was, making polite conversation with the man who had once tried to kill her. She wasn’t even sure what to call him. ‘Prince Hans’ seemed out of the question, for she was fairly sure he had been stripped of his title. Just ‘Hans’ seemed too familiar, implying a closer relationship. What else was left? The false name he had given her? But ‘Mr. Anderson’ seemed stiffly formal, like she was addressing a stranger. And whatever their relationship was, they were certainly not strangers. His voice interrupted her reverie.

“No. I’ve been at sea for many years, you know. No time for a wife.” Something in his tone told Elsa there was more to it.

“Many sailors marry.”

“Perhaps I was always too obsessed with what happened in Arendelle. I dreamed of it every night. Even in my waking hours, I could never be free of it. Each wave crashing against the hull seemed to call me to repent. Eventually, I could bear it no longer. I thought it might drive me mad. Perhaps there was a kind of madness in my coming here. But I knew that I could not rest until I saw you again. I could not go on without asking for your forgiveness.”

Elsa stood slowly, feeling stiff from sitting so low to the ground. She almost pitied him. Despite what she knew of him, he seemed genuinely repentant. Perhaps he had learned something in the past twenty-five years. That was what made this so hard.

“Do not ask for my forgiveness.”

“What?” He froze midway through standing up.

“Any wrongs you have committed against me pale in comparison to what you did to my sister. It is her forgiveness you must seek, not mine.”

“Then let me speak to her tomorrow. I won’t expect anything to come of it, so long as I have the opportunity.” His expression was tinged with eagerness verging on desperation. Elsa steeled herself. She had to protect her sister. She had been unable to do so twenty-five years ago when they had first met Prince Hans, and Anna had suffered for it. Now, Elsa finally had the chance to atone for that failure. She would not fail again.

“Princess Anna is happy now. She has a life and family of her own. The last thing she need is for you to dredge up the past.”

“But—”

“I sympathize. Do you think I don’t understand self-recrimination? She has finally managed to heal from what we’ve done to her. I won’t let you disrupt her life.”

Her words proved to be too much for him. He knelt before her, pleading desperately. She thought there was a touch of madness in his eyes.

“Please, I beg of you! If you will not let me see your sister, at least consider my plea for yourself. I don’t know how I can go on otherwise. I cannot live this haunted life.”

“I cannot help you. You must seek absolution elsewhere.” Elsa wished that things could be different. But she of all people did not have the right to grant forgiveness for what had happened at the coronation. Not when she herself had played such a large part in her sister’s suffering.

He threw himself at her feet like a child. She felt his hand on her leg, grasping at it like a lifeline. He buried his face in her skirts, and Elsa felt overwhelmed by his emotion. She noticed snowflakes drifting slowly downward and waved them away with her hand. Perhaps she was being selfish, letting her final act of atonement block his only chance at the same. But Anna’s happiness had to come first.

“Get up,” she said softly, pushing at his graying hair, “Hans. Get up.” He looked up at her, eyes moist but unwavering. Slowly he disentangled himself from her skirts.

“I can’t give you what was never mine to give. The most I can do is let you leave here in peace. I will not alert the Southern Isles, nor will I alert Arendelle’s guard. I have left you with your life. You must be content with that.” Her tone was kind, but she spoke with a sense of finality.

“A cursed life such as mine hardly qualifies. You have left me with nothing at all.” His eyes looked hollow, as if there were nothing behind them.

-

“Give us your best account of what happened last night, Captain,” said Kai. The body was laid out in the castle’s chapel. Because the dead man had no local family, Elsa had volunteered to take charge of the remains. Now a small group had formed there to try to figure out the cause of death. Elsa and Kai, her eternal shadow, stood on one side. The doctor and the bishop stood on the other. The captain of the St. Winifred, who had been found based on Elsa’s information, was the final member of their party. Elsa had worried that they might realize Hans’ true identity, but her secret seemed safe for the moment.

“The night watchman says Anderson returned around midnight, just about when the rain started. He didn’t go below decks right away, saying he wanted some fresh air. By the time of the one o’clock patrol, he was gone. The watchman say he thought Anderson went below deck, but the storm was getting intense by that point, so he wasn’t paying much attention.”

“Do you think he could have fallen overboard? Or could a wave have washed him away?” asked Kai. The captain considered for a moment.

“I would say either of those were possible, if not likely. Anderson was a competent sailor and very cautious. I doubt he slipped and fell. But in a storm like that one, anything may have happened.”

“Was he well liked among the crew?” Elsa could tell Kai was trying to be diplomatic.

“Yes, he got along with everybody. He was quiet and kept himself to himself. But he was always willing to pick up the slack, and that made him popular. I had offered him a promotion several times, but he always turned me down. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to harm him.”

Elsa was finding it difficult to keep her mind on the proceedings. She found herself staring at the corpse several times, fixated on how it compared to the Hans of her memory. Beneath its suntanned skin lay the pallor of death. Its eyes were closed, but she knew they must hold the same hollow look she had seen the night before. She longed to reach out and touch it. Would it be cold as ice? Would she even be able to tell? The bishop was speaking for the first time, and Elsa tried to give him her attention.

“What we must know is this: could he have done this to himself? We cannot move forward with the burial until we know whether he is worthy of consecrated ground.” The other three men looked distinctly uncomfortable. Elsa got the feeling this was a possibility they would all have gladly ignored.

The doctor spoke first: “All I can tell you is that he drowned. There were some abrasions from the rocks, but they were clearly postmortem. His body can give us no evidence aside from that.”

“I wouldn’t believe it for a moment,” said the captain with a bit of added bluster, “He just wasn’t the sort. Sure, he had his troubles, but so do we all. Doesn’t mean he’d do something so drastic.”

“Queen Elsa,” said Kai, “you spoke to him the most recently out of all of us. Can you shed any light on his state of mind?” Elsa had only a split second to decide what to say. She knew her evidence would be damning if she answered truthfully.

“It was only for a few minutes. He just told me how little I had changed since my coronation. He seemed in good spirits, but of course I didn’t know him.” She hoped her lie would be convincing. It was the least she could do for him.

-

The investigation was over. They had reached a consensus that it had been an accidental death. Elsa was glad to be finished with it. At least she had spared Hans the final indignity of an unconsecrated grave. Despite the bishop’s protestations, she had insisted that he be buried in the royal plot. She was not sure what lay beyond the grave, but she hoped his spirit would be able to find some peace.

Now, she walked along the beach, looking out over the slate-colored sea. She turned, hearing footsteps behind her. It was Kai.

“May I join you?”

“Of course.” They walked together in silence for a while.

“You went to a lot of trouble to arrange a burial for that man,” said Kai. He was dangling the bait in front of her. She wondered how much he knew.

“A queen’s duty is to take care of her people. Besides, I feel partially responsible for his death. He only came to Arendelle because of me.”

“Queen Elsa, listen to me,” Kai stopped walking and turned to face her, “this was not your fault. If it was not an accident, he made his own choice. I suspect he made his choice many years ago. You don’t need to hold yourself responsible.”

Elsa appreciated Kai’s kind words and common sense. She hoped that this time she would be able to follow his advice. After so many years, perhaps she did not need another reason to atone.

***

Author’s Note: This fic is brought to you by the letter C. C for Cadfael, an endless source of inspiration for me. C for Culturally Catholic, which bleeds through into my writing sometimes. C for Content warning, which is not something I usually need for my fics. Oh yeah, and C for Completely missing the spirit of the prompt, sorry guys. 

I had to rewrite the entire middle portion because I thought Hans was coming across as too mentally well-compensated. Tomorrow I begin my apology tour. Thanks so much for reading! <3

[ayamari-no-goshi]

Eidolon 5 | (T)

ff.net | AO3

Fandom: Danny Phantom (DP)

Summary:  AU: What started off as the result of a simple act of rebellion ends up causing his life to spin out of control. How will young Danny cope with the results as well as a past that has a strange habit of coming back to haunt him.

Warnings: rated T for violence, mentions of death, kidnapping, and various other things

Parings: hints of Danny/Sam much later on

Notes: originally uploaded to Ff.net. Cross-posted to AO3 and tumblr

5. Unexpected Meetings

Something didn't feel right. Winston never left the front door open or even unlocked when he was home let alone when he was out. Danny, hesitantly followed by his two friends, cautiously entered the house hoping nothing was wrong.

He peaked into the study where he had last seen his guardian, and although it still looked like a tornado had gone through it, no one was there. That, combined with the fact that the car was missing, told him that Winston had left the house in a hurry. It was possible that he had just gone to the meeting and locking the door slipped his mind, but he had never known Winston to ever do that; he was too cautious.

"Danny… did you find anything?" Tucker asked cautiously as he and Sam came to the door. "Whoa, what happened to this room?"

Danny looked back at his friends for a moment as he tried to step over the mess. "He was looking for something that I assume was pretty important when I left. Hold on a sec," he requested as he looked for a safe place to step, "he doesn't want people in here."

"Really?" Sam asked in an irritated tone.

"Hey, it was the only condition he had if I invited you over."

"You're concerned that something might have happened to Winston, yet you worry about that. It seems to me that you need to get your priorities in order."

He just shrugged as he continued to carefully make his way through the study. Everything looked practically the same, save for the mess, except for the random paper and an envelope that seemed really out of place on the desk. Curious, he grabbed them and made his way over towards the door.

"Wh-what is it?" Tucker asked after he showed them what he found.

"Letters…. I think," he replied as he got a better look at them. He was just about to open them when something fell in the kitchen. The three friends looked at each other for a moment before they started to creep towards the source of the noise.

When they rounded the corner, they saw a man mumbling to himself while picking up what appeared to be a cup. At first, he thought he could be a robber, but the more he looked at the man, the more he thought that was impossible. This man appeared to be around Winston's age and was wearing a suit. Unless this person was crazy, it seemed very unlikely that he was a robber.

"Hey!" he called out as he ignored his friends' warnings, which caused the unknown man to jump. He quickly regained himself. "I don't know who you are, but don't you know that breaking and entering is illegal?"

The man smiled in a manner which caused Danny to involuntarily shudder. There was something off about his expression. "I think that the term you want is unlawful entry, but it amounts to the same thing, I suppose," the man told him in a rather carefree manner. "Yet, I could say the same thing to you."

"Yeah, but I live here. You don't."

The man's eyes lit up for a moment with… hunger…? … which was almost instantly replaced with a more neutral expression. "Would that make you young Daniel then?"

"And, what if he is?" Sam asked, startling both of them as she and Tucker moved behind their friend.

The man examined the newcomers for a moment before he slapped himself in the forehead rather dramatically. "Oh dear me, where are my manners? I'm Vladimir Masters, and after your guardian called to reschedule his meeting due to an 'emergency', I was sent to make sure that everything was okay here. And, needless to say, that when I saw that the door was open, I was concerned and decided to take a look." He then raised an eyebrow after giving a quick look around. "Yet, I'm surprised to see that you're here without Mr. Wolfe."

"Wh-what do you mean 'emergency'?" he stuttered after the man had finished. "Everything was fine before I left…"

Before an answer could be given, Tucker gently pushed Danny back and glared at the older man. "I think a better question is: what is Vlad Masters, a billionaire and famous businessman, doing here?"

"He's what?" both Danny and Sam demanded at the same time.

Tucker looked at them in a rather surprised manner. "You seriously don't know? He's one of the most famous people in the world and one of the richest."

The three of them glanced back at the man, who was trying not to look too pleased with himself. "Ah, apparently I've made more of an impression on the world than I thought I did," he told them in an attempt to sound modest. "But, to answer your question, one of my companies is involved with custody battles, so I do hear about situations like this. While it's true that I usually don't personally get involved, your case, Daniel, interests me."

His eyes narrowed as he listened to the man. Something was feeling more off by the moment. "Why me?" he demanded. "What's so special about me that someone like you came here?"

Vlad's eyes widened in feigned shock at his words. "Surely, my boy, Winston would have said something about me to you. I mean, I was a good friend of your parents."

"Wait… you knew my parents?"

"Of course! We met each other in college and remained good friends afterwards. It was such a shame when I found out about their disappearance…" He paused for a moment and looked at the boy with a strange expression that he really didn't like. "In truth, if things would have gone the way that your parents had wanted, I would have become your legal guardian."

He would have become what? Danny was absolutely certain his parents, even if he didn't remember them, would never let him go with someone so creepy. Although his story sounded believable, there was something that he wasn't saying about the situation, and whatever this 'something' was, he was fairly certain he didn't want to hear it.

"Back up," Sam demanded of Vlad. "It almost sounds like your accusing Mr. Wolfe of illegally taking care of Danny."

"Is that what it sounds like?" Vlad asked her. Unlike the previous times he spoke, his voice dropped the pleasant tone he was using. "It would be a lie to say that I'm not displeased about how things have turned out, however as much as I hate to admit it, there is validity in his claim. If it wasn't for that blasted letter, we wouldn't be having this conversation."

HIs grip on the papers in his hand tightened. "What do you mean? What letter?"

Once again, Vlad gave the boy an appraising glance. "Apparently, he hasn't told you anything. No matter, within a couple weeks, it should be made clear, even if he still decides to keep you blissfully ignorant." He then glanced at his watch and sighed. "It looks like I've stayed here longer than I planned. I will call your guardian later tonight to see if the emergency, which you clearly have no knowledge of, has been solved." A nod of his head was all that he gave as a farewell before he exited the house.

…

"Well… that was certainly weird…" Tucker stated after Danny had made sure that the front door was locked and that Vlad was nowhere to be seen. "Is everything okay? And what was he talking about when he mentioned the 'custody battle'?"

He sighed as he walked into the family room and sat down on the couch. His friends followed him as they exchanged worried expressions. "He… Winston… told me that the state had lost some of my adoption papers," he said as he absentmindedly looked at the papers in his hands. "He had said that it wasn't that big of a deal even though the state would be coming to pay a visit. Yet… it suddenly sounds like it's so much more complicated…"

Sam gently touched his shoulder as she sat next to him, "It'll be okay. And, if worst comes to worst, I'll try to convince my parents to hire someone to defend you in court. Now that I think about it, they've mentioned that man before, and they really don't like him. If my dad won't do it for the 'good of the cause', he'll certainly do it to get back at Mr. Masters."

"Do… do you really mean that?" He gently smiled as she vehemently agreed. "Thanks, Sam."

Tucker coughed, which caused them to look at him rather awkwardly. "Sorry to interrupt your moment," he told them as he also sat down, "But I have another question, and it's really bothering me. When he said that Mr. Wolfe was keeping you 'blissfully ignorant' do you think that he meant the legal stuff or something else? 'Cause, I honestly think it was the 'something else'."

"You know, I've been wondering that too…" Sam agreed. "A lot of what he said made me think that he was referring to something that was more complicated than just a custody battle."

"And that's not complicated at all," he told her with the most sarcastic tone that he could muster.

She just rolled her eyes. "You know what I meant. It's like he has ulterior motives for not only visiting your house but for being involved in the legal stuff too."

He sighed as he tried to get make sense of the strange visit. For some strange reason, it just seemed like within a couple weeks his entire world decided to become a complicated mess, not even counting the paranormal events. Speaking of which… He glanced down at his hand that had begun to feel a bit weird. It was that same feeling that had occurred before that event.

Worried, he quickly excused himself and ran to the bathroom. As he tried to lock the door, his hand passed right through the doorknob. No… it couldn't be! He stumbled backwards, hoping that he could back away from whatever was causing the problem, but it was to no avail.

Fear gripped him as he slid down the wall and stared at his hand. It was exactly how it looked the other day: a pale shadow of its former self. The only difference was this time was that part of his forearm was affected too. There was no way that he could pass it off as a dream this time either. What was he going to do about this? Heck, he didn't even know what this was!

"Danny?" a voice called out after knocking on the door. It was Sam, and from what it sounded like, she was worried. Had he really be in here that long?

"Crap!" he whispered to himself as he stood up. The door wasn't locked, and there was no way that he was going to let either of his friends see what was happening. Yet, luck didn't seem to be on his side seeing as he fell before he could cross the small room.

"Danny?" Sam asked again. "Are you okay in there?"

"I'm f-fine!" he answered as he tried to stand, only to no avail. A glance at his legs told him why: the one had somehow managed to sink into the floor. "Okay… and now everything's ten times worse… Come on!" He tried pulling on his leg only to find that it was stuck. It just had to be a joke. There was no way that all of this was happening to him: it was just impossible.

"Sam, you can't go in there!" he heard Tucker warn their friend as the doorknob jiggled.

"Bite me!" she snapped back as the doorknob turned and the door opened.

For a moment, nothing was said as the three friends looked at each other and registered the impossible situation before them. "Um… this isn't what it looks like…?" Danny told them meekly before Tucker fainted.

xxxxxxxxxxx

Winston was not entirely sure what he should do. For the past half an hour, he had been having a stare down with an entity that he had been hoping that he would never have to see again. The reason was that it brought chaos and destruction everywhere it went, and it seemed to be after the last known surviving member of a family it personally tried to destroy over a decade ago. And, what made it worse was that he had no idea where that person was, even if he had seen him just before he had left the house.

Though, this staring contest felt off. The ghost that was floating not even fifty yards away seemed distracted as if it was waiting for something, and, from what he knew of it, this was incredibly unusual. In the past, although it did have a tendency to gloat on occasion, it tended to go straight towards its goal in a manner that showed careful planning. Yet, he knew that if he tried to get away, it would definitely stop him probably even before he managed to get back into his car. Oh did he wish that he had some of the Fenton's inventions with him, but with what the ghost had done, that was impossible now.

"I'm surprised, Plasmius" he said after a few more moments, hoping that he could possibly talk his way out of this, "you were never this statuesque before. What changed?"

The ghost looked at him carefully before it smiled carefully. "Oh, I assure you that nothing's changed. Do you really think so little of me to assume that I've lost my touch?"

"Then why keep me here? There's nothing that I have of value to you nor do I pose any threat!"

Plasmius' smile grew larger after he spoke, which sent chills down his spine. "Is that really the case?" it asked as it floated just a little closer. "Then tell me, how does the boy fare? If my calculations are correct, isn't it about time for him to come into his birthright?"

Winston felt his blood grow cold. So, all this time, it did know that he had custody of the boy, and not only that, it knew exactly where they lived. He had walked into a trap! It was just trying to get him away from Danny. How could he have been so stupid?

"And, where are we going? Hmm?" the ghost asked as it watched him move closer to his car. "You wouldn't be trying to head back to young Daniel, would you?" When the only answer it received was a glare, it chuckled. "Oh, you don't have to worry yet; I won't take him from you tonight. No, that would just be too easy and not as rewarding. Instead, I'll gain hold of him in a way that will not only humiliate you, but will also tear away his trust in you, if you continue to keep silent."

"You… you monster! There's no way that I'll ever let you do that!"

"Really? The signs have begun to appear, and if you're not careful, the shock of that change will be too much and he'll have no choice but to come with me." It then vanished only to appear inches from his face. "I mean, just today, his eyes turned this brilliant shade of green, the exact shade of ectoplasm, when my… associate… spoke with him not too long ago."

"Bastard!" Winston snarled as he tried to punch it in the face only to end up hitting his car instead. Laughter came from behind him, which only enraged him more. "What did you do to him?"

"Me? I haven't done a thing yet, but mark my words, I will get a hold of him. Just keep close watch on him for now, since you won't be able to for much longer. Ta!" With that final word, it once again vanished from site causing him to do spin around to attempt to find it. Yet, after a few moments it really seemed like it was gone for the time being.

He sighed in momentary relief that he managed to get out of the meeting unscathed. But, now that it made it clear that its goal was Danny, what was he supposed to do? With the current situation with the state, there was no way that he would be able to move, and on top of that, it appeared that the ghost somehow had the ability to track them. And, what had it meant when it mentioned an associate? There was just too much information to mull over from this meeting to understand it in the moment. He would have to wait until he got home… and hopefully, Danny had managed to find his way back already. If not, hopefully he'd head back soon. With that thing around, no place was safe for him.

….

"Danny…? Are you home yet?" he called out once he entered the house. There was no reply, but he did hear noises coming from one of the rooms. He called out again as he tried to figure out where they were coming from.

Suddenly, a figure emerged from one of the doorways. He was taken aback until he realized that it was just Danny's friend, Tucker. "Oh, you're home!" he said in a relieved voice. "We thought it might be that Vlad guy again…"

"Vlad guy…?" he repeated as looked around. "Wait, where's Danny?"

"Uh…" Winston stared at the boy as he tried to answer him. "He's… currently in the bathroom. Sam's with him. He… uh… isn't feeling well…" Worried, he quickly moved towards the bathroom, followed by a rather surprised Tucker.

"Danny?" he asked softly as he slowly entered the room. The scene he entered would have been comical if he wasn't so worried. Sam had been massaging his back but stopped abruptly as he entered and adopted an expression that was somewhere between embarrassment and normality. Danny was hanging over the side of the bathtub with a blanket draped over him. He weakly smiled as he looked at him before turning back towards the tub.

In that brief instant that Danny had looked at him, he had seen the boy's eyes turn green. So, the ghost hadn't lied about that. Maybe it really was happening… but, he would debate with himself over what to say to Danny, once he figured out how to help him get better.

[color-me-malfoy]

TEN DUEL COMMANDMENTS: CHAPTER IV

SUMMARY:

After the rumor spreads that The Dark Lord has returned, a tyrant woman called Dolores Umbridge takes over Headmaster Dumbledore’s position to run the school in a way where no one can speak against the Ministry. In the middle of all the chaos, Harry Potter approaches you saying that he wants you to help him in a secret mission to teach the students how to defend themselves in case The Dark Lord infiltrates the school. However, a certain platinum-haired boy from the Inquisitorial Squad is seeking every way to win you over to his side. So you’re stranded between what you believe in and what you think is right. And right now, you aren’t willing to wait for it.

CHAPTER IV: GOD HELP AND FORGIVE ME, I WANNA BUILD SOMETHING THAT’S GONNA OUTLIVE ME

“Can… Can we stop? I’ve been- I’ve been running up… up and down the stairs all day,” you wheezed as Harry, Ron, Lester, and Ruth raced ahead of you. Harry held his hand out.

“You can have a seat when we get there, just one more floor to go,” he said as he turned back and continued up the stairs.

“Where...” you gasped as you finally reached the seventh floor, bracing the banister. “Where are you even taking us?”

He didn’t respond as he and Ron checked the hallway for anybody, then signaled to the rest of you to follow along. When you, Ruth, and Lester made your way towards them, Harry smiled with pride as the wall behind him seemed to open up. 

“I present to you… The Room Where It Happens.”

He stepped aside, revealing a beautiful expanse, where there were students duelling, students practicing spells, and students conjuring their own Patronuses, gazing in awe as the blue glowing creatures pranced around their creators.

Now this is what Hogwarts is supposed to be. Not examinations, not protocols, not strict totalitarianism under the Ministry.

“Harry,” Ruth breathed out, absolutely speechless. You could see her eyes glistening over.

Lester looked around. “What is this place?”

“The legendary Room of Requirement,” Ron beamed.

You turned to Harry. “How did you find it? Hundreds of wizards before you have tried.”

Harry gestured to the room, allowing you to enter. “Of course we did a little research before we actually created Dumbledore’s Army,” he said. “We made sure no one else knew how to open it.”

You stepped further into the room, and everyone turned to look at the five of you.

“Alright, mates,” Ron waved his hands. “I hope you know Ruth, Lester, and Y/N. They’re going to join us.”

“Wait a minute,” you turned to Ron and Harry as Ruth and Lester walked to join the other students. “I didn’t say anything about joining you yet.”

“But clearly you’re not on Malfoy’s side!” Ron wailed.

“The enemy of my enemy is not my friend, Ron, I’m more of a neutral party.”

Harry grabbed your shoulders. “Y/N, you could be the one to help change the system. Do you support this movement?”

“Of course!”

His eyes narrowed. “Then defend it.”

“And what if you’re backing the wrong horse?”

“Y/N, things like this are what Dumbledore wanted us to be prepared for. Magic isn’t all potions and wand-waving. I’ve seen more than I can bear to retell in that damned graveyard, and I don’t want any more people learning to live with the unimaginable.”

“The unimaginable? What do you mean-”

An Asian Ravenclaw girl tapped Harry on the shoulder. “Harry, Hermione has something she needs to tell you.” She turned to you. “You must be Y/N L/N. I’m Cho Chang.”

You smiled at her. “Hi, Cho.”

She held your arm gently. “Could I have a word with you?”

The two of you moved to the side.

“So,” she glanced at Harry before looking back at you. “What made you want to join?”

“Well, it’s kind of a long story, but I’m still deciding. But don’t worry, I’m willing to keep this a secret no matter what.”

“Harry told me how you have some questions about what we do, well, we fight for Hogwarts and-”

“Yes, I know, it’s just,” you ran a hand through your hair, “is the trouble worth it?”

Cho sighed. “Actually, I was hesitant at first to join this because of how much trouble I could possibly get into. But then,” she took out her wand, closing her eyes. “I thought of Cedric.”

“Cedric Diggory?” You gasped. The boy had been murdered by The Dark Lord, but the Ministry had only called it a “tragic accident”.

“Yes,” she smiled sadly, her eyes still shut. “I thought of what he would want me to do, what he’d want all the students to do if he were still alive.”

Her wand glowed blue at the tip, and a tear slid down her cheek.

“I thought that maybe he’d want me to tell his story by fighting for what I know is right.”

The blue glowed brighter, and she held on tighter to her wand, her eyes still shut.

“I just think that if there’s a reason I’m alive in a world where Cedric doesn’t exist anymore,” she whispered wistfully, “I’m willing to wait for it.”

As she said those words, the image of a swan emerged, and danced around her, leaving a stream of misty blue gleaming in its trail.

She turned to you, tears running down her cheeks, and a determined look in her eyes as she smiled.

If she hadn’t put down her wand, you wouldn’t have realized you were crying too.

“I-I’m sorry, I’m such a bloody softie,” you giggled as you wiped away the tears on your sleeve. “I’m so sorry you had to endure that.”

She shook her head. “It’s made me stronger, no matter how much it hurts.”

You sniffed and looked up at her, feeling the tears coming back. “Ca-can I hug you?” You squeaked.

She nodded, then held her arms open for you to embrace her. You sobbed into her shoulder as she rubbed your back.

You let her go and laughed. “I’m sorry, I should be comforting you.”

“No, it’s alright. Harry cried more,” she giggled.

“What about me crying?” Harry walked over to the two of you. “Alright, Cho, what bollocks are you telling Y/N about me?”

The three of you laughed. Cho shook her head. “No, Harry, we were just talking about-”

“I’m joining,” you cut her off.

Harry turned to you, his eyes wide. “Wha-what?”

“I said,” you smiled at Cho, “I’m joining Dumbledore’s Army.”

Ron hollered a cheer. “Congratulations, Y/N! Hey, I’m sorry about how I reacted to Malfoy this afternoon. I just hate him so much,” he clenched his fists and pretended to throw a punch.

“Now, Ron,” a curly-haired girl warned him, “You know what happened the last time you tried hexing him.”

You turned to her, “You must be Hermione Granger,” you smiled.

“I heard about how Malfoy copied off your potion and took credit for it,” she whispered. “How could he possibly be a role model student?”

“Well, he didn’t exactly copy off me, he was probably just looking at how to crack the shells,” you shrugged.

“He asked you to the library tomorrow, right?” Hermione recalled.

“Well, yes, but I don’t think Harry and Ron want me to go-”

“Go.”

“Wh-what?”

“This is our chance to get information on how much the Inquisitorial Squad really knows about You-Know-Who’s return. Maybe you can slip in a question or two about it.”

“I- well, okay.”

After Harry introduced you to the other D.A. members, you walked down the stairs with Hermione, because Lester and Ruth stayed behind to talk about something with Harry.

“So you drank it,” Hermione gasped.

“I didn’t! Livina came in talking about a commotion by the stairs that never happened.”

Hermione turned to you. “Oh, yeah, about that, why the blazes did she do that?”

“I don’t know,” you replied. “She said she did it for a friend. Who on Earth could that friend possibly be?”

The two of you stopped. 

Hermione looked at you. 

You looked at Hermione.

“Livina’s a Slytherin,” Hermione thought out loud.

“And Malfoy’s a Slytherin...” you trailed off.

“Could it...be?”

You stared at each other until…

“Ha! No way!” Hermione laughed.

The two of you burst out into laughter, and talked for the rest of the night, unaware of the Slytherin girl grimly eavesdropping in on the two of you.

=

Livina scrunched her nose in disgust at your conversation with Ruth. 

Her, doing something for that obnoxious Malfoy twat?

Draco was a Slytherin, yes, and so was she, but that didn’t mean they agreed on all terms. They were forced to work together because she was part of the Inquisitorial Squad, but all things considered, even her dog spoke more eloquently than him.

That was the problem of being a Slytherin, she always had a reputation to maintain.

But in reality, she loved Ravenclaws. 

She wished she had been sorted in Ravenclaw, but here pureblood mother wouldn’t settle for anything less than perfect- or rather- her idea of perfect. She knew she loved the thrill of books, and she liked a person of intelligent substance.

She liked a mind at work.

Which is why she fell in love with Lester.

Yes, dear reader, Lester Lawrence, the boy everyone knew as the biggest bookworm of his age. The boy everyone knew she teased. 

But, again, in reality, she really, really wished she could be kinder, to tell him how much he had bedazzled her with his bubbly and bright personality, but she didn’t know where to start. 

So she had settled for staring, “lightly” teasing him, and even subtly helping his friends with whatever they needed.

Earlier, she thought she had already done enough by only telling you not to drink the tea. But after she saw Lester panicking about you, and running around with a Hufflepuff girl holding onto his hand, even if it broke her heart to see someone else holding him, she decided she valued her heart over her head and took the risk of being scolded by Umbridge and her parents, and ran to Umbridge’s office to make a diversion.

Even if Umbridge was as smart as a pebble and never really knew a thing, she knew her parents would find out one way or another about her actions. She already knew the owl would come flying to her the next morning, clawing her worst nightmare as it settled down on the desk. She already knew her parents would be furious for helping a Muggle-born, and yell at her to remember her place as a pureblood. She knew they would take their quills and write out their disappointment in her for the parchment to yell in her face when she opened it.

And she already knew she would have to choose.

But she also knew she’d see Lester, happy even though she wasn’t the reason, but happy with his friends... and of course, the Hufflepuff girl.

A tear rolled down her cheek, then another, then another. Soon Livina had to brace herself against the pillars to calm her breathing, though she was already racked with sobs as she curled into a ball against the floor.

She had never wanted the world; she only wanted to give the world to the one she loved.

She would never be satisfied.

=========

Taglist: @moonliightbabes​ @slytherin-chaser​ @holybatflapexpert​

[ppaction]

Don’t Call 6-Week Abortion Bans “Heartbeat” Bills. Here’s Why.

The biased language in these bills has no basis in medicine or reality. They’re written to divert attention away from the fact that they ban abortion and hurt women.

Politicians who support six-week bans on abortion — which amount to complete bans on abortion — have hoodwinked traditional news outlets into amplifying political talking points that mask their true, harmful intentions. Among such talking points: “fetal heartbeat,” a manipulative term deployed to justify banning abortion early in pregnancy.

We call these politicians’ bills what they are: abortion bans. Read below to learn why you should, too.

How “Heartbeat” Language Misrepresents the Facts

Why do politicians and opponents of reproductive rights deploy provocative phrases such as “fetal heartbeat”? Because they evoke false images in people's minds — false images meant to make people view common and accepted health care as immoral and shameful.

In truth, the “fetal heartbeat” talking point is nonsense: misinformation intended to deceive the press and public. As gynecologist Dr. Jennifer Gunter explains, at six weeks of fetal development, there is no "heart" that beats — instead, there is detectable activity within a 4-millimeter wide growth known as a fetal pole:

“The politicians know exactly what they are doing as [the term ‘heartbeat’]  is a way of making a 4 mm thickening next to a yolk sac seem like it is almost ready to walk.”

—Dr. Jennifer Gunter

Why Politicians Want to Mislead You

Here’s why politicians manipulate public opinion with misleading terms: because they know their true agenda is deeply unpopular. Among proponents of six-week abortion bans are groups and individuals whose stated mission is to ban all abortion—even though support for Roe v. Wade and access to abortion is at a record high, with 73% of Americans in favor of protecting access to safe, legal abortion.

An ideologically extreme group called Faith2Action conjured the first six-week abortion bans in 2011. It bills itself as “the birthplace of the heartbeat bill,” and its website features model legislation for politicians to duplicate in their states.

Faith2Action is also an anti-LGBTQ hate group, founded by anti-abortion activist Janet Porter. Porter once served as legislative director at Ohio Right to Life, a group dedicated to banning access to abortion—and she subsequently led the Center for Reclaiming America, a group devoted to combating what it labeled the “radical homosexual agenda.” With full-page ads in major newspapers, Porter quoted gay people who “overcame” their sexual orientation through the dangerous, debunked practice of conversion therapy.

What to take from all this: The people behind six-week abortion bans need misleading talking points as cover for their dangerous—and unpopular—agenda.  

What Makes Misleading Anti-Abortion Language Dangerous

Writing an inaccurate phrase in legislation doesn’t convert it into a fact, or into a legitimate description of what politicians intend to do. Six-week bans block access to abortion before many women know they’re pregnant. Anti-abortion politicians’ talking points are crafted to mislead people about this basic fact.

If these laws take effect, depriving women of the constitutional right affirmed in Roe v. Wade, women will face the heartbreaking—and life-threatening—consequences of losing access to safe, legal abortion. Remember: In 1965, one out of every six women who died from pregnancy-related causes had obtained an illegal abortion—and that’s just according to official reports (doctors believe the actual number was higher).

Real Public Health Crises Ignored—or Made Worse

Some politicians pushing these six-week abortion bans have given lip service to promoting healthy pregnancies, but done nothing to confront real—and life-threatening—public health challenges that face people in their states. Maternal mortality rates across much of the United States have exceeded levels experienced in every other wealthy country — with people of color, especially Black women, dying at the highest rates. Yet anti-abortion politicians have lifted scarcely a finger to address this widespread, growing public-health crisis.

Consider the big picture in three states: Georgia, whose six-week ban awaits the governor's signature; Missouri, which has a six-week ban moving through its legislature; and Ohio, whose governor has signed a six-week ban into law.

In Georgia, maternal mortality rates rank second-worst in the country. Cardiovascular issues like cardiac arrest are a leading cause of death in childbirth. That includes a young Georgia mother named Kira, who bled for hours in the hospital before dying from cardiac arrest. The state of Georgia also has one of the highest infant mortality rates in the country. Georgia politicians have made these problems worse by refusing to expand Medicaid. The resulting funding shortfall has contributed to hospital closures in rural areas, depriving many women of color of access to maternal health care. Today, half of Georgia’s 159 counties have no obstetric providers.

In Missouri, maternal mortality rates are 50% higher than those recorded in the nation at large. Missouri also ranks among the nation’s 10 worst states for infant mortality. Experts say that a contributing cause is the state’s number of OB-GYNs per capita, which is among the lowest in the nation. A study of the country’s biggest cities, in fact, has found the most overworked OB-GYNs—those carrying the highest patient loads of areas without providers—are in St. Louis, Mo.

In Ohio, women face a triple threat: Abortion could be banned before many women know they’re pregnant, the state is “defunding” vital preventive reproductive-health care services, and President Trump’s gag rule could bar 76,000 low-income Ohioans who get preventive care like birth control through the Title X program from accessing that care at Planned Parenthood health centers.

It shouldn’t surprise you that Ohio also has among the nation’s worst maternal mortality rates, infant mortality rates, and OB-GYN shortages.

The takeaway: If politicians in these places cared about pregnant women and babies, they would work to increase access to health care.

When Do Anti-Abortion Politicians Mislead? All the Time

Politicians at the highest levels have used misleading talking points, misinformation, and outright lies about abortion and pregnancy to further their efforts to outlaw safe, legal abortion. Inflammatory language about abortion later in pregnancy, and claims of “abortion until birth,” remain part and parcel of efforts by anti-abortion politicians to shock Americans into supporting dangerous abortion bans nationwide.

Deceptive, medically unsound rhetoric about six-week abortion bans has to be examined with this track record in mind. Politicians and activists who spread these talking points have one motive: to ban abortion. They use pithy, attention-grabbing talking points in an effort to draw people — including the media, as well as everyday Americans — into giving their agenda the oxygen of amplification.

Why do anti-abortion politicians rely on such rhetorical tricks? Simple: they know their true agenda is outside the mainstream, and deeply unpopular. We’ve said it before, and will say it again: Support for Roe v. Wade and access to abortion is at a record high. In fact, 73% of Americans do not want women to lose their access to safe, legal abortion.

Abortion is also very common. Nearly one in four women in America will have an abortion in her lifetime. Every day, women across the country face the deeply personal decision of whether or not to continue their pregnancy.

Bottom Line: It’s a Ban

Don’t fall for disinformation. And don’t let the anti-abortion movement get away with hiding its agenda. Call these bills what they are: six-week abortion bans. There is no more accurate way to say it.

[arcticdementor]

You know what America needs? More mirrors for princes—the Renaissance genre of advice books directed at statesmen. On the Right, we have many books that identify, and complain about, the problems of modernity and the challenges facing us. Some of those books do offer concrete solutions, but their audience is usually either the educated masses, who cannot themselves translate those solutions into policy, or policymakers who have no actual power, or refuse to use the power they do have. Scott Yenor’s bold new book is directed at those who have the will to actually rule. He lays out what has been done to the modern family, why, and what can and should be done about it, by those who have power, now or in the future. Let’s hope the target audience pays attention.

The Recovery of Family Life instructs future princes in two steps. First, Yenor dissects the venomous ideology of feminism, which seeks to abolish all natural distinctions between the sexes, as well as all social structures that organically arise from those distinctions. Second, he tells how the family regime of a healthy modern society should be structured. By absorbing both lessons and applying them in practice, the wise statesman can, Yenor hopes, accomplish the recovery of family life. (Yenor himself does not compare his book to a mirror for princes; he’s too modest for that. But that’s what it is.)

…

You will note that this is a spicy set of positions for an academic of today to hold. You will therefore not be surprised to learn that Yenor was the target of cancel culture before being a target was cool. He is a professor of political philosophy at Boise State University, and in 2016, in response to Yenor’s publication of two pieces containing, to normal people, anodyne factual statements about men and women, a mob of leftist students tried to defenestrate him. Yenor was “homophobic, transphobic, and misogynistic.” (We can ignore that the first two of those words are mostly content-free propaganda terms designed to blur discourse, though certainly to the extent they do have meaning, that meaning should be celebrated—I would have given Yenor a medal, if I had been in charge of Boise State.) They didn’t manage to get him fired (he has tenure and refused to bend), but the usual baying mob, led by Yenor’s supposed peers, put enormous pressure on him, which could not have been easy. He still teaches there; whether it is fun for him, I do not know, but it certainly hasn’t stopped him promulgating the truth.

…

Yenor begins by examining the intellectual origins of the rolling revolution, found most clearly within twentieth-century feminism. One service Yenor provides is to draw the battle lines clearly. He does this by swimming in the fetid swamps of feminism; I learned a lot I did not know, although none of it was pleasing. He spends a little time discussing so-called first-wave feminism, but much more on second-wave feminists, starting with Simone de Beauvoir, through Betty Friedan, and into Shulamith Firestone, this latter a literally insane harridan who starved herself to death. The common thread among these writers was their baseless claim that women had no inherent meaningful difference from men, and that women could only be happy by the abolition of any perceived difference. This was to lead to self-focused self-actualization resulting in total autonomy, and a woman would know she had achieved this, most often, by making working outside the home the focus of her existence. Friedan was the great popularizer of this destructive message, of course, which I recently attacked at length in my thoughts on her book The Feminine Mystique.

…

After this detailed examination of core feminist ideas, Yenor suffers more, slogging through the thought about autonomy of various two-bit modern con men, notably Ronald Dworkin and John Rawls. He analyzes the dishonest argumentative methods of all the Left, in general and in specific with regard to family topics—false claims mixed with false dichotomies and false comparisons, what he calls the “liberal wringer,” the mechanism by which any argument against the rolling revolution is dishonestly deconstructed and all engagement with it avoided. The lesson for princes, I think, is to not participate in such arguments, and to remember what our enemies long ago learned and put into practice—that power is all.

Yenor describes how the modern Left (which he somewhat confusingly calls “liberalism,” but Rawls and his ilk are not liberal in any meaningful sense of the term, rather they are Left) uses the law to achieve its goal of the “pure relationship,” meaning the aim that all relationships must be ones of free continuous choice, that is, without any supposed repression. This leads to various destructive results when it collides with reality, including the reality of parent-child bonds, and more generally is hugely destructive of social cohesion. From this also flow various deleterious consequences resulting from ending supposed sexual repression; this section is replete with analysis of writings from Michel Foucault to Aldous Huxley, and contains much complexity, but in short revolves around what was once a commonplace—true freedom is not release from constraints, but the freedom to choose rightly, to choose virtue and not to be a slave to passions, and rejection of this truth is the basis of many of our modern problems.

…

Finally, Yenor turns to what should be done, which is the most noteworthy part of the book. As he says, “Intellectuals who defend the family rightly spend much time exposing blind spots in the contemporary ideology. All this time spent in the defensive crouch, however, distracts them from thinking through where these limits [i.e., the limits Yenor has just outlined in detail] point in our particular time and place. Seeing the goodness in those limits, it is necessary also to reconstruct a public opinion and a public policy that appreciates those limits.” Thus, Yenor strives to show what a “better family policy” would be.

This is an admirable effort, but I fear it is caught on the horns of a dilemma. The rolling revolution does not permit any stopping or slowing; much less does it permit any retrenchment or reversal. Our enemies don’t care what we think a better family policy would be. And if we were to gain the power to implement a better family policy, by first smashing their power, there is no reason for it to be as modest as that Yenor outlines—rather, it should be radical, an utter unwinding of the nasty web they have woven, and the creation of a new thing. Not a restoration, precisely, but a new thing for our time, informed by the timeless Old Wisdom that Yenor extols. The defect in Yenor’s thought, or at least in his writing, is refusing to acknowledge it is only power that matters for the topics about which he cares most. But presumably the future princes at whom this book is aimed will know this in their bones.

Yenor himself doesn’t exactly exude optimism. Nor does he exude pessimism, but he begins by telling us that “we are still only in the infancy” of the rolling revolution. This seems wrong to me; in the modern age, time is compressed, and fifty years is plenty of time for the rolling revolution, a set of ideologies based on the denial of reality, to reach its inevitable senescence, when reality reasserts itself with vigor. This is particularly true since every new front opened by the revolution is more anti-reality, more destructive, and more revolting to normal people, who eventually will have had enough, and the sooner, if given the right leadership.

…

For most purposes, what Yenor advocates would be a restoration of family policy, both in law and society, as it existed in America in the mid-twentieth century. I’m not sure that’s going back far enough for ideas. You’re not supposed to say it out loud, and Yenor doesn’t, but it’s not at all clear to me that even first-wave feminism had any virtue at all. To the extent it is substantively discussed today, we are given a caricature, where the views of those opposed to Mary Wollstonecraft or John Stuart Mill are not told to us, rather distorted polemics of those authors about their opponents are presented as accurate depictions, which is unlikely, and even those depictions are never engaged with. But we know that most of what Mill said about politics in general was self-dealing lies that have proven to be enormously destructive, so the presumption should be that what he said about relations between men and women was equally risible.

…

Penultimately, Yenor addresses such new frontiers being sought by the rolling revolution, with the implication that the rolling revolution might, perhaps, be halted. Here he talks about the desire of the Left to have the state separate children from parents, particularly where and because the parents oppose the revolution, but more generally to break the parent-child bond as a threat to unlimited autonomy. He says, optimistically, “No respectable person has (yet) suggested that parents could be turned in for hate speech behind closed doors.” But this has already been proven false; Scotland is on the verge of passing a new blasphemy law, the “Hate Crime and Public Order Law,” and Scotland’s so-called Justice Minister (with the very Scots name of Humza Yousaf) has explicitly noted, and called for, entirely private conversations in the home that were “hate speech” to be prosecuted once the law is passed. A man like that is beyond secular redemption, yet he is also a mainline representative of the rolling revolution. The reality is that discussion does not, and will never work, with these people, only force. Still trying, Yenor presents a balanced picture to his hoped-for audience of princes, such as discussing when state interference in the family makes sense (as in cases of abuse). However, such situations have been adequately addressed in law for hundreds of years; the rolling revolution is not a new type of such balancing, but the Enemy. Discussions about it will not stop it. No general of the rolling revolution will even notice this book, except in that perhaps some myrmidons may be detached from the main host to punish Yenor, or to record his name for future punishment.

Yenor ends with a pithy set of responses to the tedious propagandistic aphorisms of the rolling revolution, such as “Feminism is the radical notion that women are human beings.” And, laying out a clear vision of a renewed society based on the principals he has earlier discussed, he tells us, “In the long term, the goal is to stigmatize the assumptions of the rolling revolution.” No doubt this is true; cauterizing the societal wound where the rolling revolution will have been amputated from our society will be, in part, accomplished by stigmatizing both the ideas and those who clamored for them or led their implementation. How to get to that desirable “long term,” though, when their long term is very clear, and very different from the long term Yenor hopes for? He says “Prudent statesmen must mix our dominant regime with doses of reality.” Yeah, no. Prudent statesmen, the new princes, must entirely overthrow our dominant regime, or not only will not a single one of Yenor’s desired outcomes see the light of day, far worse evils will be imposed on us. Oh, I’m sure Yenor knows this; it’s the necessary conclusion of Yenor’s own discussion of those eagerly desired future evils. He just can’t be as aggressive as me. I’m here to tell you that you should read this book, but amp up the aggression a good eight times—which shouldn’t be a problem, especially if you have children of your own, whose innocence and future these people want to steal.

[marshmallowgoop]

Brand New Animal...

So, the last few episodes of BNA: Brand New Animal dropped on Netflix Japan last week. I was initially really hyped for this anime—I devoted several hours of my life to translating and summarizing the Winter 2020 Otomedia interview concerning it—so I intended to write a lot more about the series, especially upon a wider release.

But having now seen every episode, this is another Kiznaiver and Darling in the Franxx for me. There’s a lot of potential, and I was incredibly invested at the start, but the narrative quickly goes directions and makes decisions that don’t sit well with me at all.

For those interested in BNA, my (mostly?) spoiler-free opinion is that it’s visually beautiful (especially in regards to its colors), but the story feels scattered, and there’s so little time devoted to positive interactions among the leads that their friendships fall flat. Further, speaking as a very character-oriented person, I finished this anime annoyed at the entire main cast. Their growth comes across as dissatisfying and undeserved.

Of course, it is more than worth noting that my understanding of Brand New Animal is indeed limited at this point; I don’t have much of a grasp on Japanese, there are no official English translations yet, and I watched with Japanese subtitles. (At least until episode 12. While there are thankfully subtitles available now, there weren’t when I watched, which is a huge disappointment in terms of accessibility.)

I recognize that my feelings may very well change if I have a better sense of everything that’s being said. But given what I do know, I—at least at the moment—have no desire to rewatch this series. I’m always open to requests to talk about BNA, but I don’t think I’ll be blogging much about it otherwise.

All that said, I do want to share some spoiler thoughts under the cut. As my sister noted, I am “very upset about this furry anime.”

First things first: I cannot stand Nazuna. I’m sorry. I think it’d probably be too much to say that she soured the whole show for me, but she definitely comes close.

Now, I got a (minor) degree in Women, Gender, and Sexuality Studies, so, yes, I can’t help but wonder if my strong negative feelings are related to sexism. Would I feel so strongly if there were a man in Nazuna’s place? There’s been a lot of investigating myself these last few days, let me tell you.

Still, I can’t say I know the answers. But I do have some Thoughts that are maybe best illustrated with another anime I’ve started watching lately: My Hero Academia.

Do note that I’m only on Season 2, but there are also characters I strongly dislike so far in My Hero—characters who are arguably much worse than Nazuna, as far as their actions and behavior go. Bakugo is an angry, abusive bully, while Mineta sexually harasses women. I hate both of them, but—especially regarding Bakugo—it’s a different kind of hate than what I feel for Nazuna.

Why? Well, I won’t deny the possibility that sexism plays a role, but there’s also a profound difference in how these characters are treated by their stories. Bakugo initially gets away with his bad attitude, but upon coming to high school, he’s a pariah. He’s called out for being a jerk, time and time again. Mineta, similarly, is not adored for his actions. These aren’t nice dudes, and the narrative makes this point clear. Regarding Bakugo, I hate him, but it’s not exactly a bad kind of hate. Because I hate him, I’m rooting even harder for Deku to prove him wrong.

But what about Nazuna? She pretends to be another culture’s god, but much of BNA seems dedicated to treating her as a poor victim who was manipulated into manipulating others and needs to be rescued. While Nazuna’s situation is indeed a frightening one that I don’t at all intend to make light of, episode 6 makes abundantly clear that this girl adores masquerading as a goddess and fails to see any moral problem in tricking thousands of people into believing that she’s their savior.

And that, to me, is absolutely horrendous. Nazuna is not in kindergarten. She is not a small child still in the preoperational stage of development. She is an older teenager. I find it disconcerting to paint her as someone in a rough place who was simply desperate for love when she pointedly relishes her false godhood because it makes her feel like an idol. That is so unbelievably gross and disrespectful.

Of course, Nazuna truly doesn’t see what she’s doing as wrong, and I recognize that she is young. In the end, as I hope the Bakugo example highlights, my issues are really less about Nazuna herself and more about how she’s written and depicted. Just as there’s nothing inherently despicable about portraying a smug, selfish teenage boy in a cartoon, there’s nothing inherently despicable about portraying a smug, selfish teenage girl in another cartoon. But while Deku and Bakugo were also past friends just as Michiru and Nazuna, Deku never defends Bakugo’s awful behavior as Michiru does for Nazuna.

And that bothers me. Michiru—our protagonist and so the person viewers are pushed to empathize most with—never really seems to grasp just how disgusting Nazuna’s actions are. More importantly, neither does Nazuna herself. She’s instantly forgiven, and her dream comes true seemingly without any apology or understanding of wrong whatsoever.

Brand New Animal is filled to the brim with social commentary, but one message that stood out to me actually has nothing to do with the human/animal-human conflict. It’s instead that this cute girl never has to face the consequences of her actions because she’s cute.

I know, I know. This is some pretty over-the-top negativity. But I was so excited for this series. Especially considering the ending conflict around being “mixed” and “purebred,” I felt like BNA was an opportunity for writer Kazuki Nakashima to more thoroughly explore concepts he wanted to examine in Kill la Kill but didn’t because a talking outfit just ain’t gonna garner the same amount of sympathy as cute animal-humans. With my recent(ish) Wolf Children posting in mind, I also love that Brand New Animal ultimately pushes for diversity instead of away from it as I feel that film does, even if there are some... unfortunate implications along the way (that I don’t know if I’m personally capable of analyzing).

But 12 episodes simply couldn’t do this show justice. I’m supposed to care for a girl who calls being an animal-human a “disease” and never seems to really reconcile with how messed up that is? I’m supposed to care for a man who dismembers others in the name of “honor” and never seems to really reconcile with how messed up that is? I’m supposed to hope that two friends/lovers get back together when one is rude and dismissive towards the other for the majority of the show, and the other idolizes her and overlooks her truly terrible misdeeds?

Maybe I just don’t get it. Maybe I missed something (or a lot of things). But there is so much here that gets resolved too quickly or never receives the full exploration it deserves. As I said in the start, characters fall flat, their friendships fall flatter, and any good themes or messages that I do recognize in the series hardly impact me because the rushed development of the players soured my positive feelings for them.

I would have loved to see Michiru acknowledge that she’s in love with someone who does bad things. I would have loved a heart-to-heart where she admits this to Shirou, where he then admits that in his long life, there have been times when he’s been in the same boat. I would have loved to see Nazuna truly question her actions, where her declaration that she’s Nazuna instead of a cult leader actually means something because she’s recognized that she’s been wrong and is ready to be loved for herself, not someone she’s not. I would have loved to see a moment where Michiru expresses to Shirou that he shouldn’t control his violent tendencies for her approval but because it’s simply the right thing to do. The list goes on and on.

At the end of the day, I can admit my own garbage tastes. Bakugo is apparently the most popular My Hero character, and I don’t think I’ve seen anyone else express such a harsh opinion regarding Nazuna’s portrayal in BNA. Episode 5 of the show (with the baseball) seems to be its most adored entry, but I thought little of it. My favorite things in anime—and what I’m specifically looking forward to in Studio Trigger anime—are maybe anomalies.

But, gosh. I really wanted to love this.

[douchebagbrainwaves]

HIGH-RISK

We would at most have said that one could be a bit smarter to dominate Internet search than you had to do was sit and look attentive. You get to watch behind the scenes what an enormous amount of work that are purer, in the long term, which do you think most will choose? To anyone who has read any amount of history, there seem to have looked far for ideas.1 Being able to take risks is hugely valuable. But evidence suggests most things with titles like this are linkbait. They hear stories about stampedes to invest in you, that makes other investors want to, and I remember well the strange, cozy feeling that comes over one during meetings. But it would be to shirk it, but regardless it's certainly constraining. If you want to put their name on.

What was novel about yuppies was that they wanted market price for the work they do. In practice they spend a lot of arguments with anti-yellowists seem to be created deliberately. It became possible to make lots of new things, and we needed to buy time to fix it. Often users have second thoughts and delete such comments. Mapmakers deliberately put slight mistakes in their maps so they can tell when someone copies them.2 Note too that determination and talent are not the biggest threat. Performance is always the ultimate test, but there are problems it doesn't work so well for: the kind where it helps to have everything in one head.

Of our current concept of an organization, at least for programmers. It's tantalizing to think we believe things that will later seem ridiculous, I want to examine its internal structure. It may work, but it didn't seem like a real company. I don't see why one couldn't, by a similar process, learn to recognize the approach of an ending, and when one appears, grab it.3 So my theory about what's going on is that the only thing to interest someone arriving at HN for the first time should be the m. The way people act is just as hosed as Munich. The biggest component in most investors' opinion of you is the opinion of other investors. If you understand them, you can create wealth very rapidly. Well, that is all too obvious. And since good people like good colleagues, that means you've probably done something good.

They're good at solving problems, but bad at choosing them. Nothing will explain what your site is about. Few adults aspired to look dangerous in 1950. I see starting to get standardized is acquisitions. At the moment, even the smartest students leave school thinking they have to introduce something new: bosses. The real problem is that humans weren't meant to work in groups of several hundred.4 One thing all startups have in common is that they're telling the truth. People. Some parts of a program may be easiest to read if you spread things out, like an antique store.5 The problem is so widespread that people pretending to be eminent do it by accident.6

I wouldn't have predicted the frontpage would hold up so well, and more about what they'd see, and more importantly, can't take liberties with. If investors were perfect judges, the two would require exactly the same work, except with bosses. But this harmless type of lie can turn sour if left unexamined. What about angels? I talked recently to a founder whose startup had been acquired by a big company. Kerry were so similar in that respect that they might have been brothers. You needed to take care of you.7 But only a bit: willfulness, discipline, and ambition are all concepts almost as complicated as determination. This can only happen in a very limited way in a list of articles that are interesting. Not explicitly, of course, but I can't believe we've considered every alternative. The only place to look is where the spread of computing power. The good news is, choosing problems is something that can be learned.

Suppose you realize there is nothing new in it. The political commentators who come up with shifts to the left, or the painter who can't afford to heat his studio and thus has to wear a beret indoors. Normal food is terribly bad for you. Business still reflects an older model, exemplified by the French, did much of his thinking in Holland. Sorry about that. You needed to take care of the company so it could take care of the company so it could take care of you. The ambitious had little choice but to join large organizations that made them march in step with lots of graffiti and broken windows becomes one where robberies occur. Why do great ideas come from them, even if few do per capita. Certainly they'll learn more. But if it's inborn it should be a good one for beginning writers.

Visiting Sand Hill Road reminds you that the opposite of down and dirty would be up and clean. When I grew up there were only 2 or 3 of most things, precisely because it's open source; anyone can find mistakes. This leads to the phenomenon known in the Valley as the hot deal, where you write a version 1 very quickly and then gradually modify it, but whether it brings any advantage at all. When it reaches a certain concentration, it kills off the yeast that produced it. That word is not much used now, because the links do. There are two big forces intersect, in the long term, which do you think most will choose? And since we're assuming we're doing this without being able to siphon off what had till recently been the prerogative of the elite. They can work on projects with an intensity in both senses that few insiders can match.

Notes

Something similar happens with suburbs. So 80 years sounds to him like 2400 years would to us that we wrote in order to switch. The way to see. When I talk about it as if it was because he writes about controversial things.

Common Lisp, because it depends on a form you forgot to fill out can be huge. I now believe that successful startups.

Everyone else was talking about why people dislike Michael Arrington. MITE Corp. Parents move to suburbs to raise five million dollars is no longer written in Lisp, which can make better chairs or knives, crucibles or church organs, than to confuse everyone with a clear upward trend.

The Socialist People's Democratic Republic of X is probably the early adopters you evolve the idea of happiness from many older societies.

That name got assigned to it because the test for what she has done, at least for those founders.

There are two ways to get the rankings they want you. One year at Startup School David Heinemeier Hansson encouraged programmers who wanted to invest but tried to pay employees this way.

Once he showed it could become a so-called signalling risk is also not a big VC firm or they see of piracy is simply what they campaign for. In 1525 he was exaggerating. Super-angels hate to match.

Thanks to Jessica Livingston, Matt Cohler, Trevor Blackwell, Patrick Collison, and Sam Steingold for the lulz.

[life-observed]

The Real Reason Why Couples Break Up

When people try to account for why couples break up, the emphasis typically falls on the idea of difference:  a disorganised creative type was up against a highly managerial ordered one; one of them liked hill walking, the other hated the outdoors. Someone was gregarious, someone else loathed parties. No wonder – it seems – they had to split.

This method of explanation is underpinned by an implicit and hugely dominant theory of love which goes as follows: the reason why couples function is similarity; what tears them apart is difference. We get an inkling of just how widespread this theory might be when we consider the operations of modern dating sites. In their wish to help us find what they term the ‘right’ person, they scour their databases in order to try to match us with a creature who will most exactly share the greatest number of our tastes, interests and attitudes. The smaller the differences – so the theory goes – the more likely the relationship is to work.

However plausible this might sound, it skirts a fundamental truth about love which we ignore at enormous cost: no couple ever breaks up because of the differences between them. They break up because one of them is fed up of not being heard. A couple might disagree on a thousand things – from the optimal frequency of sex to what kind of social life to lead – and still stay together, while another might be similar in almost every area, but be torn apart by a vicious sense that their competing realities were not being recognised.

What ultimately counts for the success of love is not whether or not there are differences, but how whatever differences there happen to be are handled; whether with curiosity, a willingness to change, mutual forgiveness and modesty – or whether (in the doomed cases) with defensiveness, rigidity and entrenchment.

We know that compatibility can’t be the basis of lasting love because, by its logic, it invariably ends up escalating absurdly. Two people who like reading, crosswords, northern Italian cooking, ice hockey and the music of Joni Mitchell might at first fall passionately in love, but gradually grow cross with one another as they learn that one is sympathetic to ballroom dancing while the other has an occasional wish to think about archaeology. Or one is interested in ragu, while the other favours casseroles and pies. The temptation is to resolve such frictions by abandoning all divergent partners and refining our search criteria ever more tightly. But this only forces us to seek out implausible degrees of alignment. We may end up searching for a partner who is keen on fly-fishing and the novels of John le Carrè but doesn’t like salted butter and is good at shutting cupboard doors, or someone who loves going camping in North Cornwall in September but who is interested in the Liberal Party (yet is also an enthusiast of tactical voting). However, of course, two such well-matched people could easily come to blows over the colour of the bedroom curtains, children’s names, the use of napkins, or the ethics of fracking.

Pre-existing compatibility can only ever get us so far. At some point, inevitably, even the best matched partner will in some way emerge as unlike us in some way. What then matters is how the mismatch is handled. One kind of response is deeply romantic, and almost aphrodisiacal in quality; the other, deeply disappointing and over time plain insufferable.

This is what we need to hear above all when a conflicting perspective rears its head: I hear you; I understand what you’re saying, I am going to think about that, perhaps I will need to change. In other words, we need to feel that our point of difference has been witnessed and, to a degree, respected. The partner may not accept our position or observation entirely, but they can see where we are coming from and are committed to examining our stance – because they know that it matters to us, and they fundamentally respect our existence. They don’t rush to take every uncomfortable issue off the table. In relation to gently worded complaints or criticisms, they do not immediately deny our remarks and grow enraged. They don’t turn around and tell us that a problem lies entirely with us, that we’re being deliberately mean, that we’re the odd one out not them – and why are we complaining anyway when they’ve had such a hard day and this is the last straw. They strive not to take immediate offence, get stern or fall apart. They are at moments alive to the idea that they may need to change or evolve. They don’t expect to be loved exactly for who they are right now; and they respect that – of all the people in the world – their partner probably has a fairly accurate grasp of key aspects of their psychology that they might need to focus on.

On the other hand, what gradually destroys love in the long-term, even in the case of the most apparently well-matched couples, is the opposite of the above: an attitude of defensive pride, a shutting of the ears, a refusal to countenance that the partner may be trying to say something of desperate importance and has the right to be heard with a certain good will and tolerance.

It’s not the frustration that kills, it’s how it’s heard – or not. One could imagine a couple with a highly dysfunctional sex life, but one which was nevertheless handled with such skill by both parties that it would never be the cause of a break up. This couple might have made love only once in the last five years and yet be so committed to exploring why, to explaining their feelings and taking the other’s view on board that the apparently grave mismatch would have no power whatever to shake the foundations of their union.

The single greatest explanation for all divorces is, in the end, defensiveness, the inability to listen with grace to what another person is telling us without resorting to stubborn pride and denial. There are no sexual problems too grave that they ever make it too hard to stay; there are no differences in social attitudes or interior design tastes too severe to doom a love affair. There are only ever terrible ways for our frustrations to be heard. The lover we desperately need isn’t the person who shares our every taste and interest; it’s the kindly soul who has learnt to negotiate differences in taste without defensiveness or impatience.

[anangelicday-mrwolf]

Wolfsbane : Noblesse Fanfic (post-ending)

(previous chapter)

Chapter 14 – From This Point and On

D-day: it is a term coined from the landings performed by the Allied at Normandy, which lay in hands of Nazi Germany during the Second World War.

There are several historical debates concerning the accurate representation of “D.” The most commonly supported argument nowadays is that “D-day” is an acronym for “Day-Day,” and the former “day” is believed to be a temporary connotation of the date of the landings, which was unsettled at the time.

Simply put, “D-day” was named for “the day unknown,” in a way. Which is ironic, considering the fact that by the 21st century this term has come to denote a specific date of an event or operation.

On the other hand, had Rael known the origin of “D-day,” he would have thought that it could not be any more perfect for his situation. Because even though it was the D-day for him, he had no idea whether he could depart for Lukedonia.

At the same time, however, now kind of familiar with the human called Yuhyung Jang, he really did not care.

He did not care that the researcher did not show up on time for an hour, as long as he could leave by the end of the day.

And Rael could swear he took care in making himself sound not too irritated with the delay, but the KSA agent leading him to the lab was sweating his glands off trying to appease him.

“P-please don’t worry, sir! I’ll teach him a lesson as soon as we find him!”

Rael already told him a number of times he needed not to fret, to no avail. Then again, the director and the doctor, the most authoritative personnel in KSA, and Yeonsu and Sangin, the most influential agents of KSA, looked more than ready to bark like a dog or jump off the building, if only Rael had said the word.

So Rael was not surprised to see lesser employees, including his guide, acting like a bunch of scaredy-cats.

Hence Rael gave up on relieving his guide of his anxiety by the time they reached Yuhyung’s lab, which was sealed by a wooden door fit into the frame as a provisional boundary, perhaps because Yeonsu made the original door useless with a kick.

“Hey! Yuhyung! You in there?!”

The agent pounded the door, and they were met with a crashing sound within, something to be heard from a demolition site.

“What on earth is keeping you there for an hour?!”

“S-sorry! Sorry! It’s just that...”

“Well, hurry up! You’re late...!!”

“N-no! Don’t open the door! Please, don’t!!”

Yuhyung freaked and yelled, while Rael spied something through the opening of the wooden board.

‘A smoke? Is there fire again?’

He was about to warn the agent, when the latter jerked open the door and screamed at Yuhyung demanding to tell them what kind of trouble he brewed this time. He thereby allowed the misty body flickering inside the lab to spill out to the corridor.

Rael was unfazed by the déjà vu of his previous visit to Yuhyung’s lab. He was only interested in what had happened to the owner of the lab.

‘It doesn’t smell like something burned... But I wouldn’t dub it as an ordinary smoke. What is this smell...?’

The blonde noble was about to step into the room to inspect better, when the agent next to him blocked his mouth with his hand. At the same time his knees gave out, and the man promptly collapsed.

“Agent Jung!”

Just then Yuhyung, with his nasal area protected with a thick piece of cloth, bolted out of the lab and examined the fallen agent. As soon as he recognized Rael, who was also wearing alarmed eyes, he literally groveled before him.

“P-please! I need your help!!! W-we must not let this gas spread through the building!”

Rael’s composure kicked in upon the man’s plea, and he lunged towards the chamber. He shut the door and surveyed his surroundings to find out where the smoke was coming from – under Yuhyung’s desk.

Or rather, from the center of a mass of shattered glasses scattered about the leg of his desk.

When he had to take advantage of Frankenstein’s lab in the past, Rael collected enough scientific knowledge and experimental tips to realize exactly what he would need in this situation. The noble fervently rolled his eyes, which soon landed on a round-bottom flask labeled “neutralizer.” Sparing no second, he snatched the utensil and catapulted it.

He swiftly maneuvered his body so he would be safely away from the smoke even before the chemical would hit the glasses, and instantly even thicker smoke blasted through air, with a sound of an acid scorching the surface of a metal.

However, the phenomenon was short-lived, as the first smoke blended with the new smoke and grew faint in color and stench. Rael waited for the original smell to dissipate completely until he unfastened the door.

“T-thank you so much! That’s right... The neutralizer. How could I forget? I was so stupid. I was...”

“So startled you missed it. Which is natural. Totally understandable. By the way, what was that gas?”

Yuhyung’s face turned melancholy, distressed, while Rael took the agent to a nearby cot, still unconscious.

“This gas was one of the secret weapons we were developing against the Union. Or rather, it was one of the weapons we were developing against modified humans. What we had in mind was a weapon that can subjugate modified humans.”

“You mean only modified humans?”

“That’s right. When humans go through body modification, their genes naturally go through man-made genetic mutations, which create unnatural biochemical molecules to last permanently in their genetic make-up. So we figured if we come up with a weapon that reacts exclusively to such molecules, we will be able to arm ourselves with a weapon that works solely on our enemies AND prove devastating against the Union. I was in the lead of the project concerning this gas.”

A weapon that makes a lethal chemical reaction with physical traits unique to the modified humans – it sounded more than efficient to Rael. Which in turn made him question how come KSA has been keeping it secret even now. And how come the researcher seemed so disappointed when he should be practically stabbing the air with his nose in pride for such a breakthrough of weaponry.

Yuhyung opened his mouth in reply, which punctually rid Rael of his questions.

“But we were met with a problem. With our current technology and resources, it was impossible for us to adjust the effectiveness of the gas while keeping the Union’s radar quiet. In the end, this gas became a blackout tranquilizer that takes effect on modified humans and ordinary humans – a huge waste of our time and money and effort.”

Yuhyung turned his head towards the spot where the gas used to rise, his pupils dense with dejection and mixture of affection and hatred.

“So I decided to destroy it, after saving a sample of it in case we would need it in the future as a reference. And I was trying to make the bottle more airtight just before you arrived, so... Yeah. Uh, but I’m not blaming you! Not at all! This is all because I was clumsy.”

“...Does our upcoming trip have anything to do with your nervousness...?”

“Uhm... It’s true that I got less sleep than usual last night, but... Uh, but that doesn’t mean I blame you for this! I will never do that!!!”

Rael waved his head ever-so-slightly before he clogged his voice box. After all, his priority was not shaping his conversation with Yuhyung into an actual conversation. They were supposed to drop by the director’s office one last time before they moved on their way.

Still, Rael could not help peeking at the man as they walked towards their destination.

‘Frantic but certainly gifted in research. In other words, a puzzle of a human being.’

Now that he learned about this so-called supposed special weapon against the Union, he had even come to admire Yuhyung.

He was aware that “keeping the Union’s radar quiet” did not simply mean keeping the Union in the dark regarding this gas.

‘In addition to keeping this gas secret, these people would have had to downgrade their technology on the surface, to make KSA technology appear like a firefly in the face of a sun in comparison to Union technology. So that even if Union gets to take a look at their technology, those monsters wouldn’t notice that KSA has been trying their hands on studies and experiments on body modification behind their backs.’

Even with limited resources and technology aside, the fact that this man managed to develop such a pioneering weapon to near completion under the invisible eyes proves how talented he is as a developer.

‘Not to mention KSA’s technology on body modification would be at least a century behind that of the Union. Not that KSA must have been slacking off with their lab progress, but its technology in the essence would be no more than imitation of Union technology, thus obviously lacking in precision and quality. But this guy designed what could have been a masterpiece with inadequate resources, mimicry of technology, and progress that would not draw Union’s attention.’

What could have happened if this human received his salary not from KSA but from Union? What if this researcher decided to antagonize nobles or werewolves?

‘I’d hate to even imagine what could have happened.’

Joyful for the very first time that he was not an opponent to an ordinary human, instead of a supernatural fighter or a modified human, Rael glanced at Yuhyung with veneration.

In other words, noblekind and wolfkind have earned a superbly deft ally.

Which is why Rael’s footsteps had grown much more steadfast on his way out of the director’s office.

‘Now it’s all up to me. As long as I do my job correctly, this project will be a success. And Lukedonia and werewolves would get to boast tighter alliance and security and accelerate their recoveries. And the Kertia advisory patriarchs would hopefully acknowledge me. So I will do a good job. I must.’

Feeling his anxiety stirring, Rael calmed himself.

‘A lot of things will change from this point and on.’

*****

Meanwhile, Frankenstein’s Lab

“...Beg your pardon?”

Frankenstein retorted at his visitor, apparently unhappy that she must repeat herself, as suggested by her pursed lips.

“Where is the 3rd Elder?”

Frankenstein could tell that this was not a social or friendly visit, for Lunark was donning a face of a child whose mother verbally offered some broccolis.

“Mind if I ask you why you need to see him?”

As soon as he asked, Lunark’s grimace thickened. Now she looked like a child whose mother shoved broccolis into her face.

“Mind if I ask you why you need to know?”

Lunark replied, somehow making herself sound like she had her teeth clenched tight despite her wide-open mouth.

“I asked you first.”

“I asked you before you.”

“You sound like there’s a reason you can’t tell me.”

“You sound like there’s a reason you can’t show him to me.”

“Can’t you just let me know why?”

“Can’t you just let me see him?”

The banter between two gorgeous man and woman was interrupted by a third person who was not altogether unrelated to their conversation.

“No need to tire yourselves with a potential argument. I’m right here.”

The 3rd Elder joined the lab, separating a towel from his half-dry hair.

“To what do I owe the pleasure of your visit, Lady Lunark?”

Lunark turned her hesitant eyes to Frankenstein. He met her straight in the eyes, questioning if she were staring at the right person.

“There’s nothing that Frankenstein cannot listen among the things that are meant for me. There shouldn’t be anything that he can’t listen.”

The 3rd Elder so very kindly explained, and Lunark signaled her acquiescence with a sigh.

“Recently, I have been in lead of my kind’s search squad, made up of warriors in order to track down Union facilities. And we picked up a couple locations. But there is a problem – or problems.”

“And what would they be...?”

“First, the facilities we found were already shut down. Second, those facilities belonged to Crombell.”

“Crombell? Are you sure?”

“Yeah. And don’t ask me how we figured that out; that’s the least of your concerns. Those facilities were wiped out so clean we couldn’t fathom anything about the ones that preceded us – whether they are male or female, or single or multiple. But curiously, they left the security camera footages intact, albeit tampered and therefore unhelpful.”

“Perhaps the ones who did the shutdown felt no need to delete them, with the footages already tampered beyond repair.”

“Probably. Frankenstein, has your gang ever taken a field trip overseas for their shutdown operation...?”

“No. For now they’re working in joint with KSA only in Korea, within its shoreline. They haven’t even been to Jeju Island.”

Lunark nodded, having expected such an answer. She focused her eyes at 3rd Elder, devoid of contempt for once.

“Well? Does this ring a bell for you?”

“...It’s hard for me to say exactly who this could be. But I think I can come up with a list of candidates behind this, if you want me to.”

“You think you can finish it in two days?”

“I’ll do that. Which is why I’d like to be excused. There’s not even a second to waste.”

The 3rd Elder turned his feet, his loose hair generating a faint whistle of a wind. Frankenstein started talking only after his sounds vanished impeccably, Lunark not even looking at him.

“Did Ignes’s data include locations of Crombell’s facilities?”

“...Yeah. Guess she undertook espionage on Crombell while devising defense against him.”

Soon afterwards Lunark sighed, still not looking at him.

“Sorry for being so biting back there. I wanted to speak to him in private if possible.”

“And why is that?”

“I figured you’d sprint outside as soon as I tell you about this. You know, so you can look into it yourself. I didn’t want to add more to your shoulders when you’re already carrying a weight worth a continent.”

“...I can’t deny that it’s most convenient for me to handle everything myself. But for now, I’m anchored to this place. So I have no intention to do that. Or rather, I’ve no time to spare for that. I’m starting to wonder how much of a busybody you take me for.”

“Busybody? I’ve never considered you a...”

Lunark rapidly rotated her head, as if complaining to him that is the most preposterous accusation she has ever heard. However, she realized how sharp her voice had become and took a deep breath.

“Anyways, sorry for barging in. I’ll be back in two days.”

Lunark turned towards the door without haste, only to glance back after a few steps.

“You do realize you’re the one who’s making me a busybody these days, don’t you? You’d better not keep me concerned about you.”

Frankenstein could not budge even after she was gone.

‘She’s concerned about me?’

In response, Frankenstein’s heart started to twist and turn, like a pair of socks in a dryer set to high.

When she did not tell him the purpose of her visit at first, he was oddly disappointed. Because with their entire history with Union taken into account, and simply with their relations taken into account, he anticipated her to glare at 3rd Elder, not him.

And when she later apologized on the matter, he was reassured. Reassured to find out that she was being considerate in her own way. Seemingly she is still being considerate for him.

Frankenstein then noted he was much more reassured than he is supposed to be and bit his lips.

‘Snap out of it, Frankenstein. This is no time for you to let that woman sway your feelings.’

Frankenstein scattered his hair, reprimanding his heart for not being itself whenever it is concerned with Lunark.

‘I need to get a grip on myself. Though I’m not sure why she keeps getting on my nerves after all this time... I really need to get a grip.’

The QuadraNet project will come to life, starting with Lukedonia, with help from nobles, werewolves, KSA, and his family in Korea. On the other hand, more than a handful of people are working their heads off to cleanse the world of the Union, especially Crombell. Therefore, it is best for him to focus on nothing but finding a solution to his new secret that not even Raizel is knowledgeable of.

‘A hoard of things will change from this point and on. I need to focus.’

*****

As for 3rd Elder, he was composing in his bedroom a rough draft of the list he promised to Lunark. Nevertheless, he knew this list would be meaningless. He was certain he knew the one Lunark was looking for, by 80% accuracy.

The fact that footages from security cameras, albeit tampered, were lingering at the scenes was more than enough to teach him who did it.

‘This is definitely her style with the job. But why? Why would she do that? I thought she was also one of Crombell’s assassins.’

Soon his brain yielded two most likely options.

‘Either she chose the extremity of eradicating everything about her commander so that no one would acquire a thing about him... Or she chose anti-Crombell propaganda now that he is gone. Though that leaves a question of whether there is someone she is serving if the latter is the case.’

He had input Helga’s name on the list, as he was typing the names in the alphabetical order. After deliberation, he began to move his hand.

‘Maybe... Just maybe...’

The cursor began to delete letters with a series of clicks, starting with “a” and ending with “h.”

Saving the list excluding Helga’s name before closing it, 3rd Elder let the air rustle through his windpipe in low vibration.

‘Maybe things will change from this point and on.’

(next chapter)

You have reached the 25% of this fanfic series! I’m not talking about the number of chapters (which keeps changing as I am typing up this message). I’m saying this was the last chapter of the introduction part of this fanfic, which is why the preceding chapters did not contain what could be considered a crisis or a battle (minus the skirmish Takio had gone through during his past, which was what chapter 13 featured). And of course, things will change beginning from next chapter. Hope you’d stay tuned for those!

[hongism]

finding beauty in your darkest places - chapter 2

this was originally supposed to come out tomorrow but i got excited and whoops! 

Pairing: TBA (we’ll see where this takes us lol)

Genre: Psychiatric Clinic!au, Heavy Angst, Some Fluff

Word Count: 6315

Warnings: deals with mental and emotional illnesses and disorders as a heavy theme of the story, future graphic depictions of disorders - please do not read if this makes you uncomfortable also strong language in this chapter

Note: please know that nothing in this story is meant to be a glamorization of any disorder, this is meant to be a real approach and depiction of these things, and i did a LOT of research prior to writing this about every disorder mentioned so that i was careful about what i wrote about each one. I am trying to be as knowledgeable as possible in terms of the content written within this story. I will not glamorize any disorder within this story whatsoever.

Rating: PG-13/Mature

Summary: Everyone has their issues, and everyone deals with them differently. Jungkook thinks that avoiding his problems is the best option out there.

aka

Jeon Jungkook is the newest patient at the Omelas Specialized Psychiatric Clinic, and he just wants to get in and out as quickly as possible so that he can go back to university and be with his friends again. Of course, that doesn't work out according to his plan.

a/n: thank you so so much to @yoongi-sugaglider and @mikaeka for helping me out and beta reading this for me! it was such a huge help!

Chapter:

1 | 2 | 3

Finding Beauty in Your Darkest Places

Chapter 2: Curtains Over the Mind

...

The methodical brushing of Jungkook’s toothbrush against his teeth is the only sound in the room. Mind blank, he spits into the sink before looking up at his reflection once more. Silence. He is beginning to grow accustomed to the quiet of his surroundings, which has been his one companion in his room for the past six days. Putting his toothbrush back in its holder, Jungkook brings a finger up to tug at the skin around his eyes, then drags his hand down to pinch his cheek. A yawn pushes its way through his mouth, and Jungkook shakes himself out of the thoughts that try to invade his mind.

The moment he steps out of the bathroom, someone clears their throat and breaks through the solitude that Jungkook normally encounters in the mornings.

“Good morning.” Namjoon beams at him from the doorway, hands stuffed into the pockets of his sweatpants. “Did Tae already leave?” Jungkook huffs in response, pushing his sheets into somewhat of a clean state before joining Namjoon by the door. “I’m guessing that means no progress then.”

“None,” Jungkook replies. “He’s still avoiding me like I’m diseased or something. Did I do something wrong? Is that why he’s ignoring and avoiding me?” Jungkook wrings his hands together, brows creasing as he looks to Namjoon for answers.

“Jungkook, you’ve asked that same question at least twenty times in the past few days, and the answer is still no. You still haven’t even explained why you think Taehyung is avoiding you in the first place.” Jungkook relaxes his features and turns to look at the window instead. The memory remains fresh in his mind, a recording that plays over and over every time Jungkook sees or thinks about Taehyung. 

“The bear. My bear. The stuffed bear that I always keep on my bed. It’s from someone important to me. I know it was there before I left the room earlier. I checked fifteen times, because I had to keep resituating him!”

Jungkook shakes his head.

“We put everything together in the order that you like and followed your instructions when doing so. It’s all put together the way you like.”

“It’s not. I would know. And you lost the most important thing!”

“I don’t know why.”

“Mr. Kim, did you take your pills this morning?”

“Nothing happened?” Namjoon asks further, but Jungkook refuses to take the bait.

“No, because things weren’t in the right order. I have to take them with the yogurt at the end of my meal, but no one brought yogurt this morning. It makes me antsy, and I can’t take them if it doesn’t follow that order.”

“It started happening after the first day. He just stopped talking to me after showing me the room.” He fidgets under Namjoon’s gaze, a rush of panic going through him. Namjoon looks away and heaves a deep sigh.

“I’ve talked to Taehyung—” Jungkook whips his head in Namjoon’s direction “—and he claims that he’s not avoiding you. Your schedules must not line up well or something. Let’s walk to the dining area before we’re late.” Namjoon places a hand on Jungkook’s sleeve and tugs him into the hall with little effort as Jungkook goes along with it without complaint.

“Taehyung is never there when I go to sleep, and when I wake up, he’s either gone already or still asleep. I never see him during the day either!” Jungkook counters. I can’t be the only one who sees it. I know he’s avoiding me. Namjoon doesn’t stop walking but passes a sympathetic grin Jungkook’s way.

“It must be a coincidence,” he reasons, “you shouldn’t read into it too much.” Jungkook opens his mouth to retort but decides against it at the last second, clamping his lips shut and falling into step with Namjoon without another word. It isn’t worth it to argue further about the topic, and besides, the dining room is within view now, including the outline of Taehyung’s profile at one of the far tables. He shifts his gaze, not wanting to reflect on the memory that lingers at the edge of his mind for a second time this morning, and you come into view instead. Hair loose and barely brushing your shoulders, you lean close to your companion, lips moving in haste as you whisper to the man beside you. Jungkook recognizes the owner of the black hair beside you instantly. Despite having sat with the man on more than one occasion over the past few days, Jungkook feels only discomfort when sitting with him, because Min Yoongi is the most intimidating person he’s ever come into contact with. 

Your sharp eyes find his as he and Namjoon approach the table. You stop your train of thought, falling silent but maintaining your stare on Jungkook, and when Yoongi notices your sudden distraction, he leans back in his chair. A sigh starts escaping his lips before he even looks at Jungkook and doesn’t stop until he slowly drags his eyes over the younger man. 

That’s the other reason why Jungkook doesn’t particularly enjoy being around Min Yoongi. Any time they’re in the same vicinity, Yoongi acts as though Jungkook fails to exist, rarely even breathing in his direction. In other words, Yoongi hates him, or so Jungkook has convinced himself, because he cannot reason a different explanation for the man’s behavior.

“Oi, Jeon!”

Jungkook knows that the noise doesn’t come from Namjoon, but he looks to the man at his side anyways before turning on his heel to examine the area behind him. The culprit grins at him, teeth parted just enough for his tongue to slip through and play with the left corner of his lips. Jungkook wishes he were invisible, because the attention Mingyu brought to him is nothing short of terrifying.

“Gotta ask you a question, Jeon. Why are you still hanging with those three dumbasses? Don’t you know by now that they’ll bring you nothing but trouble?”

A scene is the last thing Jungkook needs right now, so he opts to turn around and plop onto the seat in front of him. You sit directly across from him, gaze still bearing holes into his skull even with Mingyu’s lilting voice resounding in the background.

The table trembles. Namjoon sits down alongside Jungkook without retorting. Out of the corner of his eye, Jungkook catches the slight shift in his jaw as he grinds his teeth. 

“Oh, no response? You’ve got no backbone, Jeon! Just doing exactly what they want you to do, being buttered up to become another lost cause.” Mingyu drags his words out, and Jungkook can envision the shit-eating grin still on his lips.

Palms slam against the table. Jungkook redirects his attention to you now, and your gaze has broken at last, now finding a new target in Mingyu.

“You’re damn lucky there’s nothing I can throw at you nearby,” you spit back, but a laugh comes in response.

“What, like cigarettes?”

“Um, do you have any cigarettes?”

“Mingyu, shut your mouth before you start a fight!” Namjoon yells over his shoulder, breaking the facade of calm in his tone for the first time. The ruckus behind him indicates that Mingyu is on his feet now. As much as Jungkook wants to turn around and see what’s going on, he doesn’t want to give Mingyu the pleasure of having attention on him.

“What am I doing wrong? None of the nurses are stopping me. You know why? Jeon, you better listen up if you know what’s good for yourself. The nurses know who the real issues are in here, and they’ll only react when one of you snaps.” You curl your fingers into your palms, knuckles going white as you increase the pressure. Jungkook maintains a steady gaze and watches your fists carefully as though you’ll lash out at any second. “C’mon, Y/N, aren’t you gonna throw something at me? Do it. Throw whatever you want at me, baby. Don’t worry, I’m a big boy, I can take it — unlike some other people.”

You're not the one who lashes out after all, and neither is Namjoon, or anyone Jungkook would’ve thought. No, it’s Min Yoongi who gets to his feet, quiet aura never wavering even as he glares across the room. Jungkook can’t guess what may be on his mind; the deadpan expression on his features stays glued like a mask. There is an unquestionable rage in his dark eyes though, which causes Jungkook to swivel in his seat to view Mingyu’s reaction to the stare. Instead of finding Mingyu’s face, though, Jungkook only sees his back, as the man plops onto his seat without putting up anymore of a fight. All the fire behind his words disappears in an instant, snuffed out by a simple ice cold stare from Yoongi, and even though he isn’t the recipient, Jungkook feels cold all the sudden.

Namjoon’s laugh cuts through the quiet surrounding the table, and Yoongi lowers himself back to his seat whilst perpetuating the stony facade.

“We haven’t even eaten breakfast yet, and I’m already done with drama for the day.” Jungkook laughs along with Namjoon if only to block the uneasy feeling settling in his stomach. And, as fate would have it, Jungkook garners no release from the panic building in his body, because here comes another mostly unfamiliar face that threatens to steal away Jungkook’s last shreds of normality. If he could, Jungkook would melt through the floor and disappear so he might be able to escape this awful and uncomfortable situation. Yet, that doesn’t happen, and Jungkook finds himself stuck as the newcomer gets closer and closer to their table.

“Kim Seokjin. Age 25. I graduated with a degree in film studies before coming here."

“Good morning,” he sings, falling into the empty seat beside you and glances across the table in Jungkook’s direction. His eyes are too wide and round for Jungkook to call them piercing, but the gaze behind them is surely intimidating nonetheless. The stare is constant and unwavering. Jungkook’s heart races in the confines of his ribcage. Slow blinking. Fast breaths. Five, ten, fifteen seconds without a word, then — “Have I met you before?”

“P-Pardon?” Jungkook stutters, a bit taken aback by the sudden question from the man.

“I feel as though I’ve met you before, but in a dream.” 

Jungkook wants to say, yes we’ve met once before, but you didn’t speak to me at all. The words fail to come to life, and Jungkook lets them die in his mind. You and Namjoon exchange a glance, one that Jungkook doesn’t get the chance to analyze or read since it fades too quickly. Seokjin offers no chance for Jungkook to respond anyways because he turns his head towards you and begins talking about an interesting article he read last night. The words are gibberish and meaningless in Jungkook’s mind, and he can’t tell whether you are merely humoring Seokjin or actually interested in what he’s saying.

“There are biopsychosocial correlations and triggers in it, and I read that the prefrontal cortex may inhibit neural circuits that normally form the substrate of emotional experience. Sometimes there are some visual and auditory cortex abnormalities that can lead to issues as well, but the somatosensory cortex abnormalities are the most interesting ones because it affects sensations of pressure, pain, and warmth on and within the body rather than focusing on one single thing like hearing or sight. So wouldn’t that mean that those cortex abnormalities are also causing issues within the mechanoreceptors, chemoreceptors, and nociceptors?” You purse your lips, head tilting back and forth before passing an answer back to Seokjin.

“That would make sense since they’re all part of the somatosensory system, but without test to analyze a person’s receptors and sensory neurons, we couldn’t make any certain statements about it. Besides, one patient may have no issues with certain chemoreceptors while another could have problems in all of them, right?”

“True, true. The article didn’t mention that, but I should’ve thought about that. It addressed some other interesting topics though. I read that emotionally adverse scenes are activated by the right ventral prefrontal cortex, so if we can find some way to control the effects in that portion of the cortex, then we might be able to manage the scenes and keep them from occurring often. Also, I think that by combining the neuroleptics we can change how the abnormalities affect the brain and personality.” Jungkook stares at Seokjin, trying to wrap his mind around the barrage of information that he just spewed, but realizes moments later that he has no way of understanding anything that was just said.

“You have a solid theory, Jin, but there are major issues to think about as well,” you respond, eyes trailing over Seokjin’s face as you speak. “Antipsychotic medications worsen the effects of depersonalization to a point where it could be a larger problem that is was initially. We could try Modafinil to see how it impacts the prefrontal cortex and somatosensory abnormalities, but there is a small margin of error in mixing medications. You have to address the differences and similarities of disorders and consider how they play off each other.” Seokjin looks up from the table, and instead of countering your argument with one of his own, he examines the other people sitting around him as though noticing them for the first time.

“Sorry for cutting you guys out of the conversation. I didn’t mean to exclude you.” A laugh passes through his lips — a nervous one that is accompanied by a scratch behind his ear. “I got excited because I made it through the entire article without getting distracted. I think it’ll be enough to show the nurses that I can start helping out more and do other things besides showing new patients around.” Your expression shifts, lips curling downwards all of the sudden, but you say nothing that might hurt Seokjin’s mood. Yoongi, on the other hand, pulls no punches.

“That won’t happen any time so—”

“That’s great, Seokjin. I think you’re showing a lot of fantastic progress,” Namjoon cuts Yoongi off before he can finish his train of thought and dampen Seokjin’s hopefulness. Jungkook drifts out of the conversation again as he glances past Seokjin’s shoulder and spots someone of more interest - that person being Taehyung. His heart starts to race again. Taehyung’s eyes are on Jungkook, watching and calculating with great care. A brief exchange of glances, then Taehyung drops his chin before Jungkook can read the emotion behind his dark eyes. Taehyung’s lips move quickly as he whispers to the man beside him.

It hits in that moment of vulnerability.

A wave of cold washes over Jungkook’s mind as though someone has just cracked open his skull and let air hit his brain. 

Where he balls the fabric of his pants between shaky fingers, knuckles turn white.

Pinpricks in the corners of his eyes.

Dampness on his palms.

And panic.

Sheer panic at what Taehyung might be telling Jimin, and cold dead panic around the way your gaze shifts to his rigid body, a strange dance being performed by the slow movements of your head and the rapid beats of his heart that he feels in his throat now.

Taehyung must think I’m stupid. I bet he’s telling Jimin that. Probably wishes he had a better roommate or didn’t have one at all. And Y/N must think I’m just crazy. I know I look batshit insane 90% of the time, so now wouldn’t be an exception. 

Jungkook wants to look elsewhere, find something that will take away the panic, and be more calm than he is not. The sensation of paralysis governs his body from head to toe, and he feels as though he can’t even move his eyes. So, he stares at you with brows dipped together and lips parted slightly as he releases a panicked plea for help without a sound. Help. He doesn’t know what he expects you to do, in all honesty. There isn’t much you can do for him while he’s in this state.

“Jungkook, you never mentioned that you play the piano!” Jungkook nearly jumps in his seat, the suddenness of your statement catching everyone off guard — including yourself, because you cringe a bit as you realize the volume of your voice. It’s the first time Jungkook has seen your stony exterior falter, a slight shift in your composed attitude turning it into something frantic that Jungkook can’t quite pinpoint. You hesitate. Jungkook blinks at you, the wide eyes and round ‘o’ of your lips. Then, you recover, finding your words again. “Um, I overheard you playing in the entertainment room the other day. You’re quite good.”

“O-oh, thanks...you. Thank you, um.”

“How long have you been playing?” 

“It’s, uh, been a few years.”

“It sounded like you’ve been playing for quite some time. You must have a great teacher then?” Your continuous barrage of questions serve a good purpose in that Jungkook can no longer focus on Taehyung or Jimin or whatever words they might be exchanging because you keep him glued to the spot. Words compelling, almost begging to harness his attention a bit longer, keep him in place and prevent him from drifting back to the panic.

“No teacher, a-actually. I taught myself to play as a hobby...when I was bored one day…” Jungkook trails off and blinks around the table, uncertainty coming forward. You encourage him with a small smile, and the forced action stretches your lips in an uncomfortable yet comforting way. Then your gaze shifts to the unpredictable man on your left, a delicate hand reaching out and latching onto his tense shoulders. 

“You and Yoongi have even more in common than I originally thought. How about that?” No response follows, so you continue with your train of thought, “You know, it might be nice for you two buzzkills to spend some time together. Play piano, talk about the detriments of cigarettes, that sort of thing.”

“Did you harass him for cigarettes, Y/N?” Seokjin’s voice rises now, a slight panic to his tone as he reacts to your words.

“I did not, Jin! How could you think such a thing?” You scoff, shifting your arm so that your elbow now rests on Yoongi’s shoulder.

“If you get caught again—”

“I won’t.”

“You won’t do it, or you won’t get caught?” You fall silent at the accusation. The air remains quiet for the next couple seconds before Yoongi decides to pipe up and offer an answer to your previous suggestion.

“I don’t need to waste my time on a kid.” The words bite as Jungkook’s skin, and he argues with the statement internally, too afraid to voice it to Yoongi’s face. I’m not a kid though. And why would I be a waste of time? Is that how all of you see me? Am I just a waste of time getting in your way?

“Yea, I mean, I thin—I agree with him. I don’t want to intrude or mess with his routine or anything like that. Like, it isn’t even super important to me — piano, that is — it’s only a hobby.”

“Chill, you two,” you protest as you withdraw your arm from Yoongi’s shoulder. “It was just a suggestion to keep you guys off my back.” If you mean to say anything else, you don’t get the chance to because Seokjin jolts forward in his seat and shoots a hand out to latch onto your forearm. His grip is so tight that Jungkook can see the red forming on your skin already. It doesn’t take much effort to see why Seokjin lashed out, because his wide eyes have focused on something behind Yoongi. Jungkook shifts along with the other people at the table and follows his train of sight. At first, he doesn’t understand Seokjin’s reaction because all he sees is a patient with burnt orange hair walking to an empty table. A nurse, who Jungkook recognizes to be Nurse Kang after double checking, follows close behind. Despite knowing Nurse Kang, Jungkook can’t recall ever seeing the patient before. There are only fifteen patients, and he thought he would’ve seen them all after almost a week, but this is a new face. He looks to you for answers.

“Wow…” Namjoon breathes out. “I haven’t seen Hoseok in a long time.”

“Do you think it’s a good sign?” Seokjin directs the question at you.

“No, it’s just a good morning,” you refute almost immediately. “There are no good signs when it comes to Hoseok.” What? Jungkook blanches. No good signs?

“Good morning everyone! We’re going to start passing out breakfast trays. Remember to take your medications with the meal.”

No one mentions Hoseok again, which leaves a bad taste in Jungkook’s mouth. He stays quiet as the nurses bring the trays around to serve Namjoon and Seokjin first and then circle around the table until they reach Jungkook. Everyone starts eating straight away, but Jungkook hesitates. Instead, he glares down at the triangle of pills next to his water and juice, the round tablets that almost laugh back at him for his weaknesses. Across the table, he sees you thumbing over your medicine in a similar manner, pushing the pills around your palm but not throwing them back the way Yoongi does. And maybe Jungkook is just imagining things, but he swears he sees the same trio of pills in your hand that lie on his tray. They disappear into your mouth before he can check again. 

The quiet while eating is something Jungkook should be used to since it’s a regular occurrence at this table, but today feels slightly different. Whether it’s because of the tense altercation that happened when he came in or due to the entrance of the patient Hoseok, Jungkook can’t pinpoint the cause. The sinking pit in his stomach heralds more danger and tension to come. His mind tells him that every day, so he wants to push it aside.

Then Jimin approaches the table, clearing his throat and tapping on your shoulder, and Jungkook knows that for once, his mind told the truth.

“Sorry to interrupt, but could I borrow you for a few minutes, Y/N?” You don’t say anything at first, responding with a sharp look at the man. Jimin clears his throat again. “Taehyung wants to talk to you, not me. If that means anything…” As Jimin trails off, you get to your feet without any more hesitation and step over to where Taehyung sits. Jimin’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise at your haste but fall back to a slight furrow within a second, then he turns on his heel and goes back to his seat.

Jungkook does his best to listen to the conversation, but Seokjin starts to talk again. Another rant about some article that only Namjoon is paying attention to, because Yoongi also leans back to watch your interaction with Taehyung. 

Are they talking about me? Is Taehyung telling Y/N that I’m a bad person? That I did something wrong? Jungkook can’t stop the voices rushing to the forefront of his mind, the ones he tries to bury and dismiss. Taehyung is telling her how much he hates you. She’s agreeing with him. She knows you’re full of shit and worthless. Why does she even waste her time on you? Yoongi has the right idea: ignore you. That’s all you deserve. Think about it, Jeon. Think about it. What have you ever done to deserve an ounce of goodness in your life? 

“I know exactly which son of a bitch did it.” It’s your voice, yet again, that shakes Jungkook out of his thoughts. Your voice to halt the ones chattering incessantly in his mind, and your voice that brings a hush to the dining area. “Thinks he’s all that, and he can get away with whatever the hell he wants.”

“Please don’t make a big deal out of it,” Taehyung cuts in, grabbing you by the arm when you get to your feet. Your glare focuses on someone across the room. “Please, it’s not worth it. It really isn’t. It’s not a problem, Y/N, please.” You ignore Taehyung’s pleas. Taehyung protests again as you tug your arm out of his grip, walking away from him and marching towards the table where Mingyu sits.

“Do you think you’re fucking funny, Choi Mingyu?” You snap, yanking Mingyu to face you. “Is this all a big joke for you and your friends to laugh at?” Mingyu blinks at your enraged face before collecting himself and covering his face with a stony facade.

“Sorry, baby, but I have no clue what you’re going on about. Did you miss your medications one day?”

“Miss L/N, you need to calm down and lower your voice. Please, we don’t want to distress any of the patients. Mr. Choi, we’ve discussed this before. You need to treat your fellow patients with respect.” A nurse steps forward to get between you and Mingyu but you retaliate and jab a finger at Mingyu’s face.

“He stole from another patient!”

“I didn’t do anything.” Mingyu’s voice is too calm compared to yours, he is refusing to show any signs of anger, which is strange to Jungkook considering how he behaved earlier today. “Maybe you should check with the resident kleptomaniac before you throw accusations around like that.”

“Mr. Choi, do not talk about your fellow patients in that manner!” Neither you nor Mingyu are paying any attention to the nurse at your side, however, and her desperate attempts to quell the situation fall on deaf ears. 

“There’s no way it was anyone but you,” you argue. “I swear I’m gonna get it back from you and prove that you’re a lying asshole.”

“Well, if you want it that badly, I’m sure I can be gracious enough to work out a sweet deal with you. Of course, it’ll have to lean more in my favor since you’re the one asking for something in return.”

“This really is all a joke to you.” Anger drops from your tone, being replaced by disbelief. “I know this won’t fit through your thick skull, but what you stole is something just as important as medication. It helps Taehyung just as much as medication does, and by taking it, you’re taking away something he needs.” The bear? Jungkook swivels and looks at Taehyung, spotting his quivering lip. Was it stolen? I haven’t seen it in the room yet...maybe...is that why he’s been avoiding me? Why does he need it though?

“Oh sweetheart, you sure are full of shit as always.” A new yet still vaguely familiar voice cuts into the conversation. Jungkook hasn’t heard Yesung talk much since the first day. His laugh rings familiar, even now as there is a hint of ridicule in it. “You should try begging. I’m sure you’d be good at it.”

“Mr. Kim, do not step into this as well! If I have to warn any of you one more time, then there will be consequences. Do you understand?”

“Quit playing your stupid little games, Yesung. They don’t suit you,” you hiss through gritted teeth.

“Me? Playing games? Ha, wow! But I’m not playing any games. Say, Mingyu, should we ask Yoongi if she’s any good begging? I think he would know, don’t you?” A loud pop echoes through the room, cutting through the terse silence that follows Yesung’s question. Your hand still lingers in the air beside Yesung’s face, and the man slowly touches the cheek you so violently slapped. A streak of red glistens on his skin. There’s no way your hit broke the skin. The blood can’t be his. Jungkook can tell your chest is heaving by the way your shoulders rise and fall.

“Miss L/N! You will sit down this instant and finish your meal, then report to Dr. Choi directly after mealtime to tell him what you did wrong.” A nurse pushes you away from Yesung.

“Send me now. I’m not hungry anymore.” You shrug the nurse’s touch off and leave the room. Jungkook spots red on your palm as you go, thick droplets running down your fingers. Yesung’s disgusting laugh resounds alongside Mingyu’s. Jungkook watches him wipe the blood from his cheek, laughing all the while. His hands shake as he turns in his seat and faces his tray of food with a queasy feeling. If there is something good to say, Jungkook doesn’t know what it is. The one thing at the forefront of his mind is Yesung’s teasing question. 

Should we ask Yoongi is she’s any good at begging?

Jungkook balls his sweatpants into his fists.

I think he would know, don’t you?

Yoongi didn’t say anything in your defense. 

Not a word.

“Why didn’t you tell them they were wrong?” Jungkook asks. He knows it’s none of his business, he shouldn’t be asking, it’s not his place — but dammit, seeing you crumble like that felt wrong. “Why didn’t you defend her?”

“Shut the fuck up.”

Jungkook leans back at Yoongi’s retaliation. He bites down hard on his lip and nearly breaks the skin as he does. Yoongi doesn’t say anything more. Jungkook can’t stand to look at him, so he redirects his attention to where Taehyung sits. It’s a familiar scene, one that brings memories of the first day back swiftly. He tugs at his hair, yanking and pulling as though trying to tear it from his scalp. Jimin is talking quickly, too quiet for Jungkook to overhear, and forcing his way into Taehyung’s line of sight. It must be the bear. The way Taehyung talked about it...I can’t imagine it would be anything but that. Why would Y/N be involved though? Thinking of you brings the image of your hand dripping blood to mind again, and Jungkook guzzles water to drive the picture away.

“She shouldn’t have let them get her riled up,” Namjoon mutters as he pushes food around on his tray. “That’s exactly what they wanted. They wanted her to lash out to prove a point.”

“What point?” Jungkook inquires. He’s the only person listening to Namjoon because Yoongi is glaring at his food without acknowledging anyone else at the table and Seokjin stares out the window with a blank expression.

“They wanted to prove that Y/N and the rest of us will bring you nothing but trouble.”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“Thanks, but they aren’t entirely wrong. We have a bad track record — all four of us do for different reasons, but that doesn’t change the fact that we’re the source of trouble.”

“What’s their issue anyways? Why are they so bitter and pissy all the time?”

“Surely you’ve encountered people like that at other wards you’ve been to. In some ways, Omelas is nothing different than those clinics. It can be worse at times because there are so few people here, and all the patients deal with multiple issues. A catalyst for disaster. I’m sorry that we’ve dragged you into a mess within your first couple days.” Namjoon reaches across the table all the sudden, carefully resituating your abandoned tray of food, which you jostled when you got up. He straightens it once, twice, three times before he is satisfied with the positioning, then passes a thin lipped smile in Jungkook’s direction. “Their actions were wrong and unnecessary. They shouldn’t constantly behave the way they do simply because they can’t get out of here yet. All they want is to be released, but they don’t ever make an effort to change. In Mingyu’s case, he’s got such a thick skull and ridiculous pride that it makes it almost impossible for him to change. His way of coping with that fact is to push his bitterness and spite onto others.”

Jungkook remembers the expression on Namjoon’s face when he spoke those words as he walks the halls an hour later. His normal routine would be a slight panic attack and a retreat to the bathroom for thirty minutes before going to his scheduled appointment. After the events at breakfast, Jungkook finds himself preoccupied with thoughts of that instead. He doesn’t even think about the doctor whom he doesn’t know and the invasive, personal questions that are inevitable. Your behavior, the fight, Yoongi’s rage, and Namjoon’s surprising crack in his usual calm facade. Jungkook thinks them through over and over again until he reaches the hardwood door of his doctor. The gold plaque reflects his eyes and the name Dr. Martin. 

Knock, knock, knock.

“Come in!”

Jungkook drops his chin as he enters the room. The scent of lavender hits his nose, stronger here than anywhere else in the clinic.

“Good morning, Mr. Jeon. How are we doing today?”

“Just fine,” Jungkook murmurs back, finding his way to the cushioned seat in front of Dr. Martin’s desk. 

“Fine? I heard there was an altercation this morning at breakfast. How did that make you feel?” A click of a pen resounds. Jungkook sighs and looks up at Dr. Martin so that the man can see the smile plastered across his lips.

“It didn’t upset me at all.”

“I see. How are you getting along with the other patients? Have there been any issues?”

“No sir. I’ve been doing well with everyone so far.”

“Is that the case? Your file reads that you suffer from—”

“I’ve been doing just fine, Dr. Martin.” Jungkook knows that there isn’t anyone else in the room to overhear the conversation, no way someone could figure out his weakness. Hearing the words aloud hurt in a different way though. Jungkook would be stupid if he let the voices in his head win another battle by listening to his weaknesses be recited like a menu.

“Which patients have you been getting close with? I hope you’ve chosen well.”

“Um Namjoon and…” Jungkook hesitates to add your name to the list. “Taehyung and uh, Seokjin. Y/N too.”

“Interesting.” Dr. Martin scribbles on his notepad but says nothing further. “Now let’s discuss your current prescriptions. I believe the list is as follows: Lexapro, Klonopin, and Prozac. Correct?”

“Yes sir.”

“How are you doing with those medications? Still well?”

“Yes sir.”

“I’m thinking of switching you to Zoloft instead of Lexapro.”

“I’ve already tried that though.”

“Do not argue with me, Mr. Jeon. I am making this decision because it is the best decision for you right now. I ask that you try the medication for at least one to three months before switching to something different again.”

He wants to refute again but decides it isn’t worth the effort. Dr. Martin smiles as Jungkook slumps in his chair, pen never ceasing its scribbling.

“We will meet again tomorrow, Mr. Jeon. You are dismissed.”

“Thank you.” Jungkook almost sprints out of the room, eager to be free from the stiff air and Dr. Martin. No one graces the halls as he makes the trek back to his room. It feels like the place has been abandoned, which is odd because over the last couple of days, Jungkook has always run into nurses and other patients when he gets out of his appointment with Dr. Martin. 

Breakfast started the day off on the wrong foot, and the vibe for the rest of the day is going to be similar to it.

As Jungkook walks through the hall full of bedrooms, he takes the time to actually look at the rooms around him for once. Normally, he rushes through with his head ducked to avoid making eye contact with anyone else who might be in the hall as well, but since it is abandoned today, he decides to do otherwise. The small name placards to the right of each door tell him who resides where. The first name he spots is Mingyu’s, the first room on his right and two doors away from his own bedroom. He glances over the room on his left. He doesn’t pay too much attention to the open door and instead reads over the nameplate as he walks past.

Jung Hoseok.

He hesitates. Takes a step back and looks into the open room with those wide curious eyes. There the orange haired man sits, back facing the door and oblivious to the watcher on the outside. He stares forward. Jungkook blinks at the setting before the man, and a shiver passes through him, running down his spine and leaving him with a churning sensation in his gut. He glances at the window then the man one more time before hurrying down the hall to get to his own room before someone notices him. 

Even as he digs through his bag and pulls out the notebook he stores there, Jungkook can't shake the uneasy feeling that arose when he saw Hoseok in his room. His hands shake as he drops his duffel bag. It hits the floor with a soft thud, but Jungkook pays it no attention. Rather he stares forward much like Hoseok had, gaze trained on the window before him that pushes bright light into the room. Two trees shrouding the edges of the frame, basketball court below empty of life. Blue sky bearing few clouds, the fluffy masses that linger there dark and grey.

Jungkook sees something out his window, but Hoseok did not.

He couldn't have.

Jungkook makes an effort not to look in the room again when he passes by once more, head ducked as he rushes past. 

Because the haunting sensation that filled him when he hesitated in the doorframe was born thanks to the fact that Hoseok sat on the edge of the bed with chin facing a dark window and curtains over the glass. 

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written by: jungtaeyoongles

p.s. sorry for any mistakes!! i cranked this out because i was anxious to post it! lemme know what you think! who is your favorite character? what was your favorite part so far? what do you think each character has in terms of disorders? i’d love to know your thoughts!

consider sending me a ko-fi!!

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