#like we already have evidence of em using tools but i mean like.

[kaiasky]

If i were a crow or a chimp or elephant or whatever i think I would see humans talking or using technology and I'd be like. "shit dude why didn't i think of that, i gotta get on that". i think we should check in on elephants in 1000 years and see if they've learned flintknapping and language and stuff

[falmerbrook]

People have probably asked you this before but what is your personal interpretation of The Battle of Red Mountain? Personally, I love the idea of Dagoth being tempted by the heart despite him being the one guy to urge the tools not be used. (Nerevar too to an extent but he’s bad at making decisions)

I just love my tragic six council.

*rubbing my hands together* This is the perfect question for me! I have already given this much thought because I too love drama. So you're getting a bit of an essay; I hope you are ok with that :D. Skip down a bit if you just want just my thoughts on my interpretation, but I'm gonna start by laying out the options and my thoughts on some of the different interpretations first.

So first of all, I don't think there is a canon for it. Both in the sense that I don't think Bethesada or the Morrowind team actually have a solid canon idea of what went down, and that I don't think any one retelling has overwhelming evidence that blows the others out of the water completely (although some have more merit to me than others).

The other strong opinion I have is that I dislike the Dragon Break explanation (at least in the way I see most people present it). Despite Dragon Breaks being one of the more interesting pieces of lore (and one of my favorite watsonian explanations for an in-game thing ever), I think it is the most boring interpretation of the BoRM. I know there's some canon support for it, but it just doesn't speak to me. Like, if every version of the battle could have happened "simultaneously" because of a Dragon Break, then that means that there's a chance no one is lying because the version they tell is truly how they experienced it, even if someone else experienced something else. Where's the fun in that? We're here for tragedy and lies and drama.

So I sort of see there being 6 main versions of what happened that we've been given (with some details changed depending on the exact source): 1) the Ashlander version (descended from the account of Alandro Sul, 2) the Temple version, 3) the Nord version (from the Five Songs of King Wulfharth), 4) the version in the 36 Lessons of Vivec, 5) Vivec's version (as told to the Dissident Priests and the Nerevarine), and 6) Dagoth Ur's version.

The Ashlander version (x) (x) (x) has the Tribunal outside of the mountain fending off the Dwemer army while Nerevar and Voryn fought Dumac and Kagrenac in the Heart Chamber. These put Voryn (and presumably House Dagoth) on the side of the Chimer. Progress of Truth claims the Dwemer destroyed themselves, while Nerevar at Red Mountain claims Azura showed Nerevar how to "use the tools to separate the power of the Heart from the Dwemer people" (whatever that means) and turned them to dust. After that, Nerevar is kinda fucked up, so while Voryn urges him to destroy the tools, he tells Voryn to guard them while he get's the Tribunal's opinion. They're like "let's keep 'em" and he's like "actually never mind I want Azura's opinion" so they poison him, take the tools, and kill Voryn. This one is interesting because the Ashlander mythology and culture seems to be mostly based on oral tradition, so the versions we see of their accounts have been written by scholarly outsiders (obscuring the truth even further). Additionally, they claim this version was passed down from the the account of Alandro Sul, but that leaves a lot of time for this version of the story to change and morph. These are probably, like, 30th level accounts of what happened.

The official Temple version (x) (x) (x) (x) (x) claims Nerevar was martyred in the BoRM, dying of his injuries, and puts House Dagoth and Voryn on the side of the Dwemer. Most of these claim Nerevar killed Dumac and then died from his own injuries (Saint Nerevar specifically claims these were injuries inflicted by Voryn), but don't specify what happened to Voryn or what was going on with the Tribunal during the battle. This version is much more vague about pretty much everything than the Ashlander or Vivec versions. The thing to note with these sources is they are either obviously biased propaganda from the Tribunal Temple or are drawing from obviously biased propaganda from the Tribunal Temple.

The Nord version (x) is way different from the others and for that reason I kinda ignore it to be honest. So in this version (as far as I can tell?) after the War of the First Council kicks up, Voryn drags the Nords into it by telling them he knew where the Heart of Shor (Lorkhan) was. This version seems to put the Nords and House Daogth (including Voryn) on one side and the Chimer and Dwemer on the other. Nerevar and Dumac are still buddies here and fight Voryn and Wulfharth in the Heart Chamber. Voryn kills Dumac. Nerevar kills Voryn. Lorkhan kills Nerevar. Nerevar kills Lorkhan. Alandro Sul is blind now. Vivec might be there.

The 36 Lessons of Vivec version (x) is also one I kinda ignore in terms of what happened during the BoRM since it too is essentially propaganda and largely lies (also I have a hard time understanding it). From my understanding, Vivec puts the Dwemer and Nords against the Chimer. There's sort of an overall placing of the "Sharmat" against the Chimer/Nerevar as well, but no explicit mention of what Voryn or House Dagoth is doing. The Tribunal destroy the Dwemer and "remove them from the world", while Nerever "went too far inside [Red Mountain], seeking the Sharmat [Voryn]" as it exploded. I guess that's how Nerevar dies? Of course, there is also that infamous secret message in the lessons: "He was not born a god. His destiny did not lead him to this crime. He chose this path of his own free will. He stole the godhood and murdered the Hortator. Vivec wrote this."

Vivec's version to the Dissident Priests (x) is probably the most detailed, and one of two that are first hand accounts. In this version, he claims that during the battle Nerevar and Voryn went into the Heart Chamber and fought Dumac and Co., where Nerevar killed him. Kagrenac did something with the Heart and *poof* all of the Dwemer are gone. Voryn tells Nerevar they should destroy the tools, but Nerevar wants to get the Tribunal's opinion. They tell him to keep them, and he agreed under the condition that "the tools would never be used in the profane manner that the Dwemer had intended". Nerevar and the Tribunal go to get the tools from Voryn, but he refuses to give them up, so the gang fights him, gets the tools back, and Voryn escapes. The Tribunal keep their oath for years (Nerevar nebulously stops existing during this time) before using them and pissing off Azura.

Daogth Ur's version (x), claims that he loyally served Nerevar until the end, and Nerevar betrayed him by killing him after telling to him to guard the tools. "Yet beneath Red Mountain, you struck me down as I guarded the treasure you bound me by oath to defend. It was a cruel blow, a bitter betrayal, to be felled by your hand." What a wordsmith!

The one depiction we have of Nerevar's murder is a sketch Kirkbride did for Morrowind's 10th anniversary and it doesn't match a single one of the other versions we have, but because it's visual (and dramatic) it is burned into the fandom zeitgeist so it's worth mentioning.

So none of these line up completely, but there is some significant overlap between a few.

Interestingly, the Ashlander version of the build up to the War of the First Council and the events of the battle itself up until Nerevar goes to chat with the Tribunal is pretty much the same (with the exception of how the Dwemer disappeared) as Vivec's account to the Dissident Priests. Where they differ is in what happened to the Dwemer, Voryn, and Nerevar. To me that makes that sequence of events the most likely of all of the options from a "which is most likely canon" perspective, and the differences between the two come down to bias, with the Alandro Sul and the Ashlanders trying to bolster Nerevar's accomplishments and portray the Tribunal poorly, and Vivec trying to dissuade any suspicion that he killed Nerevar.

Also interestingly, Dagoth Ur's account matches Vivec's pretty closely, with Vivec claiming Nerevar (and the Tribunal) had to fight Voryn to get the tools back, and Dagoth Ur claiming Nerevar killed him (presumably to get the tools back), despite their completely opposing biases. That's gotta mean something. I'm not sure Voryn ever actually says the Tribunal murdered Nerevar now that I'm thinking about it (please correct me if I'm wrong), rather just implies they betrayed him (which could of course include murder though). Meanwhile, Vivec's secret message in the 36 Lessons is basically a murder confession.

This is so messy (in the best way).

SKIP HERE FOR JUST MY THOUGHTS!

So which one do I like? It depends. Like I've said before, I'm here for interpersonal tragedy among Nerevar and Co., so the version I prefer depends on what part of the tragedy you want to focus on. If I want an interpretation of the story that focuses mostly on Nerevar and the Tribunal's relationship, the Ashlander version where they murder him is the most juicy. But a version where he dies from his fight with Voryn, and the Tribunal watch him die, might be the most tragic. If I want the focus on Nerevar and Voryn's messiness, then perhaps his version where Nerevar kills him is the best fit. If I want a focus on Nerevar and Dumac, perhaps Nerevar dies from those wounds. One of my favorite things about Morrowind is that there is no right interpretation, so you can mix and match for the circumstances of what kind of story you want to tell! You don't even have to be consistent. So much angst potential! So much fun to be had!

If I had to create a best ""canon"" interpretation though based on all of those versions I just detailed, it would be this: Following the Ashlanders' and Vivec's account of the build up to the battle, with the Dwemer (and Nords and Orcs are there too I guess idc) on one side and all of the Chimer houses and tribes on the other, Nerevar, Voryn, and Alandro Sul (among others) end up in the Heart Chamber while the Tribunal lead the charge against the bulk of the Dwemer army outside of the mountain. During the fight in the Heart Chamber, Nerevar and Dumac fight one-on-one, ending with Nerevar very injured, but having killed Dumac (it's tragic and emotional. Poor Nerevar). With Dumac's death, the direction of the battle turns to Kagrenac, who is messing with the tools and the Heart. Knowing everything is about to close in on him, Kagrenac does... something... to the Heart and the Dwemer all disappear (I personally like to think it was a lot less planned and perfected than most like to think. It was a panic move). His tools are left behind, and Voryn gets them and tells Nerevar they should destroy them, considering what they just saw and what he knows personally of Kagrenac. Nerevar is pretty delirious and distressed, and doesn't trust himself enough to make the decision. Knowing he hadn't trusted the Tribunal as much as he should have about the Dwemer leading up to this point, he decides it would be best to get their input. He tells Voryn to stay with the tools, and while Voryn is hesitant to be there alone (that could be because he is nervous to be in the presence of the Heart with the tools, or because he doesn't want Nerevar alone with the Tribunal or getting their advice), Nerevar trusts him fully. He is helped out of the mountain and to the Tribunal, who are dealing with the aftermath of the Dwemer disappearing. Note that at this point in their lives, they are annoyed and frustrated with his leadership, and don't trust his decision making too much. They urge him to keep the tools, and he is not thrilled about it, but relents because he is tired. They all rest a few hours, and then go back into Red Mountain to get Voryn and the tools. There, for whatever reason, Voryn won't give them back (I'll get back to why in a minute), and things escalate very quickly, with the situation ending with Nerevar having killed him. Nerevar, now having killed two of his closest friends over this, changes his mind and decides against using the tools, making the Tribunal swear an oath to never use them, period. They aren't thrilled about this, and their animosity towards Nerevar just grows. They either bide their time and wait for Nerevar to die, or kill him themselves sometime after this, after which they use the tools and piss off Azura.

So back to the topic of Voryn, your point about him is interesting. I feel like there's so many ways to interpret him in this situation and how exactly he was invovled. How did he find out about what the Dwemer (or at least Kagrenac) were doing? What side was he on during the war? Was House Dagoth on his side? Did he mess with the tools when he was left alone with them? If he did, why?

Knowing he was probably closer with Dumac and Kagrenac (whether that be personally and/or politically) than most other Chimer, that could explain how he knew about the heart. I've had a thought in the past that perhaps one of them straight up showed him the Heart and the Numidium, which spurred him to warn Nerevar about it. What if that exposure to it fucked with his head a little, like radiation? Afterwards, he could always feels it's pull and beating, and it only got stronger when he got closer to the mountain. It's like a drug that gets you hooked instantly. My thought was perhaps that was the reason why 1) he is hesitant to watch the tools (and be alone with the Heart), 2) wanted the tools destroyed, knowing first hand how maddeningly powerful the Heart is, and 3) he gave in and messed with the Heart when left alone. There is a delightful irony to him being the first of the Chimer to use the tools despite being the one to most strongly urge not to.

On the other hand, it is from Vivec's account to the Dissident Priests that we get the idea that he had messed with the tools when left alone with them, and of course Vivec has reason to portray Dagoth Ur as insane and unreasonable and corrupted by the Heart to the priests. Perhaps though, Voryn had been faithful and hadn't done anything with them, and was instead unwilling to give the tools to Nerevar because he didn't want them in the hands of the Tribunal, who he believed wouldn't be so noble. Vivec only depicts this as an irrational and power hungry move as projection. On that note, I wish we could've gotten Almalexia and Sotha Sil's account of what happened. I'm sure they'd be just as dubious as Vivec's, but they would've been fun to analyze.

One last thing, I've always been curious about House Dagoth's involvement in the War of the First Council. While the Temple puts them on the side of the Dwemer, it's pretty safe to say this is a form of propaganda to make them look bad after their house was disbanded and essentially erased from history. Other sources give little mention of House Dagoth, but mention their leader, Voryn, as serving under Nerevar, so it's likely the house was on his side as well. I have had the curious idea before though that perhaps House Dagoth, having been more closely aligned and politically/culturally similar to the Dwemer compared to the other houses, had a fracturing caused by the war, with some following Voryn's leadership on the side of the Chimer, and others following the Dwemer. This could explain the conflicting accounts of whose side they were on (ignoring the propaganda angle). But that's more AU than a headcanon.

Anyway, TLDR: it depends! There is no one account that is particularly more canon than others (although i think some are more reliable than others). Different scenarios maximize different drama for different characters, so my interpretation depends on what you want to get out of depicting that battle!

Oh my god I am so sorry this is so long. I'm sure you didn't want this much, but I just have so many thoughts and I figured his would be a good opportunity to vomit them all into the world. If anyone actually read this whole thing, I appreciate you greatly!!

[seelestia]

Congratulations for the RESULTS YEAYYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!! YOU DID ITTT!!!! GOOD LUCK FOR THE NEXT STEP OF YOUR LIFE!!

Since I'll be taking it(spm) this year with so little amount of time for preparation, I don't know anymore, especially a lot of things in life have been.. hueh.. I don't know if I'm ready for it, my first exam results for this year, yes good, but I am still not sure of everything, myself mainly.

Sorry for rambling, huwa, I'm so nervous it makes me want to escape school but in order to do that I need to go through that big thing first..! And I'm really sorry, but do you have any study tips? Preparation tips or any other tips for spm? I'd really appreciate them!

(and it's so nice I can have someone to talk about this, thank youuuu!!)

(oh and sorry if I talk too much about it, maybe I'm bringing some bad memories, I'm sorry)

THANK U !!! graduating from highschool has been the biggest relief i've ever felt... i still have more in store for me in the future but at least, that's one gone :') can't wait for u to get thru it too! just hold on a little longer T_T

also, it's ok to worry abt the future! i do that too and it's inevitable - but make sure it doesn't prevent u from staying stagnant in the present. ur future is a result of ur present and luckily, we are all in control of our present so u still have time. make the most of it, i believe in u! 🤍

this feels a little funny to write, but i do have tips! here are some of em:

identify, maintain & improve. in order to get a good grip over all ur subjects, u need to identify which subjects u do well / excel at and which ones u struggle with. evidently, u'll have to direct more efforts towards the latter - but make sure to keep maintaining subjects u do good/average at! as an example, i struggled with math so i focused more on doing more math exercises (which thank god, paid off 😵‍💫).

write ur own notes and by that, i mean: write notes in ur own way! there is no 'correct' way to make notes imo. don't pressure urself to make ur notes look 'pretty' or 'aesthetic' (but ofc if u want to or it makes writing notes fun for u, go ahead!). after all, we make notes to help us understand and simplify complicated stuff (it's giving catabolism /j) !! extra tip: i always add commentary to my notes so i laugh & rmbr them better. e.g. i was making notes abt the types of white blood cells once and i scribbled “we owe it all to u queens" LOL.

use ur free time well. if ur someone who already has a set schedule, all the better! but if ur like me and prefer a more 'free' style, i suggest allocate a tiny bit of ur free time like 15-30 minutes a day to do exercises for one subject. just a little smth to keep ur brain gears turning amidst it all!

ur efforts have to be more than ur teachers. if u really want to excel, u have to do beyond what ur teachers give bcs they only provide u the tools to success. if u want to get there, then u gotta pave the way urself! to put it practically, u can finish the hw ur teacher gave u and do more exercises after that to help sharpen ur understanding more. so, it's kinda like voluntarily giving urself more hw! i'd tie this to the point above bcs that one technically counts as giving urself hw but in a chill way ^^^

lastly, this is less general and more applicable to just spm (i think? i've yet to do my research on education systems in other countries) so i'll use some native language here - tgk soalan exam tahun yg lepas² !!! so u'll familiarize urself with how those yg menggubal soalan make the real deal. doing trial papers & more is the way to go ><

[fangirlovestuff]

Family - Frank Adler x reader

a/n- Hey lovely people! this is my second entry for the shameless hoes for chris challenge, so i’d like to say a very happy birthday (and belated birthday) to the lovely @stargazingfangirl18​ & @navybrat817​ who are hosting this challenge! thank you for sharing your kindness, talent, and shameless hoe thoughts with us through this challenge and every day, i hope you both had great days! here’s this Frank one shot as a gift! also, disclamer: i know nothing about boats. thoughts are in italics, prompt is in bold. Enjoy! <3

Summary: You move into a new town in search of a new job, and you meet a very handsome man and his cute niece. Or more accurately, their cat finds you.

Word count: ~3,550

Prompts:  Oops I caught feelings for you and I got ‘em baddd. &  “Oh god, did I say that out loud?”

Warnings: SMUT, explicit sexual content, explicit language. please do not read if you are uncomfortable with any of the above!

You opened the curtains of the small window, squinting a little as the morning sun hit your sleep-deprived eyes. It was the first night you spent in your new little house by the docks, and you'd always had a bit of a hard time sleeping in new places. 

You sighed and rubbed your eyes, getting the coffee started. You had another week until you had to work, giving you enough time to get to know your new surroundings and fix your sleep schedule before you took over at the local library. The pay wasn't too high but you needed a job while you were working on your novel, and what better than being surrounded by books?

You moved here to clear your head a little, feeling a change of scenery might be what you needed to write your story. What your parents and relatives referred to as your "little passion project" was in fact something you were willing to work hard to achieve. Being a published author was your goal, not a mere daydream. 

You sipped the warm coffee from your mug, looking out of the window at the quiet neighborhood. You startled at the sight of an orange cat appearing, out of nowhere, chased by a little girl who seemed to be around ten or eleven years old. You chuckled into your mug before seeing the girl stumble and fall. You put down your mug to rush to her aid, but before you could leave your doorstep, a man was already kneeling next to her. Maybe her dad, even though he seemed a little young for that.

You turned in search of the elusive cat, and found him in some bushes, licking his paws. You got closer and realized the ginger cat only had one eye. You cooed at the cat, beckoning him over, and to your surprise he listened, coming out of the bushes. You pet him a little and he willingly purred at your touch. You smiled before hesitantly reaching to lift him and hold him in your arms. From your acquaintance with cats, you expected him to thrash, scratch, or try to escape, especially from the hands of a stranger, but to your surprise he stayed put, letting you carry it over to the little girl and her dad, who were still kneeling on the grass.

The girl's eyes lit up when she saw you come closer, the cat still in your arms. "Fred!" she yelled and the cat finally showed signs of wanting to get away from you. You put him down and waved at them, coming closer and sitting down beside them, to be at eye level.

"Hey," you said and introduced yourself. "I couldn't help but notice this little guy trying to hide in the bushes. He's your cat, right?" you asked the little girl and she nodded, embracing him further. "Well, you've got a very well-behaved cat," you smiled at her, "he didn't put up a fight when I lifted him up, which is remarkable." Then you remembered a little girl of ten might not know what remarkable means, and opened your mouth to explain. 

"Yeah, Fred is very remarkable," she spoke before you could. You closed your mouth. All the while the man just sat there, seemingly evaluating you with his piercing blue eyes. From anyone else, you'd probably find the gaze daunting or uncomfortable, but from him, it sent a pleasant warmth through your body. 

"I'm Mary," she spoke once more, reaching her hands out to you. You took it and shook it, smiling at her. 

The man finally spoke up, "I'm Frank," he said in a deep voice, "nice to meet you. When did you move in? I haven't really seen you around."

"Actually, just yesterday," you smiled warmly at him. "This neighborhood seems lovely," you added.

"It is," he smiles. His smile is soft, lighting up his rugged features with evident kindness. You dismissed his previous hostility as a bad morning.

"C'mon Mary, we gotta get you ready for school," Frank got up and Mary took his hand and got up as well, waving at you as she and Frank marched back to their house, Fred trailing behind them. 

You smiled seeing Mary skipping next to Frank, holding his hand still. They made a very pretty, wholesome family. You wondered who the mom was.

A couple of days later you woke up to a weird scratching sound. You located the source of the noise was from the door, frowning before opening it. You were met with the sight of Fred, who immediately entered and rubbed his head on your leg. 

"Feeling at home, huh?" you smiled and scratched behind his ears. "Come on, let's get you back home," you got out of the door just when Frank came into sight.

"Good morning!" you called out as he got closer. 

"Morning!" he replied, lightly making his way to you. You noticed the way his white shirt stretched over his muscles and gulped. 

"Come on bud," he said as he lifted Fred up. "I'm sorry about him," he said. "I have no idea what's gotten into him," he smiled. You noted it seemed like he was in a better mood this morning. 

"It's fine," you replied, "he's a great alarm clock," you chuckled. 

"Oh god, he woke you up?" he scoffed at Fred. "Well, if you want to there's some coffee at our place, as a sorry for this little menace," he pet Fred a little.

"I'd love too, but I should probably get dressed," you gestured at your pajamas. 

"Yeah," Frank diverted his gaze, "Fred and I can wait," he said apologetically.

"Thanks," you said. 

You were back out within a few minutes, dressed and ready for the day. You walked beside Frank, making a bit of small talk about the neighborhood.

Once you reached the house you came in with Frank to find Mary eating breakfast in the company of a woman you haven't seen before.

"Thanks for watching her, Roberta. She couldn't be late today too," Frank said to the woman, Roberta apparently, and then to Mary, "Mary, we can't go chasing after Fred every time he decides to disappear."

"He was at my house," you intervened, "just coming to visit. He seems independent, you shouldn't worry if he goes on trips every once in a while. I promise if he comes to visit again, I'll get him back to you, okay?" you smiled.

Mary was quiet for a moment, as if considering what you just said, and then nodded. "Yeah, I guess you're right. And thanks for bringing him back. You too Frank," she smiled and continued to eat her cereal. You fought the puzzled expression that was threatening to rise on your face. Why would she call her dad Frank?

"The bus will be here soon, honey," Roberta told Mary, "better hurry."

Mary jumped up, took her bag, and grabbed onto Frank's hand. 

"Be right back," he said and started walking away with Mary. 

You felt Roberta's gaze immediately on you, as if observing you. You turned to her. "So, you new here?" she asked.

"Yeah, just moved in," you replied. "I bet you know everyone far better than I do," you smiled. You didn't know her relationship with Frank and Mary, but you were too embarrassed to ask. 

Roberta seemed to have picked up on it though, because the next thing she said was "When Frank moved in here, he didn't even have Mary. I live in a house across the street. I've always been friends with Frank, but when he needed to take care of his niece, I knew he needed a serious ass-kicking so he'd do it right," she chuckled. "but I think between the two of us, Mary came out great," she smiled fondly. 

"She seems wonderful," you agreed, thankful for her silent understanding of your cluelessness about the situation. 

Frank came back inside, closing the door behind him. "Thanks again for watching her Roberta," he said, "I'm sure you two got acquainted already," he added while pouring you a cup of coffee. 

You accepted the coffee gratefully, blowing on it slightly before taking a sip. Roberta was leaving to go about her day, so only you and Frank were left. You took in the house, and while it was a little messy, it radiated the happiness of a home. 

"So," Frank started, "I assume you've wondered about Mary… I'm her uncle, but her parents are gone." 

"It's okay," you hurriedly said, "Roberta explained a little, I get it."

"Of course she did," he chuckled. "Well then, tell me about yourself," he said.

And you did. You told him about your new job and your aspiration to become an author, even a bit about your family back home. He was easy to talk to, and in return told you more about Mary, that she was gifted, about life in the neighborhood. Before you noticed it, a few hours passed by. 

"Oh, look at the time! I'm so sorry, you probably have better things to do than sit here and talk to me, I can go if you want to," you rambled on before Frank reached forward and put his hand on your knee to stop you. You couldn't say you felt a jolt of electricity, because you weren't that cliché, but the warmth of his hand splayed on your knee did funny things to your stomach. 

His sincere eyes met yours when he said, "I work down at the docks, I repair boats, so I'm kinda freelancing, I can work whenever I feel like it. If you want though, you can come see the docks with me. You haven't been there yet, right?"

You shook your head, "I'd love to," you replied. 

You drove to the docks, getting out of the car and squinting your eyes at the bright late morning sun. Frank led you between a maze of boats and buildings until you reached the shed where he kept his tools. You sat down on a table and looked around, taking in your surroundings while Frank tidied up some stuff in a hurry.

"It's a cool place," you said, still roaming your eyes so you wouldn't have to meet his. Or more accurately, so you wouldn't let them linger on his arms, or shoulders, or face. You know, the normal things that you'd find insanely attractive about someone you've known for less than a week. Everything's totally under control.

"So, have you ever tried fixing a motorboat?" Frank smiled.

You raised your eyebrow at him. "I think you know the answer to that is a definite no," you chuckled. 

"Well, why don't you try it?" Frank suggested, "These aren't much use when they're sitting around here," he gestured at the tools. " if I'm here I might as well do some work. Wanna come?" 

"Sure, why not," you jumped down from the table and made your way to follow Frank through the door and back into the summer heat. He led your way to a small boat. When you got closer you could see the engine, the part that was covering it propped nearby to allow access to the mechanics of the ship. You both made your way on it and Frank crouched down and peered down at the engine.

"Okay, you wanna come see this?" he said and you came closer, crouching down next to him. He started explaining something about which part exactly is damaged, but you were too busy staring at his lips to really register what he was saying. Besides, you excused to yourself, it's not like I would've understood even if I was listening.

"So, what do you need to do to fix it?" you asked, breaking from your trance-like state and hurriedly changing the subject before he would realize you weren't paying attention. Or even more humiliating, realize what you were paying attention to.

He took a screwdriver and extended it to you. "For starters, I gotta open it up, which is the easy part so you can help," he smirked. 

You rolled your eyes but took the screwdriver from his hand, unscrewing where he showed you. You tried to focus on the job at hand, but honestly, you were kinda thinking about how much you wanted to screw him. Okay, chill the fuck out, you chastised yourself, he has a kid to worry about. And is way out of your league. 

For the next hour or so you and Frank, or mostly Frank, worked away at the engine. You actually managed to keep up with most of his explanations, despite the closeness between the two of you feeling both consuming and thrilling. The repairing the boat part was fine, and it was great to get some experience with something new, but it couldn't compare to the rush of your heartbeat every time Frank's arm brushed against you, or he'd lean into you a little, or grab your hand in his and show you how to properly do something. 

 Frank fixed one last thing and then looked up at you with a soft smile, "that's it," he said.

"I did it!" you exclaimed. "Wow, do you think I should start doing this as my job? I mean, I'm really good," you both laughed. 

"Yeah, sure," he said, "and you could fix some crankshafts and bearings," he smiled.

"Okay, yeah, we get it, I don't even know enough about boats to tell if these are actual boat parts," you laughed. 

"You wanna maybe get some lunch after all your hard work?" he gave you a lopsided grin and you accepted his invitation.

You were sitting at a small restaurant, enjoying your food, when you suddenly realized, "Hey, shouldn't you pick Mary up from school or something?" you frowned a little.

"Oh, no, Roberta wanted to have her for the night, so she's gonna take her," he said.

"So, Roberta is like a mother figure for Mary?" you asked tentatively. 

"I wouldn't say that, she's more of an aunt," Frank answered with a smile. "I guess the mother figure part is reserved for whoever I marry or something," he shrugged.

"Okay, maybe I'm prying a bit, but why don't you find someone? I mean, it doesn't seem too hard since you're so dreamy," you said, and then closed your mouth immediately. Please make the ground swallow me right now.

"Oh god, did I say that out loud?" you said and chuckled in an attempt to mask your embarrassment. "Whatever, ignore me, I'm just nosy and—"

"No, don't retract that," Frank smiled, his eyes glinting, "it's not every day you get such a compliment from a cute girl," he smiled timidly, blushing a little, but kept his eyes on you. 

"Thanks," you said, smiling. He was just being nice. You got through the rest of your lunch, ignoring the subject completely. You were glad he took it in good humor. Great, we're adults. We can move past that. 

You drove back into the neighborhood and stopped next to your houses. You got out of the car, stopping next to Frank. 

"Thanks for today," you said. "I had a great time," you continued and almost started walking away until Frank caught you by your wrist, effectively stopping you. You turned around; a questioning look on your face.

"You know I meant what I said at lunch, right?" he asked, smiling. "I'd love to take you out on an actual date sometime. You know, if you actually meant what you said at lunch," he smirked a little.

"I did," you admitted softly. "I'd love to go out sometime."

"Great," he said. "that means I can do what I wanted to do all day," he said. Before you could ask what that was, he closed the distance between you and attached his lips to yours. You brought your arms to wrap around his neck while his tongue slipped into your mouth. You explored each other's mouths eagerly, your hands tangling in the back of his hair while he pushed you against the car, hands exploring with passion.

When you pulled apart after what felt like forever but was simultaneously too short a time, you spoke. "So," you panted, "Mary's at Roberta's you say?"

"I like the way you think," he smirked and took your hand, leading you into the house with him.

Once inside, Frank led you to the bedroom. He was quick to recapture your mouth with his, his warm hands sneaking under your shirt, lifting it above your head, and tossing it aside. He stopped to marvel at you before you quickly closed the distance once more, pushing your hips against him a little before pulling off his shirt, moving to lick and suck down his chest and abs.

You reached his pants and made quick work of his belt, pulling his pants down with his boxers and freeing his already hard length. You spit in your hand before stroking him, and even watching him get hard made you wet with anticipation. You looked up at him, and maintaining eye contact you wrapped your lips around him, taking him into your mouth with greed. You started swirling your tongue around him and he groaned, thrusting into your mouth. You nearly gagged but you continued your ministrations, starting to hollow your cheeks and suck him for all it's worth. 

He put his hand on the back of your head, pulling you away and you stood back up. "As much as I'm enjoying this," he rasped, "you gotta get in on the fun." He attached his lips to your neck, sucking at your pulse point as you moaned. He reached to take off your pants and you undid your bra, tossing it across the room as well.

"Now we're even," he breathed against your ear, his hand trailing down before pushing a finger into you, smirking at the sensation of your wetness. You clenched around his finger, holding onto his shoulders while your breathing hitched. He inserted a second finger in and continued to finger you in a slow, torturous pace until you finally had it. You left open-mouthed kisses along his neck and whispered in his ear. "Frank," you moaned at his thumb reaching your clit, "I need you."

He didn't need to be told twice, pulling his fingers out of you and swiftly tossing you on the bed, hovering above you before capturing your lips in a thorough kiss before lining himself up with your entrance and pushing into you, the stretch causing you to moan and grab onto his back. 

He started moving and you dug your fingers into his back, panting at the feeling of him reaching your g-spot. The feeling of him on top of you, inside of you, was tenfold more intense than what you felt before on the boat, and you bucked your hips against him at the thought. He sensed your need and picked your legs up. You wrapped them around his waist and he started going faster, the change of pace and angle quickly pushing you both over the edge. 

Later you laid in his bed, the sheets messed around you, listening to the far-off sounds of the evening from outside. You absentmindedly moved your fingers along his chest, drawing the pattern of a heart over and over again, like a schoolgirl in a notebook. He said nothing, just took your hand in his, brought it up to his mouth and kissed it. 

"We should probably get some dinner," he said and you hummed in agreement. "Maybe I could take you out on that date?" he smiled.

As if on cue, your stomach grumbled and you both laughed.

"Let's go dreamboat," you sassed and got up to search for your clothes.

Some months later you celebrated Mary's birthday. You had a little party at home for her and some friends, which you helped organize. By now you were a part of Mary's life, and you couldn't be happier about it.

Frank came up to you, smiling. "I think we threw a pretty great party," he said.

"I do too. Mary seems like she's enjoying herself." You smiled at the sight of her playing with her friends.

"She is," Frank said. "And it's thanks to… me. Dreamy Frank at it again!" he said and you both burst out into laughter. 

"God, you're really never gonna let me live that down will you?"

"Well, you're cute, so maybe you still stand a chance," he winked and you both laughed. He went to help the girls with their game and Roberta came up and stood next to you. "You know," she said, "besides Mary, he never laughs with anyone like that. Certainly not an adult," she smiled and you smiled at her as well, catching Frank lifting Mary in his arms from the corner of your eye. "Well," she continued, "I guess that's how it is with family." 

That is how it was. You've never felt happier than in the moments you spent with Frank and Mary. You love them both dearly. To think you found your family when you were looking for a job! Well, life's funny like that sometimes. And you wouldn't have it any other way. 

hope you enjoyed! this was supposed to be fluffy but... oh well best of both worlds

Chris Taglist: @swatson06 @horny-nd-bored​ @shannon124 @perfectlyharolds​ @phoebe-21-99 @wintersoldierslut​ @iceebabies​ @wanessalopesueiros @sleepingpapermouse @steverogerswasalwaysworthy @holtzkinnon @angelicl-y @stydia-4-ever @thatoneperson5000 @fangirlfree​ @kaitcordx25 @bequeening​ @steve-barry-damon-logan​ @itscrazycherryblossomcollection​ @hollandxmarvel​ @darkwitchfromthesouth @stargazingfangirl18 @readsreblogsfics @onetwo3000 @beritmetal

if you wanna join / be removed from the taglist, comment/message me! this is a taglist for Chris and his characters. much love <3

[keelywolfe]

FIC: Just Swimmingly ch.9 (BAON)

Summary:  The final chapter! Let's hope it lives up to the story name, shall we?

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationships, Hurt/Comfort, Kidnapping

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

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Read it on AO3

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Read it here!

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Edge knew that he wouldn’t be able to carry Stretch for long. They were barely down the hallway to the stairs when warning twinges started up in his leg, and he could only ignore it for so long before he setback his own recovery. He resented that lingering weakness, hated that someone had stolen, albeit temporarily, his ability to physically take his willing husband to wherever he wished to put him. Hated that Stretch no longer flung himself at Edge from their front porch, trusting that he would be caught.

A return to that would come, he reminded himself. For now, he simply had to get Stretch to the car. He wasn’t about to let him walk downstairs with the delicate bones of his feet exposed to the floor of that filthy, junk-strewn warehouse anymore than they already had and perhaps Stretch realized that as well. His protests were brief and faded quickly.

“babe, no, your leg!” Stretch made a weak attempt at squirming loose, “i can walk!”

“You are in your bare feet,” Edge said shortly, “there is angel knows what foulness on this floor, and I am not letting you go.”

“guess i can’t argue that," Stretch sighed. "okay, captain. make it quick.”

“You’ve never said that before,” Edge murmured and Stretch let out a startled laugh that was always lovely to hear, but especially tonight. He really was all right if he could laugh like that, deep and sweet and loud.

So, Edge carried on down the stairs, past the melting remains of some kind of chemical foam, and Stretch didn’t struggle, a wise choice considering it would probably have sent them both tumbling down. He simply sighed and wrapped his slim arms around Edge’s neck, his skull resting lightly against his shoulder.

He was exhausted, Edge realized belatedly, already mentally berating himself. Of course he was, it was past the point of being late and going more into early, and the only sleep Stretch had had tonight was deliberately induced unconsciousness.

Better not to think about that. Seeing Stretch awake and hearing his laughter already relieved some of the raw, achy heat in his soul, there was no point in agitating it again. Surreptitiously, Edge ducked his head enough to breathed in the sweet scent of his husband’s magic, letting it further ease the dimming clamor of his LV demanding retribution. Much as he hated admitting when his brother was right, it would be best to let the Embassy security teams handle the kidnappers. Not that Edge wouldn’t be intently watching the results, but Edge knew himself well enough that he couldn’t promise not to react with violence if he saw any of them in person.

They’d stolen from him. Not a possession, no, love was not something to be owned, but it could be given, along with his soul, and Edge had given his to the very person they’d tried to use as a mere tool to be bartered with and after, they would have surely discarded him as nothing more than a useless object, a means to an end.

There was only one punishment suitable for that and Edge did not trust himself not to mete it out.

Outside, the night air was cool, refreshing after the dusty warehouse, and there was a new vehicle amidst the Embassy cars. An ambulance, the lights swirling silently atop, and the back doors were open with a stretcher already on the pavement. When the attendants saw them, they started forward, and in his arms, Stretch tensed, shifting as if to crawl up and over him in a wild attempt at escape.

“no,” Stretch said shortly. “no, no, no, don’t let the damsel in distress pose fool you, i am fine. all i need is a stiff drink and some zzz’s, this is me not consenting to any medical treatment.”

“Love—” Edge began. Stretch swung around to look at him, the pale glare of his eye lights accusing, and he backtracked, choosing his words carefully, “You were drugged. Perhaps it would be best if you were checked out.”

That suggestion was met with fierce scorn as Stretch scoffed, "yeah, i was drugged and now i am wide awake. i can tell you my name, my address, and my shoe size, and whoever tries to get me into the back of that wah-wah-mobile is gonna know it, too, when i shove my foot up their ass.”

“kinky.” Edge whirled to see his brother’s smirking face as he strolled towards them. “wellie, well, well, went fishin’ and got a hellava catch, eh, boss?”

In his arms, Stretch stiffened so briefly, he might have imagined it. He blinked rapidly, once, twice, as if to clear his vision, then relaxed again, settling on a wheedle in Red’s direction, “fishing jokes are so cliché, cooking is better. i’m the best cupcake in the bakery, so let him wrap me up and take me home. come on, tell them i’m fine.”

Red scratched the back of his skull lazily, “dunno, honeybun, might need a tune-up and an oil change—”

“quit switching the metaphors!” Stretch let go of Edge long enough to flip a middle finger at him.

Red snorted, amused, “yeah, yeah, he can take you home. if,” Red stressed, “you take a mo’ to strip off the new gear those assholes gave you.”

“aw, gee, red,” Stretch batted a pair of imaginary eyelashes, “you’ve never asked me to strip before. i’m not even wearing a g-string, where will you stuff the dollars?”

“cute,” Red’s grin widened in a way that made Edge want to carry his husband far away. The way he bared his teeth venturing into the realm of amused cruelty, and the flick of his tongue absurdly lascivious, “it’s evidence and we need it. if you’d rather change up at the bone factory, bet the docs could take a chance to check you out—”

“no!” Stretch yelped, “no, no, fine. you have something for me to change into?”

“yep.” And Red pointed to the back of the ambulance. “in there.”

Stretch rolled his eye lights. “wow,” he said dryly, “that trap isn’t even subtle. you want i should strap myself into the stretcher, too? check my vitals, start an iv?”

“it’s the only place to change, so either trust that we’ll do a catch and release, or…” Red trailed off meaningfully.

Stretch heaved a sigh and started squirming in Edge’s arms, wincing at the gravel as he was carefully set on the pavement. “back to fishing, huh? fine, fine. but if it drives off in the hospital way when i climb in the back, I’m shortcutting at the first stoplight and then we can play tag across town.”

“I won’t let them take you anywhere you don’t want to go, love.” Edge signed a little ‘x’ over his chest. Stretch’s scrutinizing look shifted to a soft smile and even though he would have preferred a doctor checking him over, Edge wouldn’t do anything to break the trust shining in his eye lights, not for anything in the world.

“okay, babe,” Stretch said, “give me five.”

He climbed into the ambulance, pulling the rear doors shut behind him. After a few minutes of the vehicle shaking and muffled swearing coming through the door, Stretch remerged. The clothes weren’t his own, but they fit, soft pants and a neon-bright sweatshirt that Stretch could have chosen himself, a far contrast to the cheap, bland clothes their kidnappers forced on them. Edge suspected his brother’s hand in it and wondered with some resignation if Red sent someone to purchase them tonight or if he simply kept spare clothes for them all in the dingy hole in the Embassy basement that passed as his office, for just such an occasion.

Probably the latter, Red was never one who minded delegating, but some things required a personal touch.

With visible distaste, Stretch handed over a large brown paper sack to Red. “take ‘em,” he said flatly. “burn them, whatever. i never want to see them again.”

“fair enough,” Red handed the bag off to one of the Embassy security who was standing close by with a muttered order. “all right, newly engaged goes next.”

Their Human friends were standing close by, both silently watching the entertainment, which was fair after the recent show upstairs. With the spotlight turned his way, Jeff hastily nodded and Antwan carefully set him on his feet, his hands lingering and reluctant to let him go.

“You two can head on home,” Antwan said, “We’re taking one of the Embassy cars.”

“yeah, okay, sounds good.” But Stretch didn’t return to Edge. He went to Jeff, leaning down to pull him into a tight hug that was fiercely returned. “hey, we made it, and you even got a special prize to top it off. congrats, bro,” Stretch told him.

It was charming the way Jeff’s cheeks went visibly pink even in the harsh overhead lights of the parking lot, but if this horrible night could end for him on a smile, Edge thought it fitting. No one said a word until the friends ended their embrace, Jeff heading into the ambulance to change and Stretch returning to Edge’s side, if not his arms.

“hey, honey bun.” Stretch paused, giving Red a questioning look, “i’ll have your cell phone back to you tomorrow.”

His face twitched but Stretch only nodded. He turned in a circle, his gaze searching, until it landed on Edge’s car parked on the far side of the lot. He started towards it and as slippers were included with his new wardrobe, Edge reluctantly allowed Stretch to walk on his own towards it.

Before he’d taken two steps, a small voice came from behind them. “Can I ride back with you two?”

Alone on the crumbling pavement, Blue stood there, his hands twisting together and his starry eye lights hesitant and hopeful. For the second time that night Edge cringed inwardly at not thinking of him.

“sure, bro,” Stretch said immediately. His eye lights flicked briefly to Edge to confirm, surprising him.

Of course he could come with them, why wouldn’t he…they needed to invite Blue over more often, Edge decided abruptly. They saw him often on movie nights and group events, and he knew that the Swap brothers had lunch together once a week, but he should spend more time with his brother, and with Edge.

Once, they’d been decently good friends, before his relationship with Stretch subtly cooled things between them. They could be friends again, better friends, if only one of them took the first step. Interesting how traumatic events could be a hell of an incentive.

“Of course,” Edge told him, and tried not to notice the sudden gratitude that filled Stretch’s face. He dug into his pocket for his keys and tossed them to Blue, who caught them with a jangle. “In fact, I’d prefer if you’d drive.”

Blue brightened visibly at the show of trust, darting over to the car. He held open the door as Stretch crawled into the back and didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow when Edge followed him.

“home, jeeves,” Stretch said. The last word broke on a deep yawn and he shifted to sprawl across the backseat, his skull in Edge’s lap.

“Seatbelt,” Edge chided.

“you put it on me,” Stretch grumbled. He didn’t move as Edge did, only settled in more comfortably once the belt was across him. He was asleep before they’d even left the parking lot, without so much as an ounce of deception in his long, slow breaths.

Cautiously, Edge settled his bare hands on him, choosing where to settle them with some care, one hand on his clothed side and the other on his skull with more palm than fingers. He wished for a pair of his gloves to keep the sharpened tips safely concealed. Earlier, he’d wanted his hands exposed and ready to be used, and now in the aftermath, he wanted them tucked away again, the same as he’d learned to conceal his other, more Underfell-ian tendencies. Only bringing them out when they were useful, like a set of heirloom dishes, then hiding them at the back of the hutch again to gather dust.

(don’t think of it that way, do not)

He resisted the urge to clench his hands, closed his sockets and tried to concentrate on the feel of warm bone under his bare hand. Stretch often carried spare gloves for him in his bag, never questioning Edge’s preference, never mocked or teased; he didn’t just accept that quirk, he embraced it and tried to help. If he were awake, he would have been pleased at the bare-handed touch, he would understand the significance of it and Edge focused on that.

It helped soothe some of his agitation and when Edge opened his sockets again, he was surprised to see the Embassy gates already looming ahead. “Drop us off, you can take my car home tonight.”

Blue nodded silently, his gaze focused intently on the road. There wasn’t even a teasing, if pointed, joke about Edge letting his car out of his sight. The car didn’t matter, all that was important was in his arms right now.

He pulled into their driveway and Blue held the door again as Edge carefully lifted Stretch into his arms. He paused long enough for Blue to press a gentle kiss to his brother’s skull, murmuring something Edge did not hear, then carried him inside as the car pulled out of the drive behind him. He hoped Papyrus was home, surely he was, and that he would know that Blue could use some friendly companionship after this night.

He would know, Edge decided firmly. This was Papyrus he was thinking of and it was likely he already had a pot of strong tea and some very interesting cookies ready to share, along with a blanket and some Mettaton reruns. Blue would be fine for tonight and tomorrow he could come over again, after they’d all had some necessary sleep.

He carried Stretch inside and settled him on the sofa. Upstairs would have been better, but he needed a moment for his leg to recover before taking him any further. Not that Stretch noticed, he only slept on, sleepily burrowing into the blanket Edge draped carefully over him.

Indecision seized Edge then. There were things that needed to be done, but leaving Stretch here alone made uneasiness stir in his soul. In the end, he checked the door and window locks to make sure they were secured and that their alarm system was on before he reluctantly went upstairs to run a bath and lay out pajamas. It would be testing Stretch’s ability to sleep through anything, but those Humans had touched him, laid their filthy hands on him. A quick wash would go a long way for both of them to get some decent rest.

He waited for the tub to fill with foamy bubbles, the unsubtle floral scent of lavender filling the room, before heading back downstairs. He halted on the landing, his soul seizing in his chest, to see that the sofa was empty, the blanket thrown carelessly back.

Edge closed his sockets and took a long, deep breath, settling his rattled nerves. Yes, Stretch was missing again, but this time, he suspected he knew exactly where he’d gone.

The sliding glass door was now unlocked, and Edge opened it to step out into the backyard. Dewy grass clung to his shoes as he walked and the horizon was overflowing with purples and pinks and deep orange, heralding the arrival of the sun.

The fence was standing open, confirming his suspicions, and Edge opened the coop door to find Stretch sitting on the floor, heedless of its less than sterile state. Nugget was in his lap, magnanimous surrendering her a scritches to her small, adopted duckling that was curled up on Stretch’s knee, mumbling out sleepy little quacks as it was gently stroked.

Stretch didn’t look up. “hey, babe,” he mumbled.

Edge sank down to sit next to them, pressing their sides together from shoulder to hip. “You could have warned me,” Edge said.

It was lightly said, but Stretch flinched, shifting to rest his head on Edge’s shoulder. “sorry, wasn’t thinking.”

“I’d say you’re still not,” Edge agreed. ��are you even awake?”

“prolly not.”

They sat together in the dimly lit coop, the silence broken only by the faint sleeping rumbles from the chickens. Neither of them were prepared for Cheese to stir, going from sleeping to wide awake in an instant the moment they noticed the open door. With a riot of happy peeps, they hopped from Stretch’s knee, dodging Edge’s grab as they ran outside to plunge into the new pond, swimming circles in the clear water.

They followed them out, “No, not right now,” Edge began, preparing to wade in if necessary to secure their tiniest poultry companion.

“eh, let ‘em play," Stretch yawned. He sank down on the walkway they’d finished only the day before. “let them have some fun. may as well, i'm really tired, but i dunno if i can sleep yet."

Edge nodded and settled next to him again. The brickwork was hard beneath his tailbone and he made a mental note to have a bench of some sort installed. He should have thought of it before, Stretch enjoyed watching his pets, and both the patio and the porch swing were too far away for proper observation. Rather than allow Stretch to sit on the stones, he pulled his love into his lap, holding him close without impeding his view. "We can wait until you're ready."

"gonna have nightmares,” Stretch said abruptly. His voice was smaller and knowingly weary. "i was scared, you know, but andy was there, and he was scareder. his face was," Stretch gestured at his own face and shook his head. "i couldn't let him get hurt. i couldn’t."

It ached to hear that soft confession, though he’d known Stretch must have been frightened. He pushed the image of Stretch waking up terrified and surrounded by enemies out of his mind, saying firmly, "You didn't, you protected him."

"he wouldn't need protecting if he'd stayed in his seat on that bus all those months back,” Stretch said sourly and that was a notion that couldn’t wait for his therapist to address.

"Don't,” Edge told him softly, “Don't take on blame that isn't yours, you don’t deserve to carry their guilt."

"heh, yeah. you're one to talk."

“I know. So you can believe I know what I’m talking about.”

“don’t worry, babe, i know something about carrying guilt that ain’t yours, too.” Before Edge could question that, Stretch sighed heavily, confessing, "i knew one of the guys."

That was a chilling admission. "You did."

"yeah, he used to work at classic books,” Stretch said. He shifted in Edge’s arms, unconsciously pushing in closer. “had an issue with monsters, but i didn't think anything of it. lots of humans do. he never said anything out loud that i ever heard. last i knew, thomas said he quit. thomas was happier for it, he was about to fire the guy, anyway, him quitting made his life easier."

“Does my brother know this?”

“if he didn’t before, pretty sure he already does now, but i’ll tell him during my little interview tomorrow.” In his arms, Stretch shivered, bones briefly rattling. “when i saw him, saw into his—” Stretch stopped abruptly, “anyway. he’s not a nice guy, babe. not at all.”

“I see,” Edge said, slowly. There were depths in that obvious diverting should be explored, questions to ask, but that could wait for tomorrow. “Let’s go inside and get cleaned up, all right?”

“yeah, okay.” Stretch crawled out of his arms to the side of the pond and rather than fruitlessly chasing Cheese, he held out a hand. It took hardly more than a touch of blue magic to pull the little duckling close, their pitiful quacks as they were once more robbed of their watery freedom filling the air. “yeah, i know,” Stretch soothed, “tomorrow, okay? i’ll let you swim ‘till you’re sick of it, kiddo.”

He returned the duckling to Nugget, who unsympathetically tucked the peeping duckling beneath her, and when Stretch turned back to Edge, his gaze sharpened suddenly as he watched Edge climb to his feet. “where’s your cane?”

“I was getting it as we speak.”

“uh huh, from inside the house, it’s so useful in there. you,” Stretch jabbed a slender finger at him, “you’re going to use it all day tomorrow, right? no bitching, either.”

Edge didn’t bother pointing out that it was highly likely he wouldn’t be doing much walking at all tomorrow, certainly not out of their home. Tomorrow would be full of questioning and paperwork, so many things that would need to be done. But first, they needed to finish off the night before dawn took it.

“Of course,” he agreed. He allowed Stretch to pull an arm over his shoulders, ostensibly to help him inside, but it wasn’t his leg that needed Stretch’s assistance.

His soul pulsed in his chest softly, settling at the feel of Stretch close to him, leading them both into their house, and when they finally slept that night, it was on the sofa rather than their bed, both of them freshly washed and with a cooking show playing softly in the background.

Lying together, Edge was acting the part of smaller spoon to Stretch’s larger one, and if Stretch guessed the position was one that put Edge closer to the door, he didn’t say. His face was buried into the back of Edge’s neck, his breath damp and even. Edge drifted on the borders of sleep, listening more to that quiet breathing than whatever the chef on the screen was saying.

“I can’t lose you.” The words escaped him, said to no one at all, less a statement and more a vow, a promise offered in the early morning light. I can’t, he thought to himself as he drifted, barely hearing the sleepy murmur in return.

“you won’t, babe. ’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Soothed, Edge let sleep claim him, trusting that he was safely caught up in the embrace of both slumber and his love.

-finis

[mostlysignssomeportents]

UEFI hacking malware

Security researchers are alarmed: the already-notorious Trickbot malware has been spottied probing infected computers to find out which version of UEFI they're running. This is read as evidence that Trickbot has figured out how to pull off a really scary feat.

To understand why, you have to understand UEFI: a fascinating, deep, philosophical change to our view of computers, trust, and the knowability of the universe. It's a tale of hard choices, paternalism, and the race to secure the digital realm as it merges with the physical.

Computers were once standalone: a central processing unit that might be augmented by some co-processors for specialized processes, like a graphics card or even a math co-processor.

These co-pros were subordinate to the CPU though. You'd turn on the computer and it would read a very small set of hardcoded instructions telling it how to access a floppy disk or other storage medium for the rest of the boot sequence, the stuff needed to boot the system.

The hardwired instructions were in a ROM that had one job: wake up and feed some instructions to the "computer" telling it what to do, then go back to sleep. But there's a philosophical conundrum here.

Because the world of computing is adversarial and networked computing is doubly so: there are people who want your computer to do things that are antithetical to your interests, like steal your data or spy on you or encrypt all your files and demand ransom.

To stop this, you need to be able to examine the programs running on your computer and terminate the malicious ones. And therein lies the rub: when you instruct your computer to examine its own workings, how do you know if you can trust it?

In 1983, Ken Thompson (co-creator of C, Unix, etc) was awarded a Turing Award ("computer science's Nobel Prize"). He gave a fucking bombshell of an acceptance speech, called "Reflections on Trusting Trust."

https://www.cs.cmu.edu/~rdriley/487/papers/Thompson_1984_ReflectionsonTrustingTrust.pdf

Thompson revealed that he had created a backdoor for himself that didn't just live in Unix, but in the C compiler that people made to create new Unix systems.

Here's what that means: when you write a program, you produce "high-level code" with instructions like "printf("Hello, World!");". Once your program is done, you turn it into machine code, a series of much shorter instructions that your CPU understands ("mov  dx, msg" etc).

Most programmers can't read this machine code, and even for those who can, it's a hard slog. In general, we write our code, compile it and run it, but we don't examine it. With nontrivial programs, looking at the machine code is very, very hard.

Compilers are treated as intrinsically trustworthy. Give 'em some source, they spit out a binary, you run the binary. Sometimes there are compiler bugs, sure, and compiler improvements can be a big deal. But compilers are infrastructure: inscrutable and forgotten.

Here's what Thompson did: he hid a program in his compiler that would check to see whether you were compiling an operating system or a compiler. If you were compiling an OS, it hid a secret login for him inside of it.

If you were compiling a compiler, it hid the program that looked for compilers or operating systems inside of it.

Think about what this means: every OS you compiled had an intentional security defect that the OS itself couldn't detect.

If you suspected that your compiler was up to no good and wrote your own compiler, it would be compromised as soon as you compiled it. What Thompson did was ask us to contemplate what we meant when we "trusted" something.

It was a move straight out of Rene Descartes, the reasoning that leads up to "I think therefore I am." Descartes' "Discourse on the Method" asks how we can know things about the universe.

He points out that sometimes he thinks he senses something but is wrong - he dreams, he hallucinates, he misapprehends.

If all our reasoning depends on the impressions we get from our senses, and if our senses are sometimes faulty, how can we reason at all?

Descartes wants a point of certainty, one thing he *knows* to be absolutely true. He makes the case that if you can be certain of one thing, you can anchor everything else to this point and build up a massive edifice of trustable knowledge that all hangs off of this anchor.

Thompson is basically saying, "You thought you had descartesed your way into a trustable computing universe because of the axiom that I would never poison your lowest-level, most fundamental tools.

"*Wrong*.

"Bwahahahaha."

(But, you know, in a nice way: an object lesson to serve as a wake-up call before computers fully merged with the physical world to form a global, species-wide digital nervous system whose untrustworthy low-level parts were foolishly, implicitly trusted).

But processors were expensive and computers were exploding. PCs running consumer operating systems like Windows and Mac OS (and more exotic ones like GNU/Linux and various Unices) proliferated, and they all shared this flawed security model.

They all relied on the operating system to be a faithful reporter of the computer's internals, and operated on the assumption that they could use programs supervised by the OS to detect and terminate malicious programs.

But starting in 1999, Ken Thompson's revenge was visited upon the computing world. Greg Hoglund released Ntrootkit, a proof-of-concept malware that attacked Windows itself, so that the operating system would lie to antivirus programs about what it was doing and seeing.

In Decartesspeak, your computer could no longer trust its senses, so it could no longer reason. The nub of trust, the piton driven into the mountainface, was made insecure and the whole thing collapsed. Security researchers at big companies like Microsoft took this to heart.

In 2002, Peter Biddle and his team from Microsoft came to EFF to show us a new model for computing: "Trusted Computing" (codenamed "Palladium").

https://web.archive.org/web/20020805211111/https://www.microsoft.com/presspass/features/2002/jul02/0724palladiumwp.asp

Palladium proposed to give computers back their nub of Descartesian certainty. It would use a co-processor, but unlike a graphics card or a math co-pro, it would run before the CPU woke up and did its thing.

And unlike a ROM, it wouldn't just load up the boot sequence and go back to sleep.

This chip - today called a "Secure Enclave" or a "Trusted Platform Module" (etc) - would have real computing power, and it would remain available to the CPU at all times.

Inside the chip was a bunch of cool cryptographic stuff that provided the nub of certainty. At the start of the boot, the TPM would pull the first stages of the boot-code off of the drive, along with a cryptographic signature.

A quick crypto aside:

Crypto is code that mixes a key (a secret known to the user) with text to produce a scrambled text (a "ciphertext") that can only be descrambled by the key.

Dual-key crypto has two keys. What one scrambles, the other descrambles (and vice-versa).

With dual-key crypto, you keep one key secret (the "private key") and you publish the other one (the "public key"). If you scramble something with a private key, then anyone can descramble it with your public key and know it came from you.

If you scramble it *twice*, first with your private key and then with your friend's public key, then they can tell it came from you (because only your private key's ciphertexts can be descrambled with your public key).

And *you* can be certain that only they can read it (because only their private key can descramble messages that were scrambled with their public key).

Code-signing uses dual-key crypto to validate who published some code.

Microsoft can make a shorter version of its code (like a fingerprint) and then you scramble it with its private key. The OS that came with your computer has a copy of MSFT's public key. When you get an OS update, you can descramble the fingerprint with that built-in key.

If it matches the update, then you know that Microsoft signed it and it hasn't been tampered with on its way to you. If you trust Microsoft, you can run the update.

But...What if a virus replaces Microsoft's public keys with its own?

That's where Palladium's TPM comes in. It's got the keys hardcoded into it. Programs running on the CPU can only ask the TPM to do very limited things like ask it to sign some text, or to check the signature on some text.

It's a kind of god-chip, running below the most privileged level of user-accessible operations. By design, you - the owner of the computer - can demand things of it that it is technically capable of doing, and it can refuse you, and you can't override it.

That way, programs running even in the most privileged mode can't compromise it.

Back to our boot sequence: the TPM fetches some startup code from the disk along with a signature, and checks to see whether the OS has been signed by its manufacturer.

If not, it halts and shows you a scary error message. Game over, Ken Thompson!

It is a very cool idea, but it's also very scary, because the chip doesn't take orders from Descartes' omnibenevolent God.

It takes orders from Microsoft, a rapacious monopolist with a history of complicity with human rights abuses. Right from that very first meeting the brilliant EFF technologist Seth Schoen spotted this (and made the Descartes comparison):

https://web.archive.org/web/20021004125515/http://vitanuova.loyalty.org/2002-07-05.html

Seth identified a way of having your cake and eating it too: he proposed a hypothetical thing called an "owner override" - a physical switch that, when depressed, could be used to change which public keys lived in the chip.

This would allow owners of computers to decide who they trusted and would defend them against malware. But what it *wouldn't* do is defend tech companies shareholders against the owner of the computer - it wouldn't facilitate DRM.

"Owner override" is a litmus test: are you Descartes' God, or Thompson's Satan?

Do you want computers to allow their owners to know the truth? Or do you want computers to bluepill their owners, lock them in a matrix where you get to decide what is true?

A month later, I published a multi-award-winning sf story called "0wnz0red" in Salon that tried to dramatize the stakes here.

https://www.salon.com/2002/08/28/0wnz0red/

Despite Seth's technical clarity and my attempts at dramatization, owner override did not get incorporated into trusted computing architectures.

Trusted computing took years to become commonplace in PCs. In the interim, rootkits proliferated. Three years after the Palladium paper, Sony-BMG deliberately turned 6m audio CDs into rootkit vectors that would silently alter your OS when you played them from a CD drive.

The Sony rootkit broke your OS so that any filename starting with $SYS$ didn't show up in file listings, $SYS$ programs wouldn't show up in the process monitor. Accompanying the rootkit was a startup program (starting with $SYS$) that broke CD ripping.

Sony infected hundreds of thousands of US gov and mil networks. Malware authors - naturally enough - added $SYS$ to the files corresponding with their viruses, so that antivirus software (which depends on the OS for information about files and processes) couldn't detect it.

It was an incredibly reckless, depraved act, and it wasn't the last. Criminals, spies and corporations continued to produce rootkits to attack their adversaries (victims, rival states, customers) and trusted computing came to the rescue.

Today, trusted computing is widely used by the world's largest tech companies to force customers to use their app stores, their OSes, their printer ink, their spare parts. It's in medical implants, cars, tractors and kitchen appliances.

None of this stuff has an owner override. In 2012, I gave a talk to Google, Defcon and the Long Now Foundation about the crisis of owner override, called "The Coming Civil War Over General Purpose Computing."

https://memex.craphound.com/2012/08/23/the-coming-civil-war-over-general-purpose-computing/

It proposed a way that owner override, combined with trusted computing, could allow users to resist both state and corporate power, and it warned that a lack of technological self-determination opened the door to a parade of horribles.

Because once you have a system that is designed to override owners - and not the other way around - then anyone who commands that system can, by design, do things that the user can't discern or prevent.

This is the *real* trolley problem when it comes to autonomous vehicles: not "who should a car sacrifice in a dangerous situation?" but rather, "what happens when a car that is designed to sometimes kill its owner is compromised by Bad Guys?"

https://this.deakin.edu.au/self-improvement/car-wars

The thing is, trusted computing with an owner override is pretty magical. Take the Introspection Engine, a co-processor in a fancy Iphone case designed by Edward Snowden and Bunnie Huang. It's designed to catch otherwise undetectable mobile malware.

https://www.tjoe.org/pub/direct-radio-introspection/release/2

You see, your phone doesn't just run Ios or Android; the part that interfaces with the phone system - be baseband radio - runs an ancient, horribly insecure OS, and if it is infected, it can trick your phone's senses, so that it can no longer reason.

The Introspection Engine is a small circuit board that sandwiches between your phone's mainboard and its case, making electrical contact with all the systems that carry network traffic.

This daughterboard has a ribbon cable that snakes out of the SIM slot and into a slightly chunky phone case that has a little open source hardward chip with fully auditable code and an OLED display.

This second computer monitors the electrical signals traveling on the phone's network buses and tells you what's going on. This is a user-accessible god-chip, a way for you to know whether your phone is hallucinating when it tells you that it isn't leaking your data.

That's why it's called an "Introspection Engine." It lets your phone perch at an objective remove and understand how it is thinking.

(If all this sounds familiar, it's because it plays a major role in ATTACK SURFACE, the third Little Brother book)

https://attacksurface.com

The reason the Introspection Engine is so exciting is that it is exceptional. The standard model for trusted computing is that it treats everyone *except* the manufacturer as its adversary - including you, the owner of the device.

This opens up many different sets of risks, all of which have been obvious since 1999's Ntrootkit, and undeniable since 2005's Sony Rootkit.

I. The manufacturer might not have your interests at heart.

In 2016, HP shipped a fake security update to its printers, tricking users into installing a system that rejected their third-party ink, forcing them to pay monopoly prices for HP products.

https://www.eff.org/deeplinks/2020/11/ink-stained-wretches-battle-soul-digital-freedom-taking-place-inside-your-printer

II. An insider at the company may not have your interests at heart.

Multiple "insider threat" attacks have been executed against users. Employees at AT&T, T-Mobile, even Roblox have accepted bribes to attack users on behalf of criminals.

https://www.vice.com/en/article/qj4ddw/hacker-bribed-roblox-insider-accessed-user-data-reset-passwords

III. A government may order the company to attack its users.

In 2017 Apple removed all working VPNs from its Chinese app stores, as part of the Chinese state's mass surveillance program (1m members of religious minorities were subsequently sent to concentration camps).

Apple's trusted computing prevents users from loading apps that aren't in its app stores, meaning that Apple's decisions about which apps you can run on your Iphone are binding on you, even if you disagree.

https://www.reuters.com/article/us-china-apple-vpn/apple-says-it-is-removing-vpn-services-from-china-app-store-idUSKBN1AE0BQ

IV. Third parties may exploit a defect in the trusted computing system and attack users in undetectable ways that users can't prevent.

By design, TPMs can't be field updated, so if there's a defect in them, it can't be patched.

Checkm8 exploits a defect in eight generations Apple's mobile TPM. It's a proof-of-concept released to demonstrate a vulnerability, not malware (thankfully).

https://checkm8.info/

But there have been scattered, frightening instances of malware that attacks the TPM - that suborns the mind of God so that your computer ceases to be able to reason. To date, these have all been associated with state actors who used them surgicially.

State actors know that the efficacy of their cyberweapons is tied to secrecy: once a rival government knows that a system is vulnerable, they'll fix it or stop using it or put it behind a firewall, so these tools are typically used parsimoniously.

But criminals are a different matter (and now, at long last, we're coming back to Trickbot and UEFI) (thanks for hanging in there).

UEFI ("You-Eff-Ee") is a trusted computing that computer manufacturers use to prevent unauthorized OSes from running on the PCs they sell you.

Mostly, they use this to prevent malicious OSes from running on the hardware they manufacture, but there have been scattered instances of it being used for monopolistic purposes: to prevent you from replacing their OS with another one (usually a flavor of GNU/Linux).

UEFI is god-mode for your computer, and a compromise to it would be a Sony Rootkit event, but 15 years later, in a world where systems are more widespread and used for more critical applications from driving power-plants to handling multimillion-dollar transactions.

Trickbot is very sophisticated malware generally believed to be run by criminals, not a government. Like a lot of modern malware, there's a mechanism for updating it in the field with new capabilities - both attacks and defenses.

And Trickbot has been observed in the wild probing infected systems' UEFI. This leads security researchers to believe that Trickbot's authors have figured out how to compromise UEFI on some systems.

https://www.wired.com/story/trickbot-botnet-uefi-firmware/

Now, no one has actually observed UEFI being compromised, nor has anyone captured any UEFI-compromising Trickbot code. The thinking goes that Trickbot only downloads the UEFI code when it finds a vulnerable system.

Running in UEFI would make Trickbot largely undetectable and undeletable. Even wiping and restoring the OS wouldn't do it. Remember, TPMs are designed to be unpatchable and tamper-resistant. The physical hardware is designed to break forever if you try to swap it out.

If this is indeed what's going on, it's the first instance in which a trusted computing module was used to attack users by criminals (not governments or the manufacturer and its insiders). And Trickbot's owners are really bad people.

They've hired out to the North Korean state to steal from multinationals; they've installed ransomware in big companies, and while their footprint has waned, they once controlled 1,000,000 infected systems.

You can check your UEFI to see if it's vulnerable to tampering:

https://eclypsium.com/2019/10/23/protecting-system-firmware-storage/

and also determine whether it has been compromised:

https://eclypsium.com/2020/10/14/protecting-your-organizations-from-mosaicregressor-and-other-uefi-implants/

But this isn't the end, it's just getting started. As Seth Schoen warned us in 2002, the paternalistic mode of computing has a huge, Ken Thompson-shaped hole in it: it requires you trust the benevolence of a manufacturer, and, crucially, they know you don't have a choice.

If companies knew that you *could* alter whom you trusted, they would have to work to earn and keep your trust. If governments knew that ordering a company to compromise on TPMs, they'd understand that their targets would simply shift tactics if they made that order.

Some users would make foolish decisions about whom to trust, but they would also have recourse when a trusted system was revealed to be defective. This is a fight that's into its third decade, and the stakes have never been higher.

Sadly, we are no closer to owner override than we were in 2002.

[dahliawolfe]

Something More

CSI NY fanfic

Danny Messer/OFC

The buzzing of her cell woke her. Grunting, Nora reached for the phone and flipped it open.

“Hello,” she rasped.

“Nora, we’ve got a case,” Mac Taylor said, no preamble.

“Gotcha, Dad. Text me the address, please,” she swung her legs over the side of the bed and snapped the phone shut, throwing it onto the nightstand. She hurried into a pair of jeans from the floor and turned to look back at the bed. “Yo, Messer! Up and at ‘em! We got a case,” she demanded, throwing a balled up sock at Danny’s head. She and Danny had been fooling around for a few weeks now. When a case was stressful (and they usually were) they met up and blew off steam. She’d known Danny for nearly 6 years, and he was her best friend. It was strictly no strings attached when they hooked up.

“Lemme sleep,” Danny begged tiredly. They had been up until after 2 a.m. working on finishing up a case. It was now a little after 6.

“No can do. Boss man called himself.” She slid into her lace black bralette and grabbed the first discarded t-shirt she could reach. She shoved her feet into her boots and stood. “Lock up, will ya? See ya there.” Danny gave her a limp wave from the bed, and she snorted. She threw her leather jacket around her shoulders and made her way down to her Tahoe.

…

The Crestmont loomed in front of her, and Nora took a second to peer up. This place had always given her the creeps. Shaking herself, she made her way inside, flashing her badge at the patrol officer out front. She made her way to the elevator, taking it all the way to the 15 floor. She could smell the latex and print powder as she stepped out of the doors. She smiled. It smelled like home. Even before Nora became an investigator herself, her dad had been doing the job, and he always came home smelling like the tools of the trade.

“Nora, over here,” Flack called, waving her over. She nodded and made her way carefully across the penthouse suite.

“What have we got” she questioned, grabbing gloves from her kit and snapping them on.

“Alexander Trenton. He was a judge. On his way to the Supreme Court.” Nora whistled and stooped to take a look at the body.

“Looks like a through and through. Execution style,” she remarked, standing up.

“Is that Danny’s shirt?” Flack questioned, wrinkling his forehead in confusion.

She froze and glanced down at herself. It was indeed Danny’s shirt.

“Oh, yeah. I spilled coffee on myself last night. He lent it to me, and it was just what I threw on this morning on the way out the door.” The lie was easy enough. She needed to be more careful.

“Hmm. Well, you might wanna change before Mac gets here.”

“Where is Father Dearest, anyway?”

“Mayor wanted a word.” Nora rolled her eyes.

“Of course.”

“You guys start the party without me?!” Danny demanded, coming out of the elevator carrying 3 coffees.

“Fashionably late, as always,” Nora teased, grabbing her camera to document the scene.

…

Nora was leaned over the desk in the print lab when someone spoke behind her.

“Detective Eleanor Taylor?”

“Nora,” she replied, placing her file down and turning around, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning against the light table.

“We would like a word,” replied the man; obviously a federal agent of some sort.

“We can talk in my office,” Mac replied, coming out of nowhere. He led the two agents and Nora to his office, where he shut the door.

“What’s this about?” Nora asked. She didn’t have time for their bureaucratic crap.

The second agent pulled out a file and passed it to Nora. “We believe you know this man.”

Nora opened the file and felt her stomach tighten. “Jared Weston,” she said, the words threatening to choke her.

“Yes. You attended North Peak Academy with him, did you not?”

“That was years ago. Why are you here? I haven’t seen him in 7 years.”

Another file was handed to her. She flicked through it briefly, spotting bloody crime scenes and pages of notes on victims. “Okay?” she asked, dreading the answer.

“In the last 6 months, 6 judges, 3 military personnel, and 4 police have been murdered from Virginia, to Boston, to Delaware. The M.O. is all the same. And all evidence points to someone with a serious grudge against the government.” Nora felt the blood leave her body. She thought he was just an angry kid. Mad at his parents. She never thought he’d do anything like this.

“If you know all of this. And you have evidence against him, why are you here?”

“We’re always one step behind, but we got a lead on his next victim.”

“Judge Trenton?” she questioned, feeling the pieces fall into place. The agents shared a confused face.

“We thought he was a possible target, but Detective Taylor, we think you’re his next target.”

“Me?! What the hell are you talking about?!”

“Weston has it out for you. We found his manifestoes on our last case. He talks about how you betrayed him. And how you’re worse than any of the others.”

“Betrayed him how?” Mac asked, speaking for the first time.

Nora swallowed against a dry throat. “I need a minute,” she croaked, slamming out of the room, and making her way as quickly as possible to the roof, bending over, roughly hugging herself in a demand for oxygen.

“Nora!” came the call, as Danny joined her on the roof. “Hey. Hey. It’s ok. What happened?” he demanded, pulling her into his chest.

“We were kids! We were scared! And we were pissed that our parents sent us to a fucking military academy! That place was hell, Danny, and he was the only bright spot of it! How the hell does this happen?!”

“Ok. Ok. Shhh. It’s ok. I’m right here. I gotcha.” He held her close, rocking her gently until she could breathe again. When he deemed it safe, he pulled her away a pushed a stray curl out of her face. “Now, tell me. What happened in there.”

“Jared went to North Peak too. And we bonded. His mom and dad were both in the military. And he hated them for sending him away to be trained to be like them. And I was mad and Mac for sending me away to a military school upstate. I felt like he didn’t want me. Like I was a fuck up and he wanted to get rid of me and have something better. So, we would sit behind the bleachers and smoke cigarettes and drink beer and rage against the machine. I thought it was all just angsty teenage bullshit. Then the towers were hit. And Claire was gone. And I was devasted. She was the only mom I’d ever known. And she was gone. And I was scared. I was so angry, Danny. I remember just screaming at the stars and demanding to know why any of that bullshit had happened to us. And Jared, Jared sat with me all night and screamed too. And the next morning, Mac came and took me home to finish my senior year at St. Agatha’s. And I never saw Jared again. Truth be told, I didn’t want to. He reminded me of how ungrateful, and angry, and hurt I was, and I didn’t want that. But then I became a cop. And I betrayed him. I left him. And I don’t know what happened to him. But now he kills people, Danny. And he wants to kill me. And hell, maybe I deserve that.”

“Hey! Look at me!” Grabbing her chin, Danny forced her to look up at him. “You do not deserve that. You were a child! And he was sick! And none of that was your fault! You did not do this! He did! You hear me?!” He pressed a firm but gentle kiss to her lips then her forehead and pulled her close again.    

…

“We want to put you on 24-hour protection detail,” the FBI agent informed her, once she had relayed her story to them.

“We can do that in house,” Mac stated, folding his arms over his chest. He knew his people could protect his daughter better than the feds ever could. She was one of their own, and they took care of their own.

“I’ll do it,” Danny quickly stated, jumping into the conversation. He’d followed her back inside when she’d finally gained the courage to come in.

“Ok, who else can take a shift?” the agent asked, raising a brow at Mac.

“No, I mean I can be with her 24/7 until we catch this guy,” Danny said, standing straighter. The agent snorted, but Mac nodded.

“Don’t let her out of your sight.”

“Roger, Boss.”

…

Nora tossed her keys into the bowl by the front door and kicked her boots off. It had been a hell of a day, and she needed a drink and a hot bath.

“I’m making myself a rum and coke and I’m gonna sit in a hot bath for an undetermined amount of time. Make yourself at home,” she informed, stripping her tee off and throwing it somewhere to her left.

“Pizza tonight?” Danny asked, leaning over to look into the fridge.

“Sure. Extra cheese.”

͠

By the time Nora made it to the bathroom, she was down to her underwear. She had a cold glass of Bicardi and coke, which she sat down beside her claw foot tub, turning the water on, making sure it was hot enough, and adding some mint soak. After putting some music on her record player, she slid into the warm bubbles, sinking up to her neck. She sighed, feeling at least some of the day’s tension melt away.

͠

Danny peeked into the bathroom, admiring Nora. She looked like a goddess, head laid back, surrounded by bubbles, singing softly to the Frank Sinatra playing in the background.

“See something you like, Messer?” she teased, opening one eye and raising her brow at him.

“Very much so,” Danny replied, coming in to kneel by the tub, dipping his finger under the water. “But, pizza’s here.”

“Mmm. Good, I’m starving. Give me five, and I’ll be out.”

“Sure thing.” Before leaving, Danny leaned down and gave Nora a deep kiss. “Don’t keep me waiting,” he urged, heading back to the living area.

͠

When Nora emerged, she was wearing nothing but an overly large Led Zepplin t-shirt and a pair of black boyshorts. Danny had already set up the tv to reruns of The Golden Girls and had the pizza box open with a beer bottle on each side of the table. He gave her a grin. “Your feast, ma’am,” he joked, bowing for effect.

“Why thank you, sir. Truly, you do provide.” Nora took a seat on the couch, snagging the blue wool blanket from Danny’s end, snatching a slice of pizza, and hooking a beer with her ring finger and pinkie. Danny settled in close, lazily slinging his arm over her shoulder and sitting back with his own slice.

͠

“Fuck, Danny! Don’t stop!” Nora moaned, looking down to catch Danny giving her a cheeky wink, delving even deeper into his ministrations. And Nora was almost there, but then someone knocked on the door.

“Nora, it’s Flack!”

“Fuck!” she hissed, pushing Danny away from between her legs. “C-coming, Flack!”

“Two words you don’t really wanna hear when going down on your girl,” Danny commented, wiping his face off on the duvet. Nora frowned.

“Shut it, Messer. Your girl?” She huffed, standing to locate her discarded underwear, tossing Danny his jeans and making her way to the front door. She checked to make sure Danny was decent before unlocking the door and opening it.

“Flack, what’s up? It’s late, man?”

“Nora, there’s another vic. Mac wanted me to come pick you guys up.”

“Shit. Ok, let me get my pants.”

͠

“Jeffrey Conrad. 57. He’s an ex-homicide detective from Brooklyn,” Mac informed the second Nora got out of Flack’s car.

“Conrad? Why does that name sound familiar?” Nora questioned, grabbing a pair of gloves, ducking under the crime scene tape. Mac handed her a picture. It was of a greying man in a uniform. “Wait, Conrad. There was a kid at North Peak. Tyler…Tommy…”

“Trevor?” Mac replied.

“Yes! That’s it. Trevor, he was in our class. He killed himself a couple of years ago, I think.” Nora sighed, rubbing her temples. “He was always telling anyone who would listen how much of a bastard his dad was. I guess Jared blamed Trevor’s death on his dad.” Mac frowned. Nora could see that this case was wearing at him too. She tried not to give him a hard time. He was a single dad just trying to do what was best. And she knew he loved her, but she also knew how hellish North Peak had been. She gently touched her father’s arm. “Hey, listen. I know why you sent me to North Peak. I’m fine. Those other kids, their parents were terrible to them, but you weren’t like that to me. You and…” she gulped. “And Claire, you guys gave me a lot of good opportunities. You did your best. And I…I don’t blame you for anything.” Mac gave her a sad smile and nodded.

“I shouldn’t have sent you away. I’m sorry, Nora.” She gave him as soft smile.

“Mac! Nora!” Stella called from across the room. Sharing a brief glance at each other, Mac and Nora walked quickly to her side.

“What did you find, Stella?” Stella handed her a sealed envelope.

“It has your name on it.”

[zoequeenz]

Plain Sight (Part 2)

A/N: Hello! Here is the July post! Hope you enjoy. Just some things to consider and let me know. 1) Should I make these a Y/N insert? I love Percy and I have many ideas for her but character fanfics work better on Wattpad and Quotev (I post this story there as well). I know I like the Tumblr fics I read to be reader insert. 2) I never specify anything about Percy’s looks because I want people to insert how they look for her and have learned from Tik Tok that there are subtle things I put in my story that may keep others from imagining they are Percy. So I will go back and edit those parts and from now on will try my very best to not write anything that may set a certain race or anything else to Percy. I want her to be open to any reader’s looks. I always wanted that and have realized that I haven’t with the small details I put in. I apologize, I want everyone to read this and think they are Percy. Thank you for reading, Zoe.

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MASTERLIST PREVIOUS CHAPTER

3rd Person POV

Marcia Gordon prepares her dinner like any normal day. Unbeknownst to her, her back door is being opened by a hooded figure. They creep in quietly as Marcia continues on with her job. She is then tackled to the ground. She never saw it coming.

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Persephone Chase’s POV

Gideon, Derek, and I were headed to the crime scene with Detective Martin. Gideon and were seated in the back looking through our file while Derek was sitting in the passenger seat.

“This profiling really works?” Martin asks, breaking the silence.

“It’s a tool.” Derek vaguely answers.

“You can tell all about a guy from looking at this scene?” Martin questions further.

“Not all.” I add.

“The scene’s only part of it. We also use victimology, precedent. We can usually get a fairly clear picture of the guy.” Derek elaborates.

“Our guys went over it pretty well.” Martin says.

Derek laughs “I’m sure they did.”

“Local officers aren’t trained to look for the things we look for.” Gideon pipes up.

“What’s that?” Martin questions.

“Hate, insecurity, fear, anger.” Gideon informs.

“That’s all at the scene?” Martin asks, surprised.

“It’s all in his behavior.” Derek adds.

“Know anything about our guy yet?” Martin asks.

“Yeah. He isn’t gonna stop until he’s caught.” Gideon answers.

Martin looks at Derek stunned. Has he never had a case like this before? These guys are everywhere. Maybe that is my BAU brain talking, I never stop seeing this stuff. He may never see it again for the next few years. He’s lucky, I’d give anything to stop seeing all this evil stuff. After what seemed like a long ride, we arrive at the scene. We walk up together and Gideon notices the two police cars driving by.

“You increased patrols in these neighborhoods when the pattern was identified?” he asks Martin.

“After the fourth victim. Bosses cancelled days off, vacations.” Martin answers.

“Neighborhood full of cruisers and he still struck two more times.” Derek adds as Gideon’s phone begins to ring.

“He blends.” Gideon says answering his phone.

We stop walking to see what is going on. Apparently, another attempt had been made but luckily the victim’s husband came home right in time and saved her. I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Thank goodness she was okay. As soon as Gideon told us Martin was ready to leave.

“Hey. Hey. Hey. Where are you going?” Derek asks him.

“Over there.” Martin states.

“Well, the units are already heading that way. We can get more accomplished here.” Gideon tells him.

“You’re kidding me, right?” Martin asks.

“No. If there’s an arrest, what we find here will help you prosecute.” Derek explains.

“This scene won’t be pristine forever.” Gideon adds.

“They’re right, it’s better if you stay here and help us find anything that can get this guy.” I say trying to get Martin to understand.

“Guys, knock yourselves out.” Martin says handing the keys to Gideon.

“Hey, wait a minute.” Derek stops him.

“The Unsub went through the back, right?”

“The family room. It’s the window full of print dust.” Martin elaborated.

“Gideon, Persephone, I’m going around the house.” Derek tells us.

I nod in response while Gideon pulls down the tape and cuts open the sticker on the door. I follow Gideon and right as you walk in you are met with a picture of the family. My heart hurts. These poor people just lost their mother, his wife. Gideon goes up the stairs but I join Derek in the family room. He figures that the Unsub needs to be a little athletic to get into the window. Next we head to the kitchen. Derek just continues to voice his thoughts, I look around to see if there is anything the police missed.

“He took the appliances, which are upstairs. Why?” Derek says out loud.

“Maybe he is jealous of them. He can’t afford them and seeing someone who could, made him mad.” I say.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

3rd Person POV

Hotch and Elle just arrived at the newest victims house. It was bustling with people. Some taking photos, others marking evidence, and another big group questioning the victim’s husband. Hotch comments on she was lucky, Elle was quick to follow up with she may not feel so lucky now. The lead detective asks for confirmation on the Unsub’s description then tells his team to get it out to the field asap. It was rare to have an interacial serial sex crime, but not impossible. Elle and Hotch were beginning to doubt the description of the Unsub. Elle notices Marcia’s shaking hand. She’s nervous, no woman who has almost been raped wants to be in a room surrounded by men. Elle approaches Marcia and asks to speak with her alone.

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Persephone Chase’s POV

I continue to trail Derek as he makes his way to the dining room. The china cabinets are wide open. All higher priced things I am assuming.

“I didn’t take it, I broke it.” Derek says out loud again.

“This Unsub has a real anger for luxury items. The appliances, the china, and the silver. He could have come from a high class family but was casted out or was somehow connected to one and was shamed after a break in the relationship. He continues to go for higher class women, maybe a mother figure or a mother of a girlfriend.” I say to myself bouncing off Derek’s words.

“Why wouldn’t she hear me?” Derek asks.

He’s right. This man is breaking numerous things and the victims doesn’t hear a single one.

“Because I did it after.” Derek realizes.

We make our way to the bedroom, Gideon was there. His eyes were glued to the TV.

“She had a workout video on. Step aerobics.” he says.

“Step aerobics? With the platforms?” Derek asks.

“Step up, step down, step up, step down?”

“Where’s the platform?” Gideon asks.

“Did he take it with him?” I ask.

Gideon shakes his head walking to the bed and looking under it. “He spent a lot of time here.” he says.

“What, so he vacuumed?” Derek questions.

“I mean, there’s no marks from the platforms.”

“A lot of time.” Gideon repeats again to get the point across.

“The broken things.” Derek starts.

“She must have been already dead or incapacitated when he did that. Cappuccino maker from the kitchen, dishes, vases, broken jewelry.”

“Could show he has a hatred for the higher class. Maybe that is why he targets these specific women.” I say.

Gideon smiles “Symbols. “Your riches, gold, garments, jewels bright. Your house and land must on new owners light.”

“Her riches.” Derek says.

“Right. You ever feel like there’s something obvious right in front of you, you just can’t see it?” Gideon asks.

“Yeah. Usually right before a woman dumps me.” Derek answers. I bite back a smile, such a Derek answer.

-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-_-

3rd Person POV

Elle and Marcia sit outside, away from the others and the pressure of telling everything she can. Marcia tells Elle she doesn’t know much, Elle reassures her she doesn’t have to. They are out here for silence so Marcia can collect her thoughts. Elle then gives her space, but before she can leave Marcia spoke up. She didn’t know he was in the house. She then begins to explain what happened. The struggle they went through, the fight she put up. Her husband came right in time, saved her. Marcia couldn’t confirm his race, all she could remember was his eyes. They stared back at her, through a ski mask. Elle tells Marcia she did good as she breaks down in tears.

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Persephone Chase’s POV

After we finished at the house, we made our way back to the police station. As soon as we entered Spency was on our trail with some information. “The versus.” he starts.

“Found something?” Gideon asks.

“Uh, not an answer, a question. I found the full text. He’s pretty much following it to a T, at least the Death side of the conversation.” Spencer explains.

“But?” Gideon asks.

“Why didn’t he leave them at the first three murders? I mean, this ballad is ten versus long just on the death side, he’s got plenty to work with. But if it’s not part of his signature, if it isn’t something that he has to do for an emotional reason, then, I mean, why start?” Spencer asks.

We all look around at each other. Spencer is right, why? Maybe attention.

“JJ, find out when the press ran the first story on this Unsub.” Gideon says.

“When?” she asks.

“After which victim.” he clarifies.

“Yeah, you got it.” she says.

“What’re you thinking?” Derek asks Gideon. “He wasn’t getting enough attention.” Gideon states.

“Police departments sometimes don’t even realize they’re looking at a pattern.” Spencer says.

“Yeah, until somebody tells ‘em.” Derek adds.

“The first story ran the morning after the fourth victim was found.” JJ tells us.

“The increased patrols didn’t begin until after the fourth victim, either.” Derek reads from his file.

“Yeah, the police didn’t realize what was happening, he writes his verse.” Gideon says.

“And everyone knows that he was there.” Spencer finishes.

Hotch and Elle then enter.

“The offender in this new attempt is a black male.” Hotch announces. “Black male? Cross racial doesn’t happen.” Derek says.

“What about Herbert Mullin?” Spencer asks.

“He killed fourteen different people of completely varying ages, races, and creeds.”

“But there was no sexual component to his crimes.” Elle adds.

“And he wore a ski mask. This attacker wore a ski mask.”

“So this is a random attack similar to our Unsub.” I say.

“Tell ‘em we’re ready.” Gideon says.

“For our profile?” Derek asks.

“We’re gonna make Tommy contact us.” Gideon says looking at the various photos of the victims. Then I noticed that all of the victims’ eyes were open. No way this new Unsub was Tommy, Tommy wanted his victims to see him. He wouldn’t wear a ski mask.

NEXT CHAPTER

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[reallifesultanas]

Portrait of Osman I / I. Oszmán portréja

Everyone know that Osman was the founder of the House of Osman, he remembered as the first of the Ottoman sultans. No one knows when or where he was born, and for a long time not a single artefact existed that could be confidently dated to his lifetime. There are two coins (which I already mentioned in the previous post about Ertugrul) from his time, and there are some legends, some descriptions about him, but we don't know too much about him still. So we know Osman was a historical person, but who was he?

His early life

Legends say he was born around 1260 as the son of Ertugrul Bey and Halime Hatun, and was from the Kayi tribe. It seems he had at least two brothers, Gündüz and Savci, who were both older than him. But there are no evidences for these legends. Yes based on the coins he was the son of Ertugrul so it can be true. 

He became the bey of his tribe after the death of his father. Some chroniclers hint that after Ertugrul’s death Osman’s uncle, Dündar became the bey, but Osman didn’t want to accept, so he rebelled. Otheres says Osman ebcame the leader and it was Dündar who didn't accept him. Anyhow most chroniclers agree that Dündar and Osman had a fight and in the end Osman killed Dündar with an arrow. The modern sources stay silent about this, because they find it not too glorious to kill your own uncle for the throne. It's hypocrite in my opinion, since fratricide and civil wars were main part of the Ottoman History. So in my opinion there was nothing wrong with this act (if Osman really did that) in such circumstances. Anyhow he became the leader of his tribe at a relatively young age.

Osman's dream

Osman at first was loyal to the Seljuks, but then he began to act independently around 1299. The reason of this act is not known. But the legends say that the whole idea of the Empire – and so his kind of rebel againsts the Seljuks – began quite literally with a dream:

"One night, the first sultan, Osman, was sleeping in the house of a holy man called Edebali when: „He saw that a moon arose from the holy man’s breast and came to sink in his own breast. A tree then sprouted from his navel and its shade compassed the world. Beneath this shade there were mountains, and streams flowed forth from the foot of each mountain. Some people drank from these running waters, others watered gardens, while yet others caused fountains to flow. When Osman awoke he told the story to the holy man, who said “Osman, my son, congratulations, for God has given the imperial office to you and your descendants and my daughter Malhun shall be your wife”." 

So after this dream Osman decided that he will creat his own Empire and will not be a servant of another state. Most probably this is just a legend, because these kind of „dreams” have a history with the Central-Asian origin nomad people. For example in the early Hungarian history there is also a dream like this, called „Emese’s dream”. This one is basically the same and story. Emese was the wife of Chief Ügyek, and she was impregnated by a turul bird. The turul appeared to her in a dream and told her that from her womb a great river would begin, and flow out over strange lands. According to dream interpreters, this meant that she would give birth to a son who would lead his people out of their homeland, and that her descendants would be glorious kings. Emese's son was named Álmos, whose name derives from the Hungarian word "álom", meaning dream, thus "Álmos" can be interpreted as "the Dreamt One". And it happened like that, because Álmos became the founder of House Árpád. Interesting fact is that the name Emese had a türk origin, originates from the Old Turkic eme, ana or ene, which mean mother. 

So we clearly can see, that these kind of drem-stories can be found in any Central-Asian origin nation's legends and they aremostly have the same meaning.

Osman's life after his dream

Most probably it didn't happened like, Osman had this dream – or not – and he started to build an Empire... Most probably he never even dreamt of such a huge Empire, what later happened to the Ottomans. Most probably he just wanted to make his own beylik, with his own cities.

His first indisputable evidence comes from a Byzantine chronicler, who tells the story of a battle at Bapheus, quite near Nicomedia (Izmit), in July 1302, in which Osman and a force of nomad archers defeated a Byzantine force accompanied by Alan auxiliaries. It is possible that badweather upstream and a rare flood of the Sakarya river downstream made it attractive to Osman and other türk beys to seek to recoup damage to their herds in the lowlands. At this time Osman was no more powerful than a number of other minor beys.

Within a very short time, türk raiders had reached the Sea of Marmara. A contemporary Byzantine chronicler describes how news of Osman’s victories spread and attracted Türks from other areas of western Anatolia to join his following, and how his force was strong enough to defeat a Byzantine army near Nikomedia (Izmit). From their base in the Sakarya valley, where Osman had occupied the old Byzantine fortified places, his men plundered the countryside to the west, forcing the inhabitants into the walled towns. These remained secure, since Osman obviously lacked the military skills to undertake formal sieges: his assault on Nikaia failed. He did take several other fortresses and fortified towns in the Sakarya valley, using them to store his plunder. In a similar manner he destroyed the countryside around Bursa, but also failed to take that city.

His personal life and family

Osman had at least two wives. One was Edebali's daughter for sure, as his dream also suggest. She was named Rabia Bala, or simply Bala but sometimes called Malhun as well. She was the mother of Alaeddin Bey and maybe had other children also. It seems she may had problems with the nomadic lifestyle or her relationship with Osman went wrong, because she spent the last years of her life with her father. She died in Bilecik in 1324 and was buried next to her father’s tomb.

Osman's other wife was Mal Hatun, who possibly was the daughter of the ruler of the Umuri or Amouri principality. According to a Byzantine historian “a son of Umur fought with Osman in one of his first raids against local Byzantine lords”, which may explain the marriage between Osman and Mal Hatun as a political alliance. Mal Hatun was the mother of Osman’s successor Orhan, and she actually outlived her husband as she was buried in the family tomb around Osman’s grave in Bursa. It is not known when she died.

In the first sentence I said at least two wifes... Well yes "a historical tradition regarding the acquisition of one of Osman’s wives calls to mind the Turkish nomadic practice of acquiring women through raids on neighboring tribes. As the story goes, one day on his way to Eskisehir. Osman caught sight of a woman in the village of ltburnu, fell in love with her, and, without telling his father, sent someone to ask for her in marriage. She refused on the grounds that she was not worthy of him, although this may have been an excuse, since there were rumors that Osman intended only a brief dalliance with her. Osman was spurred to kidnap the woman when an erstwhile ally of his, listening to his description of her manifold virtues, decided to take her for himself. Although the sources confuse this woman with Mal Khatun and Edebali’s daughter, she was clearly a person of lesser status. The details of the story indicate that the kidnapping occurred when Osman was quite young and before he had gained more than a local reputation. Women of standing themselves, selves, Edebali’s daughter and Mal Khatun probably married a more mature and powerful Osman."

Osman had at least eight sons and one daughter. 

Osman's eldest son - whose name is unfortunatelly unknown - was given to the Selcuk Sultan Gıyasuddin III Keyhusrev to be raised in his household when Ertugrul stipulated a peace treaty with him. He had descendants who were alive at the time in which Bayezid I conquered Malatya. The fact that this son of Osman was sent to the Seljuk Sultan during Ertugrul’s life, suggest that he maybe was born to the women, who Osman captured. 

His second son most probably was Orhan, who was born around 1281 and became the second ruler of the Ottoman dynasty. During Orhan's reign the little principality began to acquire a more settled aspect. Osman’s territory had contained no large towns. But in 1326, however, the city of Bursa succumbed to starvation and became, from this date, the first capital of the Ottomans. In the next year, following an earthquake which damaged its fortifications, Orhan’s men occupied the Byzantine town of Lopadion (Ulubat), towards the Dardanelles. Moreover Orhan was the first one who established an Ottoman bridgehead in Europe. He achieved this by exploiting a civil war in Byzantium between the rival Emperors John [VI] Kantakuzenos and John [V] Palajologos. Kantakuzenos sought allies among the Turkish rulers of western Anatolia and, in 1346 formed a pact with Orhan by marrying him to his daughter Theodora. The strategy was successful and, in 1347, Kantakuzenos entered Constantinople and proclaimed himself Emperor, with the other John as his co-regent. So beside his great victories Orhan was the first to use marriage as a tool to get himself supporters. His successors used to do this until Mehmed II, who changed the tradition and stopped the sultans from marrying noble women.

His third son was Alaeddin Ali Bey, who was born around 1290 and later he was made governor of Bilecik. He had a son Kiliç Bey, and their last descendant died in 1530. Aleaddin also built a mosque complex in Bursa. He didn't lived a long life, sources don't agree, but most probably he died around 1330.

Osman's other children are less knowns. We don't know anything for example about Savci Bey, just that his son married one of the daughters of Orhan 

I. Melik Bey is also not known, we only know that he had a daughter. 

Çoban Bey was surely Osman's son, because he built a mosque in Bursa, and by his complex it is known who he was. 

Osman's other son was Pazarli Bey, who was the commander of his brother Orhan I for years, so maybe he was the closest to Orhan? Pazarli Bey also had a daughter, and two sons. 

Osman also had another son, Hamid Bey, but we have zero information about him.

Osman had most probably more than one daughter, but we only have evidence for the existence of one. Fatma was named in the foundation deed of later Orhan I, so we know that se existed, but nothing else.

It seems like we know a lot about Osman, isnt it? But actually, even his name is the subject of some controversy!

A Greek historian gave us the description of the Sakarya flood and is the one contemporary writer to mention Osman ’s name, did not call him Osman at all but rather Ataman. The surprising notion that Osman had another name finds support in two later sources. Ataman is a Turkish name or maybe Mongol, while Osman is impeccably Muslim. This has led to some suspicion that Osman, or Ataman, the Ottoman, might have been born a pagan, that he may have taken his new name Osman later when he became a Muslim. But if this were true, if Osman were indeed a convert to Islam who changed his name, why would his sons have kept their genuinely Turkish names, who were Muslims beyond any doubt? From what the greek historian wrote, about the only thing we can surmise of the Turk he called Ataman is that he was a warrior.

Osman's death and legacy

The date of Osman's death too is uncertain. He probably died by 1324, the date of a trust deed registered by his son Orhan. The Moroccan world traveler Ibn Battuta, who visited the area in 1331 - 32, wrote that Osman was buried in the mosque of Bursa, probably the former Church of Saint Elias. This church is no longer standing, due to an earthquake two hundred years ago. Osman's remains now lie next to those of Orhan, father and son in suitable twin mausoleums erected in 1863. All in all it was Osman who was the founder of the Ottoman Empire, and who was to give his name to the Ottoman – or Osmanlı – dynasty.

Used sorces: Colin Imber - The Ottoman Empire, 1300-1650; Peirce -   The imperial harem; Faroqhi - The Ottoman Empire and the World; Fleet - The Cambridge History of Turkey, 1071-1453; Howard - A History of the Ottoman Empire; Öztuna - Devletler ve Hanedanlar Cilt 2; Uluçay - Padişahların Kadınları ve Kızları

*     *      *

Azt mindenki tudja, hogy Oszmán volt az Oszmán-ház megalapítója, és úgy emlékszünk rá, mint az első oszmán szultánra. Azonban senki sem tudja mikor és hol született, évszázadokig létezésére sem volt bizonyíték. Azóta előkerült például két aranyérme, melyeket ő veretett (és amelyekről már szó esett a korábbi, Ertugrulos posztban); ismert néhány leírás is róla, azonban nem tudunk még mindig túl sokat. Tehát akkor ki is volt Oszmán?

Korai évei

A legendák szerint Ertugrul Bég és Halime Hatun fiaként született 1260 körül a Kayi törzsben. Azonban nincs erre bizonyítékunk. Igen, itt vannak az érmék, melyek arra utalnak, hogy Oszmán apja valóban Ertugrul volt, de semmi mást nem tudunk biztosan. 

Apja halála után vált a törzs fejévé. Néhány történetíró szerint Ertugrul halála után annak öccse, Dündar lett a bég, amelyet Oszmán nem fogadott el és fellázadt ellene. Más források szerint épp fordítva történt és Oszmán lett a bég, Dündar pedig fellázadt ellene. Akárhogyan is, abban egyetértenek a történetírók, hogy Oszmán és Dündar harcoltak egymással, melynek végén Oszmán egy nyíllal megölte Dündart. A modern források csendben maradnak ezzel kapcsolatban, hiszen méltatlannak érzik, hogy a dinasztia alapító ilyen véres családi küzdelem árán lett bég. Ez véleményem szerint nagy álszentség, hiszen tudjuk, hogy a testvérgyilkosság és a polgárháborúk milyen komoly részét tették ki a birodalom több évszázados történelmének. Véleményem szerint tehát a körülmények ismeretében semmi rossz nem volt abban sem, ha Oszmán valóban így ragadta magához a hatalmat. Mindenesetre azt tudjuk, hogy Oszmán kifejezetten fiatalon vált a törzsét vezető béggé.

Oszmán álma

Oszmán törzsfőként eleinte hűséges volt a Szeldzsuk Államhoz, azonban idővel, 1299 körültől függetlenül kezdett el cselekedni. Ennek oka ismeretlen. A legendák szerint az egész birodalom alapítási ötlet - és ezzel együtt a Szeldzsuk Birodalom elleni lázadás ötlete - egy álommal kezdődött. 

"Egyik este az első szultán, oszmán egy szent ember, Edebali házában aludt, amikor:"Azt látta, hogy a hold a szent ember mellkasából a magasba emelkedik, átlebeg az ő mellkasára, majd belesüllyed. Ezekután testéből egy fa nőtt ki és behálózta a világot. Lombja alatt hegyek voltak, folyók folytak azok lábainál. Néhány ember a folyókból ivott, mások kertjüket locsolták, míg mások szökőkutat alkottak a folyók vizéből." Amikor Oszmán felébredt, elmondta az álmát ennek a szent embernek, aki erre eképpen felelt: " Oszmán, fiam, gratulálok, Isten téged választott, rád és utódaidra bízta a dicső feladatot. Leányom Malhun legyen a feleséged."

Ezután az álom után döntötte el Oszmán, hogy birodalmat alapít, nem pedig más birodalmakat fog szolgálni. Nagy valószínűséggel ez csak egy legenda, hiszen a hasonló álmok kifejezetten gyakranjelennek meg a Belső-Ázsiai eredetű nomád népek hiedelem világában. Például a korai magyar történelemből is ismert egy ilyen álom, Emese álma. Ez alapvetően szinte ugyanaz, mint Oszmáné. Emese Ügyek felesége volt és egy turul madártól esett teherbe, aki álmában meglátogatta és azt mondta neki, hogy méhéből hatalmas folyó fog áradni, mely új vidékekre is eljut. Az álomfejtől szerint ez arra utal, hogy ő fogja világrahozni azt, aki elvezeti új hazájába népüket és, hogy utódaik dicső uralkodókká fognak válni. Emese később világrahozta fiát, aki az Álmos nevet kapta, utalva Emese álmára. Külön érdekessé teszi Oszmán szempontjából a történetet az, hogy maga az Emese név is türk eredetű, amely az ősi török eme/ana/ene szóból ered, mely anyát jelent.

Egyértelmű tehát, hogy ezek az álom-történetek megtalálhatóak a legtöbb Belső-Ázsiai nép legendái között, és szinte minden esetben alapvetően hasonlóak, hasonló jelentéssel bírnak.

Oszmán élete az álma után

Nyilvánvalóan az álom után nem az történt, hogy Oszmán hirtelen birodalmat akart építeni (már ha álmodott egyáltalán)... Valószínűleg még csak álmodni sem mert arról, ami valójában történt leszármazottjaival, hogy ilyen hatalmas birodalmat hoztak létre.Valószínűleg ő csak egy kis bégséget akart magának, néhány városkával.

Első kétségtelen bizonyíték Oszmán uralkodásáról egy bizánci történetírótól származik, aki leírta Bapheus-i csatát, mely Nicomedia (Izmit) közelében történt 1302 júliusában. Eszerint Oszmán és nomádokból álló íjászai legyőztek egy csapat bizánci katonát. Lehetséges, hogy az időjárási körülmények nagyban felbátorították Oszmánt. Ekkoriban ugyanis hatalmas áradás zajlott a Sakarya folyó mentén, amely miatt Oszmán és csapatai szükségét érezték a terjeszkedésnek, hogy legyen hol legeltetni és hová menekíteni állataikat. Ekkoriban azonban Oszmán nem volt több, mint egyike a sok kicsi törzs vezetőinek.

Rövid időn belül azonban győzelmének híre elért a többi türk táborba is, elkezdték őt csodálni és egyre több türk tábor csatlakozott hozzá Nyugat-Anatóliából is. Így a türkök már a Marmara tengerhe is elértek nemsokára. A Sakarya völgyben táboroztak, és innen indultak újra meg újra lerohanni a környező területeket. Valóban sikerült ezzel területet, legelőket szerezniük, azonban egyetlen fallal körülvett várost vagy erődítményt sem sikerült bevenniük. Oszmán megpróbálta Nikaia-t is bevenni, ám nem járt sikerrel, mint ahogy a Sakarya-völgy más városainak esetében sem. Hasonlóan járt Bursával: bár a környéket sikerült meghódítania, a várost magát nem tudta bevenni.

Magánélete

Oszmánnak legalább két felesége volt. Egyikük Edebali Seyk leánya volt, akire az álom is utalt. Rabia Balának, Balának vagy Malhunnak hívták. A források nem értenek egyet nevében. Az bizonyos, hogy ő volt Aleaddin Bég anyja, de lehetséges, hogy más gyermekei is születtek. Úgy tűnik, hogy idővel kapcsolta megromlott Oszmánnal, vagy a nomád élet nem volt nekivaló, de utolsó éveiben visszaköltözött apjához. Bilecikben halt meg 1324-ben és apja mellé temették.

Oszmán másik felesége Mal Hatun volt, aki feltehetőleg az Umuri vagy Amouri területek urának leánya volt. Bizánci történészek szerint "Umur fia Oszmán mellett harcolt, amikor azelőször győzte le a bizánciakat", ami megmagyarázná a valószínűleg politikaiházasságot is Mal és Oszmán között. Mal volt Oszmán örökösének, Orhannak az anyja. Bizonyosan túlélte Oszmánt, ám pontos dátum nem ismert haláláról. Végül családi türbébe temették Bursa közelében. 

Az első mondatban azt írtam, LEGALÁBB két feleség... Igen, a történészek szerint Oszmán egyik feleségét a nomádokra jellemző asszony-rablással szerezte. A történet szerint Oszmán egyik nap Eskisehirbe tartott, amikor meglátott egy gyönyörű leányt Itburnu falujánál és azonnal beleszeretett. Apja (Ertugrul) engedélye nélkül odaküldött valakit, hogy kérje ki neki a lányt. A lány elutasította azzal az ürüggyel, hogy nem méltó a férfihoz, ám ez valószínűleg csak kifogás volt. Oszmán ezekután elrabolta a lányt. Sok forrás összekveri ezt a lányt Edebali lányával vagy Mal Hatunnal, azonban egyértelmű, hogy egyikük sem lehetett, hiszen mindketten jóval magasabb rangú nők voltak. A történet részletei arra is utalnak, hogy ez még Ertugrul élete során zajlott, tehát Oszmán igen fiatal volt és nem volt semmiféle befolyása. Edebali leánya és Mal Hatun egy már érettebb Oszmánhoz mentek feleségül.

Oszmánnak legalább nyolc fia és egy leánya volt.

Legidősebb fiát - akinek neve sajnos elveszett az idők során - a Szeldzsuk Szultán, III Giyasuddin Keyhusrev nevelte. A fiúval pecsételődött meg Ertugrul és a szultán béke megállapodása. A fiú Szeldzsukoknak való átadásának idejéből következtethetünk arra, hogy talán az elrabolt parasztlány volt az anyja? Mindenesetre a fiú utódjai egészen I. Bayezid uralkodásának idejéig Malatya környékén éltek.

Második fia valószínűleg Orhan volt, aki 1281 körül született és később ő lett a második oszmán szultán. Orhan uralkodása alatt a kis bégség, melyet Oszmán hozott létre sokkal kifinomultabbá vált. Oszmán ugyanis nem tudott elfoglalni városokat, Orhan azonban 1326-ban sikeresen kiéheztette és elfoglalta Bursa városát. A következő évben pedig egy földrengés után Orhan seregével sikeresen tudta elfoglalni a megrongálódott Lopadion (Ulubat) városát a bizánciaktól. Mindezek mellett Orhan lett az első, aki az európai politikai színtérbe is bele tudott avatkozni. Kihasználta a háborút, amely két rivális között, VI. János Kantakuzenos és V. János Palajologos között zajlott. Kantakuzenos egyezséget kötött Orhannal, ennek megpecsételésére pedig hozzáadta feleségül saját leányát, Teodorát 1346-ban. A stratégia sikeres volt, 1347-ben Kantakuzenos belépett Isztambulba, és császárrá nevezte ki magát. Tehát győzelmei mellett Orhan volt az, aki először kötött jelentős politikai házasságot is. Utódiai egészen II. Mehmed uralkodásáig rendszeresen használták a szövetségkötésnek ezen módját.

Oszmán harmadik fia Aleaddin Ali Bég volt, aki 1290 körül született és életében Bilecik helytartója volt. Született egy fia Kiliç, akinek leszármazottjai még 1530-ban is jelen voltak. Aleaddin emellett mecsetkomplexumot és építtetett Bursában. Nem élt sokáig, a források szerint 1330 körül hunyt el.

Oszmán további fiai kevéssé ismertek. Nem tudunk például semmit Savciról azonkívül, hogy született egy fia, aki később feleségül vette unokatestvérét, I. Orhán leányát. 

Oszmán, Pazarli nevű fia Orhan mellett tevékenykedett annak parancsnokaként, tehát lehetséges, hogy a két férfi közel állt egymáshoz. Pazarli bég gyermekei is ismertek, legalább egy lánya és két fia született. 

Oszmánnak volt egy Hamid nevű fia is, akiről sajnos nincs semmi információnk.

Oszmánnak mindezek mellett valószínűleg több lánya is volt, azonban csak egyikük létezésére van konkrét bizonyíték. Fatma ugyanis meg volt nevezve I. Orhan egyik alapítványának papírjain, mint Orhan testvére, így ő bizonyosan létezett és Oszmán lánya volt, ám semmi mást nem tudunk róla.

Úgy tűnik sokat tudunk Oszmánról, igaz? Azonban valójában még a neve is ellentmondásos!

Egy görög történész, aki a Sakarya folyó menti ütközetet taglalja Oszmánt nem Oszmán néven említi, hanem Atamanként. A meglepő tény, hogy Oszmánnak lehet egy másik neve is, két másik forrásban is bizonyításra lel. Ataman egy türk vagy mongol eredetű név, amely arra utal, hogy Oszmán eredetileg nem volt talán muszlim sem. Ebből történészek olyan következtetéseket vonnak le, hogy Oszmán talán idővel tért át az iszlámra és vette fel az Oszmán nevet. Azonban ezt cáfolja, hogy fiai kétségkívül muszlimok voltak, mégsem változtatták meg eredeti türk nevüket. Abból, amit a görög történész jegyez az egyetlen plusz információ Atamanról, hogy nagyszerű harcos.

Oszmán halála és hagyatéka

Halálának pontos ideje nem ismert. Valószínűleg 1324-ben hunyt el, mert fiának alapítványi papírjai ezt a dátumot említik. Emellett egy marokkói világutazó, Ibn Battuta 1331-32 körül meglátogatta Bursát és lejegyezte, hogy Oszmán Bursa mecsetjében nyugszik, mely korábban a Szent Elias templom volt. Mára a templom/mecset már nem áll, ugyanis 200 éve egy földrengés elpusztította. Oszmán földimaradványai most Orhan mellett nyugszanak egy ikermauzóleumban, melyet 1863-ban építtettek számukra. 

Összességében tehát Oszmán volt az Oszmán Birodalom alapítója és az Oszmán - Osmanlı - dinasztia neve is tőle eredeztethető.

Felhasznált források: Colin Imber - The Ottoman Empire, 1300-1650; Peirce -   The imperial harem; Faroqhi - The Ottoman Empire and the World; Fleet - The Cambridge History of Turkey, 1071-1453; Howard - A History of the Ottoman Empire; Öztuna - Devletler ve Hanedanlar Cilt 2; Uluçay - Padişahların Kadınları ve Kızları

[ciestessde]

NOT My Hero Academia: Part 1 – Ch.9

"WE'LL PROCEED TO THE AFTERNOON PORTION AFTER A ONE-HOUR LUNCH BREAK! SEE YOU THEN!!" We could still hear both announcers as their voices faded out: "HEY, ERASERHEAD. WANNA GRAB SOME FOOD?" "I'm taking a nap." "WHA-?"

.

As we walked off the field, everyone drifted from our cavalry teams and back into our friend groups.

"This sucks," said Tsuyu, "But congrats all the same Mina." "Bakugo only picked me as a counter-strategy against Todoroki's ice," Mina replied, rubbing the back of her neck, "This win doesn't really say anything about my strength."

"Iida, you were so awesome, keeping us away from the other teams like that!" Uraraka praised, miming Iida's running. "Oh, no," Iida waved away her praise, "With your zero gravity and Tokoyami's dark shadow, it was a simple matter of paying attention to the different teams' locations relative to our own." "Geeez!!" Kirishima groaned, punching Iida in the arm, "And I wanted to win so badly!!" "Hey, at least we're moving on, right?" Mina cheered him up.

Todoroki cut-in, "It's Midoriya who deserves the praise, for getting such a high score in the first place," he turned to me, "And I imagine it was you who came up with that strategy as well." I rubbed the back of my head, blushing, "It was nothing, really. I mean…"

I started murmuring, "yeah, getting first place in the race was kinda tough, but the cavalry battle wasn't actually so difficult, since I had the ideal team and all, and-" Kirishima smacked me on the shoulder, a wide grin on his face. "You gotta stop it with all that! You did awesome, man! Own it! All that murmuring isn't manly!" "Yeah!" agreed Mina, pretending to be a photographer, "A hero's gotta show their stuff! Smile and wave for the camera!"

"Yeah, Deku!" Uraraka beamed at me, "We wouldn't have gotten first place if it wasn't for you!" I blushed even more deeply. "Hey, you wanna eat lunch together Iida?" She asked, turning her attention to him.

'I think…' I reflected, as I went to eat with my friends, 'this might be the best day of my life, so far.'

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

As the students filed back into the stadium after lunch, Present Mic announced that those not continuing in the competition could still participate in a different activity. "HOPE EVERYONE ENJOYS THIS LITTLE RECREATIONAL COMPETITION!" He said to the audience, "ONCE THAT'S OVER, WE'RE ON TO THE FINAL EVENT. BETWEEN THE 15 MEMBERS OF THE FOUR WINNING TEAMS… WE'LL HAVE A FORMAL TOURNAMENT!! A SERIES OF ONE-ON-ONE BATTLES!!"

"A tournament huh?" said Kirishima, "So we'll be up in that ring I see on TV every year!" "Was it a tournament last year too?" Mina asked. Sero replied, "The format's always different, but most years involve some kind of head-to-head competition. Last year, it was foam sword fighting."

From the small stage in front of the remaining competitors, Midnight explained this year's competition, "The matchups will be decided by drawing lots." She held up a box labeled "Lots." "Once that's settled, we'll move on to the festivities and then the tournament itself! It's up to each of you 15 finalists whether or not you participate in the fun. I expect some of you would rather take a breather and save your strength.

"Now, let's start with the first-place team…" Midnight moved, about to step down from the stage so the students could pick from the box- When she was interrupted. "Um… Excuse me," Ojiro raised his hand, "I'd.. like to drop out."

There was chatter from all over the stadium, everyone wondering why he'd give up an opportunity to be noticed by the pro heroes. "The Cavalry Battle…" Ojiro lowered his arm slightly, not looking anyone in the eye, "I have no memories of anything that happened up until the tail end. It's probably his quirk that did it…"

Izuku looked around for -- who he assumed to be -- Shinso, the guy he remembered seeing Ojiro team up with and the one their team was named after. He spotted him standing alone, hands in his pockets and also not looking anyone in the eye. He wasn't even looking at Ojiro.

"I know this is a great opportunity. And I know how stupid it must seem to throw it away… But this final tournament…" He looked at his fist, his face tense, "Everyone else made it here by their own strength. Yet I'm standing here, and I don't even know how or why. I just can't take it."

"You're thinking about it too hard!" Toru tried to cheer him up, waving her gloves placatingly, "Just show what you're made of in the tournament!" "By that logic, I shouldn't really be here either!!" added Mina.

Ojiro lowered his head into his hand, shaking. "No… I'm talking about my pride, here… I don't think it's right."

.

After a few moments' pause and muttering from the crowd, Present Mic said, "WE HAVE A STRANGE TURN OF EVENTS…" "What will the coordinator, Midnight, decide?" Aizawa prompted.

"How naive and green… I… Like it!!" Midnight cracked her whip, grinning, "Ojiro has officially withdrawn! That brings us to an even 14 competitors!!" The screen lit up, a bracket with names displayed on it. "Here are the new matchups!"

The first bracket consisted of Izuku vs Shinso, Todoroki vs Sero, and Iida vs Hatsume; the second bracket was Kirishima vs Kaminari, Mina vs Aoyama, Tokoyami vs Yaoyorozu, and Uraraka vs Bakugo. 'If I win my first match… My second's against Todoroki!' Izuku thought.

'But before that…' "Shinso…" "Izuku Midoriya," came a voice from behind him, "That's you, yeah?"

Before Izuku could respond, there was a hand covering his mouth. It was Ojiro. "Midoriya!! That guy… Don't answer him." "?!"

.

"NOW LET'S SET ASIDE THE TOURNAMENT FOR THE TIME BEING… AND GET ON WITH THE THRILL-A-MINUTE FESTIVITIES!"

.

Once Shinso had walked away, Ojiro asked to talk with Izuku alone, leading him to one of the competitor prep rooms.

And explained his theory.

"A mind-control quirk?" Izuku gaped, "How can I hope to win against that?!" "My loss might be your gain. My memories cut out from the instant I replied to him," he said, tapping his head with his finger, "That's the trick, I think." "So…" Izuku murmured, "It's all over if I slip up and say anything to him…"

Izuku gave a small shiver. If that was the case, he was impressed. That was a powerful tool Shinso had, alright! "Not necessarily," Ojiro said, "It doesn't seem like such an almighty ability.

"Remember how I said I didn't remember anything up until the end?" Izuku nodded. He'd thought that was odd. "When Shinso had us run past to nab Tetsutetsu's headband… I think I must've bumped into Tetsutetsu's formation… 'Cause that's when I snapped out of it. I was suddenly aware of what was happening!" "So it was undone by physical contact?" Izuku put a hand to his chin, his mind already comparing and weighing strategies. "That seems very likely," Ojiro nodded, his chair creaking as he leaned back, "That said, I have no idea how strong the contact needs to be. And in a one-on-one match, of course you can't expect any outside help.

"Anyway, that's all I can tell you." Ojiro got up to leave, and Izuku rose to meet him. "No, that's awesome! Thanks!" "No problem! Uh-… Forgive me if I'm out of line, but…" Ojiro held out his fist, "Win this one for me."

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Before I knew it, the recreational activities were over. It was my turn; time to face my first serious opponent outside of a classroom.

"HEY, GUYS. ARE YOU READY?! YOU'VE BEEN THROUGH HELL TO GET HERE!! BUT NOW IT'S TIME FOR THE ONE-ON-ONE TOURNAMENT!!" My heart was racing. But… I felt oddly calm, too. … Prepared. "YOU'VE ONLY GOT YOURSELF TO RELY ON!! EVEN IF YOU'RE NOT A HERO, THIS SAYING HOLDS TRUE! YOU KNOW IT!! SPIRIT, TECHNIQUE, STRENGTH, WISDOM AND KNOWLEDGE!! USE 'EM ALL AND SHOW US YOUR BEST!!"

Shinso, the audience, and I, all had to wait a few more tense seconds as Cementoss put the finishing touches on the arena. Then… we walked out.

"THE FIRST MATCH!! MAKING A SCARY FACE, AND WITH THE EXCELLENT PERFORMANCE TO BACK IT UP, IT'S IZUKU MIDORIYA, FROM THE HERO COURSE!! VERSUS… SORRY, BUT THIS GUY HASN'T REALLY DONE ANYTHING TO STAND OUT YET! IT'S HITOSHI SHINSO, FROM GENERAL STUDIES!!" My ears were ringing from the sheer volume of the crowd's cheering. Evidently, they were looking forward to this event. … I supposed I couldn't blame them. "THE RULES ARE SIMPLE! WIN BY KNOCKING YOUR OPPONENT OUT OF THE RING, IMMOBILIZING THEM OR GETTING THEM TO SAY 'I GIVE UP'!

"BRING THE PAIN!! WE'VE GOT OUR GOOD OLD RECOVERY GIRL ON STANDBY!! AND FIGHT DIRTY IF YOU MUST! 'ETHICS' HAVE NO MEANING HERE!!" Cementoss made himself a throne of stone where he could watch the entire arena. '"Ethics have no meaning"...? Isn't this a "hero" fight…?'

I didn't have time to follow that train of thought. "WELL, OF COURSE, GOING FOR THE KILL IS A NO-NO!! YOU'LL BE DISQUALIFIED! BECAUSE A TRUE HERO'S FISTS FLY ONLY WHEN IN THE PURSUIT OF VILLAINS!"

"'I give up,' huh?" Shinso said, "Get it, Izuku Midoriya? This battle's going to test your strength of will." The look in Shinso's eyes… It looked familiar to me, somehow… "If you've got any kind of vision for your future, there's no sense in worrying about how you get there."

"NOW LET'S GET THIS THING STARTED!!" Shinso's voice overlapped with Present Mic's: "Like that monkey, babbling about his stupid pride."

"READYYYYYYYYY!! START!!"

"What kind of dumbass throws away a chance like this?"

Not responding was turning out to be more difficult than I imagined. 'Save it for later! I MUSTN'T -' I kept reminding myself, '- I can't. Say. ANYTHING right now!' I told myself the best way to protect my friend's honor… 'I can't lose this!! What I need to think about now…'

.

While the two of us were just standing there, the audience unable to hear Shinso's taunting, some unexpected commentary came from above us. "I mentioned that that entrance exam was completely irrational," Aizawa explained to the crowd and Present Mic, "This kid is a perfect example of why." "Hmm? What's that?" Present Mic responded to Aizawa at a lower volume than his usual commentary. "Here are the simple specs on these two. I've got them here because we knew this would be a quirk versus quirk battle. In theory, anyway."

The sound of paper shuffling could be heard. "Shinso failed the practical part of the exam, so he lost a spot in the hero course. He got into general studies, though, and that's all he could have hoped for. His quirk is extraordinarily powerful, but… Given the format of the practical exam… his ability didn't help him out. "And yet, someone with no quirk at all managed to get past it!"

"That's right," Shinso was talking again, "Thanks to my quirks nature, I couldn't enter the golden gates!" That familiar look in Shinso's eyes intensified.

And suddenly… I realized what it was.

"But you get it. You're not naturally blessed, either. So I don't really have anything against you… That said, I'm not giving up." I swallowed nervously. 'I do get it. That's how I used to think too. But…' I realized… that I should really… just get this over with.

'… right. I… I am blessed. Even if it's NOT "natural."'

"Those people…" Shinso's expression turned furious -- hateful even. And suddenly… It stopped looking familiar. "Born with their awesome quirks… Getting to follow all their dreams!!"

'I'm blessed… by the people in my life! By Master… And by my friends! And that's… exactly why… ' Shinso took a step toward me, "Say something already!" 'That's why I'm… not gonna lose!!'

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Abruptly, Izuku charged at Shinso. 'Sorry. I really wish I didn't have to do this.' It wasn't a surprise. It couldn't be. Of course Shinso tried to run, to fight… Nonetheless, with the large gap in their training, experience, and strength…

It was a simple matter for Izuku to overpower Shinso… 'I don't… have anything against you either!' … and throw him out of the ring.

After a brief pause out of shock at the sudden… anticlimactic victory, Midnight announced, "Shinso is out of the ring!! Midoriya… moves on to the second round!!" "IZUKU MIDORIYA MOVES ON TO THE SECOND ROUND!!" Present Mic repeated, his tone of voice just a tad surprised. "GOODNESS GRACIOUS! WE'RE OFF TO AN EVENTFUL START! PUT YOUR HANDS TOGETHER FOR OUR FIERCE COMPETITORS!"

.

As Shinso got up -- before he could walk away -- Izuku asked the question that had been burning in his mind, "Shinso… Why do you wanna be a hero so badly?" Without even pausing to think, Shinso responded, "We don't get to choose the things we naturally admire."

"...!" Izuku froze. Surprised, and… confused. 'His feelings… They're the same as…' Izuku looked up into the stands… but couldn't spot him. 'I still admire All Might…

'… Or…' Confused because, at the lack of feeling in his chest, he had to wonder, 'Do I…?'

Izuku was broken from his internal debate, "You were awesome out there, Shinso!" Shinso's classmates were cheering him from the stands. "You had us on the edge of our seats!" "You're the shining star of us general studies guys!" "You did just as well as the guy who got third in the obstacle course!"

Izuku smiled; it was right that they cheer Shinso. He'd done wel- "Why is that quirkless kid in the Hero Course and not Shinso? He has such a strong quirk." '...!'

.

Far away, All For One smirked. 'That's it. Listen to what the crowd is saying…'

.

"That quirk would be great against villains. I wish I had it…" "What the hell's U.A. thinking? Putting him in general studies…" "Well, they can only admit so many. That's just how it is." "There's only so much you can do… when there's such a large gap in their battle experiences. What a shame… A big loss to the Hero Course, not having a quirk like that."

Shinso's classmates heard it too, "You're awesome!" "Hear that, Shinso?" '… Right.' Izuku thought, 'Of course that's how they-'

"They'll consider transfers to the hero course depending on the results here." Izuku was interrupted again. Snapped out of his thoughts this time by the sound of Shinso's voice. "Remember that. Maybe I failed this time, but… I'm not giving up." His voice was filled with determination, although the hatred wasn't completely gone. "I'll show them I've got what it takes to make the hero course, and I'll become a greater hero than all of them."

Without thinking, Izuku responded, "Hang on. I-" 'Oh! He got me… But why? The match is already over…' "People who respond to me tend to stiffen up like that…" Shinso looked over his shoulder at Izuku, grinning. "It'd be easy to mess everything up for you now… So just promise me…"

He released him. "… you won't lose in a sorry way out there." This time, Izuku responded with just a smile and a nod.

That hatred… 'He… probably has his reasons…'

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

[Beginning]

[Previous Chapter] - [Next Chapter]

Read my original book, Crossroad of Infinity for free right here on Tumblr, on my website, or on AO3!

[sleepless-in-starbucks]

Heeeeeyyyyy Lia how about some parental boyos with kid Virgil and "learning how to do make up"?

Ooooooh yes I do like this one.Warnings: Some light angst/worry in the beginning, food mention, fire mention, eye-poking, a lot of stupid mushiness from the gay dads 

“Virgil?” Remy knocked on the bathroom door again. “Virgil, honey, I know you teenagers love to take forever with your morning routines and complicated skin care creams but we’re going to be late if you don’t come out soon.”

Emile fondly scoffed from the end of the hall. “Teenagers? Rem, you take an hour just to do your hair.”

“Yes, but I have the time to do that.” Remy turned back towards the bathroom door. “Virge, on the other hand...���

“I don’t want to go to school.” Virgil finally spoke up, voice sounding strained.

Remy shot Emile a concerned look before responding, “When does anybody?”

“This is... different.” Virgil responded. “I-I wanna use a mental health day.”

Remy frowned as Emile actually came over to the door and said softly, “Alright, Virgil. I’ll call the school and tell them you’re sick. Do you need me or Dad to pick anything up?”

“No.”

Emile nodded. “Okay. Just let us now if you need anything.” He said before taking Remy’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze as he pulled him away from the bathroom and into the kitchen.

“Do you think he’s okay?” Remy asked the minute they were far enough away that Virgil wouldn’t hear. He glanced back in the direction of the hall. “The last time he used a mental health day he had a panic attack, Em, and now he’s hiding in the bathroom-”

“I’m sure he’s okay.” Emile cut off Remy, squeezing his hand again. “He knows to ask for help.”

Remy nodded. “I know. I just... I’m just worried.”

“Me too.” Emile agreed, glancing at his Mickey Mouse watch. “But I have to go. Call me if anything happens?”

“Of course.” Remy kissed Emile. “Have a good day.”

“You too.” Emile returned before heading for the door, stopping to glance down the hall before he left. Remy sighed as he heard the front door lock, the only sounds left in the house coming in the form of quiet shuffling in the bathroom.

He spent most of the morning listlessly roaming the house, unable to focus on housework or anything else. Virgil remained in the bathroom.

Remy gave up on the passive ‘let him come to you’ approach around one, when Virgil still hadn’t left the bathroom, even after Remy reminded him at noon that it was lunchtime.

“Virgillllllllllllllll.”

Remy heard a sigh. “What do you want, Dad?”

“For you to eat my mac and cheese. I made too much of it under the apparently false pretense you’re mortal and require food.”

Virgil didn’t reply, but the door opened by a crack a moment later. When Virgil didn’t look out the gap, Remy tutted. “I’m not going to slide the mac and cheese into you.”

“Why not?”

“The bathroom is a no-food zone.” Remy responded. “Also I miss my child’s beautiful, sunshiny face.”

“Dadddddddd.” Virgil grumbled. Remy smiled. Cheesy dad compliments never failed.

“I think you’re required to glare at me now.”

For a moment, nothing happened, and Remy feared he would actually have to push food into the bathroom like Virgil was some sort of prisoner. The crack widened, however, and a sulking, glaring, perfectly normal Virgil appeared. The only difference between this Virgil and any other day’s Virgil was the artificial, darkened bags under his eyes. Seeing the confusion in his Dad’s eyes, Virgil shifted his glare to the floor.

“I wanted to put on some eyeshadow... but I think I messed it up, and I didn’t want to stain a towel to clean it up, and I didn’t want you and Papa to see how stupid it looked.” Virgil mumbled, shuffling his feet. “All of which are stupid reasons to wimp out of school but I felt stupid so...”

“You were stupid.”

Virgil’s head jerked up to looked bewilderedly at Remy. “Dad?!”

“For not telling me you wanted to wear make-up!!” Remy said excitedly. “That’s, like, a crime against common sense!”

“I thought you’d just think it was weird or something...”

Remy gasped in mock offense. “Have you met me?! I am the walking definition of weird! Oh this is to perfect- wait I have to call your Papa before we do anything he’d kill me if we did make-up lessons without him-”

“You sound like you’ve been preparing for this for a while.”

“If you didn’t have a make-up stage I was going to disown you.” Remy said, hurrying off towards his and Emile’s bedroom. “Go eat some mac and cheese! If Papa gets here and learns you’ve just been sulking in the bathroom all day he’ll get stressed and probably hug you.”

“Oh no a hug my biggest fear.” Virgil deadpanned as he headed off towards the kitchen. Remy ignored him, taking his phone off the charger as he barreled into the bedroom’s bathroom, pulling open his make-up drawer and sorting through all the colours and tools while the ring-tone played.

“This is Emile Picani, how may I he-”

“Em! Virgil came out of the bathroom with make-up bags under his eyes and it turns out he just wanted to try on eyeshadow but when he messed up he felt bad which is why he wouldn’t come out but I used my magical annoying powers to get him to and I need you to come home right now so we can teach him how to put on make-up properly and I’m so proud of him-”

“Woah!” Emile stopped Remy. “Slow down, Rem. What’s going on with Virgil?”

“He’s finally entering his make-up phase!!!”

“So he’s alright?”

“Aside from the fact he briefly turned off his brain when he forgot to ask me for help considering I am the make-up queen, yes.”

“Then you’re frantically calling me because...?”

“You can pretend to be above this all but I know you want to help me teach him how to actually put on make-up.” Remy answered, pulling out his brightest eyeshadow palette. “That or you may leave his education up to me and we’ll see how many shades of purple I can fit onto his eyelid.”

Emile sighed, though Remy doubted he was actually annoyed. “You’re lucky I just finished my last appointment of the day.”

“I’m lucky to have married you.”

“You’re shameless.”

“It’s my entire personality, babes.” Remy replied. “So you comin’ home early?”

“Yes. But only because I don’t trust you to teach our son actual make-up basics if I don’t.”

“Come now, Em, you know I give only the best advice in everything!”

“Love, we both know you’ve only ever given good advice one day in your life.”

“Oh, yeah? When’s that?”

Remy didn’t have to be in the same room with him to know Emile smirked before he responded, “The day you said I should marry you.”

He hung up before Remy had a chance to respond. Remy glared at the phone. Damnit, he was supposed to have the last word in these sorts of things. Now he’d have to hide in the bathroom until Emile got home- otherwise his much too nosy son would call him out on being, in fact, able to be flustered.

No child of his could know of such weakness.

“Papa said something cute and gross didn’t he.” Virgil commented the moment Remy stepped into the kitchen twenty minutes later, not even looking up from where he was eating mac and cheese on the counter. “You’ve been hiding for like half an hour and you only do that when you’re pretending you’re not blushing.”

Every child of his knew of his weakness.

Remy was saved from having to reply by the front door opening, Emile appearing next to him a moment later. He smiled when he saw Virgil. “Nice to see you out of the bathroom, Eeyore.”

“Dad bribed me with mac and cheese.”

“And then didn’t get you any make-up wipes?”

Virgil wiped lazily at his eyes, looking at the residue dust on his fingers. “It appears he did not.”

Emile chuckled. “I’m going to do a burn check, and then we can responsibly paint with all the colours of your Dad’s many, many make-up palettes.”

“Y’know, just because me and Virgil have set things on fire five times we’ve been left alone doesn’t mean you have to search the entire house for trace evidence of those fires.”

“I wouldn’t if you two didn’t think you could hide them from me.” Emile replied before he headed off to preform his burn check.

Virgil ate another forkful of mac. “Did you burn anything?”

“For once, no.” Remy answered. “But he may find the gummy bear army. They were in the middle of losing the battle of Chess Board to the assorted cheese and nut squad.”

“Why does anyone trust you alone ever?”

“They normally don’t have a choice.”

Fifteen minutes later and one rather passionate debate between Remy and Emile as to whether or not gummy bears stood a chance against the assorted cheese and nut squad, the three of them were sitting in the house’s biggest bathroom. Virgil’s face was cleaned up, and an assortment of make-up supplies were scattered on the counter.

“So, uh... what do we start with?” Virgil asked, looking slightly overwhelmed. “More importantly, how many of these can be legally classified as torture tools? I have a teacher who gives extra credit for those.”

“Which teacher is that?”

“Surprisingly enough, my geometry teacher.”

“Has she read her own textbook?” Remy laughed when Emile lightly swatted the back of his head. “Just try and tell me I’m wrong.”

“This is not the point of make-up lessons.” Emile said, avoiding the question.

“You do agree.”

“Shhh.” Emile turned to Virgil. “We can start with whatever you want.”

Virgil shrugged. “I don’t know, eyeshadow, I guess? Just so I don’t screw up with it again?”

Remy rearranged the make-up so that the brushes and eyeshadow palettes were at the center of it all.

“Do we start with boring shades, or exciting, fiery, eye-catching, wonderful shades?” Remy asked, already picking up one of the glitter palettes. Virgil frowned.

“Boring shades.” Virgil said. “Glitter will just mess with my aesthetic.”

“Change your aesthetic.”

“Never.”

Emile shook his head while he picked out a simpler palette, this one composed of beiges and browns, and a rounded, stubby brush. He put them on the counter nearest to him. “Starting simple is better anyways.” He said, taking Remy’s glitter eyeshadow away from him. “First, we start with primer.”

“What’s primer?”

“It helps the eyeshadow stay on.” Emile answered, grabbing a small squeeze bottle and a Q-tip. He turned to face Remy while he dabbed a bit of the primer onto the tip. “We’re using Dad as our model because he likes make-up and it gives me an excuse to stare at his face.”

“It’s worth it to be worked on by an angel.”

“You guys are gross.”

“Just wait until you’ve got your own disgusting partner.” Emile replied before saying to Remy, “Now close your eyes.”

“But then I won’t be able to see your perfect face, sweetie.”

Virgil leaned over and pulled on Remy’s eyelids, forcing them shut. “I refuse to sit through this.”

“You’re an ungrateful child.” Remy replied, but he kept his eyes shut while Emile started to apply the primer.

“Next, we apply a neutral colour. That is, if you’re smart.” Emile grabbed his chosen brush and looked at the colours in his chosen palette. “A friendly reminder that, for all his many, many gifts, your Dad is not known for being incredibly wise.”

“My method of layering every colour in the palette in a random order is ingenious.”

“There’s a reason I’m giving this tutorial and not you.”

“Hmph.” Remy crossed his arms. “You better be using glitter eyeshadow.”

“I am.” Emile easily lied.

“I find that doubtful.”

“Too bad your eyes are closed and you can’t prove anything.”

“But what if they were OPEN.” Remy opened his eyes on the last word, an action he immediately regretted when Emile, mid-brush with the neutral shade, poked his now open eye.

“I’ve been blinded!”

“It’s a little poke.”

“Forever blind in the name of beauty!”

“You just need to blink a few times.”

“And to have been hurt by the love of my life!”

“I swear you’re as dramatic as your brother.”

Remy, one hand still gripping his ‘grievously injured’ eye, smirked. “Bold of you to assume I wasn’t the one who taught Roman everything he knows.”

Emile shook his head. “At least you admit you’re just being overly dramatic. Can you also admit your eye is fine?”

“Nope.” Remy replied petulantly. “I’m forever blind.”

“That’s a shame.”

“There is one cure to forever blindness, though it’s incredibly rare.”

“I don’t think I like where this is going.” Virgil spoke up. Virgil was ignored.

“It’s the kiss of the most pure angel in the world.” Remy answered his own question.

Emile smiled and poked Remy’s nose with the make-up brush. “Too bad you can’t kiss your own eye.”

“Says the literal walking ray of sunshine.”

Virgil, recognizing that the situation was getting mushy, grabbed a make-up palette consisting mostly of shades of black and the closest brush before slinking away to his room. Considering it seemed the make-up session was quickly turning into a make-out one, he doubted he was going to learn anything else.

Besides, thinking about it, he rather liked the smudged, baggy eyes look.

[chubbyooo]

Blurred Lines: Cursed Past Chapter 75 - Drayen and Zandar

hey all sorry for the break the writers block hit me bad

Risha and Gacen reunited discuss where they’ve been and where they’re going

Gacen was tired out to say the least, he sat up to see Risha had gotten up and was walking towards a very ornate wardrobe “man should we like uh get separated for 8 more years because ‘I haven’t seen you in 8 years and I’ve just spent the last few months looking for you sex is amazing” Risha chuckled as she took two robes out of the wardrobe

She turned raising her eyebrow “don’t you dare Zandar I’m not letting you out of my sight” Gacen smiled that was fair, Risha tossed a robe towards him “come on we actually should talk and catch up” Gacen caught the robe and smirked at her

He chuckled “that’s what you said the last 5 times” Risha rolled her eyes at him gesturing for him to get up

Risha tried to look annoyed but Gacen could tell she was happy “I know but seriously come on” Gacen nodded putting on the robe and as he did he realised it was red

He frowned “Did you have a custom robe ready for me Rish?” Gacen watched as Risha turned red not making eye contact

She brushed her hair out her eyes “uh well um I assumed you would get here eventually and…” she continued to stammer

Gacen smiled walking up to her “you’re so sentimental it’s gross” Risha frowned at him she may not have missed the incessant teasing but she was getting it 

Risha smiled “shut up or I’ll divorce you” Gacen chuckled yeah right evidence said otherwise

Gacen pulled her close “not if I divorce you first Rish” they chuckled and shared a quick kiss, before Risha led him out of her bed chambers

Risha continued “so I have one million questions for you and I assume you have the same for me?” Gacen nodded it would be good to clear the air on what had gone on

Gacen folded his arms “sure but you go first I think you’ve earned it” Risha smiled but that smile quickly turned to rage as Gacen felt a sharp slap across his cheek

Risha let out a breath “ok I’ve been holding that in for a while that is for not keeping your promise and coming back” Gacen nodded rubbing his cheek that was kinda fair enough

Gacen had somehow missed that “yep that’s about fair” suddenly he was taken much more by surprise as Risha pulled him into a tight hug

Risha rested her head on Gacen’s chest and let out a sigh of relief “and that’s for coming back” Gacen felt a tightness in his chest as he held her running his hand through her longer hair

Gacen chuckled “I thought the continuous doing it was for coming back” Risha chuckled running her hands along his back 

She grinned “yeah that too, but you know I uh I missed you more than I was really willing to admit” Gacen nodded he’d always known Risha as quite guarded this probably took a lot of willpower

Gacen smiled “yeah me too Rish” he decided to lighten the mood “wow you’re going soft Drayen being so sweet and all” Risha shook her head with a frown

Risha moved her hands down “wanna test that theory” Gacen shrunk down a little shaking his head, finally she let him go “so what happened to you I looked everywhere and I couldn’t find you and believe me I was thorough” Gacen imagined that question had infuriated her

Gacen recalled that time vaguely, mainly through Ash “well I believe I was in a secret sector on Belsavis” Gacen saw Risha grit her teeth clearly frustrated by that knowledge

She let out an exasperated sigh “I swear I looked everywhere on that planet my intel must've been bullshit” Gacen stepped back a bit seeing the anger

Gacen tried his best to calm her “I don’t think anyone would’ve known about it, it was a top secret prison made by the Emperor himself; used those Rakatatanana telly-porter thingies” none of what he just said sounded right but Risha seemed to calm down a little. Gacen continued “I was broken out by Ash about 1-2 years ago I dunno, she’d been broken out to help that SIS agent break out the jedi” Risha frowned looking confused 

She rubbed her chin “Babe I haven’t seen any of these people in 8 years you’re gonna have to get simpler with your descriptions” Gacen nodded trying to simplify as best he could

He frowned “uh the spiky haired guy with cybernetic implants and the blue togruta” a look of recognition came over her face

Risha nodded “ah yes those two, not my favourite people” Gacen nodded knowing why “you said that was a year or two ago what have you been doing since” Gacen gritted his teeth this was a lot less flattering

Gacen held his neck “well after I got out I looked you up but couldn’t find anything and it seemed like I’d been removed from the holonet” Risha’s eyes widened clearly following Gacen’s train of thought “I uh I didn’t take it well” Risha looked away clearly feeling bad

Risha took his hand “I uh I had to I wanted to protect you from, my people they uh they’ve gotten worse” Gacen nodded holding her hand tight

Gacen sighed “I know don’t worry it makes sense now but then I just took it” he paused “well it was bad let’s just say that” Risha folded her arms looking at him

She cocked her head “let me guess booze?” Gacen nodded looking away “I’ll check your coat for flasks later” Gacen knew she didn’t know all his hiding spots so he should be good

Gacen reassured her “It’s actually ok now Ash helped me get past it” he paused maybe he should’ve mentioned that “oh yeah Ash has been traveling with me I dunno if you noticed her when I arrived” Risha shook her head smirking at him

She traced her finger across his chest “I’m afraid I was a little distracted by this” Gacen chuckled before Risha continued “If she got you here I guess I can forgive her for losing you” Gacen shuddered, he’d been worried Risha would blame Ash. She frowned “come to think of it how did you get here I was meticulous in the covering my tracks” Gacen smiled obviously not careful enough

Gacen smiled “I guess I’m ju-” Risha cut him off

She raised her eyebrow “Ash found some clues didn’t she?” Gacen narrowed his eyes

He frowned “not all of them I found some too” Risha gave a sarcastic nod “look basically some Dubrillion dickweeds were like ‘do you know where Drayen is we’re too stupid to find her ourselves’ so I was like ‘you can shove it dickweeds’ and followed the lead of a bounty hunter who they’d sent to find you” Risha folder her arms and sighed

She questioned “was it Amy?” Gacen nodded with a smile “did she betray you?” Gacen gritted his teeth she never trusted Amy

He stammered “well yes but then she saved us afterwards so no harm done” Risha looked completely unconvinced “hey without her sidekick Mako we never would’ve seen where you’d gone” Risha conceded gesturing for him to continue “we went to the old Rancors base and found your secret hanger cause we’re great, we stole a camera and confirmed it was you” Risha sighed putting her head in her hand

She responded “let me guess, you looked for the Mon Cal who would stand out” Gacen had promised Guss he wouldn’t say but it seemed like that was out the window, he nodded “I told them over and over record him as a human but nooooo it’s against ‘protocol’” Gacen chuckled the great Risha Drayen foiled by bureaucracy

Gacen joked “hey without him I wouldn’t be here so no harm done” Risha conceded giving him a smile “from then we just followed the hyperlane on dantooine to a good hiding place” he looked around “This place is brilliant by the way no one but your husband could find you here” Risha smiled looking around “ I also noticed it was red and black how sentimental” Risha rolled her eyes

She shook her head “those are the colours of Dubrillion dumbass don’t let your ego fool you” Gacen sulked maybe so but it was convenient

Gacen folded his arms “so you’re really going for Dubrillion huh?” he’d never doubted she’d go for it eventually

Risha looked away “well yeah I’m uh am trying to, after I gave up the search for you I decided I couldn’t keep putting it off” Gacen nodded he got it there’s some things you just need to do “but any time I tried to start a revolution Actavarus would do unspeakable things as long as there was any trace of my involvement just to make me stop, he’d level cities to keep me away” she looked down clearly shaken “I could deal with the assassins but the needless killing of my people it’s just…” Gacen could see her getting emotional 

He pulled her into a hug “hey hey hey he’s a massive tool believe me I know too, so that’s why you had to operate from the shadows?” she nodded Gacen could feel she had begun to cry “well don’t worry cause now I’m here we’re gonna show that tool who’s boss, with our combined talents he doesn’t stand a chance” Risha looked up at him wiping the tears out her eyes

She smiled “so you’re gonna help me?” Gacen frowned, was that ever in doubt?

He smiled “of course Rish, you let me go running after my family it’s only fair I let you do the same” he chuckled looking at the base “I mean you’re doing pretty well so far, you have a secret base and now a kickass agent ready to recruit” Risha frowned at him with a smirk

She responded “have you already convinced Ash to help?” Gacen gasped that’s not what he meant

He frowned “no I mean meeeee Risha jeez” Risha was smiling at him “oh right you’re making fun of me” she nodded “well we’re both here to help, she literally lives to help people I doubt it’d be hard to convince her.” he looked around the base again “what built this place droids?” Risha nodded leading him through the base which was really more like a holiday home

She answered “yep I bought a bunch of unlicensed droids brought em out here and used that yacht for transportation, as of a few weeks ago we finally have a relay to the outside world and everything is ready and in place” Risha paused “I didn’t expect it to take 6ish years but patience is a virtue now we can finally start taking Actavarus down” Gacen had to admit he was very impressed 

He smiled “seems like me and Ash got here at just the right time” Gacen’s eyes widened suddenly “oh shit” Risha turned to him confused

Risha questioned “um what?” 

Gacen had just realised “we left Guss and Ash outside” Risha’s eyes widened too they must’ve been out there for hours

Gacen looked around “where’s my coat?” he had no idea where he’d left it

Risha chuckled “honey that’s really anyone's guess” she had a point he should go and let them in then they could come up with a plan for taking Dubrillion, or maybe just have drinks depending on the vibe...

[ask-the-fanbots]

Family?

A fic between Coil (mine) and the Becile Boys and Mr. Weed (@ask-the-becile-boys)

Words: 2.4K

TW: malfunction, loss of fingers

    Hare was squatted in the alleyway, watching with only slight distress as The Jack gnawed on something inedible. Did he know what it was? No. Did he care? ...yeah. More than he'd like to admit.

    "Hey, c'mon Jacky, spit that out. Weed'll blow a gasket if he has to fix yer jaw again this week." He tried to coax the object--now identified as a brick torn from the building--from his mouth with little success. "Ow!" He hissed, inspecting the damage to his fingers. Still intact, so whatever. It was...probably time to bring Jack home.

    "Dnuor dna dnuor eht yrrebllum hsub--" He trailed off into cackling as he was gently hauled to his feet, spinning a few circles before springing up in an impressively high jump and stomping back onto the ground.

    "Ya don't say?" Hare offered casually, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he strolled alongside the giggling bot. "When we get back I'll--hey!"

    The Jack seemed to have decided he was tired of talking, because he began sprinting off without waiting on Hare to follow. The sound of his laughter drifted further off, his legs devouring the terrain ahead of him with all the gusto of an Olympian.

    "Hey, c'mon, why you gotta do this today!? We were doin' real well!" He huffed, arms pumping in rhythm with his admittedly pathetic strides. He wasn't anywhere near as fast as Jacky, but he could always hold onto the hope that the escaped kid would fall or something else'd slow him down, otherwise he'd have to try and drag Weed and the other guys out onto a Jack-hunt.

    Up ahead of him, the distant laughter cut off suddenly, replaced with a blood curdling shriek.

    "Jacky!?" Hare found a sudden reserve of speed, running faster than he'd ever gone before. It wasn't happening. Whatever he was afraid of wasn't happening! His thoughts tangled together into a web of helpless anxiety as he barreled around the corner, the manor coming into view. There he was! What was--?

    "--get off! Where'd you even come from!?" The voice was unfamiliar, as was the streak of dirty metallic grey covered by The Jack's writhing form.

    "The rocks! A lady from the floor! A candy man! The green took the lady!" The Jack was screaming as if his life depended on it, snippets of words in between snapping his jaws at the person he had pressed against the stairs.

    "What the Hell is happening out here!?" The Skull stepped out before Hare arrived, and instantly The Jack scrambled backwards, ramming headfirst into his brother. "Get outta here!" One fluid motion was all it took to haul the other person to their feet--a bot, no doubt, and a girl by the looks of it. "Hare. What happened here?"

    "We were on a walk an' he took off! Who's this?" He gestured wildly at the intruder on the steps, trying to size her up enough to get any kind of read on her and why she was here. Other bots weren't terribly uncommon to see, but ones turning up on the goddamn doorstep were.

    "Becile." She said, looking between them in a mixture of anger, disgust, and...well, a bit of hope. "He...y'know, made you?"

    "Go." The Skull shoved her back towards the street, taking another step forward before Hare waved a hand in a vague gesture to wait just a second. He shook his head, slamming the door on his way back inside. He'd have to go tell Locksmith, see if he could stop being useless just long enough to get the girl outta here. He may have been the enforcer, but if those piles of scrap metal wanted to hang around they had to do something every now and again.

    As soon as he knew Jacky was situated, Hare grabbed both he and the new lady and dragged the both of them inside. "Alright, sweetcheeks, let's talk. Why're you askin' about Pops?"

    "I was gonna ask if you couldn't see the family resemblance but thank God I ain't as ugly as you." She replied with a sneer, gesturing towards his face. Both were endowed with pointed teeth, though the woman’s were in her mouth, and between the pair of them that only managed to scrape together two eyes.

    "Wha--I ain't ugly!" Hare sputtered before leaning forward with a growl. "And you ain't family."

    The Skull pushed the two of them apart with a grimace. "We know all about his ugly mug. What we don't know is why the Hell you think you're one of us. Get talkin' or I'll throw you out whether they try to stop me or not."

    "Friendly bunch." She said flatly, crossing her arms over her chest as she tried to gather her thoughts into a sensible order. "Name's Coil." She paised briefly for a reaction, but upon receiving little more than slightly angrier scowls she continued. "Green core bot."

    "...yeah? And? Chrissakes, we're gonna be rusted over before ya finish the story." Hare plunked himself down into a moth-eaten armchair, resting his chin on his fist and looking at Coil in the same manner an impatient child would look at its mother.

    A throat cleared, and the attention shifted over to the source. Locksmith was standing off to the side, fingertips drumming over the cane in his hands. "If I may interject. You claim to be our relative, and this may well be the case, but have you any evidence to substantiate this? Are we to trust you at your word? This is--how do I put it--you would be far from the first ruffian claiming to share our lineage, if one is bold enough to call it that. How do you intend to put our troubled minds at ease? Proof, as it were, is what we'd ask you to furnish us with."

    "You all see if you can keep from dyin' for the next few minutes. I'm gettin' Weed and seein' if he can sort this out. If Pops made her there'd be some kind o' mark or somethin' to tell us." Hare rose from his chair, grabbing The Jack by under the arm to lead him off. "You too, Jacky."

    After earlier he didn't feel confident that Jacky wouldn't tear the gal apart before he got a chance to get back. A couple of her fingers were already severed, and they didn't need anything else going on at the moment. That's what he told himself, at least. Truthfully he needed a walk. Somewhere to go so he could think while he got there. Pops had been a less than honest guy, but there was no way he made another entire lady without them knowing, right? Right.

    But…

    She was just as soot-covered and banged up as the rest of them, and there was somethin' that didn't sit right when he looked at her. Something too familiar.

    "Oi, Weed! Open up." Hare banged on the door with his fist, earning a growl from within. "I'm not takin' no for an answer, 's important, so get yer ass out here."

    The door cracked open, a disheveled looking Riker peering through it. "Someone better be dying, and at this point I might let 'em for a little peace around here." He smelled of alcohol, deep bruise-like shadows beneath the one eye that was visible. That wasn't unusual for him, of course, but geez he looked like--...well, not great.

    "We got a situation." Hare inched closer, looking uncharacteristically nervous. He was smooth as silk. Cool as a cucumber. Nothing ever bothered him, naturally. As the tough leader an' all that it was his job to keep it together.

    Riker looked slightly more interested, but it was hard to tell with him. One brow arched almost imperceptibly higher. "What kind? I--Jesus, whose fingers are those? Who did he bite this time?" This earned a genuine reaction from him as he opened the door fully to look at the pair of tin cans that blocked his doorway.

    "Well that's the thing if you'd let me get there. We got a lady." The bot gestured vaguely, as if the weak attempt at charades would make things more clear.

    "A...lady." The engineer echoed, not any closer to understanding the situation than before.

    "A lady!" Jack confirmed, the high pitched giggles bubbling up through him against his will. "A lady from the rocks, a lady from the ground, a lady in the foyer who can't make a sound!" He sang before breaking down into hysterical laughter and snapping playfully in Weed's direction.

    "..."kay, what does that mean?" He didn't look pleased, but grabbed his tools nonetheless. If he didn't return some fingers his ass was on the line, too, and there was no way he could afford some kind of lawsuit for destruction of property or whatever they'd get charged with. Criminal proceedings were the last thing they all needed.

    "She--"

    "HEY! GET BACK HERE, YA LITTLE RAT! SHE'S YOUR PROBLEM!' Skully's booming voice echoed across the manor, and Hare cursed under his breath.

    "C'mon, I'll just show ya. Jacky? Wanna come with or head to yer room?" His hands found their way around the arm of the shaking bot, opting to guide him to his room and make sure he was secure before hustling back towards the door. "What's the--I WAS ONLY GONE A COUPLE O' MINUTES!"

    The Skull and Locksmith were standing beside the still form of Coil, the latter leaving a much wider berth. "She's your problem now. If she breaks anything it's on you. Get some answers." The Skull left with that, strolling briskly towards his own space. He didn't want her here, but he did wanna know what connection she had to the old man, if any.

    "We do seem to be in a predicament. While I can't say she's charming company, we are owed the full story, and the only one who can provide us with any insight is inactive on our flooring. A tapestry of tongues can't be woven by the mute, so I suggest our roboticist begins his work before much more time slips past us." Locksmith remained stationary, as he needn't provide them with any further room. They had ample space to operate, so for now he would observe the proceedings. Should the time come when he had to relocate, he would gladly cede further floorspace to them.

    "What do I look like, a dancing monkey? Why should I work on a bot I'm not in charge of? It’d be easier to scrap her." Despite his words, he was already kneeling to look her over. What exactly was the protocol on working on someone that wasn't yours? Especially one of the lady ones? And especially one that couldn't give him permission to take a look under the hood, so to speak?

    "She said Pops built her. Just take a look or somethin', will ya? Wake her up so we can ask ‘er a few things." Hare squatted beside Weed, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked her over. She did have the shoddy workmanship of Pops's hands, but that didn't mean much. He was overthinking this.

    "Fine, fine." Riker grumbled, undoing the buttons on the back of the dress. "You owe me, though. Next time I tell you I'm takin' a sick day, I'm taking it. No emergency repairs, no whining at the door, no nothing."

    "Yeah, sounds great. Do your thing, o mighty roboticist." Hare's tone was mocking, but there was no denying that Weed was good at his job. His ma had taught him well, apparently.

    It didn't take long before Riker was popping open an access panel, and he tossed it aside onto the carpet. "Geez! What's going on in here?" He turned aside, sneezing openly toward the rug.

    Locksmith looked utterly repulsed by this decision but held his tongue. He fished through his pocket, extending a handkerchief to the resident engineer. "Bless you, Mr. Weed. I take it our companion's interior is a bit... antiquated."

    "No kidding! When was the last time someone opened this up!?" He ignored the offer, swiping at his pointed nose with his knuckles. There was a thick layer of dust built up on every surface in the little panel, clogging everything and muffling the sound of the things that did still work. "I don't know what the last person in here did, but it looks like a toddler got a wrench and went to town. Half this stuff is straight out of a history textbook, and the other half looks like someone tried to make something out of spare parts from a dollar store."

    Locksmith withdrew the proffered cloth, tucking it back into his pocket. "I believe I'll retire to my quarters. Today has been eventful, and truthfully I have no desire to watch another uncouth display like the last one."

    Riker snorted, sparing a glance toward him. "Don't worry, I'll be sure to save a sneeze for you for next time I'm doing your repairs." He leaned back, resting in roughly the same position as Hare. After Locksmith left he turned to his companion, chewing the inside of his cheek before trying the find the right words. "You've been...quiet." It was more an invitation to speak than an observation.

    "Thinkin'." Hare was at a loss for more words than that--something Riker would have been quick to point out as the very first time had the circumstances been better. Family was a hard thing, especially for this lot. Hell, he struggled with his own family, but that was just a whole ‘nother beast.

    "For what it's worth, she's not one of ours. The marks and parts are wrong. But it does say Becile on the panel." Riker passed the piece of metal over to Hare, who inspected it carefully. Imprinted inside was the name Grace P. Becile in the standard formatting of foundry marks. Becile…

    "Pops never talked about a Grace. Think she's connected to Buster? Don't know that we really know where he came from neither." He handed it back to Weed, who set to work securing it back in place. She twitched under his tools, so it'd only be another minute or two until she came to.

    "You'd know better than me." Riker shrugged, wiping his hands off on a rag and stretching.

    "I'll go get Skully to carry her out." Hare jerked a thumb towards the front door, his other hand on his hip. "But uh...hey Weed. While you're out, keep an eye on her. If you see her. Don't go outta yer way or nothin'." His hand migrated to rub the back of his neck as he cleared his throat. “I gotta go back to my room. I'll see you later."

    "Right. I'll see you later." Riker watched him go before sighing and gathering up his tools. Keep an eye out...yeah, he could do that.

[fyeahwonderbat]

Keywords #3

Theme: Passion Rating: PG / T Word Count: 2,620 words NOTE: As this is set in the DCEU, I imagined Zatanna as Lyndsy Fonseca, but feel free to imagine whomever you choose!

“I had no idea you knew someone who was well versed in magic.” Wonder Woman remarked, lurking in the shadows of the balcony of the Bewitched Club. At her side, Batman frowned at the spectacle that was being performed on the stage down below. The audience was enamored with the floating lights and the levitating man being presented to them as some kind of inconceivable phenomenon.

In his eyes, Bruce saw magic as nothing more than child’s play.

Grumbling low enough for only the two of them to hear, he said, “There are many different kinds of people in Gotham.” He hoped that by the roughness of his tone of voice that Diana would know to leave the matter there.

Unwilling to comply with his wishes, she chose to address the matter while they witnessed the floating patron descend to the floor and the standing ovation that followed. “And you don’t trust any of them?”

“Not explicitly.” Was his blunt answer.

“Why?” Her curiosity was palpable, even as he turned away from her and walked towards the fire escape. They needed to reach the dressing rooms without being seen, meaning that exiting the club was more important to him than divulging his inner workings to her. He slipped through the open window without any intention of responding to her, which was why he wasn’t surprised that she probed the matter further the moment he felt her boots rattle the iron staircase. “You trust the people you gathered for the League.”

“Heh.” He released a single cackle, admittedly amused.

Diana, unimpressed with his behaviour, challenged him. “For a man who claims to love his solitude, you have a habit of reaching out to others more often than most.”

“I know who to contact when I need an ace up my sleeve.” Bruce explained as delicately as possible. He knew that he could run the risk of offending her again as he had on the plane trip back from Russia if he wasn’t careful with his words; she had already expressed her disdain for the way he made use of the Justice League, herself in particular, and if she thought that he considered her a tool more than a comrade, he wouldn’t have her at his side when they descended.

And he knew he’d need someone who accepted magic as a vital possibility while he groaned internally at the concept.

When Bruce reached the rooftop of the club, he apologetically turned around to offer a hand to Diana. But once again, the thundering of her boots landing behind him proved that she would forever be hot on his trail if he didn’t smarten up. Under the bleak shade of a dark and stormy night in Gotham, he stared at Wonder Woman through the lenses of his cowl, taking in the smug tilt to her grin. Proudly, she proclaimed, “From the moment I stole that flashdrive from you at Luthor’s party, I’ve never been your ace. If anything, Bruce, you’ve been mine.” 

The thundering he felt next came from the building, as it rattled when the storm overhead threatened to come crashing down on them. He quietly cleared his throat before finding his footing to say, “I’ll take that as a compliment, Wonder Woman.”

His sarcasm amused her for the first time ever. “As you should, Batman.”

“Emoc ot em, sredurtni.”

A familiar, feminine voice whispered in Bruce’s ear without warning. He witnessed the panicked look in Diana’s big brown eyes, however, he wasn’t able to warn her of what was about to happen as it all occurred too quickly. He recognized the style of the spell he heard a fraction of a second before they were snatched off of the rooftop and teleported into a compact dressing room. Lush in its decor, reminiscent of old Hollywood glamour, he knew they ended up in the right place even if he wasn’t a fan of how they arrived.

“I thought I saw you lurking in the background during my show.” 

Bruce steeled himself before he faced the magician in question. “Zatanna.” 

Standing with her arms crossed in the middle of the room was none other than the woman he’d been looking for, and then one he scowled at for using her spell to relocate him against his wishes. Still dressed in her corset and fishnets and her sparkly blazer, she looked like she stepped off the cover of a pin-up magazine from the fifties, with her top hat punctuating the look even while she held it in her left hand. It even sounded as if she was continuing her act when she faced Wonder Woman and interrogated her with her showman voice, “And what’s your name?”

“You may call me Diana. Bruce brought us here because he believes you’re the only one who can help us.” admitted Wonder Woman, offering a hearty handshake to the magician as a goodwill gesture.

Zatanna eagerly accepted the gesture the second she learned that he had put an ounce of faith in her. “Did he now?”

“I’ve been looking into a horde of monsters,” Bruce began to clarify immediately. “No matter how we analyze the sample I collected, I can’t pinpoint their origin.”

“We were hoping you might be able to tell us something about it.” Diana implored.

Despite their request, Zatanna refused to say a word while she studied the two of them. Her signature blue eyes hopped back and forth between the two of them, as if they were asking her to decipher something found in their auras or some other magical nonsense. Bruce was not amused by her scrutiny in the slightest, gritting his teeth for as long as he could in order to keep himself silent.

When that failed, he asserted, “We wouldn’t have come if--”

Zatanna cut him off with a toss of her hand through the air. “If you had any other possible option. I know you aren’t a fan of what I do, Bruce, so you’re lucky that I’m even considering this. Though I suppose the people of Gotham say cruel things about you all the time and you still keep them safe, so...” Her disinterest in his civility was made abundantly clear when she placed her top hat on her vanity’s table. Once it was out of her hands, it began to rattle ferociously in place and even started to hiss.

“What is in there, Zatanna?” Bruce demanded as he bent his knees ever so slightly in case her captive suddenly became free.

Sighing, the magician refused to reveal her secrets to them. Instead, she held out her hands and urged them both, “Give me the sample you brought, quickly.” 

With his hands already near his belt, Bruce removed the thin glass case from one of the compartments along his backside and placed it in her open palms. Bruce felt Diana move closer to him as they awaited for their own private magic show to begin. He could have sworn he felt an almost excited energy coming from her despite how foolish that seemed.

Bruce ignored his hunch so that he could lend all of his attention to Zatanna as she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her brows knitted together over the bridge of her nose as she spoke her spell aloud, “Wohs em erehw uoy emoc morf.” Her voice was powerful, commanding for the cooperation of the darkened jagged rock formation he presented to her.

Then, the world went silent.

After that, there was nothing but chaos.

Zatanna returned to them when she threw her eyes open and gasped as though she had been suffocated by her astral trip. So startled by whatever it was she saw, she nearly toppled into Diana’s arms. 

“Are you all right?” Diana panicked at the sight of her evident fright.

“What did you see?” Bruce tried to remain calm for Zatanna’s sake, all while the fear inside of him grew. Every other trial had brought them nowhere near a possible answer as to who could be in control of the army of monsters, but when the source was located through magical means, it appeared to be a force strong enough to push the most powerful magician he knew off of her feet. 

“Y-You’re not going to believe me.” whimpered Zatanna. 

“Try me.” challenged Bruce, ready to face the truth of his hunt.

Diana decided to lead Zatanna to her vanity’s seat, helping her sit down as the desperation for an answer to his statement hung in the air of the dressing room. Bruce felt very much like whatever wild entity was hiding inside of her spinning hat, failing to remain patient when trapped in some way or another by magical restraints.

Thankfully, Diana’s calm composure was the key to getting the answers they needed. “So they are born from magic then?”

Zatanna nodded once, twice, then spoke firmly so they had no room to question her. “Not only are they magic-based, but they’re being created by gods.” 

An extreme case required an extreme reaction from him. “What the hell are you talking about?”

A white gloved hand slammed down on the spinning top hat before Zatanna glared at Bruce and fired her answer at him. “I’m saying that the monsters you are after are being made by the hands gods. Two, specifically, and their base of operation? The one you’re looking for that you can’t seem to find? Well, it’s hard to find what you’re looking for on Earth when you’re actually looking for hell.”

“Hell…?” Diana’s voice collapsed as she breathed the word. 

Zatanna did not show her the same amount of concern as she pushed onward, “I didn’t see them being made, but when I went looking for your answers, I encountered this woman.”

“Who was it!?” bellowed Bruce so loudly, it earned him a pair of matching leers from the two women in the room.

And a rather aggressive knock at the door.

“Miss Zatara? Is everything all right in there?” asked an inexperienced security guard from the other side of the door. Zatanna didn’t acknowledge him in the slightest. However, she did maintain her furious connection with Bruce through her gaze and quickened her retelling of what she witnessed in her search. “There was a woman being held captive in a cell deep underground. She’s very gifted in magic - she found me while I was searching and pulled me into her. Her mind guided me beyond her cell and showed me that the monsters you’re after are being made in the pits of hell, being shaped by… a higher ranking demon? Some type of evil figurehead down there?” “No,” Diana spoke with a grave tone of voice, with nothing but certainty cementing her words. “It’s Hades.”

As if their search hadn’t taken enough turns, it took all of the Batman’s strength to avoid recoiling at the mention of such a fictitious name. Despite the fact that an Amazon from the same mythos stood by his side for the past year, it was nearly impossible for him to accept that the lord of the Underworld that he read about as a child was preparing to wreak havoc on Earth. Being a founding member of a team that compiled some of the strongest people of the planet meant that he had to digest the reality of their gifts despite how improbable it would have seemed to him once upon a time. If he was forced to accept the truth about extraterrestrial life, he knew that he’d need to leap over his disbelief and accept what Zatanna was saying along with Diana’s confirmation. 

Still, he dared himself to ask, “Why him?” 

Diana seemed to reflexively reach for the hilt of her sword as she divulged her thought process. “There’s no one else it could be. Think about it, Bruce: gods in hell, making a demonic army? It has to be Hades. He must have coerced another god to help him create these creatures and he plans to unleash them on mankind for some malicious purpose. Whatever he’s planning, he’s gone so far as to invite others into his domain and most likely punished the woman in the cage for refusing to help him achieve his goal.”

Another round of banging on the dressing room door cut off Diana’s speech. A rather panicked cry from the hallway replaced her voice, “Miss Zatara?!”

“I have no idea what he plans are,” Zatanna fretted openly. “But I can do is take advantage of this blind spot I’ve found and send you to her.” 

Bruce concealed his worry behind his cowl. “If you transport us into this witch’s cell, how are we supposed to get back?”

Louder and louder the banging grew, but Diana had become so frightened by the enemy they were about to face that she had lost all interest in mortal matters. Instead of being bothered by the harsh sounds, she faced their magical messenger and said, “Contact Bruce’s butler Alfred and let him know where you’re sending us.”

“All right.” Zatanna swore to complete the task with a nod of her head. 

When she faced him then, Bruce saw Wonder Woman. He saw the heroine that he’d come to admire standing in the dressing room with him, the very same woman who saved him from Doomsday with nothing more than her brute strength. The intensity in her eyes made him believe that she had already convinced herself that the battle with the lord of the Underworld was imminent, and she would be ready for it. With an obstinacy he’d be privately yearning to see from her, Diana dictated their next step with the charge of a warrior, “Let’s go.”

He knew in that exact moment that he had no right to seek out the logistics of their situation, that he should have checked his supposedly rational hangups at the door. If Wonder Woman was certain enough to take charge of the mission, then Batman knew where he needed to be.

“You going to be okay to handle this on your own?” Bruce wondered as he tossed his thumb over his shoulder, referring to the man who was insistently assaulting the dressing room door. 

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” Zatanna scoffed at his faux worry as she rose up out of her seat. She turned her back to him and held up her thumbs and index fingers in a square-like shape. As she pulled her hands apart, a glowing yellow rectangle materialized in the room that was filled with a dark, foreboding fog inside. “Go. That will take you right to her.”

“Thank you, Zatanna.” Diana softened her battle-ready demeanor to offer her genuine gratitude to the magician. 

“I’ll contact Alfred once I’m done here.” She informed them, materializing her wand in one hand while the other kept a firm grasp on her rowdy hat. 

Respectfully, Bruce added a quick, “Thanks.” 

“Now, go!” Zatanna shouted at the top of her lungs just as the dressing room door finally caved under the force of the punches being delivered to it. The wood splintered so hard, broken pieces of different sizes slammed into his elongated cloak. Bruce had to ignore every instinct he’d honed over the last thirty years of his life in order to charge through that portal. Whether he trusted Zatanna’s magic or not, he would never intentionally leave her to fend for herself if he could help. 

But Diana was waving him into the portal, disappearing into the fog that looked as menacing as he imagined the gates of hell possibly could be.

Leave it to the Amazon to rope him into the Underworld without any precaution, any escape route or signal to the League if needed.

[iremember]

an essay i submitted

I had never seen the show, but I had heard of it. It was a series worthy of watercolor-esque tattoo trends and hyperrealistic Halloween costume plans. My significant other perched himself eagerly on his red leather armchair, squeezing a smile in between his cheeks, waiting for me to shower him with praise for introducing me to the infamous Stranger Things. Together we sat in the dark under army blankets—he waited for a revelation from me, and I waited for something I couldn’t put my finger on. Science fiction? A likening to The X Files?

It happened forty minutes into the first episode. A character, a young girl clad in a hospital gown, is dragged forcefully down a pristine, blank hallway characterized by its clinical appearance. The audience can tell that the character is being held captive in a medical building, tortured and experimented on. Poked and prodded. The audience, in general, knows that this is part of a television show, that it is all make-believe.

But instead of understanding that what I’m watching is fiction, my entire body hardens beneath me. My skin burns with hot pricks of panic, my teeth grind into each other. I leave handprints outlined with beaded sweat on the sticky armchair. All objects in my field of vision dissolve and mesh together. Suddenly, I’m no longer a twenty-one year old female sitting in the comfort of a living room. I’m still myself of course, but now I am four year-old me, believing my  life is about to end at the hands of clinicians, under the guise of routine procedures—a routine procedure that did not have to be forced, a routine procedure that did not have to mirror sexual violence, for a routine procedure that did not have to happen the way it did, or at all. When a medical professional hurts you as a child, there is rarely any evidence to prove that it was criminal. It needed to be done, they often counter. Or: She’s too young to understand what’s really happening.

Eighteen—or seventeen, from injury to the memory—years later, my skull still swims with nausea at the smell of rubber gloves. I cannot lay onto my back without the image of six biohazard-protected nurses pinning me to a table, outstretching my legs and sealing my arms at my sides—roadkill preparing to be stuffed and displayed; already dead, but positioned to look alive for the rest of my years. I cannot walk into a pediatric medical office without blacking out, becoming years younger than I am, searching frantically for exits, or wishing I was not alive.

Recently, while walking downtown, I heard a young man joke with his friends that he was triggered by the fact that his school’s dining hall ran out of his favorite muffins—blueberry. Everyone laughed. The joke allowed a segue into a string of “triggered” punchlines. “Fat chicks get so-o-o-o triggered when you call ‘em fat,” another one spat out. Laughter.

Yet the world continues to turn. The question, “When did you serve?” pops up whenever the disclosure is, “I have post-traumatic stress disorder”, and that is universal. A friend lamented that she no longer feels she can use the word triggered to describe the experiences that set off recollections of trauma, because the word has transformed into a tool to mock those who need it. In fact, the word itself was introduced in clinical settings for the sole purpose of describing trauma. What is the motive for trivializing an open wound that lives on forever? A relationship “on a break” has become a trauma, a terrible grade on a midterm becomes traumatic. In so many places, the concept of trauma has become casual. An everyday occurrence. The world forgets about those of us who have resorted to bloodletting to cast out said trauma.

The brain, however, remembers.

It remembers because it is most wounded—first physically, then cognitively. Brain scans performed on those with significant trauma highlight the dents in the hippocampus and the amygdala like Christmas lights with burnt-out bulbs. I understand what’s said when I hear that my body has protected me primitively since the incident, but I also understand that it means my body has betrayed me. Relationships have crumbled, one after the other. Long nights were spent in tears, the other person always yelling, “I don’t understand how you can’t have sex, unless you’re defective.” Longer days were spent in gynecological offices—the first time in such a place occurring at age 20—rolled into a ball, dry heaving, and choking over the words that spilled from my mouth and into the air. I can’t do this right now, I’m scared, please wait.

My partner, his body chalk-outlined from the strobing glow of the desktop, swallows down a sharp intake of breath as he feels me stiffen beside him. He knows not to draw significant attention to the trigger, but sometimes, he can’t help himself. I dry heave. Saliva slicks my tongue.

The offending scene has ended. It ended several minutes ago, in fact. I think of how the hippocampus shrinks after developmental trauma occurs. Of how many children repeat nightmares in their play and are sent to time-out, punished for making sense of what happened. I think of how small in size the brain is, how one can easily fit it into both palms and examine the pruned indents and corn-maze pathways.

Trauma is a parasite that laughs in the corner as its host sits bloodletting on a bathroom floor: a practice performed in order to exorcise the sick out from where it festers, semi-dormant under the skin. For me, bloodletting held the goal of a kind of exorcism, a promise that if I continued to do it, I would spill the trauma and the remembering out. In hospital stays, I had the privilege of a staff member wedging their foot in between my door and the hallway to dogwatch my every move, but with kindness. Some nights, I’d talk quietly to them—about how my day was, how theirs was, what their favorite book was. And some nights, I didn’t talk at all. I curled over onto my side and thought of razor blades and serrated knives, how smoothly they could glide over your outstretched skin like scissors on wrapping paper; water over a river stone. I thought of that split second before the blood poured out: how your body prepared for an opening, savored that last moment before it became scarred.

I had always carried with me the notion that when what happened to me happened, I died some sort of death; that my body was disposed of improperly. That I have been either passing through the world as a memory, or that I have been carrying my young ghost on my back, uphill, unable to set her down. Traumatic stress continues to be so commonly associated with war, yet this is a war of its own—a war between living and dying, or dying again, a war between remembering and forgetting. The saying goes that only the dead have seen the end of war. Yet if only the dead have seen the end of war, I wonder if I am alive after all.

I look back at the desktop. The episode has ended and the screen is black, mirroring the blank, glassy expression of my face. The episode has ended, but I still see that little girl. In trauma, when the loss is your own self and existence, the fifth stage of grief is the remainder of your life. The act of mourning stains everything you do.

[hoyoungy]

Stimulant | RM/Namjoon

genre: comedy, soulmate au, tattoo artist au | tattoo artist!namjoon x reader summary: with immense pain comes immense pleasure, and that was definitely the case when you could feel everything your accident-prone soulmate feels word count: 2722 a/n: i had a lot of fun writing this lol. warnings include swears, mentions of sex/masturbating, and that it’s a dialogue-heavy fic. as seen on my ao3

You hated your soulmate. You absolutely hated your soulmate, and you haven’t even met him yet.

You didn’t start feeling what he felt until recently. The very first thing you felt was a cut on your hand and you started to bleed. A memorable first impression, to say the least. Then you developed more cuts, some bruises, and even muscle soreness. You thought that maybe it was all completely normal. You thought that all of this pain came with the package of finding your soulmate. But when you asked around how long until the bruising disappears, your friends just looked at you like you were crazy.

It was then you realized that maybe your soulmate was either accident prone or a masochist.

Or maybe they were both.

You would go about your normal day being extremely cautious and prepared for all the pain you would have to endure. Sometimes you would wake up thinking that maybe today would be the day your soulmate wouldn’t hurt himself. Sometimes you even sympathized - or was it technically empathized? - because there were times you had to go see a doctor when the injuries were more severe, thinking to yourself honestly, fuck you for bringing me here, but I hope you’re all right, too.

The scarring and bruises weren’t even the worst part of all of this. No, the worst part about being able to feel what your soulmate feels was the random bursts of pleasure that made you go insane. It was fine when it was night time and you were in the comfort of your home - at least that way no one could see your blushing face. But when you felt it in the middle of the day while you were at work, getting lunch, or even just fucking grocery shopping, you had to run to the bathroom so your soulmate could finish.

This morning you had a, uh, pleasant start to your day. You woke up panting, sweating, and flustered, trying to come down from the euphoria your soulmate caused all too frequently.

“Is my soulmate a chronic sex addict? For God’s sake, it’s seven in the morning!” you muttered bitterly. A shower was necessary to wash away the shame you felt for your partner.

In the shower, you enjoyed the peace and serenity the warm water gave you. It was a peaceful ten minutes that you thoroughly enjoyed until it was ruined again only moments later.

“Ow! Fucking christ!” you screamed. You saw some redness forming on your hand from inflammation caused by something. From your previous knowledge, it looked like it was from a burn from cooking breakfast.

How incredibly annoying was it that you already knew the reason for the burn?

“I’ll show you a burn.” You turned the shower handle to the hot side of the spectrum and endured the 0.2 seconds of scalding water all over your body. The pain you felt was worth the satisfaction knowing your partner’s probably cursing you out right now.

Did that make you the sadist? Or did that make you both masochists?

It was a constant battle of stimulation between the two of you that you didn’t even know what was accidental and what was on purpose anymore other than the infinite shameless times he’s had sex. Maybe he thought the same about you, too. What if he thought you were the clumsy one and he was doing the exact same thing by hurting himself to get back at you?

Kind of fucked up, huh?

“Rough morning?” your roommate asks, raising her eyebrow at you. She probably guessed by the sour look on your face as you exited the bathroom.

“Woke up to my soulmate having sex again and a burn from when he was cooking. Who the fuck has the time and energy to fuck this early!?”

“You’d be surprised,” she smirks. “Maybe he’s not having sex, maybe he’s, you know.” She gestures to you a juvenile attempt at a hand job.

“Either way, it’s annoying and embarrassing, like does he not have any shame? I can’t remember a time where I’d go at least three days without having an orgasm because of him.”

“He’s just not embarrassed to touch himself like you are, obviously…”

“Shut up.”

She wasn’t wrong. You haven’t had sex nor have you touched yourself because honestly, you’d be thinking about your soulmate the entire time, and it was embarrassing.

“You need to relax and just do it, _____. You’ve been so irritable lately, it’s driving me insane.”

“I know, I’m sorry, ok. I’ve just been so preoccupied trying to find him for months, but I’ve had absolutely zero luck!”

“Maybe that’s why. You can’t just go out looking for someone with no leads. You have no idea what you’re looking for.”

“I don’t, and I’ve never felt so lost,” you pout. “But maybe I’ll find him after today.”

“Why, what do you have in mind?”

“He’s going to hate me so much after today that he’s bound to show up.”

The malicious smirk on your lips caused your roommate to take a step back from you. “You’re not gonna, like, fling yourself down the stairs so you’d go to the hospital, are you?”

“What, no,” you said. “I’m going to get a tattoo.”

“You’re a psychopath.”

“I am not! If anything, he’s the psychopath!”

“You two are meant for each other.”

“Honestly, that’s so sweet of you to say.”

“Ow, shit!” Namjoon curses. The oil from the pan pops and hits his hand, giving him a small burn.

Immediately, a running Jin snatches the chopsticks away and pushes him aside. “What did I say about cooking!?”

“But I’m hungry…”

“Just ask next time! Look, you’re not even cooking it correctly - you’re supposed to scrape the ice off the dumpling before you put it in the pan so the oil doesn’t pop. You’re also not supposed to use olive oil for frying.”

“Ohhh…”

“I feel sorry for your soulmate. How are you even alive and functioning?”

“Yeah, how have they not tracked you down to kill you yet?” Hoseok teases, pushing Namjoon further away from the stove.

“She’s probably smart enough to know that doing so would kill her, too,” Yoongi scoffs.

“Shut up - HOLY FFFFFF -”

Namjoon couldn’t finish his sentence as he hunched over on the floor feeling like he was on fire. He struggled to turn on the faucet to run cold water on his minor burns. His inked skin was flushed a painful pink.

“What happened…?” Jin asked with wide eyes.

“I think my soulmate burned me on purpose!”

“That’s what you get for being so careless. I’m surprised they haven’t done so earlier.”

“They have! Every time I hurt myself, they hurt themselves back so I can feel it. Can you believe that!? Who hurts their soulmate on purpose!?”

“Oh, I definitely would if you were my soulmate,” Yoongi said. “I’d be pissed if my partner was chronically accident prone.”

“You guys are great friends, you know,” Namjoon said sarcastically as he dried himself off.

“Thanks!” Jungkook chimes.

“I’m going to the shop.”

“What about your dumplings!?”

“Fuck ‘em, you eat it.”

“Don’t hurt yourself too much today!” Jin calls as Namjoon walks out the door.

“Welcome!” the receptionist at the tattoo shop greeted you. “How can I help you?”

“Do you accept walk-ins?” you ask.

“Yes, Namjoon is available once he’s ready - speak of the devil.”

The door chimed as it swung open. A very tall, very good-looking man walks through the door with disheveled hair and a grumpy expression that was all too similar to yours, but somehow made him unbelievably handsome. His expression melts as he sees you and shoots you a quick wink with a dimple-y smile as he passes you.

“He’ll be your artist today. Now, because you’re alone, I assume you haven’t met your soulmate yet?”

“I haven’t. Why do you ask?”

“Those who have met or feel their soulmate need to have a cosigner that states they consent to the feeling of getting a tattoo.”

“Really!?” you said a little too loudly.

“Yes, it’s the law. So have you felt your soulmate at all?”

“Uh, n-no,” you lied. “Not yet, surprisingly.”

“Ok, well, then you need to sign these forms that state that if you’re caught lying, we have the right to report you to the authorities.”

“R-Right,” you stutter, reading the forms thoroughly before risking hundreds of dollars in fines and possinly jail time.

“All right, then you’re all set! Namjoon will call you when he’s ready.”

You sit in the waiting area impatiently tapping your feet. Your nails dig crescents into the palms of your hand unapologetically, with you not worrying about if your soulmate could feel it. To be honest, you were completely terrified about getting your first tattoo. You thought about the design in your car for like, ten minutes and thought up a bullshit reason in case they asked.

It’s not like you were going to tell them you were getting a tattoo out of spite. How crazy would that make you look?

I mean, of course you were crazy, but you didn’t want anyone to know that.

“_____?” The man named Namjoon asked.

His arms were now exposed as he settled into the shop, showing you nearly a dozen or so on his sleeve. Even from far away, you could tell how intricate they were, telling you that it must’ve taken hours to complete each one. Your eyes widened, sympathizing with his soulmate, that poor person…

“Are you ready?” he asked you.

“Yeah,” you sigh, hesitation evident in your voice.

“Scared?”

You take a seat and watch him prep his needles and ink. Why were there so many tools…

“Y-Yeah,” you stutter. “Does it hurt…?”

“Oh, yeah, like a bitch,” he chuckles. “No matter how many tattoos I get, they all hurt as much as the last, although the very first one is unforgettable.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I’m just being honest! You’re here now, no use turning back, right?”

“I suppose… Has your soulmate ever felt any of those?”

Namjoon sits across from you and gives you another smile with his heart-stopping dimples. “No. I got these way before I even started to feel them. I haven’t gotten one since the day I started to feel.”

“How come?”

“Well, I haven’t met them yet. I’m also an extremely clumsy person, so they experience enough pain from me,” he chuckles. Man, did you definitely related to his soulmate all too well. “I could never ask them to go through with a tattoo if they’ve never had one yet.”

“That’s very considerate of you.”

“I suppose it is. It’s the least I can do.” Namjoon rolls his chair close enough for you to smell his intoxicating cologne. “So what am I drawing on you today?”

“Just an outline of a crescent moon.”

“Simple. I like it.”

“To be honest, I thought of the design in the car,” you said, scratching your arm nervously. “I just want to get the feeling out of the way before I meet - feel my soulmate.”

“That’s cute,” he chuckles again. “All right, this shouldn’t take longer than five minutes.”

He put on some nylon gloves and shaves the part of your arm where you want the tattoo. His hands are warm and comforting, easing your nervousness, although it quickly came back when he buzzes the needle.

“Oh, shit,” you whisper. Were you making a big mistake? Were you taking your pettiness too far?

No, you had every right to…

“Ready?” he asked.

“No.”

“Good enough. It’ll only hurt for a few minutes.”

When the needle touched your skin, you nearly blacked out.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” you screamed.

“Ow, fucking hell!” Namjoon screamed, too.

You both swung your heads to look at each other with wide eyes. At first you were extremely confused. The only reason Namjoon would be screaming in pain is if his soulmate was doing something reckless. Was it a coincidence that he felt pain as you were getting a tattoo? But then it clicked in your head that it was, in fact, you who was being the reckless soulmate.

“You!” you both said, pointing to each other accusingly.

“You’re my soulmate!? Are you fucking kidding me?” you sigh. “Boy, do I have a lot to say to you.”

“You have a lot to say to me!?” You look at him with a blank expression and your glad to see that he nods his head understandingly. “Ok, yeah, I probably do deserve a mouthful…”

“Yeah, you do.”

“But ~ you did just lie about not feeling your soulmate! I could report you!” You silently slump in your seat with a pout on your face. “But you’re really cute, so I won’t.”

“Normally, I’d be flattered, but I’m a bit angry at you at the moment.”

“All right, let me hear what you have to say about my clumsiness.”

You sighed, collecting all of your thoughts. “First of all, how?”

“It’s an innate gift I’ve been given.”

“Do you see all of my bruises?” You rolled up your pants to expose your purple shins. “And this cut?” You point to a healing scar on your cheek. “And this burn on my hand from this morning? What were you even making?”

“The, uh, dumplings had ice on them, so the oil sparked.”

“Frying ice, of course my soulmate would do that.”

“I’m not good in the kitchen, ok,” he frowns.

“Second question, do you have a girlfriend or significant other or enjoy frequent nights out in the town?”

He raises a curious brow at you and you try to suppress any current thoughts about his handsomeness that distract you from seeing him as anything other than irritating at the moment. “Are you making sure that I’m all yours?”

“No, I’m asking you why you have sex almost every day at the worst times.”

“Oh, that!” he said, bursting into a fit of laughter. How he was not even at least a little embarrassed amazed you. “Well, to make things clear, I don’t have a girlfriend, or significant other, or enjoy midnight reandezvous.”

“Then what the fuck are you doing - Oh…” You paused. If he didn’t do any of those, then that meant… The growing smirk on Namjoon’s face only confirms your assumption. “Really? You masturbate every day!?”

“Relax, it’s not every day. As you said, I do so almost every day.”

“Do you know how embarrassingly frustrating and also hilariously ironic it is when I’m picking up an eggplant at a grocery store and I can feel you doing your business?”

“But you like it, don’t you?” Namjoon leans his face close to yours. Close enough that you could feel his breath tickle your cheek. “Doesn’t it feel good?”

“Of course it feels good, it always does, but I like to plan my orgasms, thank you.”

“But that was the beauty of it, my dear. Knowing that as I’m touching myself, somewhere out there, you were enjoying it as much as I was. It’s intoxicating.” He licks his lips and suddenly your mind became hazy. “Didn’t you enjoy it this morning?”

“Yes,” you stated plainly, though blushing deeply.

“Of course you did. In fact, I can already feel that you’re aroused just by the mere thought of it,” he teased. “Imagine the euphoria we could feel together. It’d be twice as ecstatic, wouldn’t it?”

“If you’re that curious, let’s find out.”

“Wait, Really!?”

“After this tattoo.”

“I’ve been meaning to give you a mouthful about that, too,” he said. “How dare you hurt yourself on purpose just so I could feel it. Does that make you the sadist between the two of us?”

“You know, I’ve thought about it before, and I think me getting a tattoo done by you confirms it.”

“After all the pinching, shower burns, and nail-digging,” he paused, showing you the indented crescents on his palm. “I think so, too. Though of course, I will admit to being the fuel to the fire.”

“So long as you acknowledge it.”

“Let’s get this tattoo over with so we can get to the real fun, shall we?” he smirked.

“Can I get some lunch or dinner before that, at least? Where’s the chivalry?”

“How rude of me. I’ll need the energy, anyways, I skipped breakfast this morning.”