#im not even claiming to connect any dots but i sure have found some dots

[california-112]

Wait, what?

To avoid dousing this with question marks, I'll leave some here: what???

Bill Mulder and CSM were in the army together in 1962, and apparently friends. Mulder's first word was 'JFK'. CSM has a copy of the picture that Bill Mulder showed him of Fox and Teena, and keeps it in the top drawer of his desk. In 1991, CSM says he has to go and see some family, then goes to Mulder's basement office, stares at the closed door and walks away again.

What does it mean? What does it all mean???

[dontmesswithnoheroin]

somebody just submitted this into my inbox and im wheezing omfg

If you can still give Gal Gaddot dignity and acknowledge her humanity even when she doesn’t care about the lives of thousands of Palestinian people under military brutality and war crimes, also partook in idf, then WHY can’t you do the same for Sia’s autism misrep scandal and the rest of them? WHY?! They probably feel the same as Gal when you fling them poop too! So cut this selective “teaching a lesson to”?! Leave all alone or call all out, don’t be a double standard shitfuck! 

Look, don’t throw literal shit at Gal G-dot, but don’t deny her slipups and crimes too! #FreePalestine 🇵🇸

Come on, it is obviously known she did:

- Serve in the IDF during the 2006 Lebanon fiasco

- Expressed her support and praise IDF from time to time even after her mandatory service, her most famous one being the 2014 Gaza bombings which lost 4 boys. Even Holocaust survivors in the Haaretz spoke out against that incident saying it’s gone too far. Never apologized or retracted that. That specific FB post also still up.

- Allegedly responded poorly to a former friend’s r*pe and blamed the friend while defending the perpetrator

- Talks about her military service with pride and “how it has helped her play WW” despite simps’ claims that she hated IDF but was forced to do that

- Subtly mass stereotype all Palestinians and MENA Muslims as ‘terrorists’ and ‘inferior stock’ in her community. Have you seen WW84’s hateful writing?

Why people don’t care about Palestinians or military brutality war crimes in this case:

- “Gal is too hot and cute!!!12!! I’m gay for her!!!11!!”

- Gotten too attached to her thru watching her “relatable moments” and funny or sweet-presenting propaganda where she “being herself”…'psycho’ actresses sure can mask well, can’t they?

- Tried to hamster away her exact words by claiming she sorta apologized in some other way or “said something to counter that!!11!!1”. She only stood up for Arabs with Israeli citzenship ONLY, still not the Palestinian neighbours so simps stop bluffing! And saying “peeaceeee” multiple times is so vague. Does that word to Gal imply taking Palestine land and genociding the children?!

- pull the “Palestine is not oppressed” card. But when you just attack neutral run-of-the-mill Palestinian citizens and families and prevent vaccine supplies from them and go beyond apartheid, you know you’ve crossed some serious lines and can conclude Palestine is oppressed too.

- feel sympathy for her even though they hypocritically say “you shouldn’t feel sympathy for supremacists or terfs or military bootlickers!!!11!!“ 

- they have become stupid simps for her

All while no problem attacking and cancelling other people like Sia, Gina, Letitia Wright - NOT defending or condoning their deeds too but Gal is in such a similar boat don’t excuse it. At least Sia never was a sergeant or cheered on the bombing of a certain area 

How do you scrub this kind of idiotic self-righteous hypocrisy and pious smugness?!?! If you can still give Gal dignity and acknowledge her humanity even with blood on her hands and beliefs, then WHY can’t you do the same for the rest of them? WHY?! They probably feel the same as Gal when you fling them poop too! So cut this selective "teaching a lesson to”?! Leave all alone or call all out, don’t be a double standard shitfuck! And Maddie Ziegler supports Sia but that does not mean she is defending the movie, she was just doing interviews!

Edit: Admit that the USA’s coverups and censorship of Gal’s pro-idf and borderline supremacist views also helped some!

You know America is all about stanning Israel and military, same with their allies, so obviously not letting too many know about Gal’s statements and putting out good propaganda of her to cover it would boost. 

When US wants her as a token, they will have her as a token.

Edit 2: Just to be clear, Israel can have their areas but let Palestinians have some land too. And don’t go genocidal on them for it 

Okay sis first of all I haven’t even seen Wonder Woman, if I simped for Gal Gadot some years ago it is because I am a wlw and was not aware of what she stands for. I’ve had this blog for over 10 fucking years of my life, starting when I was 15. I simped for a lot of bad people and I probably used the n-word, the r-word and a bunch of shit I’m not proud of. This blog is a personal journal to me, something I’ve used to grow in years which were really hard in my life, and I’ve probably posted a bunch of shit that should have never been posted. If I’ve ever defended Gal Gadot, among the 30,000 posts I posted on this blog in the past, then I admit, I was wrong.

But you literally coming here writing me this essay, it’s hysterical to me that you took your time to write this all out. Obviously you have some frustrations in your life that makes you write this shit, I know that all my frustrated posts on this page at celebrities, billionaires, etc, all come from simple life frustrations and I come here to vent. I post my posts as if nobody was ever gonna read them because I’m a nobody on this site, and nobody in life in terms of reach. It’s funny to me that you decided to equate some post I made years ago (how did you even find those??? i have literal 1000s of pages on my tumblr) with what I say about Sia. Autism happens to be very personal to me. And although I feel very strongly about what’s going on in Palestine and support the Palestinians (which I also posted about in the past, I’m pretty sure I also reblogged shit about Gal Gadot you mention but I guess you haven’t found those posts on my blog), I do not have as much of a personal connection to it, so I don’t post about it as much. And I’m still bewildered, where did I say I like Gal Gadot??? Last I recall I posted about Gal Gadot organizing this fucking disaster of a pandemic celebrity song contest.

But anyway, all this being said, you literally cannot come to people and bash them for not being ideologically pure. I’m 26 so I don’t give two shits about what you think of me, but there are teenagers on this site that really take this stuff personally. That get anxious about not being the perfect humans, invested in all issues at once. Everyone fights their own battles, sis. We can’t all support all causes at once. I will never support Israel but I can’t single handedly change the situation of the Palestinians, and especially not through a fucking tumblr post. So while I’m gonna post this, because maybe some people want to get educated about what goes on, why don’t we just quit making people feel guilty for not being aware about every single bad thing any celebrity did at all times? Like, I think the volunteer work I do with refugees in my country in real life helps much more than bashing celebrities online about their ideology on a blog nobody is ever gonna look at twice. 

Maybe I’m too old and this is just a troll but it’s pretty incredible to me that you come into my inbox calling me all kinda shit. If you’re having a bad day, a frustrating time in the pandemic, sorry sis. Me too. Hope this venting helped you. 

Yours truly,

Double Standards Shitfuck <3

[gracetrack-higgins]

Secrets

welcome to my super angsty Sprace fic! it’s posted on Ao3 but I figured I’d put it here too! it’s pretty long (5k+ words!) and very angsty. I’ll put any warnings in the tags :)

*

You know Spot Conlon, right? I heard he’ll soak anyone who ain’t Brooklyn.

I heard he killed a gangsta’ who was botherin’ his Newsies.

I heard he got inta a fight wit’ a kid from the Bronx so bad the kid was laid up inna hospital for a month.

I’s heard he ain’t even real. Brooklyn kids made ‘im up so’s they look nice an’ tough.

Nah, he’s real. I saw ‘im on the Bridge one time, yellin’ at a scab or sommit.

Nuh-uh!

Yeah-huh!

I heard’s he’s a better pape’s sella’ than Jack.

Betta’ than anya us.

I heard he jumped inta the river to save a drownin’ kid!

That ain’t true!

I still don’t think he’s real.

Racetrack Higgins smirked to himself a little as he listened to the younger Newsies’ whispered speculations about the leader of the Brooklyn Newsies. At one time, Race probably would’ve believed the tall tales surrounding Spot. If he didn’t know him, that is. Race thought it rather funny how many stories there were about Spot, ones that any kid would believe. Only two of ‘em were true so far.

Race glanced at the little Newsies huddled around an overturned crate that the boys used as a table in the Lodging House. They were playing cards, a watered down version of blackjack that Race had taught all the kids how to play on their days off. How he got stuck babysittin’ he’d never know, but here he was, 17 year old Racetrack, watchin’ a gaggle of little Newsies. The youngest of ‘em wasn’t older than 6.

“Mr. Racer!” the littlest Newsie piped up, his missing front teeth giving his smile a big gap as he grinned, “Do you know ‘bout Spot Conlon?”

Race smirked. “Sure I’s do.”

The little Newsies all gasped, edging closer to where Race sat on the beat up sofa in the common room of the boy’s floor in the lodging house.

“Really?” Another boy asked, “Have ya ever met ‘im?”

Race grinned. “Maybe.”

Gasps.

“An’ ya didn’t get soaked???”

“Nah.” he shrugged. “Me an’ Spot, we’s pals.”

“You’s lyin’,” A rather skeptical eight year old replied simply. “You’s just sayin’.”

Race looked offended. “Lyin’?? Me an’ Spot’s best friends! I sell in Brooklyn twice a week wit’ ‘im.”

Tiny Newsie jaws dropped.

“No way!”

Race took the cigar out of his mouth as he leaned forward and smiled at the boys. “Yes way.”

“You ain’t Brooklyn, though’s! Ya’s from Manhattan. Ain’tcha?”

Race nodded, “Sure am. We’s got a spec’al arrangement, is all.”

“What’s the ‘rangement, Mr. Racer?” the youngest boy asked, eyes wide.

“I ain’t givin’ away all my secrets,” Race smirked, “Just know that as long’s I’m ‘round, you kiddos ain’t gotta be too scared’a ol’ Spot Conlon.”

“You ain’t scared’a ‘im??” another boy asked and Race shook his head.

“Nah.” Race put the cigar back in his mouth.

The little boys minds buzzed with new theories and just a little bit of fear toward Race, who was apparently best pals with the scariest, toughest Newsie in all’a New York.

*

Race tossed a little cloth bag with coins in it at his best friend, silly grin on his face.

“Luck’s changin’, Spotty!” Race said excitedly, “There’s ya cut.”

Spot raised a brow and opened the little bag. “Woah. How many races ya win?”

“FOUR.” Race grinned, “Can ya believe it?? I could feel somethin’ in the air today. Somethin’ lucky.”

Spot snorted, starting up the stairs of the Brooklyn lodging house, Race following. “So how mucha that’s goin’ to settle ya debts from last week, eh?”

“‘Bout half. But that means I’s got plenty for next week’s bettin’!”

“Or ya could, I dunno. Save some? Get a hot meal? Some new clothes ‘o somethin’.” Spot suggested.

Race snorted. “I don’ need that. Just wait Spotty, one’a these days I’ll hit the jackpot an’ you an’ me, we’ll be set for life.”

Spot smirked a little. “You an’ me, eh?”

Race met his eyes. “Yeah.”

Spot nodded proudly. “Yeah.”

Race followed Spot through the familiar Brooklyn lodging house. He nodded in greeting to Hotshot, Bruises and Joey where they sat around a card table, reading headlines and eating something before heading out to sell the evening edition. Race knew the Brooklyn house about as well as he knew Manhattan’s. All the other Newsies knew him by name, he was welcomed in without a second thought, and everyone, everyone, in Brooklyn knew that if you messed with Racetrack Higgins, it meant you were messing directly with Spot Conlon. No one questioned that.

Race patiently waited as Spot checked in on the younger kids in his lodge, making sure they didn’t get into any trouble on the streets today, and as he checked on one of his kids who stayed in from selling due to a head-cold. For all the tall tales of how terrifying Spot Conlon was, Race was one of the few people other than the Brooklyn kids who saw Spot’s softer side. He was a protector, through and through. He’d protect those kids with his life, and Race found it incredibly endearing.

“Poor kiddo,” Spot muttered as he climbed the ladder to his room, a small but cozy attic space that he’d claimed when he took charge of the Brooklyn Newsies. Race followed him.

“Twigs is still sick?” Race asked. Poor kid was already tiny, hence his nickname, no wonder a head-cold put him out of commission for the day.

“Yeah.” Spot frowned. “Might have to dip inta’ them winnin’s an’ get that kid some tonic.”

Race shrugged. “Ain’t gotta slush-fund for that? Them’s your winnin’s.”

Spot glanced at the bag of coins in his hand, tossing it onto his bed. “We do, but I don’ mind helpin’ the lil kid out. He ain’t got no one else. None’a them do.”

Race nodded in understanding. “You’s a nice guy, Spotty.” he said with a smile, “I’ll neva’ understand how kids’ is scared ‘a you.”

Spot puffed his chest. “‘Cuz I’m scary.”

“No you ain’t,” Race said, sliding a hand over Spot’s muscled shoulder and resting his chin on top of Spot’s head. “You’s a sweetheart.”

Spot snorted and pushed Race off him, “Shuddap.”

Race smirked, flopping dramatically onto Spot’s bed, reaching out for Spot to join him.

Spot did, sitting down next to Race, letting him play with his hand.

“You oughta get back to Manhattan ‘fore the sun goes down,” Spot mentioned as the sunset shone through his window and gave the attic an orange tint. “‘s Gettin’ late.”

Race nodded. “I’d rather stay here wit’ you.”

“You an’ I both know you ain’t suppos’d ta.”

Race shrugged, resting his head on Spot’s strong shoulder.

“Yeah well,” he gave him a secret grin. “We both knows we do things we ain’t suppos’d ta.”

Spot laughed lightly. “Yeah.” he glanced around his room, the only place in all of Brooklyn where he was allowed to relax. It was an off limits area. None of the other Newsies were allowed anywhere near his room, let alone inside. There were only a handful of people who’d ever seen Spot’s room, and only one who’d ever been allowed repeat visits. Race knew it was a very high honor.

“Only in ‘ere though.”

Race nodded, almost sadly. Spot had a funny way of making him happy no matter what. He loved annoyin’ him, playin’ pranks, makin’ jokes, sharin’ stories, and sellin’ papes with him. But he loved lots of other things about Spot too. Like that he cared so much about his Newsies. That he took such good care of his friends. Little things too, like that he was allergic to pollen in the springtime. That he loved to read. That he loved animals. That he stood up for the little guy time and time again.

Race was really proud to be Spot’s friend.

And sometimes, when they were alone, more than his friend. Race traced one finger across Spot’s bicep, tracing over the faded scar on his shoulder and connecting the dots of his freckles.

“Yeah,” Race agreed, “Only in ‘ere.” He sighed, still lazily tracing Spot’s freckles. “Why do ya think I don’t wanna leave?”

Spot smirked a little, allowing himself a moment of softness to rest his cheek against Race’s head.

“‘Cuz you’s a sap.” Spot teased. “You oughta go back to Manhattan ‘fore I soak ya.”

Race grinned, his nose crinkling. “Then ya’s gonna miss me.”

Spot grinned back. “Only a lil bit.”

“Til I’m back in Brooklyn ta bug ya on Friday.”

“Too long.” Spot said, sliding his hand into Race’s gently.

“Now who’sa sap?” Race snickered, but laces his fingers through Spot’s, squeezing gently.

Spot squeezed back. “Still you.”

“Nahhh.” Race pecked a very careful kiss to Spot’s temple, just barely brushing his lips against his hairline.

Spot turned to face him, their eyes meeting and fighting unspoken feelings and buried fears. Their faces grew closer, Race’s forehead resting against Spot’s. Race smelled like newsprint and tobacco, two scents that Spot now associated with comfort and safety. He closed his eyes, relaxing, only opening them when Race parted their heads.

“You’s prob’ly right though,” he said softly, “I oughta go back ta Manhattan.”

Spot tried not to look disappointed and nodded. “Yeah.”

Race gave him a smile, squeezing his hand. “See you’s Friday?”

“Friday.” Spot gave Race’s hand one more squeeze before letting him go. Race took the cigar from his shirt’s pocket and stuck it in his mouth, giving Spot a smile before he started down the ladder to take him downstairs.

Spot sighed as the door to his attic closed behind Race and he flopped down against the creaky mattress of his bed. He hated this. He hated the way that Race made him feel, so safe and terrified at the same time. Spot Conlon wasn't really afraid of anyone or anything, but getting hurt by Race, or worse, Race getting hurt by him, was at the top of the list of his fears.

Sneaking around wasn't smart, and both of them knew it. Lying wasn't smart either. Especially when they were lying to each other. All the late nights and drunken kisses in the world wouldn't get either boy to admit they had feelings for one another, at least not out loud. Spot hoped that it was clear how he felt, and that their quiet moments and his careful signs of affection were enough for Race to know how much he meant to him.

They couldn't talk about it, not explicitly. They both knew that they couldn't be together, not truly, not anything more than the friends they already were. And if they talked about it, if Spot ever told Race how he felt; how his heart fluttered every time they touched, how his lips burned for hours after every time they’d kissed, how he'd stay up late thinking about him and them and their lives and their futures, Spot knew he'd be done for. If he talked about it, it'd be real. If they discussed it, they'd both realize they had no future, at least not one together.

Spot was afraid that when they faced their fate head on, the secrets in Spot’s bedroom would go away. And then Race would stop sellin’ in Brooklyn. And soon he'd stop going to Sheepshead. And Spot would be alone.

Spot sat up and looked out the window from the top of the Lodging house just in time to see Race waving his goodbyes to the other Brooklyn newsies as he started his trek back over the bridge. Before he left he looked up to Spot’s bedroom window, waving a little goodbye.

Spot didn't think Race could see it, but he waved back.

Race turned and walked back over the bridge all alone.

Spot sat back down on his bed, all alone.

*

Friday was a rainy day in New York City. It was summer, so the rain was expected, but dreaded. Rainy days were always slow sellin’ days. No one wanted to stop too long to buy papes when it’d just get soaked in a few minutes anyways. Newsies typically hid under awnings or building entrances to sell what they could, but usually gave up and went back home before the weather got too nasty. There’d be a new headline and more papes to sell tomorrow, when the sun was (hopefully) shining.

Friday was Race’s day to sell with Spot in Brooklyn. And even though it was already raining when he’d left that morning, he still made the long trek over the bridge and showed up at Brooklyn’s Newsie hub in time. He and Spot sold the few papes they’d bought, they were veterans at selling in bad weather, and then retired to the Brooklyn Lodging house for the rest of the afternoon. They spent the rest of the day playing cards and checkers and taking turns keeping the peace, as there were too many young newsies hanging around in boredom.

It was getting late and the weather was worsening. Race was deeply involved in a game of blackjack between a handful of the older Brooklyn newsies, determined to win for the third game in a row. Spot had been checking on the kids, making sure no one was doing anything stupid, and that the younger ones had all eaten, before he joined in on the card game.

“Ay,” Hotshot asked, “What time is it? Shouldn’t this crook be headin’ back ta Manhattan?” Hotshot elbowed Race, who snorted.

“You’s just bitter cuz I wiped ya pockets for the third time tonight.” Race teased. He looked to Spot, who glanced up from his cards.

“It is pretty late,” he admitted, “But the weather’s awful. You wanna just stay the night, Racer?”

Race raised a brow. “I really oughta go back, Jack’ll be worried sick.”

“Psshh,” Spot waved a hand. “Kelly’ll be fine a single night without ya. You don’t wanna get pneumonia or nothin’, do ya?”

Race shrugged. “I ain’t gonna get sick,” Race said simply, setting down another card. “Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

“You’s gonna get a different kinda soaked if ya try an’ cross the bridge in this storm.” Spot told him. Thunder crashed outside and Spot was the only one who saw Race flinch at the loud sound. He narrowed his eyes a little bit.

“You’s stayin’.” Spot said firmly, making it clear there was no room for argument.

“You want us ta make room for ‘im?” Hotshot asked, “We can kick ol’ Bruises ta the floor for the night.”

“Hey!” Bruises protested, punching Hotshot in the arm.

“Nah,” Spot brushed them off. He didn’t look up from his cards. “He’ll bunk wit’ me.”

Race felt his chest growing warm with pride.

“Whateva’ you says, boss.” Hotshot said, going back to the game. No one said anything else about it.

After their game, which Race won easily, Spot made his final nightly rounds throughout the busy lodging house. He checked on the younger kids, making sure they were going to sleep and weren’t getting into mischief. He made sure that Twigs, the little newsie who was still fighting off a cold, had enough blankets and had eaten something that evening.

Race followed Spot on his rounds, admiring how gentle but firm Spot was with the younger kids. He seemed way older than his 18 years as he cared for the kids, lifting them into their bunks and gently assuring them that they’d be back to selling papes in the morning. Race tried not to smile as he watched Spot checking Twigs’ temperature with the back of his hand, putting another ratty blanket over the little boy’s shivering form. Race also noticed that Spot had bought tonic for him, and it was sitting next to the cot the little kid was curled up on.

“He’ll be okay,” Spot said as he left the younger kids’ room, “He’s a tough little kid.”

Race had a feeling that Spot was saying it for his own benefit than anyone else’s.

Spot sighed as he closed the door to his room as Race climbed up after him, turning on the small gas-lamp in the corner so they could see.

“He’s gonna be fine, Spotty,” Race tried to encourage, “Don’t worry. You got him some tonic an’ everythin’. I’m sure he’ll beat it.”

“Yeah.” Spot said, taking off his newsie cap and tossing it onto an overturned crate. “Yeah. He’ll be fine.”

Race took his cap off too, tossing it next to Spot’s before he sat down on Spot’s bunk.

“You’s sure ‘bout me stayin’ the night?” Race asked, and Spot nodded.

“Yeah. I’d rather know you’s safe an’ dry, here. ‘Stead’a bein’ wet an’ catchin’ cold in Manhattan.” Spot said simply, sitting down next to Race on the bed. “Got it?”

“Got it.” Race nodded. Lightning crackled across the sky and thunder echoed so loud that it made the attic walls quake a little. Race jumped at the sound, groaning a little in embarrassment. Spot looked him over curiously.

“You okay, Race?”

“Mmhm.” Race avoided Spot’s eyes.

“No you ain’t.” he frowned. “You don’t like the storms?”

“Nah.” Race shrugged. “It’s dumb. Don’ worry ‘bout it.” He tugged off his over shirt and pulled off the suspenders he wore so he was in his pants and undershirt. “Can we go to bed now?”

Spot nodded, taking off his suspenders and shirt as well. He turned off the lamp so the room was lit only by the lightning cracks and faded moonlight through the rolling dark clouds. Spot climbed into the bed, which was probably too small for both of them, but they didn’t care, immediately getting comfortable next to one another. There wasn’t any awkwardness. Both boys were used to sharing their bed, and neither of them could think of anyone they’d rather share with than each other. They each respectfully maintained a small amount of distance between them, but Race’s hand reached carefully for Spot’s as another loud crash of thunder made his skin crawl. Spot gently took his hand.

Race gave him a smile in the dark, but Spot’s eyes had already adjusted so he could see the little grin.

“Tell me a secret,” Race whispered.

Spot smirked. He’d joked once that Race was the only one who knew his secrets, and now Race held that title very proudly, but privately.

“Like what?” Spot asked flatly. He noticed in the back of his head that his hand was still holding Race’s, and Race squeezed tight when another crash of thunder echoed outside.

“Anythin’. Tell me why ya didn’t let me go back to Manhattan tonight.” Race’s voice was tight, and Spot could tell he was trying to distract himself. He opted for honesty to answer Race’s question.

“You’d get sick.”

“You don’ know that. I’s got great health.”

“People what get soakin’ wet an’ don’t own enough clothes ta get dry is only gonna get sick. I...I’s seen it lotsa times.”

“You’s gotten sick from a rainstorm?” Race asked, and Spot shook his head a little.

“Nah.” his voice was quiet. “A kid in the house did, few years back.” Spot hesitated, deciding whether or not he wanted to finish. “He was little, like Twigs is. He got pneumonia real bad, an’ by the time I got ‘im to a nurse, it was too late for ‘im.”

“Oh.” Race said softly, feeling his chest ache with sorrow. “I...I’m sorry, Spotty. I didn’t realize. I wasn’t meanin’ ta joke ‘bout it.”

Spot shook his head. “It’s fine. I just know I ain’t gonna let no more kids get sick if I can help it.” he said simply. “Ain’t worth it.”

“You’s right. It ain’t.”

They were quiet again, another crash of thunder making the walls shake. Race jumped again, letting out a shaky sigh.

“That an’ I’d miss ya.” Spot said lightly, and Race gave him a little smile. He was grateful to Spot for trying to distract him.

“You’d miss me?” Race teased, and Spot snorted.

“‘Course, dumbass.”

“Why’s that?” Race asked, his tone light but intent serious.

“Tuesday’s a long way from now. ‘Sides, we’s pals.”

“Pals.” Race said softly, nodding. He subconsciously let go of Spot’s hand, but Spot grabbed it back.

“Yeah.” he held Race’s hand tight in his.

Spot wanted to elaborate. He really did. But he wasn’t even sure what this was. What they were. They were pape-sellin’-partners, and best friends, but past that? Spot had no idea. He didn’t think boyfriends was the right word for it. He didn’t think there was a right word for it. Especially when nothing about it was right.

“Your turn,” Spot said, changing the subject. “Tell me a secret.”

“I ain’t got any secrets,” Race said lightly.

“Sure ya do.”

“You know pretty much all’a ‘em.” Race admitted. He was a pretty open book when he found people he trusted, and he trusted Spot more than anyone else he’d ever met. He loved times like this, when it was just them, and nothin’ else. He loved learning new things about his best friend. He loved knowing things about him that no one else did.

“So why’s you scared’a thunder?” Spot asked, catching Race a little off guard.

“I don’t like storms.” Race said quickly. He sighed a little. “I hate ‘em,” Race said softly, “They’s so loud. I just wanna sleep but they’s loud, so’s I can’t.”

“Guess they is pretty loud,” Spot admitted. “I didn’t realize it bothered ya.”

Race shrugged a little. “Neva’ liked ‘em.” he admitted. “Bad mem’ries.”

“Yeah?” Spot wanted to know what sort of memories could be attached to rain, but he didn’t want to make Race uncomfortable so he didn’t push it.

“Yeah.”

The room lit up around them with a lightning strike that was too close for Race to be comfortable and when the crack exploded into the loudest thunder crash yet, Race practically lept from the bed. He cursed under his breath, angry at himself for being upset, and even angrier at the memories of lightning, smoke and flames that filled his head and refused to leave. The same memories that woke him up when fire sirens blared all night long in the city. The same memories that plagued him every single thunderstorm filled summer since he was a kid.

“Hey, it’s okay Racer, it’ll pass.” Spot offered, but Race paced back and forth across the room, trying to calm down.

“‘S so dumb.” he muttered under his breath.

Spot stood and took Race by the hands, leading him back to the bed. They sat next to each other, Race’s shaking hands still in Spot’s strong ones.

“Whadda ya do in Manhattan when it’s stormin’?” Spot asked.

“Dunno. Try ta sleep, walk ‘round an’ try not to wake up the boys, hide ‘til it’s done. I can’t smoke inside, so I don’t get ta calm down as much as I wanna.” he frowned, leaning his face into Spot’s shoulder. “‘m sorry. ‘S stupid.”

“No it ain’t.” Spot assured him. He put one hand gently on Race’s back. “Whadda ya want me to do? How can I’s help?”

Race leaned into Spot closer as another flash of lightning lit up the room. Spot’s strong arm held Race tight.

“I’s fine,” Race told him after a moment. “Being with you’s already helpin’.”

“It is?”

“Yeah. I know you’s got my back. I’m safe.”

Spot smiled a little, leaning into Race comfortably.

“I don’t think no one feels too safe ‘round me.” Spot admitted quietly. “I’s got a reputat’on, ya know.”

Race smiled, feeling his fears slowly fading the longer Spot held onto him.

“Well, I know I’m safe.” Race told him, “Ain’t a doubt in my mind you’s lookin’ out for me.”

Spot wasn’t thinking as he pressed a very small kiss to Race’s forehead.

“You know I is.”

*

Race left the Brooklyn lodging house early that morning, before the sun was even up. The storm was long gone, only puddles remained as a memory of the pounding rain and cracking lightning from the night before. Race wished his heart didn’t ache every time he made the walk over the bridge to go back into Lower Manhattan. He wished he didn’t feel the way he did. He also didn’t regret it. He held the secrets and reassurances from that night with him, hiding them in his heart for later as he started to walk back.

When Spot woke up just as the sun began to rise, he instantly noticed that Race was gone. For a second he wondered if he’d dreamt the whole thing, but he quickly noticed that where their hats had been sitting last night on the overturned crate next to his bed, a cigar remained instead. Spot picked it up, letting himself smile a little before he pulled on his shirt and suspenders and got ready to start the day.

*

Race reached the Manhattan Lodging house just as the sun was coming up. He opened the door and started up the stairs, searching his pocket for his key when the door opened and Jack Kelly bumped directly into him.

“Racer!” Jack exclaimed, “For the love of Pete, where were ya??” Jack hit Race with his hat, slinging an arm around his shoulders and pulling him into a hug.

“Geez Mom, good mornin’ to ya too.” Race teased. “Stayed the night in Brooklyn ‘cuz ‘a the storm.”

Jack’s eyebrows furrowed with concern. “You’s okay? Storm was pretty bad.” Other than Spot, Jack was the only person who knew how Race felt during thunderstorms. He’d been worried about him all night as he listened to the thunder rolling and rain pelting the city.

“I’m fine,” Race assured him. “But starvin’. We got any food?”

“Yeah, sure.” Jack pulled Race through the door. “Come on.”

Race was greeted by the other boys the second he walked through the door, immediately peppered with whoops, hollers and questions.

“Where were ya??” Albert asked, “You had Jackie all worried ‘bout ya.”

“Poor Mom didn’t know what to do with ya lost in Brooklyn.” Romeo teased, elbowing Jack, who rolled his eyes.

“We was ready ta send out the search party!” Elmer added.

The littler Newsies chased one another around the small kitchen until Albert shouted for them to scram. A few lingered though, surprised to see Race.

“Where’d ya go Mr. Racer?” one of the younger Newsies asked. Race snorted.

“Got caught in the rain, so I’s stayed in Brooklyn for the night.” He explained simply.

“An’ ya didn’t get soaked by them Brooklyn boys?” A kid asked, and Race laughed.

“‘Course not.”

“Where’d ya stay?” Crutchie asked, handing Race a plate with toast and half an apple on it.

“Thanks,” Race said as he started to eat. “Stayed at the Brooklyn boys’ lodgin’ house. It’s nicer ‘n ours is.” he joked, mouth full.

“You stayed there?” one of the younger kids asked.

“Yep.”

“Spot Conlon let you stay with his boys?” Another little kid asked, wide eyed.

Race flicked a piece of his crust at the kid, hitting him in the forehead. “Yeah, he did. No big thing.”

“Wow.” the kid gaped. “Why didn’t he beat ya up??”  he asked.

“‘Cuz we’s friends.” Race said simply.

The kid turned to his friend next to him. “So why’d you beat me up?” he asked, poking at his own healing black eye.

“Cuz you’s a dummy!!” his friend shouted, and the two lightly brawled until Jack kicked them out of the kitchen.

“Enough, ya knuckleheads.” he shook his head. “Go get yerselves lookin’ presentable or no one’ll wanna buy from ya today.”

The boys obeyed and ran up the stairs, leaving the older boys in the kitchen.

“You really stayed with Spot last night?” Elmer asked, a little surprised.

Race bit into his apple half. “Yeah, what of it?”

“Just curious.” Elmer said, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

“He ain’t the friendliest kid in the city,” Crutchie said, and Race gave him a grin.

“He’s friendly ta me.”

“You’s lucky.” Albert commented. “He’d prob’ly soak any’a us on sight for invadin’ his territory.”

Race snorted. “Nah, he ain’t so bad.”

“Sure he is.” Elmer said, “You’s heard the stories, ain’t ya?”

“Sure,” Race shrugged, “But that don’t mean they’s true.”

Jack didn’t comment, watching Race carefully. He’d been worried sick about his friend, knowing just how he felt when bad lightning storms hit, and was ready to go out in the middle of the storm to find him until Crutchie stopped him from doin’ anything dumb. He was relieved that Race was okay, and more relieved that he was indoors and not hidin’ out under the bridge or nothin’. But now Jack was curious. Race had been spending more and more time in Brooklyn lately, a lot more than his occasional excursion to the Sheepshead Races he’d take after a particularly good headline dropped and filled his pockets with extra cash. Jack had never commented on it, a little wary of questioning anything Spot Conlon did, even if it included friendship with one of his boys. Jack wouldn’t necessarily consider Spot a friend, more of a reluctant ally. He came through for them during the strike last year, and now he an’ Race were friends, which meant Manhattan an’ Brooklyn stayed allies. But that didn’t mean Jack wasn’t skeptical of Spot and his intentions with his friend.

“Alright ya slackers,” Jack interrupted, brushing Race off his perch on the kitchen counter, “Let’s get to work. Ya can bug Race ‘bout Brooklyn later.”

Race smirked and finished his apple half in one more bite, spitting the seeds onto his plate and putting it in the getting-rather-full sink.

“Let’s hope we’s got a good headline today,” Race commented as he followed Jack from the kitchen to round up the boys and head to Newsies Square. Jack fell back to walk with Race on the way over to the square.

“Ay, you sure you’s aight Racer?” he asked gently and Race gave him a toothy grin through the cigar between his teeth.

“‘Course I am, Jackie. Why?”

Jack gave him a look. They both knew why.

“I mean it,” Race insisted. “I’m a’ight. Spot was real nice to let me stay wit’ ‘im last night. I even was able to sleep.”

“Ya were?” Jack was impressed.

“Yeah.” the corners of Race’s lips were tempted to tug into a smile but he forced his expression to remain neutral. “I was.”

Jack watched him curiously. “Good.” he said, “I’m glad Spot was nice to ‘ya.” he chose his words carefully, observing Race’s reaction.

This time Race couldn’t hide his little smile. Jack tried to place where he’d seen the look in Race’s eyes before and it took him a minute to figure it out. The way Race’s eyes lit up when he talked about Spot Conlon was the exact same way Katherine’s eyes lit up when he brought her flowers at work last week. It was the same look she gave him when he made her dinner at her apartment, and the same look he was sure he gave her when she’d show him her articles to read before anyone else did, or got excited about his latest drawings.

Love.

Racetrack nodded. “Yeah, me too. He’s a good pal.” he fought the little smile away.

Jack wasn’t sure how anyone could feel anything other than respect and healthy fear for Spot Conlon, but he was pretty sure that whatever Race was feeling, it was more than that. Jack took a second to process that, wondering if he was jumping to conclusions or if he was right. He knew Race pretty well, and he could tell how much happier he was after spending the day in Brooklyn. Jack’s stomach hurt with a pang of sadness, knowing that as happy as Spot seemed to make him, he and Race could never really do anything about it. Race’s life was hard enough as it was, this would only make it harder. Spot Conlon was a dangerous kid, but being in love with him was far more dangerous. Especially Race being in love with him. Jack tried to push the thoughts away. He couldn’t protect Race from this, but he’d be there for him if he got hurt.

“I’m glad he’s your pal,” Jack settled on saying, and Race nodded.

“Yeah.” he looked down at his boots as they walked.

That’s all he’ll ever be.

*

http://archiveofourown.org/works/12941445  ao3 link :)

[sheikah]

whoa wtf someone faked their own death just to get you to lose followers? why??? like???

***This post is cutting off halfway through on mobile. You need the full explanation so please view on desktop***

Yeah dude… it was this summer. Basically, as it became clear that Jonerys was in fact canon, some of the antis that had been extremely sure of themselves sort of… snapped. And as a big Jonerys blog, I received a lot of their ensuing tantrums. I’ll tell the story under the cut, or you can see the whole crazy history of what happened here since I tagged it all lol.

So around that time, one person in particular sent me this ask from her fashion sideblog. It’s what started the whole mess. Ten days later, she got on that sideblog to see that I had answered it and gotten over 250 notes on it, and it really upset her that so many people agreed with me that Dany is not, in fact, the Mad Queen. She reblogged it from a sideblog cursing me out, so I blocked that sideblog, not at that moment realizing that the sideblog and the fashion blog were the same person since ten days had gone by since I received the ask. So then she started getting on other side blogs. At first it was just a handful. It was obvious they were all her, though, because they had almost identical content. Just enough posts to keep the URL safe from staff deletion due to inactivity, but nothing more. On these sideblogs she would reblog my content with hateful and harassing captions. Each time she did, I would block the blog, but she would reappear with another one. When I was blocking faster than she could log onto new blogs, she got frustrated and started spamming my notes by tagging me dozens and dozens of times in replies to her posts. She also made a bunch of callout posts about me and reblogged them on all these sideblogs. I also received an anon during this–presumably from her–telling me to kill myself. I blocked the anon (which blocks an IP address) and the attacks from her stopped for a few hours. I’m guessing she went to another internet connection or switched to phone data, and then started doing it all again, but without sending me inbox messages this time so I couldn’t block her other IP. 

I was meanwhile sending her DMs on all these blogs begging her to leave me alone and warning her that I would report her and share her URLs with my followers (so they could also report) if she didn’t. After a day went by and she didn’t heed my warnings, I did those things. That’s what finally stopped it all. Most of her sideblogs were deactivated.

There was literally nothing I could do to make this stop and I counted over 25 blogs from her before I had reported her enough to make her stop. I shared her URLs for these blogs with my followers to get help reporting her.

About a week went by and I thought that it was finally over. But then she made a post on that original fashion side blog (the first time she had used this blog since the original ask was sent, so I didn’t connect the dots and hadn’t blocked the fashion blog). She made a post there telling a fake story in which I was apparently the one bullying her and sicking my followers on her, and she claimed we told her to kill herself. This is an outright lie. She tagged me in this post, citing me as the reason for her own apparent suicide, and then left the blog (that wasn’t very active anyway), trying to make the last post there look like a suicide note. 

This got a lot of attention, because she reblogged it on her slew of sideblogs. Lots of people tagged staff and I’m guessing she got in trouble since I had also reported her before that for harassing me from all of her blogs. While this supposed suicide note got widespread attention, I got dozens and dozens of messages from people imploring me to reach out to her and save her life, or shaming me for “pushing her to suicide.” It’s the reason why to this day I have my IM function shut off for anyone I don’t follow. It was insane how many messages I got. I treated her suicide note as serious and half believed it at the time. I apologized to her (though I’d done nothing wrong) just in case and joined others in tagging staff and trying to talk her down on the post.

A day later I received the asks below from a blog with no content at all (hmmmm. suspicious, no?). These screenshots are actually from that sideblog that sent them because when I didn’t publish them, they just reposted what they sent me on the sideblog so it could still get out somehow.

You can connect the dots here–clearly this is the original person who was harassing me, posing as their own “friend” to try and guilt and manipulate me (I would ask anyone reading this not to contact this person and start shit again, please. I never want to talk to them again). Obviously I didn’t publish it, which is why she reposted them on the sideblog. I responded privately telling the person that I was the one who had been bullied and that I absolutely would not be making the post she requested guilting my own followers for something they didn’t do.

So at that point she had failed at chasing me off tumblr and getting me to post any more about her and give her any more attention or make myself look bad on her behalf. Two days went by and I’m guessing she regretted ruining her fashion blog over her random and inexplicable hatred of me and Daenerys Targaryen.  A new post appeared on the fashion blog (the whole blog is deleted now, probably by staff and not of her own volition). This time she claimed to be her own cousin who had inherited her blog after her suicide. It was an obvious ruse and her own followers turned on her then and scolded her for faking her suicide. Many of the people who had messaged me asking me to help her or fussing at me before reached out to me to apologize, seeing her “cousin” post and realizing their mistake. When she saw that, she said (still pretending to be the cousin) that she would have to delete the blog because her parents found it. That was the last I heard from her for a little while. She thinks I don’t know her main blog, but I do. It’s only out of a strong aversion to confrontation that I don’t share her main. She slipped up and liked two of the posts she made on her obscure sideblogs that had no content or posts other than the hate she was posting at me. So for those random empty sideblogs to have any followers is very suspicious, and her “likes” were the only notes these posts got. And the likes came from a prominent (at that time) GoT blog that had a lot of the same views that she shared in her hate posts to me, and I quickly realized that GoT blog was her main blog, and the only one she didn’t outright attack me from–she just used it to “like” her deranged posts to make it look like someone was supporting what she was doing to me. The last time she contacted me was through about 50, yes 50, anons she sent me while the GoT s7 finale was airing a couple weeks later. She had gone through my personal tag and looked up everything about me she could find, and then sent me extremely personal and specific hate asks about everything. She knew I’d be watching the finale so I wouldn’t be able to block her quickly, giving her plenty time to send me a shitload of stuff. It’s my own fault for being open and honest on this blog and literally showing my face, but what can I say? I love my life and am happy to share it on my blog. Anyway, the stuff she said was pretty disturbing. I think if I had been an even slightly less stable person, such cruelty could have driven me off of tumblr altogether or maybe even to self-harm. But as it is I remembered that she’s an insignificant and hateful person and brushed it off. I just blocked her IP and it deleted them all at once. And that’s the whole crazy story .

[ao3-writer]

✓ Read 10:58pm

[I wrote this while listening to Adele’s ‘Love in the Dark’ and Gwen Stefani’s ‘Used to Love You’..]

When Tyler had his first breakup, it was something he expected. His girlfriend said she didn’t think they’d go anywhere and they were better off as friends. Tyler agreed for the most part.

The second and third times were on his part. He felt it wasn’t fair to always be distracted by sports and school and never give them any real attention.

Tyler swore he’d give himself some time to grow and love himself before finding someone else. So that he could truly be in a good place to experience a good relationship.

Yet, even though he felt better and happier with himself, he didn’t understand where this breakup came from.

 “I can’t do it anymore!” Ethan shouted, out of the blue. Tyler was confused by this, he was in the middle of talking about his day when Ethan just burst.

 “I-i’m so tired of the secrets and keeping it hidden and i’m just so sick of it!”

Tyler’s smile dropped and he walked closer to hug him, only to be shrugged off.

 “I get it. I do. I’ve been wanting to tell everyone else too but I thought... I thought you wanted to wait for--”

 “Tyler i-it’s not that. It isn’t! I could care less if everyone else in the world knew! I just.” Ethan stopped for a minute and took a breath, closing his eyes as his hands shook next to his head. “Tyler, I don’t love you anymore.”

 This breakup hit Tyler. It made the light in his eyes dull into a dim glow. It made his heart ache. His soul shake in confusion. He wasn’t angry. He wasn’t sad. He was... confused.

 “W-what?”

 “I love somebody else. She’s a good girl and I love her much more than I love you. SO much. Tyler you’re an amazing person, you are. But we just don’t connect as much as I connect with her.”

This was only the beginning of what became Tyler’s downfall. In the mere days it took for Ethan to pack his things and move to an apartment, Tyler took time to reflect and promise himself to not spiral out of control. Yet, when the second that the door closed and Ethan was officially gone, Tyler only had one thought left in his mind:

Come back.

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

 “Tyler? Are you okay?” Mark had asked one morning.

The love of my life is sitting right across the room pretending like he isn’t the reason I drank down an unbelievable amount of Fireball last night. Of course, i’m not fine.

 “Yeah.” Tyler croaked as he sat up correctly instead of leaning against his desk.

 “Alright. Just let me know if you want the day off.”

 “Yeah, that’d be great.” Tyler replied.

He’s been at home since then. Laying on the couch and trying not to puke. His head throbbed and he felt like shit. He looked around his living room to see that it really was a god awful mess. Just like me, he thought to himself.

After three naps and one of the fastest sprints he’s ever done to the bathroom, Tyler figured he could get his shit together for at least a while. He began to start picking up all the trash he had left littered across the entire house. Did they even make that many tissues in the world?

Once Tyler felt like the rugs were clean enough to look presentable, he heard a knock at the door and he tripped over one of many trash bags to get to it. Opening the door ruined his suddenly careless mood.

 “Mark asked me to come check on you. He was worried.” Ethan said, looking at his feet before looking back up at Tyler. “I was worried.”

 “I’m fine,” Tyler bit out, “you don’t need to check on me.” Tyler was about to close the door when Ethan held it open.

 “Look, you can’t keep calling me and leaving drunk messages. It’s getting out of hand Tyler. Do you know what’d happen if-”

 “If your whore found out?” Tyler finished. Ethan looked up at Tyler, offended by the statement.

 “She’s not my whore. She’s my girlfriend, Tyler.”

 “Does she not realize...?” Tyler asked, looking at Ethan before Tyler started to chuckle. But there was no happiness behind it. It was utter disbelief. Seeing Ethan’s glare made him laugh harder. “Oh my gosh, does she not know that you take dick. My dick, to be exact?”

A sharp blow to Tyler’s jaw left him speechless. Ethan looked furious as he looked at Tyler. Even though it was obvious who was taller, Ethan looked like he could tower over the other male.

 “No. She does not know. She does not need to know.” Ethan hissed, “it was all just a phase. I was lonely.”

 “Damn right you were lonely. Ooh, the ways I could make you scream.” Tyler taunted before Ethan hit him again, even harder. Tyler tasted blood in his mouth.

 “It wasn’t real, Tyler. I was just playing you dumb. I never loved you. Who could love a man like you? You’re such a nice guy and your ‘smile always’ bullshit. All you want is validation,” Ethan snapped.

 “Get out of my house,” Tyler growled, now looking down at Ethan. Ethan spit in his face. Tyler lifted Ethan by his throat and carried him outside, tossing him onto the pavement next to the grass. Ethan yelped, grabbing his hip. “Don’t you ever come back here again.”

Ethan scrambled onto his feet and walked to his car. He slammed the door and turned on the engine. “Faggot!” He shouted as he drove off.

Later that night, Tyler drank more. Mark found him passed out in his bathtub with four empty bottles of liquor littering the ground.

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

Things got worse after that. Tyler never went to the office. Ethan claimed he fell slammed his throat onto a piece of furniture to account for the bruises on his neck and hip. Mark and Amy went over to Tyler’s often to check up on him. Once, they found a chair right underneath the fan and a badly tied rope outside Tyler’s door where he wept.

His drinking was deadly. Amy had asked Kathryn to help her find and pour out every bottle with even 1% alcohol on its label.

Tyler disappeared at one point. No one knew where he went. Mark ended up having to drive all the way to Las Vegas to find out he went to the casinos, spent half his money and still ended up in jail.

 Kathryn obliged to live with Tyler to make sure he wouldn’t do anything ridiculous. Ethan’s girlfriend was actually obsessed with Mark and he had been oblivious the entire time before he found she had tried to drug Mark. They broke up, leaving Ethan cheated on and hurt.

Nobody discussed with Ethan what went on with Tyler. Ethan knew it was because they found out they were dating.

 “How come Tyler never comes around anymore? I haven’t seen him in forever,” Ethan attempts to ask, letting out a chuckle to try and convince them it’s a harmless question.

Everyone looked at each other, having a conversation with their eyes to decide whether or not to tell Ethan.

  “He’s just busy. He got a new job.” Mark decided to lie. Ethan nodded his head, confused by this.

  “He got a boyfriend too.” Amy added, Kathryn staring at her wide-eyed. “Yeah, it took Tyler some balls to come out to us.” Amy said, hiding her bitterness in her words.

 Ethan went back to editing. He felt... confused? Was he happy for Tyler? no. He was... dare he say it? Jealous?

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

 Just like every night for the past month and a half, Kathryn added another another tally to the chart listing the amount of days Tyler’s been clean. Clean from drinking and abusing himself. 

  “51 days, Ty, i’m proud of you,” Kathryn said as Tyler smiled back at her. “Alright, i’m headed to bed. Night.”

  “Night.” Tyler replied, finishing the dishes he was washing. Tyler went to his own room, what used to be Ethan’s, and laid down on his bed to scroll through his social media feeds. Tyler had felt more comfortable helping the team from home rather having to go to the office and... see him. 

 Speak of the devil, Tyler received another text. This was the seventh one that week. The twelfth ever since they broke up. 

 It read a simple ‘Hey’. Tyler ignored it, leaving it on his notification bar as he went to get ready for bed. After brushing his teeth and washing his face, Tyler checked his phone again to see two more messages.

 I haven’t seen you in a while. 

Want to hang? :)

 What should he say? What could he say? Tyler didn’t know. He wanted to pour in his emotions, his hatred, his agony, his sadness, his honesty. But he did nothing. His thumb hovered over the letter’s Y and E. Tyler closed his phone and laid his head against the pillow. He looked up at the ceiling and tried to concentrate on positive thoughts.

 His fingers itched for a bottle of Scotch.

 Another buzz and a ring. Ethan sent a third message.

C’mon man. :/ I want to apologize. I want to make up for

Tyler stared at the message. It ended with that. Without thinking, he replied.

For?

Another buzz.

for what I did.  Four months ago. Cmon, dont make me say it.

Tyler wanted to play ‘dumb’. He replied with:

What did you do?

there were three little dots in the bubble for a while before it expanded.

For breaking up with you.. for literally tearing you apart. My ‘girlfriend’ was just obsessed with Mark. She never loved me. And.. I did love you. I was just angry, Tyler. I was just. I hated the fact that I had to leave you just because I saw something in her. I really did love you Tyler. I still do. Im sorry.

Tyler read and re-read what Ethan sent. He did love him. But the bitterness inside Tyler grew. It grew whenever he drank. Whenever he swam in his own tears. The alcohol was the water that fed the seed inside him. Tyler fought back the bitterness. But it remained. Tyler closed his phone. He figured tomorrow would be a perfect day to go back to work. Not to see Ethan. But for Ethan to see him.

 Ethan was left on ‘Read’ a little before 11.

[oraclesoftime]

Futures Known But Unspoken

CHAPTER 20 Patience is A Virtue Lane was woken up by someone shaking her shoulders, the woman groaning slightly before turning her head to see Balin standing behind her. “Wake up and gather yourself lassie; we’re leaving,” the older dwarf claimed, releasing her shoulder. Lane groaned again but nodded, knowing that they had stayed long enough as it was. Balin quickly left the room as Lane managed to drag herself out of her bed and throw on her clothes, flinching and letting out a small whimper when the collar of her tunic brushed against her head. After readying herself and quietly leaving her room, she quickly found the others silently standing by the stairs, Belle appearing behind her not a minute later with something strapped onto her back that Lane didn’t recognise. “Let’s go,” Thorin ordered, leading the way. Everyone nodded and followed after their leader, being sure to keep quiet so that their leaving would go unnoticed. Belle quickly fell in step with Lane giving her friend a groggy smile which Lane did her best to return. “Is that a bow and quiver?” Lane asked with a small laugh. “Yeah, as much as I wanted to stick by your side when you were knocked out, everyone kept hounding me to do something. Glorfindel was actually the one who helped me to learn, this is the bow he offered to make me yesterday,” Belle hummed, taking the weapon off of her back and showing it to her friend. “So that’s why you seemed so relaxed around him; you’d met him before,” Lane hummed, finally connecting the dots. “Well I’m glad you weren’t moping, not like it ever does any good.” Belle rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the smile that spread across her features, pulling on the bow string a few times causing it to make a small humming noise before placing it on her back once again. As the group reached the borders of Rivendell, rather than taking the path they had coming in, Thorin lead them out a hidden eastern road that had them climbing up a nearby cliff. “Well I hope you’re happy,” Lane whispered. “About what?” Belle asked, giving the taller a confused look. “We won’t be riding ponies until… later,” Lane snickered, giving her friend a knowing look. Belle couldn’t help but beam, the smile quickly leaving her face however when Lane teetered to the side mid-step, Belle’s arms instantly shooting up to steady her. “Are you sure you’re alright?” Belle asked, a small whimper in her voice. “I’ll be fine, just a little woozy,” Lane sighed, managing to steady herself before walking forward again. Belle could only nod as she continued to follow after her friend. “Be on your guard, we’re about to step over the edge of the wilds,” Thorin claimed, no longer having to whisper. “Balin. You know these paths, lead on.” The older dwarf nodded and lead the way further along the path with the others following behind him. As the two women continued to follow the others, Lane’s body slipped again, Belle releasing a loud gasp as she reached forward to catch her friend, Bofur however being faster, spun around and caught the woman’s shoulder. “Easy there Champion, don’t want to have to shave the other side of yer head,” he teased, not able to hide the concerned look in his eye. “Thanks Bofur, coming from you that’s a compliment,” Lane snickered with a small sigh. The miner nodded and helped her to stand upright again before beginning to walk again, Lane and Belle right behind him. The company managed to find their way out of the rocky path with Balin’s apparent knowledge of the road and soon came upon a vast field of dry grass. They kept a steady pace, not too fast but not too slow, and for every step they took, Lane could feel Thorin’s glare boring into her from the front of the group. She wasn’t necessarily slowing them down; Oin only ever being a few feet ahead of herself, Belle and Bilbo; the healer choosing to stay near the back of the group should Lane need aid. While she was indeed grateful for his thoughtfulness towards her, it also made her feel weak and in need of protection, something that took a huge blow to her pride. Sure there was the occasional misstep or flash of dizziness that raced through her head, but it wasn’t anything serious; Belle hadn’t told her that her wound was suddenly bleeding again so there was no need to make such a big fuss. It was when a particularly painful throb wracked not just her head, but her entire body when Lane fell to her knees with a painful yelp. “Lane!!” Belle cried, dashing up to her friend. Oin was kneeling by Lane’s side in record time while Belle’s cry echoed across the open field, all of the dwarves turning to see what the fuss was about. “What hurts lassie,” Oin asked, gently placing his palm on her forehead. “N-no… I’m fine. I just slipped is all,” Lane groaned, clenching her eyes shut in a vain attempt to will the pain in her skull away. Inwardly growling at herself, she pushed herself off of the ground and stood straight, only for the pain to hit her again like a freight train, causing her eyes to cross before falling to her knees again. “Lane stop, you’ll only hurt yourself!” Bilbo pleaded, his hand grasping his friend’s shoulder. “He’s right lassie, you need to stop and rest,” Oin agreed with a nod. “What’s going on, we need to keep moving,” Thorin’s voice growled as he stomped over to them. “Thorin-” “She needs to rest laddie, or we’ll be carrying a corpse to Erebor,” Oin scolded, looking up at their leader. “We don’t have time to rest, Durin’s day is nearly upon us!” Thorin growled. “I can carry her...” Kíli offered as he and the others walked over. “No, if we are attacked we may need every able bodied warrior to fight, having her on your back will leave me with one less fighter,” Thorin claimed. “Thorin-” Balin began, but was interrupted by the leader. “You either stand and walk on your own two feet or we leave you here!” Thorin barked, glaring down at Lane, the woman hanging her head as she willed herself not to cry from pain. “Uncle, enough!” Fíli demanded, stepping in between the two. “We’ve been walking for hours, a little rest could do all of us some good.” Thorin was about to retort when Lane stood and put a shaking hand on Fíli’s shoulder. Pushing him slightly out of the way, Lane raised her head and glared at Thorin. “I thought you were in a rush, Lord Dwarf… what are you doing here standing around?” she growled. Thorin simply spun around on his heels and began walking away, barking at the others to continue as well. “Lane stop, you can’t keep forcing yourself like this!” Belle pleaded, standing up and holding Lane still. “I’m not going to be a liability Izz!” Lane barked, turning to glare at her friend. “I am not weak! I am not frail! And I will not be subject to the scorn of someone with a jagged key and map shoved up his fucking ass, all because I was clocked on the head by an orc!!” Belle stood motionless, her eyes wide and fear filled as Lane turned away from her, taking quick but staggering steps to follow the others. “La-” “Don’t touch me!” Lane barked, harshly brushing off Fíli’s outstretched hand as she passed him. Fíli exchanged a worried look with his brother, their gazes shifting between a clearly enraged Lane and a now forlorn looking Belle as Bilbo rested a hand on her elbow. -=- After a few more hours of traveling, the company finally took a rest near a small grove of trees, almost every one of them releasing a round of groans when they were finally able to rest their weary and aching feet.Lane and Belle sat somewhat away from each other, Lane refusing to meet anyone’s eyes as she kept her back turned to them while Belle let out a small sigh. “Is she still avoiding everyone?” Bilbo asked, walking over to the smaller woman and sitting beside her, his eyes not leaving Lane’s back. Belle nodded and pouted. “I can understand why she’d be peeved, but that doesn’t mean she should just shut us out,” she huffed. “I’d go over there and smack some sense into her but I’m afraid she’d smack me back, and Lane hits hard…” Bilbo hummed and nodded, turning his eyes back to Lane’s form before giving a determined huff and standing. Belle’s hand shot up and grasped his wrist, causing him to stop and look down at her. “Wait, are you seriously going to go and talk to her? She’ll eat you alive; Lane’s almost as bad as Thorin!” Belle hissed, trying to keep her voice down as the sun got lower and lower in the sky. “Lady Isabella, I know that you and Lane have been friends for a very long time, but I believe that there is one thing that even you don’t quite understand about her,” Bilbo hummed with a small smile. Belle’s grip on his wrist slackened as Bilbo took this chance to walk over to the taller of the two, Lane having shifted so that she could lean her right shoulder against a nearby tree along with the uninjured side of her head. “Lane?” Bilbo called quietly, not wanting to disturb her if she was sleeping. “What?” Bilbo jumped slightly at the irritated tone in her voice but didn’t allow himself to turn around, instead taking a few more steps forward so that he was standing by her left shoulder and sat beside her. The hobbit leaned forward slightly to get a better look at his friend’s face and gave a small whine when he realized just how exhausted the taller woman looked. “Are you just going to stare at me?” her voice croaked, eyes not opening. “Lane, you must know that after all this time we’ve spent traveling together, that none of us view you as a burden nor a liability,” he began, keeping his voice level and supportive. “You are probably the strongest and most brave-hearted woman I’ve met, and that’s saying a lot if you recall me having Mirabella as an Aunt.” Lane couldn’t help the small breath of laughter that escaped her lips, her face relaxing at the mention of the hobbit woman. Bilbo gained a smile of his own on his face and he reached out to place a comforting hand on the woman’s knee. “Lane, I cannot speak for every member of this company, but I can easily name a handful that value your presence on this quest. I myself am quite happy that you as well as Lady Isabella decided to come along, and I’m certain she feels the same.” “That’s not a handful Bilbo,” Lane chuckled, her eyes finally opening to look at him out of the corner of her eye. “Well Fíli and Kíli both seem to have gotten attached to you as well as Oin and Bofur. Gloin I’ve noticed isn’t as grumpy around you anymore and I’ve seen the friendship that is growing between yourself and Bifur as well. Dwalin also seems to enjoy your company seeing as he still calls you Champion. Basically everyone who does call you that I believe you can view as a comrade and friend in this venture,” Bilbo claimed, shifting slightly so that Lane could see past him and look at each dwarf as he mentioned them. “I’m sorry that Thorin has been so hard on you since the warg pack, but just because he’s having behavioural issues doesn’t mean everyone shares his view, especially when it comes to you.” Lane lowered her eyes in shame and wrung her hands together before giving a sigh. “I’m a shitty friend… aren’t I?” Lane sighed. “I’m sorry Bilbo.” “Apology accepted, though I don’t believe I’m the one you should be apologizing to,” the hobbit hummed, nodding behind them with a knowing look. Lane sighed through her nose before nodding and moving to stand. Bilbo shot to his feet and offered the woman his hand, Lane pausing for a moment before accepting his aid. Once she was on her feet, Lane managed to walk over to where Belle sat, the smaller woman not raising her head to look up at her. “You still suck, but I’m willing to forgive your flaws and call a truce,” Lane hummed. Belle’s eyes widened and spun around to look up at her friend and give her a baffled look, only to catch sight of the shit eating grin stretched across the taller’s lips. “My flaws? You’re no saint yourself, you know!” Belle laughed, understanding the meaning behind her friend’s words. “You’re right, I’m no saint; I’m closer to being a Bishop, or a Cardinal,” Lane hummed, placing a hand on her chest while pushing her shoulders back with mock dignity. Belle’s mouth opened and closed a few times in befuddlement before she let out a round of laughter, having to cover her mouth with her hands so it wasn’t too loud. “You are beyond hopeless,” the smaller laughed, having to wipe away a few tears in her eyes. “Damn straight, makes life more fun,” Lane scoffed, finally sitting down beside her friend. “I am sorry for yelling at you though, you didn’t deserve to get the brunt of it.” Belle hummed and gave her friend a smile and a pat on the knee, silently telling her that all was forgiven. Bilbo soon came over to join the women and the trio sat and talked for a little while longer until Thorin told everyone to get some rest. -=- The next day continued on in this general pattern. The company traveled almost non-stop from sunup to dusk, found a place to camp for the night before planning on repeating the process again. Lane was still miffed at Thorin, Belle sharing her friend’s feeling while Thorin never spared them a glance, his eyes always set on the Misty Mountains in the east. Bilbo had remained with the women and would help Belle to silently support Lane whenever the taller woman would trip or get a head rush and have to pause to clear her vision.The morning after Lane had apologized to Belle, she had done the same to Fíli for her harshness towards him only wanting to help. If the blond prince felt any ill will or discontent towards her for her actions, he never stated so and accepted her apology with a smile and a pat on the shoulder. “Nothing to worry about, Champion,” he had said. “I understand all too well that Thorin can be a bit hard headed and overly driven.” When the sun began to set that evening, the company once again found a place to camp for the night, Lane, Belle and Bilbo taking out their bedrolls and lining them up beside each other not too far away from the dwarves. While doing so, it found the trio trading stories and experiences from their short time in Rivendell. “He just walked in!?” Bilbo gasped, looking like he had been personally put through the ordeal. “I cannot believe Kíli would do such a thing…” “I don’t think dwarves know how to knock,” Lane snickered, patting her friend on the shoulder as Belle hung her head. “Fíli did the same thing to me when Gilraen took me to the baths.” “WHAT!?” the two squawked, gaping at the tallest. “And you didn't tell me?” Belle accused. “What would you have done, defended my honour? Too late, honour gone.” Lane hummed. “Though I don't think Fíli minded~” Bilbo sputtered at the implication she was making while Belle smacked her friend on the arm. “I'm joking I'm JOKING!” Lane laughed, shifting slightly so she was further from her friend’s reach. “My Lady…” The three turned to see Kíli was standing by Belle’s side with a smile stretched across his lips and bow in hand. “I'm not interrupting anything am I? There are some trees not too far off that may serve as good target practise, especially since I understand you now have a bow of your own,” the brunet prince claimed, nodding at said weapon resting not to far away with her others things. Belle’s eyes widened slightly in excitement before she remembered her friend, turning to look at Lane only for the taller to roll her eyes. “Don’t worry about me, I have my secondary mother hen to cluck over me while you’re abusing the trees,” Lane chuckled, thumbing over at Bilbo as the hobbit gave her a pout. “Who are you calling a mother hen?” Bilbo huffed. “Would you rather me call you a quack?” “That is no better!” Belle giggled and stood up after picking up her bow and quiver, allowing Kíli to lead the way over to their makeshift target range.“I know I said that it’s alright, but that doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to pout,” Lane huffed, doing just that. Bilbo chuckled and patted the woman on the back as they watched the dwarven archer help Belle with her standing and drawing postures. “You know Bilbo, you could probably do with a few lessons on how to stab people,” Lane snickered, looking at the hobbit out of the corner of her eye. “Make use of that dagger you’ve got hanging at your hip.” “Balin called it a letter opener,” Bilbo scoffed, drawing the sword and running his finger along the flat of the blade. “Just because it’s small in size doesn’t make it useless.” “No, I agree. Back home our people have a saying; Great things come in small packages,” Lane hummed, resting her jaw in her palm as she smiled at him. “I’m sure that if you keep it by you Bilbo, that it’ll see its fair share of battles.” The hobbit seemed approving of her words as Lane stopped herself from grinning too much, knowing full well that this ‘letter opener’ would serve a greater purpose than any other sword among them at this moment in the future, both near and far.“I’m not interrupting an important pep talk am I?” Lane and Bilbo turned to see that Fíli had walked over to the two, no doubt in search of his brother. “Not at all,” Bilbo hummed, motioning for him to join them. Fíli did just that, sitting on Lane’s other side and allowing his eyes to drift over to the two archers not far away. “Has Thorin managed to glare a hole in the back of Izz’s head yet? She’s stealing the attention of one of his fighters,” Lane huffed, giving Fíli a sidelong glance. “Not yet; Balin and Dwalin keep trying to talk some sense into him about the treatment that he’s giving you two. He naturally won’t hear any of it right now, but I think he’s still a little jaded about the fact that we’re now on a time limit,” Fíli hummed, leaning back to rest on his hands. Lane rolled her eyes but didn’t have the energy to vent, not only that but just because Fíli understood that Thorin was being a dick didn’t mean he was automatically the best person to talk to about said dwarf lord.“You know that he’ll come around eventually right? Not just for you and Lady Isabella, but with you as well Bilbo,” Fíli claimed, looking around Lane to give the hobbit a slightly apologetic look. “I figured as much, from what I understand, you folk are very tight knit with your own kin and kind, I wasn’t really expecting to be welcomed with open arms in the first place,” Bilbo said with a small laugh. Fíli nodded and turned his attention back to the woman beside him, catching sight of Lane’s pout causing him to chuckle. He reached over and patted her on the shoulder causing her to shift slightly to look back at him. “Patience is a virtue Champion,” he laughed. “Patience is in low supply when you have a stubborn iron rod as a troupe leader,” Lane scoffed. “...but I’ll try…” Fíli’s grin grew and he nodded, turning back to the duo by the trees as Belle fired an arrow from her bow and hit a nearby tree with a hard ‘thunk’.

[acuppellarp]

Welcome (again) to A Cup-pella, Ann! We’re excited to have you and Frances Farr in the game! Please go through the checklist to make sure you’re ready to go and send in your account within the next 24 hours. 

OOC INFO

Name + pronouns:  Ann + she/her/hers Age: 21 Timezone: Gmt +8 Ships:  Frances/Chem Anti-Ships: Frances/forced

IC INFO

Full Name: Frances Christian Farr Face Claim: Im Jinah Age/Birthday: 27 / November 25, 1990 Occupation: Licensed makeup artist / Commercial print model Personality: selective, concise, loyal, elusive, emotionally unavailable Hometown: Dublin, Ireland

Bio:

tw: illness, death

Frances Christian Farr, formerly known as Moon Dasom, was the daughter of Moon Songyi, who later became Songyi Farr when she married her Irish husband, Zacharii Farr in 1992. Her little family moved from South Korea to Dublin on the day of her third birthday, and Frances only remembered snapshots of giddy faces and gleeful laughter; of tightly held hands and eager feet stepping closer and closer to white picket fence and vibrant garden. She remembered perfection in her family; of being surrounded by love and warmth and knowledge from her step father who knew so much and told so many to her three-year-old self; of trips down the street and beautiful afternoons spent at the park along with other families her father had known way before he met her and her mother; of sweet chocolate drinks during the coldness of the winter and heat coming from her mother and step father whilst seated before the fireplace of their humble abode.

Frances remembered similar memories lasting until her sixth birthday. When she finally noticed wary looks in people’s faces; the worry in her step father’s sister’s eyes as she gives her mother not one but way too many looks from her head down to her toe, oftentimes lingering on the beautiful hat her mother loved wearing all the time. Her mother’s alabaster skin would occasionally be dotted by darkened spots on her arms, shoulders, sometimes Frances saw them along her thighs and her legs, and she didn’t know why. Her mother was not clumsy. It was on the day of her sixth birthday that her mom was sent to the hospital after welcoming some guests at the door with her stepfather. Frances couldn’t remember much when she went to the hospital with her aunt, but she heard ‘treatment wasn’t working anymore’ and ‘stroke’ and 'I’m sorry’ a lot as she sat by the waiting area whilst her aunt talked to the doctor because, apparently, only adults could talk to doctors. And she wondered where her stepfather was; why he wasn’t there, worried and nervous and seated right next to her so he could offer reassurance and comfort.

It was two hours after someone’s body was covered with a white blanket that she found out about her stepfather’s whereabouts. He’d been with a different doctor, taking care of everything he needed to take care of after what happened to her mother. It was after all papers were shoved in a neat envelope that he finally joined her and talked to her gently, telling her that her mother was gone; that she’d joined God in heaven.

Frances didn’t know why her mother joined God on her birthday, but even as sadness consumed her small body, she was just happy to hear that her mother was in heaven.

With no other pleasant things to have in Dublin, Frances and her stepfather wound up moving to New Haven, where her aunt was living with her own family. There she lived a relatively normal life until she was old enough to find out the true cause of her mother’s death through eavesdropping. No confrontations happened; in fact, it was all too peaceful, how Frances left her stepfather’s family after discovering the fact that they all lied to her; that if not for that fateful day, she would have stayed ignorant to her mother’s story. So, she disregarded her acceptance letters from various universities she applied in for college. Instead, Frances enrolled herself in a makeup artist school using the money she managed to save through the years, to pursue her fascination for the art that was drawn on human’s faces rather than plain, flat canvases; of covering what society deemed were imperfections. It was during these classes that she was also discovered by a photographer, who had quite a few connections in the industry, and later on, she began sidelining as a commercial print model whilst tirelessly earning her license as a makeup artist.

Now, Frances is a licensed makeup artist (currently giving her free service to Aria Abram’s actresses for her web series just because she wants to), still a commercial print model and, what’s probably only new in her life is the fact that she’s a frequent customer of Acup; a huge fan of their beverages and treats and, most importantly, their ladies.Pets: None. Having a pet is a commitment and Frances is allergic to that.

Relationships:

Brittany pierce, raisin Flanagan, & Kate Hummel

Her roommates. Her very diverse roommates, personality and appearance-wise. Frances didn’t hang out with them as much as the three did with each other. Other than her leaving food in the fridge and occasionally cleaning up the communal places for them whenever she was in the mood, Frances couldn’t quite remember a time when she had a profound moment with them. That’s not to say that she disliked them, of course. She was quite fond of Brittany’s brightness, of Raisin’s red lips, and Kate’s short stature. Those were enough for her to be able to live with them without any complications, honestly.

EXTRA INFO

Twitter name/twitter URL/description:

toofarr / francesfarr / “frances. 27 years young. 171 cm. promoting cosmetics and clothes if not putting makeup on people.”

Five latest tweets:

@francesfarr:  yes, i had a bobcut earlier this year and yes, it’s this long now.

@francesfarr:  not sure how you could make your hair grow long quickly, but if you have my genes..?

@francesfarr:  sorry warblettes, but PL gets my thumbs up tonight.

@francesfarr:  i heard some teenagers talking about ari’s stuff on youtube behind my back. i told you: it’s great. go watch it.

@francesfarr:  i’m not sure who it is, but someone’s walking around the apartment at 11 pm and i’m not amused. @roommates

[isaacathom]

im figuring for most of the game Rhia ONLY refers to Jun as ‘my uncle’ - she doesnt refer to him by name. you can figure out that she means Jun through his own dialogue and through interactions with Lyndelle, who Rhia says is her cousin. and Lyndelle speaks quite openly about her father and how much she aspires to be just like him, and how much he inspires Rhia, too. so when you eventually meet Jun in relation to Team bullshit, and he’s friendly and kind, you go ‘ooohhhhh thats her uncle, right’.

the main reason she does it is because shes paranoid about accidentally incriminating him. when shes berating Elliot for leaving her behind, and describing in detail what occured after she left, she’s fully aware that if she says his name, and then FAILS to stop Elliot and the player (and Zeke, iirc) from leaving, they might report his connections. its a VERY weak defence, admittedly, given how easy it is to work out who she’s referring to. but theres also the fact that shes NOT related to him. and Elliot, knowing this fact (knowing that she’s Seren, and that her entire family live in Johto and didn’t take her ‘home’), would be unable to connect that dot. Being that he is obsessed with Seren, rather than Rhia. the player knows she means Jun, but the player has also actually met Jun - which Rhia doesn’t know. But they’ve met, and they know that Jun isn’t enthusiastic about Team shit, and only works with them because he is blackmailed and wants to protect his family.

so. yknow. if she just says ‘her uncle’, theres room for interpretation. its vague enough. plus, if you actually go to HER records, the records of Rhia Stanton, you will not find Jun Zhang anywhere. he’s her step uncle. instead you will find Patrick’s family, and the family of her ‘mother’. who i think, for shits and gigs, dont have any brothers. that’d be funny. someone investigating Rhia’s ‘uncle’ claims would actually have to look a long way into her records to find a man who could match that description. ofc in reality they’d just ask Jun because that’s her home address now but like, yknow. they share no blood, both in general and as far as her legal records are concerned. so. yknow. someone trying to be covert and investigate Rhia would have to put a lot of extra effort to find this info.

idk i think itd be fun if Rhia’s going on her long tirade explaining the time between her being assaulted and Jun finding her and speaking in these vague terms. not in any overt hilarious way, i just think itd be cool for her to do. then, of course, once shits all cleared, he’s just Jun. well, ok, she alternates, because she does feel a genuine familial attachment to Jun and Bronwyn and Lyndelle, and terms like ‘aunt’ and ‘uncle’ and ‘cousin’ are vague enough that it can describe how she feels while not NECESSARILY necessitating blood ties. its a cute thing. initially it was part of her cover story, calling them auntie and uncle (and then mostly just calling Lyndelle by name), but at one point Rhia would’ve just slipped and called Jun ‘uncle’ in private and honestly it probably made him cry. and shes fretting and apologising and saying ‘fuck fuck i meant Jun sorry’ and hes all ‘no no its fine.... you can call me uncle if you want.’ and shes like ‘wait, really?????’ ‘absolutely, Rhia. if you want to!’ and she cries too. Bronwyn comes downstairs to find them hugging and crying and shes just ‘did i walk in on something?? do you want me to give you a minute’ and they both laugh reallyyyy awkwardly and theres a silence, before Rhia goes ‘heyyyyyy uuhhhhhh i had a question..... am i allowed to call you auntie????’ and bronwyns very confused about what exactly brought this on, looks at Jun, looks back at Rhia, back at Jun, and it clicks and she goes ‘oooooohhhhhhhhhhh. oooohhhh. you mean actually?’ and rhia nods and bronwyn goes ‘well, you do already, dont you? why not! :)’ and its just a big fun time.

then lyndelle also walks in and is INCREDIBLY confused. what the fuck is happening. why is everyoe laughing and crying and hugging and shit. did something happen???????? it is an incredily weird time.

uhhhhh point is she means it sincerely but not in a blood tie way and its also juuuuuuussssttt vague enough that she doesnt give anything away when shes trying to keep shit secret. of course, if pressed in a normal situation, she’d tell you exactly who ‘uncle’ is, the talented Dr Jun Zhang, but in any remotely crime-y shit, you wont get a peep.

so i guess she just always calls him uncle? maybe after the whole team/org blows over, she switches to ‘Uncle Jun’, rather than just uncle? that’d be kinda cute.

im not sure exactly when shed start sincerely calling then family, though. she has like 8 years to figure that out. it certainly wasnt in the first year or so - she was still mixed in that time. at some point, certainly.

the same sort of terms follow for Jun and Bronwyn too. Bronwyn probably took a little longer - mostly because she had slightly less history with Rhia than Jun did - but both of them feel very close to her and refer to her as their niece on a few occasions. Jun especially. mostly because meeting Jun is actually required for story progression, so IF he mentioned his family at all, itd be in vague terms. because just like Rhia, he really doesnt want to tie them into his business. he hates this business, why would he want them connected? so its just ‘my niece’ not ‘my niece, rhia, that cop whose been sorta bothering you the whole game’. YOU know, obviously, the player knows thats probably whats happening. which is probably also the point where you should be going ‘hang on......... her uncles in the evil team??? does she know???’ and it should cause people to think twice. ideally between meeting Jun in a team context and the tower sequence the player should see her again - presumably to insert the whole Seren thing which ive technically retconned out of existence but still needs to occur i guesssss - and she should seem especially suss in that instance. in fact, yea, having that be the point where she asks you to ask elliot about Seren makes sense, and should look INCREDIBLY shifty. like, whyyy cant she just ask him herself? why do you have to do it? what does that mean? theres probably been minor hints about it throughout the game, and there IS a cemetery why you can find graves for both her parents AND a grave for Seren with only her DOB and an end year. and Zeke probably actually knows about it, even if he didnt know Seren personally (given the age difference - he’s older than the player but younger than Rhia, being that he is like.... 17??? which is 6 years younger than her and anywhere from 2-5 older than you. idk. there would be minor info sprinkled about Seren throughout the game, to the point where the player COULD fill in the blanks about what the fuck is happening themselves. to a point, anyway. like, hmm.... so Seren was Elliot’s charge, and vanished, and now this girl who is roughly how old she’d be now is asking me to ask Elliot about her...... hmmmm. and the player might click it. the details, about how he abandoned her, come out only from Rhia herself in her tirade against Elliot. what Elliot tells you is slightly different. ooh, thats a bit, actually.

how Rhia recounts the events and how Elliot does is vastly different. mostly because they drastically diverge at a point, but also in terms of what they recount in that similar lead up. Rhia talks about how shifty the plan was, how he made her wait while he spoke to the gym leaders before coming to get her, how they were on their own despite the other groups being fairly large and proportionally uneven, how she ended up leading the way down the corridor (of her own arrogance, but her point is that He didnt stop her). Elliot talks about her boundless enthusiasm to take part, her insistence, his concern that he’d end up disappointing her if the gym leaders found out and subsequently stopped her. and the specific ‘incident’ bit, the description is different too. Elliot doesn’t really go into specifics. its just ‘there were..... complications. i had no choice but to flee’. Rhia instead describes in details how they were grabbed from behind when the corridor opened up abruptly, how the grunts jeered them and held hands over their mouths, how she kicked one of the grunts in the arm so they let Elliot go, how Elliot hesitated for JUST a moment before bolting, silently, down the corridor. that silence is a big part of it, too. Elliot will say to you that he tried to find help, which is true (to a point), but Rhia’s statement makes that seem strange. if he ran silently, how much did he want help? whether he DID actually leave without crying out at all is..... unclear. neither account of events is wholly accurate. the commonalities are true, but the minor parts are based on interpretation. in fact, the ONLY people perhaps equipped to offer an objective view on what happened in the confrontation are the Grunts, who could talk about how Seren crossed the threshold first with a pokeball in hand, and how Elliot passed closely behind without, and how Barny got kicked in the hand and probably later in the face by the flailing Seren, how Smokes followed Elliot down the hall and saw him completely leave the premises, how Tiny Fae later told Jun about Seren. that sorta shit. those are random names i dont even know what the fuck those mean.

i think thatd be a very neat difference. just to emphasise how they both feel about it. how Rhia would highlight the choices available to Elliot (and technically herself, but trust me, that isnt her idea) and how Elliot would highlight how inevitable he felt his choices were, or how he didnt have them.if it isnt obvious i probably agree with Rhia more, though shes a lot less blameless than she makes it out and there is probably more actual manipulation of information in her recounting over Elliots. like yea, both are manipulated to elicit a specific response (sympathy for both, and anger at Elliot in Rhia’s case). but since Rhia is making a point when she’s telling her version, she’s likely slightly twisted parts of it. the emotional impact of the event isnt changed, but some of the physical elements are likely emphasised to make Elliot feel reaaallllllll fucking guilty. like ‘you thought i was dead, but i lived! but in agonising pain for a while and there have been permanent physical and mental repercussions for your actions, asshole!’ what fun! :)