#so either she understood my words just fine or she made some sort of -abstract- conclusion

[unluckyxse7en]

...

[grenade-maid]

Just finished Lain. Watched the last episode twice, which gently removed my heart from my chest and pulped it into a fine paste in a mortar and pestle. This hit much closer to home than I expected.

In my Lain epistemology post I somewhat flippantly made an aside that the series was only tangentially about Lain the actual character. By which I meant that my read on the series up until that point (around episode 8 or 9) was that each episode was teasing apart different aspects of the ambiguity of truth, knowledge, information, and communication, with the events of Lain's life being almost just a sort of example case study for how these concepts can impact someone on an individual level. Lain was framed in a kind of zoomed out way as an abstract avatar moving through these events without a whole lot of expression of her personal thoughts and feelings.

And then we get to the last three episodes.

It's in this space that Lain the 8th grade age girl with thoughts and feelings and wants and needs and fears comes into painfully sharp focus. The beginning of the final episode sums up and contextualizes what all of this has always been about.

Who am I? What is the real me? How can I tell what's real about me if everyone interprets it differently?

Do I even exist if other people can't see me?

The flippant bravado that I expressed in that post is the same attitude that Lain has been applying to her own very sense of self throughout the series, as just another arbitrary and moldable piece of information subject to interpretation with no inherent truth.

She effectively commits suicide by removing herself from sight, mind, and memory, of everyone around her. After all, if they have no knowledge of her, then she no longer exists. But what is lurking in the subtext of this finale is that she fails to consider that everyone she is cutting off is equally subject to this process. She imagines that without her meddling they are able to be happy. But that's all it is, imagination.

She doesn't exist to them anymore because she erased their knowledge of her, but it goes both ways. In doing this, they cease to exist to her, too. The image of the happy lives of the people she knew don't come from real observation or fact. It is something that she is imposing upon her memory or imagination of those people, which is only possible because she's removed herself from the possibility of being reminded just how complex and occasionally painful their lives will be with her or without her. In those scenes nobody misses her except in these brief fleeting moments where they remember some fond association with her, before moving on to their happy lives.

But this isn't reality. She isn't seeing these people. This is how she comforts herself, by imagining that everything is for the best without her, and nobody has to feel the pain of missing her. But that's not something she can know or control. The pain they feel upon losing her doesn't exist only because she has removed herself from where she might see it and have to acknowledge it.

Do I even exist if other people can't see me?

This phrase is taken to its literal extreme in the finale. But I think it's important to take a step back and really think about what this means on a more human level, especially when it comes to the kinds of struggles that everyone, especially kids that age, are dealing with.

That is to say, even if you literally physically exist and go about the world talking to people going to school eating dinner and so on, if there are parts of you that people don't know about, if there are things inside you that you can't express, you quickly come to the painful realization that to other people, that stuff just doesn't exist. Which means that whole side of you doesn't exist, according to the outside world. And if that side of you encompasses something important about your identity or your experiences, it's hard to not come to the conclusion that the real you, the entirety of your being, doesn't exist to them either. And when you try to tell them about it, or when they notice on their own, but they don't understand or perhaps outright reject it, hasn't some fundamental part of your humanity been erased? In this kind of environment it's easy to start doubting that any of it exists at all. After all, if nobody else will recognize it, you've only got your own word to go on. And that isn't always enough to trust.

And again, keep in mind that this goes both ways. I think Lain's sister is the clearest example which is given by the series. One episode she begins as a character, someone who has thoughts and a personality and so on. By the end of the episode she is reduced to the state that she will stay in for the rest of the series, blank-eyed and senseless. That fully fledged self she had still exists though. Lain just stops being able to see it, so effectively her sister stops existing for her.

Do I even exist if other people can't see me?

When you are isolated you can say anything about yourself. You can say you're nobody, or you're God, or perhaps something even wiser and greater than God. It can feel powerful to start writing your own existence and rationalizing your own isolation, the perceptions of others be damned. You can say well, my parents don't understand me and I stopped being able to connect to my sister, but who cares! Family is just arbitrary biology anyway! What if they aren't even my family at all, and are just plants put in place by a secret organization. I'm not lonely, I'm just seeking a greater truth, a conspiracy that only I can see! I don't make social mistakes, I'm not afraid of hurting anyone, that's the fake me running around out there! But it's not sustainable. Eventually life comes crashing down, whether it be in the form of interference in the material world, or if that mental state with all of its attendant self-spun narratives just finally collapses.

As with most things in this series, Lain's interactions with "God" are written in a very abstract symbolic way. But, the pattern that it follows seems very familiar to me as one of a predatory adult grooming a vulnerable minor. He alternates between gassing Lane up as the most powerful and important being who has ever lived, and then in the next breath saying that she's nothing. In peddling his conspiracy theory narrative of humankind merging with The Wired, of Lain simply being a powerful piece of software meant for Grand Purpose, he feeds into her struggle for identity and the need to be seen and understood by at once validating these feelings and how confusing they are, while reinforcing her isolation and his own dominant grip over defining the shape of the world and society.

When Arisu finds Lain living in filth and comforts her, that is one of the rare moments that the raw, vulnerable, material world Lain, weighed down with no pretenses, pokes her head out. That moment of genuine intimacy that she has been so hungry for this whole time is enough to allow her to retaliate against "God" when he shows up in anger upon being doubted. When Arisu reacts poorly to this sight, though, is when Lain makes her final dive back into her own walled off reality. For as much as she wants to be seen and held and comforted by this girl she loves, it is far more painful for her to have to witness and live with the feeling of rejection and guilt that came from Arisu's fear in the aftermath.

The final image of her father finally expressing the real tenderness she has longed for. The imagined future of Arisu dating her former teacher well into adulthood, because it's the only model of a relationship Lain has ever seen someone want, because her parents certainly don't seem happy, and she herself didn't get anything out of the boy who kissed her. The final statement, "I will always be with you". As with everything in the series, these can be interpreted many ways. But to me it reads unmistakably as the final moments before suicide.

In any case though, after all that, it seems fairly starkly clear why Lain resonates so strongly with trans people. Contrary to the old saying that all happy people are happy the same way, but all miserable people suffer uniquely, this path to despondence is depressingly common. It is the way out that is unique to everyone who finds themselves there. I hate to say it, although I feel very lucky to say that I have survived being in that place many times--which I think is proof that it is possible to get to the other side and make a good life, despite everything-- I think if it had ended any more neatly or more positively, it just wouldn't feel as honest. It captures the depth of that state of being. That's just what it's like. And as heavy as it is to sit with, I get a lot from being able to see something painfully familiar to me reflected in such a raw way. After all that, a happy ending would just feel disingenuous. I mean, that's my life, and any happy ending they could have written just isn't how it went.

[backalley-requests]

The Proposal | Chapter Seven

The Proposal Masterlist

Summary: Proposal au, where Ivar gets swept away in a lie about a fake engagement to stay in the country and needs to convince everyone (including his family) that he’s genuinely engaged to a woman he works with

Warnings: mild swearing (I think)

Word Count: 3,022

“I was thinking,” Aslaug began. Most of the family was seated at a large table, breakfast on display and on their plates. “Me and Ragnar have talked it over, and we agree it’s in everyone’s best interest to have the wedding here,” she grinned.

The bacon in your hand never reached your open mouth as your eyebrows raised in confusion. Now? It felt entirely too soon, you looked at Ivar. He was seated next to you and appeared uneasy.

“Just think about it. Ivar, this is the first time you’ve come home in seven years. Who knows when’s the next time we’ll have an opportunity like this? And most of our family is here for your father’s birthday. He said he was more than on board with the idea.” Aslaug seemed so excited.

It wasn’t that you didn’t want to have a wedding. You already knew you would, but having it so soon made the whole thing more real. It used to be an abstract concept and now was a lot more.... here. “I think we’d have to talk about it,” Ivar replied cautiously.

Up until now it was mostly just playing pretend. You knew what you signed up for but this hit different. “But maybe?” You offered to soften the blow. Your leg bounced nervously under the table, and you found that your appetite was gone.

“I’ll let you two talk it over,” Aslaug decided with a nod of her head. “But it just makes sense. And it’d be a pity if I couldn’t be there for it.”

—

“We have to do it at some point, right?” You brought up when you entered the room again. You two were doing this. A lot was on the line. “Your family would hate if they weren’t there,” you bit your lower lip.

“Did you want to do it here then?”

Doing it here would make it feel more real. “I expected to get court papers and go back to my apartment and not notice a difference.” A wedding was something much more official.

Ivar nodded his head. “I’m okay with doing it now. The work will be done for us, mor has been dying to set up a wedding for a while.”

Were you okay with it? “Sure,” you nodded your head. “Maybe it’s better to just rip the bandaid off.” You shook your hands and limbs to get the nervous feeling out of you. Your stomach was twisted in all sorts of knots. Why was it so nerve wrecking now?

“You don’t have to describe our wedding as painful,” Ivar rolled his eyes.

“I’m just nervous!” You shot back quickly. Maybe part of it was that you still had the interviewer left, you forgot about him most of the time. Or maybe it was that you weren’t sure you had done enough yet.

“It’ll be a few hours of your life and we can just go back to our respective lives. Go back to normal.”

That was it. You didn’t like the idea of that. Before you came here it was easy to get the papers and pretend it didn’t happen. “You’re right, back to normal.” He would just be your boss you were legally married to. Tentative friendship aside, you couldn’t imagine going out for coffee with him. Once you two didn’t have to pretend anymore you just… wouldn’t.

“So then let’s just say yes?”

You nodded your head. “It’ll be kinda fun to dress up,” you laughed.

—

One agreement after another, neither you were sure you were entirely comfortable with. Why didn’t you say no earlier? That it was happening too fast, or that you didn’t love lying to his family.

There wasn’t a high stakes excuse, he just seemed like he wanted it and for whatever reason you agreed. But the sooner you ran through the wedding the sooner it would be over.

“Are you alright, dear,” Aslaug asked you in town. She had taken you there along with a woman named Torvi. She was married to Ubbe, as far as you could recall.

“I’m good! Just nervous,” you replied with an awkward laugh. A woman was gathering your measurements, an act that already lent itself to making one feel self conscious. You also didn’t really know anyone you were with.

Ivar wasn’t allowed inside, maybe that was for the best. Aslaug said something about it being bad luck and you didn’t bother fighting it. “Don’t be. It gets easier with each wedding, but everyone's a little nervous,” Torvi tried to calm you down. “People won’t gossip for years about if you tripped over your dress, or if your makeup was off, or if the dress didn’t match your—“ her listing things off that you never considered only increased your fears and Aslaug noticed.

“Torvi, dear, I think you’re making things worse.”

“I’m fine,” you insisted.

“All that really matters is what Ivar thinks of you. You don’t really know anyone else there, and therefore their opinions of you don’t matter,” Aslaug countered.

Torvi nodded her head. “And if he wants to marry you then you must be special. Especially after what happened with—“ Once again, Aslaug made the girl stop talking with a quick wack to her arm. “I’m just saying he’s clearly head over heels. He won’t sweat the small details.”

“What happened with who?” Curiosity was piqued. Ivar didn’t delve into personal details. It made sense, you two were hardly friends at best, but that didn’t make you any less curious. “Sorry— he just doesn’t talk about Denmark often.”

Aslaug and Torvi looked between each other for a moment until Aslaug sighed and threw her hands in the air. “Fine. But I don’t want to be here for it. It just makes me angry.” She walked out of the room and left you standing with Torvi.

“Ivar was in one other serious relationship I can recall. Sure, I think he had some affairs with a few girls but nothing real until Freydis. Nothing after her either, until you,” Torvi nodded her head.

You were changing in between suggested dresses, attempting new styles at an incredibly slow pace. Torch helped carry the weight of some dresses and zipped up the back every time. “What happened to her then?”

“Well she was beautiful and kind. He was madly in love. I’ve never seen him so love sick.”

There was no comfort that he had looked at you like that— not that you should’ve expected that. You shook her head back to reality as fast as you could. Of course Ivar looked at someone he actually loved differently than someone who just worked for him.

“Anyways, he had a whole proposal planned out. She turned him down and didn’t give a real reason why. We didn’t find out for a while,” Torvi admitted. “I think it was because she didn’t qualify for a US visa. Ivar was willing to drop his dreams of New York for her and she didn’t seem okay with that, something about not wanting him to change his entire life for her.”

You were silent the whole time. You never saw Ivar date people. You’d have known if he had in the last three years. It made sense why any short term flings didn’t last.

Torvi laced together a dress. “I wasn’t sure he’d recover— until you. So all’s well that ends well, right?” She leaned over your shoulder and grinned at you. “I wouldn’t worry too much about her. Aslaug just resents Freydis for breaking his heart. But I haven’t even seen her around here in years. She’s hardly a boogeyman.”

Why did that bother you so much? If Ivar was secretly in love with some other woman the entire time it shouldn’t matter. She turned him down anyways. But it did bother you. Ivar didn’t mention his past and you had to wonder if Freydis was why.

“I think this dress looks lovely by the way,” Torvi complimented.

—

The day just seemed so fast. Nothing was seemingly capable of slowing down information as it was thrown at you. It didn’t seem to get any better when you finally left the store, a dress sent in for alterations, to find Ivar at the nearby cafe you left him at talking to someone you haven't seen before.

“Ivar!” You smiled. Aslaug and Torvi had shooed you away while they worked on ‘something’. You heard through their whispers it had to do with a bachelorette party. The idea wasn’t exactly fun but they were too nice to turn town, so you already knew you’d agree with whatever they had to say.

You glanced over at the woman, she was beautiful and maybe that was why you felt the strong urge to sit incredibly close to Ivar. “Y/N, this is an old friend of mine, Freydis.” That made things instantly worse. The warm smile on your face turned cold.

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” you extended your hand to shake hers. Even her hand was soft and warm. You turned your head to face Ivar, seeing an urge to do something.

What if Ivar realized he didn’t need to return to the US if Freydis was here. You could go to prison, or lose your job at best. The man needed his priorities straight. Oh— who were you kidding! Freydis hadn’t even done anything other than show up today and now.

They spoke in Danish, only occasionally letting you into the conversation. You understood fragments of it. They were talking about their time at university, growing up together, when they dated. You were ignored and isolated from their chats and it bothered you.

Maybe you wouldn’t have cared at all if Torvi didn’t ignite a fear that Ivar was still in love with her. But he was already so much more animated and kind to her than he usually was with you.

“We’re being a bit rude to your girlfriend, aren’t we?” Freydis brought it up at some point, speaking in English for your sake.

“It’s fine,” you smiled awkwardly, waving it off.

“She’s not really my girlfriend,” Ivar admitted. “It’s complicated. She’s just a good friend. She’s helping me stay in America and get my citizenship official.”

You froze, every muscle in your body tensing up at once. Freydis laughed at the absurdity of it. “Then you must be incredibly kind as you are beautiful to deal with him. Ivar certainly has a knack for the dramatics, doesn’t he,” she smiled at you.

You took a deep breath and smiled back. “He also seems to have a habit of bad judgement calls. Ivar— I don’t care if she knows but the point of a secret is not sharing it where anyone can hear. Your mom and Torvi are in the same district right now. What if they were behind us?” You snapped.

Ivar frowned his eyebrows at you, “It’s not a big deal. Freydis wouldn’t share it and they aren’t here. Do you honestly think I’d be that reckless?”

“If I can’t share it with anyone how come you get to without discussing it,” you demanded. It bothered you. A lot. “We’re supposed to be a team.”

Freydis shifted uncomfortably, “I think this is my cue to go. Obviously things are a little tense. Look, I promise you two that I won’t go around sharing this.” She stood up and collected her things.

“I think that’s a good idea. You’re fine, Freydis. My issue is with my not-boyfriend,” you admitted, anger evident in your tone.

“Good luck with the wedding,” Freydis waved before leaving. Her walk was a little faster than a normal one.

“What the hell was that,” Ivar demanded the moment Freydis was out of ear shot. He turned to face you and it was the first time he looked at you since you showed up. His eyes were intense and narrowed in anger.

Your jaw tightened, “I should be asking you the same question. Why were you even talking to her? Let alone telling her our entire plan. You realize that I go to prison if it gets out, right? You can stay here and live out your perfect fantasy but I rot in a cell!” You stood up and wanted to leave.

“I’m not going to blow anything up! Freydis won’t tell. We’ll get married as we planned, divorced in three years. No one gets hurt.”

But you already were. And you couldn’t identify why.

“Oh and who’s gonna believe that we’re a real couple getting married if they just see something like that! You ignored me the entire time just to stare at her perfectly symmetrical face!”

Ivar’s face went from anger to confusion for a moment. “No one saw it. I’m not bringing her to my home or reintroducing her. It was one interaction. What’s wrong with me wanting to see an old friend.”

“But she’s not just your friend, right,” you reminded him.

Ivar froze and hesitated to respond for a moment. “How do you know that?”

You tried to calm down but you could feel yourself spiraling. “Torvi told me about her at the dress fitting. Everything she knew.” You bit your bottom lip, Ivar remained silent. “I’m your fiancée! Okay? So just— just stop looking at her!” You didn’t understand why it bothered you so much. You hoped it was just for appearances. “I just need this to go well. We’re supposed to be working together. That wasn’t together.”

“What happened to wanting to not argue,” Ivar challenged. “And over her? I haven’t seen Freydis in a long time. It’s not like I’m proposing to her.” Tears threatened to leave your eyes and Ivar’s face fell. “Whoa— hey, Y/N. It’s okay. I didn’t do anything. I don’t love her, I was just catching up. I didn’t think it would matter so much.”

You didn’t either. “Maybe.” You didn’t really have a right to care beyond him telling Freydis who you actually were. And if you were being honest that isn’t what you really minded. “I don’t know why it does. Things are just happening fast. I keep losing control over my life right now.”

Ivar wasn’t good at trying to comfort people, he awkwardly placed a hand on your shoulder and patted it. “You should’ve said something. I would’ve tried to help.”

You laughed softly and shook your head. “Yesterday you told me that you would've helped me if I asked for it.”

Ivar rolled his eyes, “well I lied. You should be used to that by now.”

“I don’t like her,” you admitted, “she’s way too nice.” There was nothing genuine to hate her for. She didn’t step on your toes or was rude. “I can’t even imagine you dating her. She doesn’t look like she could bite back.”

Ivar found it a little amusing. “I didn’t usually bite at her to begin with. Not that you’d know. Torvi shouldn’t have said anything. It wasn’t her place— and nor was it mine to tell Freydis the truth.”

“At least you admit it.” So what gripe could you have left?

“Were you jealous,” Ivar asked suddenly.

“No!” Your face got red at the idea. “Of course not. How could I be jealous of that?” Were you jealous?

“Okay,” he nodded his head. “Then I’ll just put this out there. As friends. I’m choosing to marry you. Not her, you. If I wanted to have married Freydis I would’ve.”

For some reason the words calmed you down a bit more. “Not that you could’ve, she's way too beautiful for you.” You found yourself easily relaxing into petty insults.

“You’re just jealous she’s better looking than you.” He knew a new way to get under your skin and didn’t hesitate to take a shot at you.

Your face fell.

“Just because I made a poor choice in who I choose to marry doesn’t it isn’t true. It’s my legs that are broken, not my eyes.”

“You are so mean!” Your voice filled with a bit of dramatic hurt.

“You insulted me first. And if I’m being honest, I’ve been incredibly patient with you today. So I deserved to say it. You went off on me for no reason. If you were anyone else I would’ve said something to actually hurt you,” Ivar replied. “Like how you have no family. Or you’re only so jealous because no one’s ever truly loved you the way you believe I love her— something to that effect.”

That’s when it occurred to you that Ivar didn’t respond like he normally would. Like he used to. He tolerated your display of anger and worked with you rather than get defensive and attack in any meaningful way.

“This is the part where you apologize,” Ivar nodded to you. “Or at least thank me.”

You didn’t want to. “You’re right,” you sighed. “Thanks.”

Ivar shrugged, “you’ve tolerated me when I’ve gotten angry over nothing. I figured I’d return the favor.” He took a moment before deciding to share more. “I broke up with her, by the way. Before I left. I decided that being here and knowing her was all I knew. I haven’t loved her for a long time. I certainly wouldn’t lose my job over her.”

Your eyes locked with his. “Torvi made it sound like—“

“None of them know. That’s why you don’t rely on rumors, Y/N. You could’ve just asked.” He didn’t seem to mind it. “You went off the rails today,” Ivar sipped his coffee and he eyed you. He was calm about it too. As if he didn’t mind this simple truth.

“I’m sorry.” It all seemed really dumb right now. “You’re right. It’s just all been… a lot. Things are moving fast. I thought you were just another thing running ahead of me.”

“You’re supposed to be the one keeping me in check,” Ivar teased. “It’s strange being the sane one for once.”

You rolled your eyes, “I slipped up once. Don't expect it to happen again.”

But that didn't solve the nagging in the back of your mind. Why was that the final straw?

—

taglist** @youbloodymadgenius @heavenly1927 @momowhoo

[rosetower]

It’s just really .... I don’t know how to explain to others the feeling of growing up and being sorted into “girl” but everybody knows you’re not. Everybody knows you’re not. The ostracization you face because you are viably not “girl” by their standards is incredible. And then there’s the whole “my junk doesn’t even look like anybody else’s does” issue too. Like always being able to look in your pants and for me like... there’s a dangling thing there. I have always known inherently that what I am is not “female”, I have never been treated like someone who fits in the idea of what “female” can be as a whole. It’s that sweet sweet biological essentialism... it’s the core of so much ideology that leads to nothing but pain. 

I don’t understand “womanhood”, and I never will, and I never have been a woman, and I never will be a woman. And frankly I don’t want to understand “womanhood” as some people define it, because it’s painful, and because I know too many women who are excluded by the definitions people give of “womanhood” and that’s too painful for me, too. I hate that more than anything, watching the people I love be excluded from things they have a right to exist in. It’s fine if people kick me out because I’m Rose or whatever but I can’t fucking stand it when my friends are in pain because of it. 

But there is a little catch to this all. I do understand “girlhood”, but only specifically “other”. I don’t know how to explain this in a way that people who don’t have that like untapped schizo shit going on will get. It’s like. Girl (other). Or rather, other (girl). Weird girls, fucked up girls, girls who aren’t real, girls who are real but were manufactured. Girls who are .... psychic glittering death machines. Girls who were made. Girl as a machine? Machine girl? Like "girl” but in transhumanistic senses. Girl but wrong. Tumblr girl. Psych ward girls. Crazy girls. You know? I don’t consider it the main thing that I understand as an identity or experience. And it absolutely isn’t something that’s along the lines of cisgender concepts at all, because it literally is about being other, it literally is about being outside the ranges of what is “acceptable” but still having to be (or wanting to be) (or being) a “Girl”. It’s the broadest abstract ranges of what “girl” can be. For me this kind of girl is made and constructed and given a learning manual that it has to read through. I don’t know lol. This was something I experienced greatly when I was younger and still a child, before I lived as a boy for some time as a teen. And then again when I had to transition back to femininity. 

I identify as Italian (gay). My gender and sexuality are fluid. I identify now as an intersex man. I don’t really necessarily consider myself multigender including this - like, girl (other) isn’t really a Gender I Have, but a Gender I’ve Experienced Deeply And Can Experience Again. I don’t even really consider myself bigender; though I do joke about being a nonbinary man and then like, nothing, non-aligned, null, void. The manhood I have experienced my whole adult life is based off of a standard of manhood that is literally best summed up as what a malewife is. It’s actually shockingly close to butch identity, too. It’s in that fine little niche. Lately sometimes I’ve been getting comfortable referring to myself in butch, but I need to clarify that when I say I’m butch I mean this in the most gender neutral of ways, in the “I’m not a lesbian anymore” way but in the “the femboy in my house that lives there doesn’t want to do any of the house repair work, the gnc gay man who’s my girlfriend and deadbeat husband (jokingly) doesn’t want to do it either, and the straight guy who is also gnc doesn’t want to do it and frankly I don’t care to make him, so I might as well do it anyways”. 

For me the whole malewife thing is serious. My standard of manhood is influenced by my father, who basically did... most of the wife duties except give birth and nurse a child, which my mother did poorly anyways. And my father was not exactly happy about it, but he has a strong sense of responsibility for his family in terms of what their necessities need to have. That’s the kind of manhood I grew up understanding. Cooking, cleaning, taking care of house and home, protecting one’s family, making sure they’re fed, etc. etc. ... and my god, the vanity. My father isn’t the Italian one (lol) but he was vain and he made a point of looking good. The way my father expressed his self as a man is something I grew up admiring deeply. He wasn’t ... fruity, but he was still apparently vain enough that my mother would speculate as to whether he was gay or not while she was busy destroying her own marriage (and life, family, etc.). I appreciated his aesthetics, his sense of responsibility, and his taking care of the home. To combine the breadwinner and housemaker responsibilities into one. I was like, fuck yes! Maximum fucking power! 

So that comes down to me. I was already being raised half as a son by my father, also the wrong kind of “boy” because of how he treated me - calling me a sissy, a faggot, making fun of me for acting like a girl at times (...???) but also never enforcing standards of womanhood on me, whether he understood it or not innately. That was a sort of freedom. He was okay with me being whatever the fuck I was, as long as I didn’t put too many words to it. Of course that’s not to say he’s not transphobic or whatever... but he’s always going to have to live with the fact that I am what I am. And I don’t think he has it in me to completely disown me. 

I can’t really necessarily identify as butch 100% because I still identify as femme. I literally present as femme. I wear skirts and dresses and I enjoy how I look wearing them. I appreciate the feminine figure on myself. I enjoy performing an exquisitve, luxurious, rich femininity that’s beyond anybody’s reach, golden hued and brilliant. But I will do the dirty jobs too so to speak. I’ll go butch if it’s needed. And frankly, part of my femininity that I’ve accepted about myself will always try to be entwined with my masculinity anyways. Like a butchy femme. Or a femme-y butch. I don’t like “futch” though. And I’ll never be able to disentwine it from my intersex experiences. Hence why I am.... intergender

[javajunkieao3]

Beth/Benny Fanfic: Being Alive - Part 7

For all their weeks in Kentucky, Benny and Beth hadn’t discussed returning to New York besides the tense conversations before he visited her high school chess students.  After that, the conversation seemed to be tabled and Beth had been reluctant to bring it up, not wanting to push them into choppy waters, and also, somewhat selfishly, not wanting him to leave.  Part of her was always afraid that if they went back to New York, he would never come back, just like she could never stay.  But one morning, New York is pulled squarely back into focus when Benny says, “I have to go out there for a few days.  I should be back by Monday.”

           “Is everything okay?” she asks gingerly.

           “It’s my mom.  My brother called and said she’s been having some problems recently.  So, I’m going to go down there and try to sort it out.”

           Beth realizes that for all the time she’d known Benny, he hadn’t mentioned his family before.  She wonders then if it was because she never asked, and was she supposed to ask?  She also notices that he didn’t ask her to come with.

           “Okay.”  She hesitates before she asks, “Do you want me to go with you?”

           “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”

           His words hurt more than she expected and she crosses her arms over her chest.  “Oh, okay.”

            “It’s not that I don’t want you there.”

           “You sure?  Because it sort of sounds that way.”

           Benny’s face softens and he says, “Beth, you should know by now that there isn’t anywhere that I don’t want you with me.”

           “Then why is my going with you a bad idea?”

           “The reason my brother called is to stage an intervention.  My mom’s an alcoholic.”

           Benny never mentioned this before, not even back during her drinking.  She thinks then of how difficult it must have been to hear what was happening to her. Maybe it was better that he was out in New York then.  She’d seen the haunted look in Harry Beltik’s eyes when he saw her and spoke of his own alcoholic father.

           “I can handle it,” she says.

           “I don’t want to put too much on you.”

           “You couldn’t,” she says.  “You’ve been there for me, Benny.  Time and time again, you have been there for me.  Let me be there for you.”

           “You’ll tell me if it’s too much?”

           She nods.  “I’ll tell you.  But it won’t be too much.  Let me help you.”

           He takes a long pause before he says, “Okay.”

---

           They fly out the next morning and take a cab down to his apartment.  It had been so long since Beth had been there, and if anything, her memory had recalled the place as nicer than it actually was.  She looked at the spot on the floor where the air mattress had been, marveling that she had actually slept on that dank floor for weeks on end.

           “Reminiscing?” Benny asks, palming her waist as he stepped past her.

           “I’m just thinking about how I should have made you take the air mattress.”

           “We both know I wouldn’t have agreed to that.”

           “And now?” she asks.

           “Only if you’re on it with me.”

           “When is your brother meeting us?”

           Benny takes a hold of her wrist and checks the time on her watch.  “He should be here soon.”

           “Are you nervous?”

           Benny shrugs, and she expected some quip about how Benny Watts didn’t do nervous.  Instead, he rakes his fingers through his hair and says, “All we can do is ask her to get help.  Beyond that…”

           “I know.”

           And she does, more than most.  Benny looks at her worriedly.  “Are you sure you’re okay doing this?”  

           The answer is yes, but before she can tell him there’s a knock on the door.  Benny opens the door and greets his brother.  It’s like looking at an abstract painting of Benny.  The similarities are there, but stretched and pulled out of dimension.  She steps forward to say hello, and he grumbles to Benny, “Why is she here?”

           “Don’t start, Cal.”

           “This is a family thing.”

           “Beth is my family,” Benny says in a hard voice.

           Beth feels a certain rush at his words, but its tempered by the boys’ continued bickering.  Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea for her to come.

           “You really think Mom would want someone other than us to see her right now?”

           “Mom is probably blitzed out of her mind right now. She won’t even remember who saw her.”

           Benny’s wrong.  Even in Beth’s drunkest state, she still remembered the people she saw. The calls she ignored.  Maybe not right away, but they all had a way of creeping back.  Usually in the middle of the night while she stared up at the ceiling, debating whether or not to take a third or fourth green pill.

           “That’s not the point,” Cal says.

           “I can stay here,” Beth offers.  

           “You don’t have to do that,” Benny says, glaring at his brother.  She steps forward and puts her hand on his arm.  “I don’t want to make this more difficult than it has to be.”

           Benny swallows hard and from the conflict in his eyes she can tell that as much as he had tried to give her an out before, he wanted her there.  He needed her.  She squeezes his arm and looks over at Cal.

           “Last year, I was addicted to pills and alcohol. I’m not sure how bad it is with your mom, but I’m pretty sure wherever she is, I was there at some point.  Maybe I can help.”

           Cal holds her gaze before he looks to Benny and says, “I thought all that Freud stuff was bullshit, but you really do end up with your mother, huh?”

           Benny shakes his head and says, “Fuck off, Cal.”

           “She can come.”

----

           It’s about an hour’s drive out to where Benny and Cal grew up, and the atmosphere can only be described as tense.  The scene in Benny’s apartment clearly demonstrated that he had a complicated relationship with his brother, and during the drive, Beth felt like somewhat of a referee between them.  It was a role that her personality made her particularly ill-equipped to play.  

           Benny parks the car in front of a tidy looing Tudor house.  Thinking of her own past, Beth notes that Benny’s mother at least is well enough to remember to take care of the lawn.  They walk up and Cal pulls a key out of his pocket and unlocks the front door. The smell hits them immediately, and Beth knows it intimately.  While the two men recoil, Beth feels a lurch of yearning.  

           “Mom?”  Benny calls out.  “It’s Cal and me.”

           They walk through the house slowly.  The kitchen is messy with dishes piled in the sink. She spots a half-finished bottle of wine, but no wine glasses.  Makes sense, Beth thinks.  At a certain point, the glass just becomes a hindrance to the task at hand.  The living room is in a similar state of disarray. She can feel Benny grow increasingly tense beside her, and it only grows when they find the bedroom empty.  But, Beth knows where to find her.

           “Fuck,” Benny breathes out.  His mother is asleep fully dressed in the bathtub.

           “Why the hell would she be in the bathtub?” Cal says, and his confusion distracts Beth because the choice makes perfect sense to her.  The coolness of the marble against hot skin.  The way you sink into the basin, feeling yourself contained at all four corners as the world spins out of focus.

           Benny strides past her and crouches in front of the bathtub.  He’s all action, which she knows is an ineffective tool against the inertia of drunkenness, but maybe it can work this time.         “Mom.  Mom, wake up.”

           The older woman stirs, her eyes bleary as she gazes up at her son.  “Benjamin?”

           “Mom, you need to get up,” Cal says forcefully. Everything about him had been forceful since Beth met him.

           “Cool down,” Benny says in a tight voice. “Give her a moment.”

           The woman’s eyes shift to Beth and she says, “Who are you?”

           “I’m Beth.”  After a pause she adds, “It helps to shift to your knees first.”

           “What?”

           “Getting out of the tub.  It’s easier to shift to your knees first.  You have better balance.”

           It takes time for Mrs. Watts to process what Beth said, but then she clumsily leans forward and pulls her knees beneath her. She stands slowly, her sons each taking one arm.  They maneuver her down the stairs with effort and then the talk begins.  You’re hurting yourself.  We’re worried.  You’re out of control.  All of it’s wrong, but of course, they don’t know that.  How could they?  Beth stays mostly out of the conversation, washing the dishes in the sink.  Behind her, Mrs. Watts insists, “I’m fine.  I just had a little too much last night.”

           “Mom, we found you in the bathroom,” Cal says.

           “I don’t see how that’s relevant.”

           Beth hears the hardness in her voice and knows that they won’t change her mind today.  But they continue to try, Beth drying the dishes and stacking them quietly next to the sink.  When she’s finished she turns around, her heart breaking when she sees Benny sitting next to his mother.  He pulled the chair close and he’s leaning forward earnestly as he speaks.  Beth places the dishrag on the counter and presses her back against the cool granite.

           “I know what you’re feeling,” she says in a low voice.

           Mrs. Watts looks up at her and smiles unkindly. “Oh, you do?”

           “I do.  Right now, you’re feeling hungover.  But, it’s the other feeling.  The stillness.  The world has so much noise, but after a certain point, everything goes still and all you can hear is the beating of your heart.  But by that point you don’t remember that you can ruin it, so you drink more, and then you create your own sort of noise.  Your heartbeat is too loud.  Everything is too loud.  So, you drink more to drown it out until you either get sick or pass out.  And then you start it again.”

           “Who are you again?” Mrs. Watts asks.  Her voice is so soft that it’s almost a whisper.

           “I’m like you.”

---

           Ultimately, Mrs. Watts refuses any help and summarily throws her children, and Beth, out of her house.  Cal tries to go back in, but Benny grabs his arm and says, “It’s no use. Today wasn’t the day.”  Beth can see the worry in his eyes, and she thinks then that maybe Cal’s forcefulness had just been a way to hide the gnawing fear.

           “We’ll try again later,” Benny tells his brother.

---

           Back at the apartment, Benny asks Beth if she would mind having some people over that night.  This was one of the things that Beth never understood about Benny. She never felt comfortable in a crowd, but with Benny, it was where he thrived.  She still remembered the first time she saw him, sitting there in his leather duster and hat surrounded by people.

           “I don’t mind,” she says.

           A few hours later, she’s playing simultaneous chess games with Benny, Levetov and Wexler.  Cleo watches from the side, as usual, puffing away at her cigarette. She and Cleo greeted each other as they always did, but Beth felt part of herself withdrawn around her.  Beth didn’t entirely blame Cleo for what happened in Paris, but part of her could not help thinking that if Cleo had never showed up in Paris, she would have won that game.  She isn’t naive enough to think that the drinking wouldn’t have happened at some point, but it wouldn’t have happened then.

           When Beth is finished with the games – she wins them all – she goes into the kitchen to put together something for them to eat. Cleo comes up to her, pressing the smoldering edge of her cigarette into an ashtray on the counter.

           “I always love watching you trounce them.”

           Beth doesn’t respond, because she doesn’t know what to say.

           “It’s good to see you,” Cleo says.

           “It’s good to see you, too.”

            “I can’t believe the last time we saw each other was in Paris.  That feels like practically a lifetime away.”

           Beth nods.  “Yeah, it’s been a while.”

           There is another stretch of silence, and Cleo lights another cigarette.  She takes a long drag, the plume of smoke leaving her mouth like an elongated sigh.

           “I’m sorry that I made you drink.”

           “You didn’t make me do anything,” Beth says. “I could have stayed in my room. I chose to meet you.”

           “I didn’t know about…” she takes another drag from her cigarette.  “Anyway, Benny was pretty agnry when I told him we met up.  He wouldn’t talk to me for months after that.”

           Beth glances over her shoulder at Benny and sees that he’s watching them.  His eyes are asking her a question and she nods slightly.

           “It’s in the past,” Beth says, turning her attention back to Cleo.  And with that, she feels herself release the resentment she had held since sitting across from Borgov in that gilded room, sweat dotting her hairline.  It truly was in the past, and what did it matter?  She got sober.  She beat Borgov.  It all worked out in the end, even with the detours.

           Cleo grins hesitantly and Beth returns the gesture.

           “Hey, how’s the food coming along over there?” Wexler calls out.

           “Keep your pants on,” Cleo calls back, eyes sparkling.  “The women are talking right now.  Your food can wait.”

----

           Cleo and the boys leave around one in the morning and Beth and Benny play one more game of chess – he wins and she blames it on the hour – and then go to bed.  The next morning, she wakes up to an empty bed.  The apartment is cold and she puts on Benny’s robe, wrapping it tightly around her small frame.  She begins to walk out of the bedroom but stops at the doorway. Benny is at the kitchen table with his back to the bedroom.  She can tell he didn’t hear her wakeup because his shoulders are tense, his movements are short and jerky as he takes a sip of coffee and puts the mug back down on the table.  She walks out and she can tell when he hears her because he rearranges his body, giving her an easy grin.  

           “Morning.”

           “Good morning,” she says, sitting next to him.

           “There’s coffee in the pot.”

           “I don’t need coffee right now.”

           “Okay.”

           His body goes tense again.  “Benny-“

           “I don’t think I can go back to Kentucky right now.”

           She takes a deep breath.  “Okay.”

           “My mom needs help and I can’t put that all on Cal.”

           “I understand.  I can stay here for a few weeks.”

           “I don’t think it will be a few weeks.”  His hand tightens around the mug.  “She’s really bad, Beth. She was never this bad before-“

           He stops himself and she fills in, “Before you came to Kentucky.”

           He nods.  “I checked in more.  I think it helped.”

           “What about Cal?”

           “They never had as close of a relationship.”  

           Beth nods quietly.  “I’ll stay here as long as I can and then we’ll figure it out.”

           “I’m sorry, Beth.”

           “You don’t have to apologize,” Beth says.  She thinks of Alma and how she would have done anything to change what happened in Mexico City.  “She’s your mother.”

           Benny takes her hand and kisses it.  “Sometimes I wonder how I ended up with someone like you.”

           “It’s the hair.”

           “I should have tipped my barber more then.”

           “You actually went to a barber?  I always just imagined you in your bathroom with kitchen scissors.”

           He grins and leans in to kiss her.  He stays close, forehead pressed to hers and murmurs, “We’ll get through this.”

           He says it like a statement, but Beth knows him well enough to read the underlying question.  It’s a rare show of vulnerability, and Beth wraps her arms around him, pressing a kiss just under his ear.  “Yes.  We’ll get through this.”

[dsoe-masteroftheheavenlyyard]

Chapter 2–Hunt for the Deadly Sins; Scene 3

master of the heavenly yard pages 18-28

It was currently nighttime, and there were no artificial lights anywhere in the desolate field they could rely on.

Even so, as there were no buildings to block the light of the moon it actually wasn’t all that hard to see.

--Just as Allen had been when he first came here, Nemesis seemed unable to believe the scenery before her.

“How…could this be? The Millennium Tree Forest was destroyed along with the rest of the world—no, it was burned down even earlier than that. So how…”

The trees were flourishing in abundance.

As though they had never been destroyed at all.

It was undoubtedly strange, considering everything they had seen up to arriving here was wasteland.

“There’s no cause for finding it so unusual, Nemesis. To put it in layman’s terms…These exist here under the same principles as that clinic did.”

Nemesis seemed to immediately understand when she heard Allen’s explanation

“The specialty clinic in the illusory Moscow that Levia Barisol created…I see. Thoughts can materialize in the Hellish Yard…In other words this too is an illusion created by souls—"

“You catch on quick. Not that I’d expect any less from the original ‘Master of the Hellish Yard’.”

“My…so you know that much, do you?”

Allen pointed up to the moon in the sky.

“I studied everything about this world inside the ‘Blackbox’ up there. So I understand most of what’s going on.”

“You studied ‘everything’ but you only understand ‘most’ of it?”

“I’m not as smart as you. That, and there are some things I couldn’t study with the black box.”

“Such as?”

“The gods call this world the ‘Third Period’. The black box taught me about events that occurred there. But…I wasn’t able to get much information on the world before, the ‘Second Period’ where the gods lived.”

“Assuming it was Sickle who created that ‘Blackbox’…That information was probably left out on purpose. Well, it sounds like something she’d do, anyway.”

“…?” Allen made a curious expression. “Is Sickle—a girl?”

“By my reconning at least.”

“I see…I always thought he was male. Well, at any rate, you would know more about the ‘Second Period’ than me.”

“And that’s why you brought me along on your journey.”

“There is that, and I also was wanting to borrow the connections you’ve built up over your long life. There’s a lot of souls on the ground world now that lived in the past. Naturally, a lot of them are people I’ve never met.” Allen looked back to the forest before them. “For example, the spirits that live in this forest. I didn’t even know they existed back when I was alive. However…That’s not the case with you.”

“The spirits—are still residing here in the forest?”

“Yeah. This forest itself was something they conjured up.”

Nemesis reached out to put a hand on a nearby tree branch.

Despite it being an illusion, she was able to touch it. It felt peculiarly rough…It certainly “existed”, but it gave across a somewhat strange sensation that felt unstable to her.

She noticed something moving at the edges of her vision, and turned toward it. A single fox was gazing at her, but the moment Nemesis saw it, it quickly hid itself in the shadow of the tree.

Phaser…

Nemesis remembered that fox’s name. She was certain it was one of the spirits that lived in the forest—or would it be more accurate to say “people”?

Whichever it was, she knew this one to have an affable personality. That they refused to come near in spite of that must be because she was in this form, Nemesis thought to herself.

I am…the one responsible for destroying the forest, after all.

Nemesis turned back to Allen.

“Is Michaela coming back here?”

Allen shook his head.

“If she’d intended to do so, she would have come along with us.”

“That’s true. So this forest is currently—”

“Being managed not by Michaela, but a proxy.”

In that next moment, they could hear someone’s voice from above their heads.

“Don’t you think it’s a bit harsh to treat me as a mere ‘proxy’, Allen?”

A single blue bird flew above them. It was the bird that had spoken just then.

“That voice, and that manner of speaking��Professor Held!?”

Nemesis’ eyes widened.

“If you’re calling me ‘Professor’, then…Your memory has come back.”

“Yeah, it’s all returned, thank you…Why do you look like that?”

“Various reasons. By all rights I was unable to materialize on the ground world due to my restrictions. As a result of tirelessly endeavoring to slip through a loophole in those rules, I wound up as this bluebird.” Held selected a branch on one of the trees and landed there. “By the way…What is it I ought to call you?”

“Nemesis is fine.”

“I see. Then, dictator Nemesis—you’re guilty of quite the horrendous deed, aren’t you? The reckless act of firing the weapon of mass destruction ‘Punishment’ at the world and bringing it to an end.”

Nemesis felt no fear at Held’s grave words.

“I don’t feel like apologizing for it. As you well know, that was my goal from the very start. You and Hazuki laid all sorts of groundwork to avoid it, but it looks like it that was all in vain.”

“You wished not for ‘management’ but ‘destruction’…So, as we feared, your mind was already infected with ‘malice’.”

“So what if it was? If you want to kill me you’re welcome to do so.”

“I have no intention of holding you responsible for that now. That wouldn’t bring the world back. …And besides, I’ve come to be increasingly less certain as I’ve watched you, Seth, and that girl Irina—all of you who have been reduced to ‘HER’s.”

“Less certain of what?”

“—Just what in the world ‘evil’ is.”

Nemesis was wordless for a moment at such an abstract question.

Allen silently listened to the two of them speak from the side. He wasn’t boorish enough to cut into an exchange between “gods”.

“…Evil is—” Finally Nemesis opened her mouth. “—Those who won’t obey the established ‘rules’. Those who disrupt order. That’s the basics of it, right?”

“Then what about Gallerian and Riliane’s case? They were the ones who created the ‘rules’, after all.”

“I said ‘rules’ to be brief, but there’s many applications of that. Rules of countries, rules of the court, personal rules, or…the rules of gods. Occasionally those contradict each other. In that case—the rules of the one who wins out in the end are taken as just.”

“So you’re saying that you aren’t ‘evil’.”

“Correct. I’m the winner.”

“…Is that really so? It’s true that you’re the sole living thing in the world. But…It’s still possible for the dead to kill the living.” Held looked up at the night sky. “If you wish to become the true ‘winner’…I would advise you do something about that.”

At that moment, Nemesis finally noticed it.

On the other end of Held’s gaze, floating high in the air, was a peculiar object illuminated by the light of the moon.

“That’s…it can’t be! What’s that doing here?!”

It was an enormous “black box”.

If Nemesis’ eyes weren’t deceiving her, that was without a doubt a “Blackbox”—a piece of technology from the Second Period.

“Is that an illusion someone conjured up too?”

“It can’t be. Who could think one up, given it didn’t exist in the Third Period?”

Upon hearing those words, Nemesis immediately turned to Allen.

“Nope, it wasn’t me.” Allen denied firmly, shaking his head and waving his hands. “And that ‘Blackbox’ looks a bit different in construction from the one I’m familiar with.”

There were several types of “Blackbox” that Nemesis knew about.

The one floating in the air just then was—

It’s unlike the Type E, as well as the Type L that I made. The closest I can think of is…the Type S!

The second edition device created by the physicist Seth Twiright.

That was the “Type S”.

But the Type S wasn’t loaded onto the spaceship “Climb One” that we’d been riding on. It shouldn’t be in this world—

And there Nemesis recalled an event in her past.

A battle between sorceresses that had occurred in Merrigod Plateau…That phrase that had been spoken by the Red Cat Sorceress.

…She had called the device that was installed in her chest cavity a “Blackbox Type S”. If that was a “Blackbox” that Seth made in this world—

If that “black box” up there was no illusion, but the real deal.

There was a chance that Seth had created it in secret.

Though I’d no inkling of him making such a thing while he was with me—or rather, Nemesis—at the very least. Perhaps when he was in the Hellish Yard before…But then, I can’t imagine Gumillia would have allowed it.

It might have been fastest for her to just ask Seth, but given that he wasn’t around at the moment she couldn’t do that either.

“How about we try getting close to it for now?”

Allen nodded at Nemesis’ suggestion. “That might be best.”

“We’ll just head to ‘Evils Theater’ later…”

“—It looks like we might not have to.”

Allen pointed above the “black box” in the air.

It would be more clearly visible if this were during the day, but…it appeared that something else was floating there.

Nemesis strained her eyes, trying to confirm what she was seeing.

And once she understood his response, she was shocked once again.

“…I don’t get any of this. How is a theater floating above the ‘Blackbox’?”

“I guess that looks bizarre to you too, huh?”

“I could say the same for the ‘Blackbox’, but…A heavy building like that floating in the air should be completely impossible under Third Period technology, at the very least. Even if it’s an illusion, it’s just completely uncalled for to deliberately have it floating in space. It’s like a child made it up.”

“…Surprisingly enough, that might be accurate.”

“…?”

“I mean that theater might be an illusion brought about by a child, or else someone with a child-like personality. In any case, we should probably go see it first.”

“Quite right.” Nemesis approached the blue bird that was sitting blasé on the tree branch. “With that, we’ll be leaving soon.”

“Hmph…You alright leaving without saying anything to your friends?”

“—They aren’t the ‘Climb One’ crewmembers anymore. They’ve lost their memories, and live in this world as spirits.”

“True…But there are exceptions. Those who have regained their former memories.”

Nemesis didn’t need to ask him who those “exceptions” were. She had a pretty good idea of who that applied to, and also knew that none of them were in this forest right then.

Rather, she had something else that she needed to ask him.

“One last thing…Professor Held. Why did you become the ‘Great Land God Held’?”

“…? What do you mean?”

“You were against us managing the new world. That was the reason why we wound up fighting each other. And yet despite that—”

“You can’t understand it. You’re wondering then what in the world were we fighting over.”

“—Yeah.”

“…It was the ‘Moon Goddess’s idea. I—no, none of us, could go against her. …Now then, I think you best be off.”

And at that, Held finally stopped talking completely.

It was as though he had turned into a mere bird, that would not reply no matter what Nemesis said.

“…Farewell, Professor Held.”

“…”

Nemesis reluctantly said goodbye to Held, and went to move on ahead with Allen.

<<prev------directory------next>>

[stylishanachronism]

*Wakes up from my endless slumber of like two hours* 👀

"Dearheart! There you are, what on earth have you been up to down here, of all places?"

The elven woman who's just taken his elbow is very pretty, all dark hair and bright eyes and the sort of smile that makes him want to crawl into a hole and die before Iselmyr can do anything terrible, her tone fond and close, like he's her very best friend in all the world, but he's never seen her before in his life. She drops some coin on the counter, enough to pay for the drink he hasn't finished, turns that smile on the barman, who seems a little shocked at her presence, she clearly knows who this is, and drags him off his stool before he can get so much as a syllable out.

"Nevermind, you'll never believe what Engferth's been up to, he's more trouble than you are sometimes, I swear to Woedica I don't know what I'm going to do with the pair of you."

She's got a very firm grip, Iselmyr laughing too hard in the back of his head to be of any help for once, as she whisks him out the door without so much as a by your leave.

"I mean, you keep getting yourself into wild straights, and then forgetting to write, honestly half the family's been sick with worry, and he, well, he went and proposed to Miss Elafa again, then told her it was Ma's idea, which it was, don't get me wrong, but she's made her conditions clear, and all he's going to do is annoy her into refusing him entirely, and I like her just fine but Grandmother'd have all our heads if I made a match like that, and you!"

They're headed up the hill, to the nicer part of town, outside what he can afford at the moment, and he'd really like to know what's going on but she hasn't let him get a word in edgewise and he doesn't think he could get away from her if he tried, and he desperately doesn't want to make more of a scene than he's part of already.

"Well, you've done much better, no matter what Ma thinks, and anyways I'm pretty sure she'd strangle you in half a minute, I could strangle you in half a minute, please stop gallivanting off in all directions, or at least let us know you're alright, the things we heard about your trip south, oh, I nearly had kittens, you didn’t really say yes, did you? Papa thinks you did, and you’d think he’d know, but you’re the sensible one, and he’s horrid, really, you hated him in school, I really don’t understand how he’d even think to ask!”

She shoots him a sidelong glance, even as she turns them into the sort of eccentrically ramshackle villa that means old money, the gate guard giving them a smile but otherwise staying focused on the road, like they’re allowed to be here without an invitation, so she must be part of the family, and drags him in through an elegant archway into the main compound like it’s nothing.

“I mean really, you’re the favorite, even if you did knock your head or something and agree, there’s no way anyone else would, you didn’t knock your head, did you? I was told you’d fallen straight through the floor, but you weren’t hurt, but Ma heard differently, and someone told Wolle that you’d straight shattered you leg, which obviously isn’t true, you really need to write and tell us you’re fine, darling, gods only know what made it back to everyone else.”

She doesn’t give him time to answer, just as she hasn’t since she dragged him out of the inn, rapping at the first solid door they’ve passed and letting them in without so much as a pause.

"You’ll never guess where I found him."

The woman sitting behind the desk lifts an eyebrow, but merely shakes her head.

"Go fetch your father, Aelere."

It’s oddly formal, given the woman who’d dragged him here clearly doesn’t feel the need to stand on ceremony with a complete stranger, much less her- employer? matriarch?, but she pushes him into a seat and takes herself off with a cheerful "Yes, Grandmother!"

Matriarch, then, whoever this family is.

She’s considering him as the door closes, something familiar about her posture, very straight and still, though she must be nearing 300 if she’s a day.

"What am I going to do with you, my dear?"

That’s a question he’d like answers to as well, he has no idea what’s going on. Given her own informality, he’s of the firm suspicion they’ve mistaken him for someone else.

"Well." She gathers the papers off the far corner of her desk, tapping them together and laying them out facing him. His name’s on all of them, more or less, though some of them appear to be addressed to or regarding Alys instead, and some of them merely refer to 'your grandson' in the abstract, and one of them is actually addressed to his mother for some reason, though how this woman got her hands on it is as much of a mystery as anything else. "You've caused quite the stir."

"I'm sorry?"

She waves his apology away, though he doesn't know what he's apologizing for either, and half turns to reach for something off behind her.

"I had understood it from your sister that you had no desire to be married?"

The only person who's been mistaken for his sister ever is Alys, and there's clearly something there, given what he's looking at, but how that particular misunderstanding made it here, across an actual ocean, and how this woman knows about it, he has no idea.

"Ah- Well. No, not really."

"Then what were you doing with Lord Beltin's boy?"

"I- The position was as a research assistant?"

"Mm. Well, that's one way of putting it, I suppose. The same with the Maitwyr girl?"

He doesn't remember any of the daughters of the house being involved with that particular trip, but he did sign up with them, it's not like he could afford to spend three months in the Living Lands on his own, and he got paid for it, so he nods.

"You really need to learn to read a contract, my dear. Your father will see to it, but in the meantime..." She turns back around, holding more paperwork, some of it awfully official looking, though he's utterly distracted with dread by the fact she knows his father, and well enough to refer to him so informally, too.

"Here. My condolences, but you've theoretically been widowed. Twice."

--

This is from the middle of ‘Memory is Fallible’, which is more of a collection of scenes than a proper thing (I’ve been working on it for at least three years, if that’s any measure of what it looks like), centered around the idea that A. Aloth was a lot more popular than he thought he was (which was confirmed canon in Deadfire, much to my delight), B. Telephone is a hell of a game to get away from once a group gets the wrong idea, and C. repurposing my own family lore gets really weird, really fast. It’s also built off a couple of things from my own first playthrough, in which I accidentally built a sprite that looked enough like Aloth’s I couldn’t tell them apart, and eventually resorted to putting one of them in Kana’s hat, except I also then couldn’t remember which one was wearing it, so it didn’t even help.

There’s a little more to this particular bit, bookending it, so context is that Aloth is back in Aedyr proper, on the wrong coast to see his mother, gearing up to go find another weird cult and end it as best he possibly can, and a bunch of people who knew Alys, because she lived in the area for a couple of years not that long ago, recognize him and go tell her family, who are local to this coast, that she’s rolled up and is hiding in a shitty inn for some reason, not realizing they’ve got the wrong kid. Her family, who took Alys’ joke that they were twins now and said ‘hey you know what’s a really good idea?’ and stole him from his dad via trickery and intimidation, puts two and two together, and having no idea he doesn’t know he’s been adopted, send Aelere, one of the cousins, and technically actually his oldest sister now, who again, has no idea he hasn’t gotten any of her letters, to go fetch him, because why should he waste money when the house is Right There, and also there’s the whole thing about how he got married and didn’t tell anyone and now he’s been widowed, whoops. So he thinks he’s been kidnapped and they think he’s being shifty about the weddings, and it really is all about to blow up.

send me a 👀 and i’ll post a snippet of art/writing that i never got around to finishing this year (r.i.p)

[fallen029]

Last Month: Mommies and Daddies

It all happened because Mirajane had taken recently to talking about her parents.

Laxus wasn't sure had had spawned it on, but thought nothing of it, really. Lana, their daughter, was about three and was getting old enough to be curious about such things. Maybe. She knew, at least, that everyone had a mommy and daddy (which he knew given that, lately, she'd been pairing off her stuffed animals in such ways and giving the smaller stuffed animals to be the babies of the others; her logic wasn't ideal, as there were quite a few dogs who were mothers or fathers to kittens or even one toy mouse who appeared to be the offspring of a bunny rabbit and her stuffed dragon, but she was trying) and that, clearly, at some point, both Laxus and Mirajane must have had one too.

As he was frequently out on jobs (well, he felt it was frequent; Mira actually suggested many times that he loafed around the house far more often than he thought, but he just wanted to be around his baby, that was all), he probably missed the start of the entire thing. He faintly remembered returning home and Mirajane telling him through the usually giggles about all that she and their daughter had done while he was off. The subject came up, he was nearly certain, about how during her bath one night, when Lana was actually being a good girl and not screaming bloody murder about having to take one, the little girl got to asking when her daddy would be home and, somehow, managed to also ask when Mira's would be home.

Or something like that. Laxus wasn't too sure.

Maybe Lana had been telling Mira about her daddy (him, obviously) and how awesome he was (because, duh, he just was, of course she would notice that; awesome recognizes awesome) and asked if Mira had just as awesome of daddy.

Laxus liked that explanation the best.

Still, the most likely answer was that Lana hadn't really asked. Moreover, Mira had probably misunderstood the question. The little girl, while learning the concept of family and parents, still got rather befuddled on it at times (refer to the above in which a rabbit and a dragon could pop out a baby mouse), which left the idea of her not only putting together such a sentence, but also reasoning that Mira's 'daddy' was absent, while possible, seemingly rather abstract.

Now, Laxus thought the world of his little hatchling. Honest. Best baby dragon/demon to ever exist. The only.

But… It just seemed more like a Mirajane manipulation.

Again, there was no problem with that. Mira didn't talk much about her life before the guild with him and that was fine too. But if she wanted their daughter to know about it, great. Lana was part of the Dreyar Dynasty, sure (which was sadly kinda small and, considering he didn't plan on having any more children, would die with her, but whatever), but she was a Strauss too. Sorta. So she should know about their past and stuff. He wasn't sure where he believed people went when they died, but he liked to think that both his mother and Mirajane's parents were, at the very least, interested in their daughter, wherever they were.

Lana started telling him, anyhow, of all the things that Mira told her about her maternal grandparents. In very clipped ways, of course, as she wasn't so great at story telling. He heard all about how big Mommy's daddy had been and how he would work all day and sweat and get all nasty and he would kiss Mommy and Aunt Lissy on the cheeks before bed, just like her daddy and wasn't that so silly?

Laxus, who enjoyed any and all time gift to him with his daughter, would smile at such things and nod his head, even when he could tell Lana either hadn't understood the story that Mira told her or was out right fibbing (she told him once that Mommy's mommy would make them eat rocks for dinner and when he repeated the word, rocks, Lana got annoyed and insisted, yes, rocks). It came with the territory, he was nearly certain, of having a child. You listened to gibberish because you loved them.

You know, until their gibberish turned more into hounding you for your stories so that they could no doubt mangle them in retellings to others.

Then it got a tad annoying.

He almost misunderstood Lana's original question as it was one of those days where he was laid out on her bedroom floor, mostly listening to her babble as she ran color crayons all over a page in her coloring book. She was just telling him about how Mommy's daddy was her grandpa, which was completely blowing the little girl's mind.

"Daddy?" she asked at one point, glancing over at the man. He was just watching her with a slight smile and nodded when she spoke to him. "Gramps is your daddy?"

And there it was. Somewhere along explaining what mommies and daddies and grandpas and grandmas were, Mira had sparked something inside the girl. Curiosity. It kills dragons, Laxus had heard.

"No," Laxus told her slowly. "He's my Gramps. Which makes him your great-grandpa."

Lana continued to stare. "Gramps no your daddy?"

"Gramps is not my daddy. Not, Lana. The word isn't no. It's not. And he isn't, by the way. My father. Have you...thought that? This whole time?"

Meh. Lana really didn't...think about those sorts of things. Laxus was Daddy because he said he was Daddy. Gramps was Gramps because he said he was Gramps. Aunt Ever was Aunt Ever because she said she was Aunt Ever. There had been no reasoning on her part outside of those given facts. Someone was only whoever they claimed to be.

And even though Laxus had seen her grouping her stuffed animals into families as a basic concept, in her mind it was truly little more than her doing what they had all done to her. She said that the bunny was the mommy and the dragon was the daddy and the mouse was the baby.

Therefore, it was.

Mirajane, however, by filling her head with ideas of a grandfather and grandmother she had never known, had spawned a concept unknown to the little girl. Around her, the others were typically referred to in the titles she knew them by. If Mirajane wanted her to go sit with Laxus, she'd tell her to go sit with Daddy. If she was out with Bickslow and he was asking if she and Lisanna wanted to go to the park, he'd refer to his girlfriend as Aunt Lisanna. Everyone called Gramps by that name around her. Gramps. Other than Mommy. She called him Master, but Lana typically didn't understand who she was talking about when she'd say that, so even she'd taken to calling him Gramps around the little girl.

Now though that Mirajane had taught Lana that, while she called her own parents Papa and Mama, that to Lana they would be Grandpa and Grandma, she was starting to realize that, maybe, people did have different relations to one another. It was about then that she started to understand that Uncle Elf wasn't just there because he was her uncle. He was her uncle because he was Mommy's brother. And Aunt Lissy was Mommy's sister.

It was a rather daunting concept to the child, but slowly, she was coming to terms with it. And, in the days before she first questioned Laxus about Makarov, Mirajane had taken to explaining to her that, just like her Papa was Lana's Grandpa, Gramps was also her grandfather.

Which was just groundbreaking. Lana had never considered that Gramps wasn't just a name, but rather meant the word grandpa. At all. And, at three, she still didn't fully get it.

Hence her questioning Laxus.

"Gramps is Daddy's daddy?" She phrased it that way, after Laxus' question, still wanting him to answer the question as yes. She did this sometimes. If Laxus told her that no, she couldn't have a cookie, then she'd just try to rephrase the question in another way, as if there had been a language barrier or something. "Yes?"

"No, silly," he said as she dropped her color crayons and just stared at him. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. He isn't my father. He's my grandpa too."

Lana's brows furrowed in that cute way when she didn't understand things.

Like zippers. She would play with the zipper of her jacket all the time. It was so amazing. Pull it up, it comes together. Pull it down, it opens again. Amazing.

"Gramps is Daddy's Gramps." Lana nodded. "And my Gramps."

"Right."

Hmmm.

Still, watching him, she asked then, "You gotta daddy?"

Laxus only sat up then, finally before reaching over to pat her coloring book. "Come on, hatchling." He tapped her on the noise gently that time, eliciting one of her big giggles. "Let's color, huh? I want you to color me...uh..." He flipped some pages in the little booklet before stopping on one. "This. Can you color me this picture of the kitty?"

"Ki-cat."

"Yep. Kitty cat." Her white hair got ruffled then. "Kitty cat."

Lana left it alone for a bit. Forgot, maybe even, that she was curious. Until one day, when Laxus came back from training and found her and Mirajane in the kitchen, baking cookies.

Mirajane was talking loudly when he got to the house, something about this lake by their tiny house that her father used to take them to as kids. She was in the middle of telling Lana all about it when, walking as silently from the front of the house as he could, Laxus stuck his head in the kitchen, just to surprise his daughter.

It worked.

Lana, who was sitting up on the counter, watching her mother mix up some batter, about fell off in her excited wiggles and giggles as she reached out for the man immediately.

"Hey, Lana." He rushed to go lift her up, pressing a kiss against her cheek. "What are you doin'? Huh?"

"Daddy!" She had no problem with the fact that he reeked of sweat and the outside world, as well as a bit of blood twinged in there. Only nuzzled right up to him without a single concern. "You come home."

"I came home," he corrected gently. "I-"

"Laxus, you stink," Mirajane chided with a frown. "You're going to make her stink."

"Am I smelly, Lana? Huh?" Laxus gave her another kiss. "Or is Mommy just jealous that Daddy greeted you first?"

Pulling her head back a bit, Lana smiled brightly at him before, suddenly, she made a face. Staring brightly up at him with her blue eyes, she said, "Mommy's daddy likes fishin'."

"Oh, yeah?" He bounced Lana in his arms. "Is that so?"

Nodding as Mirajane glanced over at them with a grin, their daughter asked, "You daddy like fishin'?"

Her eyes widening, Mira got out a quick, "Lana, don't-" but Laxus was speaking just as quickly.

"Your," he told her softly. "Your. Remember? We've gotta learn that word, silly."

"Yoor," she mimicked with a grin. "Yoor daddy."

"Good job." He nuzzled his head against hers. "You're so smart."

A few kisses and snuggles was all Lana needed to be distracted. That day anyways.

But the questions didn't stop. She was very concerned, it seemed, with just where Daddy's daddy had gotten off to. She knew where Mommy's was; she said that he was somewhere up in the sky, watching over her. And though she didn't quite understand what that meant, it at least gave her a sense of where the man was.

But...if she was to believe that yes, as Mommy explained, everyone had a daddy and a mommy, and that what Daddy said was true, that Gramps was not his daddy, then just where was the man? Huh?

It wasn't something that bothered her constantly, of course. As a three year old, things came and went from her mind at a rather rapid pace. It was typically right after Mirajane had plied her head full of things about her own father that it ever came up.

When Lana finally started questioning him about his mother though, the man had had about enough.

He didn't want to get annoyed with his baby. At all. But those just weren't things that the man liked to talk about. In any way. He was grumbling about this late one night to Mirajane as she tried hard to stay interested and not just pass out on him. He hadn't taken a job in a few weeks, but she'd been working her butt off up at the guildhall. She needed her sleep.

Which is why, as if to end things, she finally told him, "I'll stop talking to her then, dragon."

"Huh?" He'd been in the middle of a sentence when she said that and only frowned. "What do you mean?"

"About my parents." Mirajane was lying on her side, facing him, and couldn't stop her eyes from slipping shut them. "About my life. Whatever. It's what's got her so interested in your parents. If I stop talking to her about mine-"

"That's not fair. And it's not what I want. I-"

"It's fine," Mirajane yawned. "Really. I-"

"If you want to tell Lana about...that, then you can. I just… It's a lot for me. And I don't like dwelling in the past."

"Mmmm," Mira hummed. "That part of the past, you mean. Because you definitely like to fill her head with tales of your glory years, don't you, dragon?"

"Well," he grumbled then, "that's different. If I don't tell her about it, then how can she one day pass it along to others when I die?"

"Are you not immortal? Raijin?"

"Shuddup," he grumbled, their dog, who shared the name, lifting his head at the end of the bed where he and the other mutt, Tenjin, were sleeping. "But seriously, demon, I would never ask you to do that. I know that it makes you feel...good, talking about them, to her."

"But it makes you feel bad," she pointed out, "having her asked about yours."

"I can feel bad. For you." Falling onto his back, Laxus stared up at the ceiling as Mirajane, thinking they were finished for the night, shut her eyes and let out a rather content sigh. "I just… I dunno, demon. Maybe I should just tell Lana, you know?"

Hardly awake then, Mira managed to get out, "Tell 'er wha'?"

"That, you know, yes, I have parents. And no, I don't have any cute stories about them. Then she'll just stop asking, don't you think? Since she got her answer? Mirajane? Mira, are you sleeping?"

Of course.

Letting out a short breath, Laxus figured he'd better get some too. His wife was working the afternoon and night shift the following day, meaning that he'd have Lana to contend with all alone.

And when, over lunch, she asked him once more about where his daddy was, Laxus took in a deep breath before replying.

"My daddy," he said as Lana sat next to him on the couch in the living room (they weren't really supposed to eat anything in there and especially not messy peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but what Mira didn't know could get him killed...err…), "isn't around anymore. He… He's wasn't a very good daddy."

"No good daddy?"

"He was not a good daddy. Remember? Not?"

"Not," Lana got out, though she might have been trying to say the word no and the peanut butter screwed up her pronunciation. "Not."

That seemed to quell her, however, as Lana went back to eating. Laxus though, just sitting there, didn't feel as if things were quite over yet and began speaking again.

"It wasn't that he was a bad daddy, I guess," he said, staring up thoughtfully as Lana, who was next to him on the couch, looked around for the doggies to feed the rest of her sandwich to, not knowing that Laxus had put them out in the yard to play. "He just… You know, all the things that make me great and awesome and the best dad in the world to you-"

The super duper best.

"-he just didn't do." Laxus glanced down at Lana then. Feeling his eyes, she grinned up at her father, face smeared with the remnants of her lunch. "Like, you know, how I read to you and we play tea party and color and… He was just different. Things were different. I bet Gramps didn't do anything like that with him either."

"Gramps." Lana, bored then with eating and not finding the doggies to feed her food to, took to playing in it, mushing the bread all up in her hands, creating an even bigger mess. "Gramps color."

"Well, yeah, Lana, he does with you. Because you're...the best baby demon and dragon hybrid to ever exist."

Dang right.

"And he did with me too because I'm-"

"You Daddy," she informed him with a grin. "Daddy."

"Yeah, I know, Lana. I just meant… The point is that Ivan wasn't a good daddy. And your daddy, me, would like if we didn't talk so much about him anymore. Is that okay? I just don't think that he's really even that important to my life. Not anymore, anyways."

Lana, completely unfamiliar with most of his words, only dropped the mushy mass of bread she'd created before holding her hands up to her father, showing off just how filthy they had become.

"I finish," she told him to which Laxus could only nod, letting out a soft sigh.

"Of course you are." Getting to his feet, he took her plate from her and sat it with his on the coffee table before lifting his baby into his arms. "Come on. Let's go get washed up."

They spent a lot of the day out in the backyard with the dogs, Laxus letting Lana explore nature in the best way she knew how; by mucking around in it and creating an even bigger mess. Laxus had to question why they bathed the child at all. Waste of water, really.

"You're getting your clothes all dirty, hatchling," he informed her more than once as she dug around with the dogs, searching for worms and bugs. She liked those sorts of things. He was always having to make sure she didn't, like, try and eat them. "You know that?"

Like she cared.

If her big brothers, the dogs, got to do it, then so could she!

Nap time was welcome to Laxus that day. As he, Lana, and the mutts (he only let them come because the kid would cry if they didn't), settled into his big bed, it was with the intention of their goodnight story. Laxus had the best ones of those. Lana knew a lot of them pretty well.

Like, um...the time he beat up that one monster. Or that other monster. And oh, that really big and scary monster. And the time that he saved the entire guild singlehandedly and with no help whatsoever because he was the biggest, baddest slayer to ever walk the face of Earth Land.

Lana liked that story.

Lana liked all the stories!

That afternoon, however, Laxus' mind still kinda felt heavy about Ivan and, the only way he ever knew how to relieve that as a child, was to think instead about his mother.

"You know, hatchling, that all that stuff Mira tells you about her parents is great and I'm sure they were great and… But my mom? She was just like me. Completely awesome."

"Mommy."

"Mmmhmm. My mommy. Your grandma." Laxus was on his back and glanced to his side to see all three of his children, Lana, Raijin, and Tenjin, just lying there, watching him. Well, Lana was watching him and Tenjin was sleeping while Raijin licked some crumbs off the bed from where Laxus had eaten chips for breakfast there while Mira was in the shower (again, what she didn't know…), but he felt like he had their rapt attention. "She was… She died when I was a kid. But before that, she was...a lot like your mommy."

Lana could tell a long story a mile off and only hunkered down under the blankies and went ahead with her sleep routine, which basically consisted of yawning loudly before just conking out.

She had it down pat.

"She took care of me, I mean. Like how Mirajane takes care of me. Real good care of me. And they both like to listen to me talk and know when I'm feeling bad and what to do to make me feel better. Just...in different ways. But my mother was the best, Lana. You don't even know. And...you never will."

Unless, of course, he told her about the woman. The way that Mirajane was making very sure that Lana knew just who her maternal grandparents were. That her grandfather worked hard every day of his life and that there was no one that her grandmother loved more than her family.

Was it not Laxus' duty then to be for certain that she knew just as much about his mother? That Lana understood that she was the best mother she could be, under the circumstances, and tried her hardest to keep the very spiraling Ivan from tainting his mind? It felt like it, at least. Like it was his duty. Because without him passing the stories onto Lana, where would they go? Nowhere.

He felt like his mother should go on forever. And, even if he couldn't accomplish that, at least everywhere with Lana.

It almost felt like, in that moment, an injustice to his daughter not to tell her about all of those things.

When Mirajane got home that night, it was to find jelly stains on the couch (he'd get to them tomorrow), the dogs kicked out of the bedroom (Laxus had finally had enough of his sons; they were nothing but troublemakers) and wrecking havoc on the house by tearing up what appeared to be the trash from the kitchen, Lana in her own bed for once (sometimes Laxus felt like she should be a big girl), and a pile of dishes in the sink (again, tomorrow sounded promising).

The only thing she enjoyed finding was Laxus in the downstairs guest room, pulling some of his old stuff out of the closet in there.

"What are you doing?" she asked as she joined him in the room. The man had heard her yelling at the dogs, then complaining loudly about him, as well as heard her go upstairs to check on Lana, so she didn't surprise him. He didn't even glance back at her.

"Go to bed, baby." He was always concerned about her sleeping habits. "You work morning shift tomorrow, right? I'll be up eventually."

"You haven't gone though your old stuff in a long time," she pointed out, staring at the cardboard boxes the man had already pulled out of the closet. They'd been opened and rummaged through, meaning Mira got to see all the things bachelor Laxus had to put away when he became her husband. This included his collection of important beer cans, his old filthy magazines that he couldn't throw away because, hey, memories, as well as some old clothes and other trinkets from around his apartment. "Are you looking for something?"

"I have these photos of-"

"Oh, gross, Laxus. Seriously?"

"What?" That got him to glance back at her with a frown. "They're of my mother."

Mira blinked. Then she came closer. "And you've...kept them in here?"

"Well, what the hell am I supposed to do with them?"

"We could have put them up around the house, Laxus!"

"Don't yell at me. It's been a very confusing day for me."

"I'm not yelling." Not then, anyways. Mira watched as he pulled yet another box off the top shelf in the closet. "I just don't know why you'd ever keep these from me."

"I wasn't keeping them from you. I just don't… I don't like thinking about the past. I like now. Right now. With you and Lana and… But..." He dropped the box before turning to look at his wife, face rather solemn. "Lana should know about my mother. She deserves to. And my mother deserves to be remember."

"Dragon, I didn't mean to start all of this by-"

"It's fine." When he found that box had nothing in it that was useful, he went to grab another. "I should have been doing this from the beginning."

Still, Mira only stood there with her arms crossed. "Then I'll stay up and help you find them."

"Mirajane, you need to go to-"

"I want to help my husband find some photos." She pushed passed him to grab a box as well. "So that's what I'm going to do."

And as they searched through all those boxes that night only for Laxus to remember that he had stashed the photographs in the dresser instead of in a box about three hours later, Mira never once complained. Didn't chide him for his forgetfulness or the fact that he even thought it was okay to keep his mother's photos locked up. Didn't mention how she would cherish just one photo of either of her parents.

Only sat down there and helped him. Just like always. And maybe one day, that's a story Lana could tell her kids.

Full Series

[bigskydreaming]

I want it on record that this is all @quicklikelight‘s fault, because she said wing fic and then she said Scydia and then my brain did a thing.

Scott McCall didn’t show up to class on Tuesday.

Normally, this was not something that would be on Lydia’s radar. Normally, Scott McCall was not something that would be on Lydia’s radar. But AP Bio was one of the only two classes Lydia allowed on her schedule that possessed at least the potential to challenge her. Nobody else whose opinion she cared about was in it, and neither were any of them in the pass/fail History of American Literature elective she’d selected to be her alibi in case any of them ever asked what class it was she had that period. (They never did).

Ergo, when forced to partner up with a classmate for an assignment worth half of one of the only grades she actually cared about - despite her best articulated arguments - she’d done her research before selecting Scott McCall to be hers. Perfect attendance, rarely volunteering answers but always having them once actually called upon, no extracurriculars or social life whatsoever as far as she could tell. In summation, reliable and unlikely to stand in the way of her ending the class with that A she damn well better end this class with. The perfect patsy.

Partner. She meant partner.

Point is, when one Scott McCall both failed to be reliable and stood in the way of that A by failing to show up to class two days in a row, Lydia figured she deserved an explanation for that. Some might call that entitled. She called it - fine, it was entitled. Sue her. Her dad had good lawyers.

And so here she stood in a part of town she hadn’t really ever registered existed other than in a vague, abstract sort of way, standing on the porch of the McCalls’ house. It was small, picturesque and possessed of a quality she didn’t know how to describe with any word other than ‘cozy.’ She had no idea what to do with that, so she got back on task and knocked, sharp and brisk enough to bruise her knuckles on the wood paneling. She could hear the echoes resonate through the house on the other side of the door. She heard nothing else. She knocked again.

When she tried the doorknob after further knocking produced similarly ineffective results, it was simple frustration, really. It wasn’t like she expected the door to be unlocked. Who leaves their front doors unlocked?

Apparently the McCalls, however, because a simple twist of her wrist was all that stood between her and access to their home. Maybe they were the kind of people who counted on basic human decency to keep uninvited strangers on the other side of that door? Hmm. Can’t relate. Food for thought though.

Lydia ventured down the darkened hallway towards the stairs cautiously, because there was always the other possibility she’d accidentally stumbled onto a crime scene. One could never be sure. And when she made her way up the staircase, it was less about being entitled and intrusive and more about following the trail of photographs chronicling the evolution of Scott McCall from chubby-faced baby to gangly adolescent. It was slightly adorable. Don’t quote her on that though, she’d sue. Her dad had good lawyers.

And when she saw the door to the bedroom at the end of the upstairs hall ajar with light from a lamp spilling out into the gloom, then of course she had to check to make sure everything was alright, because why would somebody be at home and yet not answer the door if everything was alright? It was just basic mathematics at that point.

Whatever Lydia Martin expected to find when she pushed open that door, however, it was definitely not Scott standing shirtless in front of a mirror, with large, brown, gray and tan wings sprouting proudly from his back while he awkwardly tried to trap them against his sides with an ACE bandage. Feathers littered the floor; evidence this had probably been going on for quite some time.

In retrospect, that was the moment where Lydia Martin’s life got weird.

Look, she wasn’t just some small town girl who thought the world began and ended at the state line. She’d been to Paris. She’d mastered archaic Latin because she was bored. She actually understood Euclidean geometry and she was well aware that the world was bigger and stranger than anyone could possibly imagine.

All of that did nothing to prepare her for the sight of a classmate with actual wings, actual functional wings, if the haphazard flapping of the twin appendages were suggestive of anything.

So having absolutely no prior experience, knowledge or frame of reference to fall back on in the face of something THIS bizarre and inexplicable, Lydia did what she did best. She compartmentalized.

First off, they were massive. The tailfeathers drooped down to the carpet and they peaked a good foot and a half over his head, she put him at about five foot ten, maybe five foot eleven, did some quick calculations of the height by the approximate breadth of the wing folded tight against his body…Lydia whistled softly. They were looking at a fifteen foot wingspan, easy.

Lydia also whistled out loud, she realized belatedly. Mostly as a result of Scott whirling around with a startled gasp, hands scrambling to hide both wings behind his body, tucked behind him like a shield. Totally futile, of course. But precious. Definitely precious.

“Jesus,” Scott yelped. “Don’t you knock?”

“I did knock. Twice,” Lydia said, still tracking the curve of his wings with her gaze, comparing and contrasting the shape and hue of the feathers with a lifetime’s worth of nature documentaries. At a glance, she wanted to guess they most resembled the wings and feathering of bubo virginianus, aka the great horned owl. Not a species native to this part of California, but then again, teenage boys with wings weren’t exactly native to any part of California so she might just be parsing semantics at this point. “I think you were…preoccupied.”

That put Scott back on the defensive, even though it hadn’t been her intent. He shifted his weight from foot to foot awkwardly. Arched his back as though to try and shove the tips of his wings lower and more out of sight, but really all it did was make his nicely toned chest jut out more. Not that she was opposed to that angle either.

“It’s not what you think,” he tried.

“I think you have wings, Scott.”

“Okay, so, I can explain.”

Lydia tilted her head. “Can you? Really?”

Scott deflated. “Well. No. Kinda? I don’t know. Look, not that I’m complaining, but why aren’t you fleeing in terror right now?”

She shrugged. “You have fluffy brown wings, McCall, not fangs and claws and smoke coming out of your nostrils. Should I be fleeing in terror?”

“No, of course not, its just…I don’t know. Look, its not like I have an instruction manual here. You’re the first person to even see them.”

“I’m honored.” Weird thing is, she actually was. Okay, let’s be real, the weird thing was still the classmate with giant wings sticking out of his back, but relatively speaking. “So not to be crass or anything, but elephant in the room. How is it you have wings, exactly?”

Scott cocked his own head, a surprisingly bird like motion given the appendages framing it, and he shot her an odd look. As though he had any right to be the one acting like there was something strange about this Twilight Zone scene she’d found herself in. “How, huh? Kinda figured your first question would be why do I have wings.”

“Why implies there’s a reason or purpose for your having wings, which is an assumption with no practical basis. How implies simply that there was some mechanism or event by which you developed wings, which is a certainty given that I am one hundred percent confident you didn’t have those last week. Hence, how takes precedence.”

He continued to scrutinize her, and she resisted the urge to fidget, because fuck that, ladies don’t fidget, they make boys fidget. It wasn’t like Lydia was unused to the sensation of all eyes and attention in the room being focused on her after all, but there was a weight to this inspection that was not exactly uncomfortable, but wholly unfamiliar.

“You know, you’re not at all what most people expect.”

“Neither are you, McCall,” she said dryly. “Yes, I have a brain, you have a wingspan, shocking revelations all around. Back to my question please.”

He sighed and flopped onto the edge of his bed. She took it as an invitation to sit next to him. She had a suspicion they were going to be there awhile. Plus it increased her chances of accidentally brushing up against those wings and getting a sense of their relative softness. Purely for the purpose of adding to her mental notes, of course. Look, it was literally for Science.

“You wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” Scott tried at last. She gave no ground.

“Five minutes ago I wouldn’t have believed what my eyes are telling me. Yet here we are. I’m a believer. You were saying?”

“It’s kind of a long story. A weird story,” he said, trying again. Lydia progressed to full-fledged eye rolling. God, it was like pulling teeth with this one.

“Let’s start with the Cliff Notes version. Once upon a time there was a boy with no wings. Then he had wings. How?”

“I was bit by a werewolf, okay?!”

Lydia blinked. Okay, point to him for that one. Her snark subsided ever so slightly.

“Okay. So. Werewolves are a thing, apparently. How does that equal you having wings instead of claws and an insatiable hunger for human flesh?”

Scott shrugged and scratched his head, a fresh downfall of feathers cascading to the floor following his motions. “I’m not sure I get it entirely myself, but according to this guy, Derek - he’s a werewolf, but not the one that bit me - so like, there’s some old werewolf proverb or whatever about how the shape you take reflects the person you are? I dunno. But apparently, turns out, I am not a wolf.”

He turned pensive. “I’m still not sure if I’m offended by that or not. Derek seemed to think that’s a bad thing, but he’s kind of a dick. So. Yeah.”

“Huh,” Lydia said as she digested this. “So rather than lycanthropy being a contagion that replicates exactly in each new host, its more like the bite of a shapeshifter is simply a catalyst for transformative magic the new host’s spirit provides the blueprint to follow. Fascinating.”

She refocused on Scott in time to catch him staring at her. “What?”

“You got all that from what I just said?”

She blushed before she had a chance to body check her basic physiological response to flattering male attention and since when was Scott McCall flattering male attention. Eww. Weird. Focus, Lydia.

“What, like its hard?” She joked, falling back on Legally Blonde quotes as her eyes drifted back down to his still bare chest and she remembered oh no, he’s hot.

“No,” Scott said, corners of his mouth twitching. “Just that I knew there was more to you than met the eye, but from what I picked up while working on our AP Bio project, I figured it was all science oriented. But you’re really running with this whole ‘magic is real’ thing, huh? I mean, it took me a second and I’m the one with the freaking wings.”

“Magic is just science we can’t understand yet,” Lydia shrugged, averting her eyes to the floor. She resisted the urge to twirl a lock of her hair. She. Would. Not. Fidget. Dammit.

“You read Asimov?”

“Who doesn’t read Asimov?”

“Touche,” Scott laughed. He ducked his own head. “Umm. Okay. Maybe it’d be more productive if we both just agreed to stop assuming things about each other?”

She studied him. “I can work with that.”

“Cool.” He grinned and held out his hand. “So hey, I’m Scott McCall, and I’m part bird, apparently.”

She smiled and took his hand. “I’m Lydia Martin. I like birds.”

“While we’re at it, any chance I can get you to stop eyeing me like I’m the blue ribbon at next year’s science fair? I mean, I totally get it, its just…yeah.”

Ooops. Busted. Lydia recovered with a casual hair toss. “Well, you’re just going to have to prioritize there. I can look at you like a marvel of the modern scientific world, or like a shirtless teenage boy who makes for great eye candy. Dealer’s choice.”

Scott blushed again. Point to her. “Don’t you have a boyfriend?”

She shrugged. “Me having a boyfriend doesn’t negate you having nice pecs. Kudos on those by the way. You should consider wearing tighter shirts.”

That was the wrong thing to say, apparently, and the playful climate they’d cultivated evaporated.

“I can’t even get a jersey on with these things, let alone anything tight,” Scott said, turning pensive again. “My mom thinks I’m just sick and holed up in my room but that’s not gonna work for much longer and if I don’t figure out something soon, I really am going to be next year’s science fair exhibit.”

“So there’s no way to get rid of them? They’re just part of being a…were…owl?”

They were definitely going to need to come up with some more expansive terminology, just for the record. Lydia Martin flat out refused to make it a habit of regularly saying things like wereowl with a straight face.

“I don’t think they are, but I honestly have no idea. I don’t think Derek even knows, like…he tracked me down after I was bitten and the fact that I’d already healed proved I was a shapeshifter, but then when he tried to teach me how to shift, like…this happened instead? And he pretty much lost interest then because apparently a werebird or whatever the fuck I am doesn’t help with whatever it is he wanted me for,” Scott said. With no small trace of bitterness.

“But he shifted into a werewolf form, right? And then changed back?”

“Yeah. So I mean I figure its gotta be possible for me to change back too, I just…don’t know how. Nothing I’ve tried has worked.”

“Well, that gives us our basic parameters to start with,” Lydia said briskly, standing and stalking over to his computer. “Clearly, we have two immediately available courses of action. Figuring out how to shift you back, knowing that it is theoretically possible, or else figuring out how to disguise your wings until we figure that out, acknowledging that it might take longer than we’d like to figure out the proper mechanism. Which direction should we tackle?”

“Umm. We?”

“Yes, Scott, we. How did you think this conversation was going to end? A fist bump and me leaving with a ‘cool story, I gotta get to the mall, see you in class if the government doesn’t cart you off to some black ops lab first?’”

“Have you ever given someone a fist bump in your life?”

“Not the point, Scott, I was deliberately emphasizing the ridiculous. Focus.”

He hesitated, standing, but still clearly uncomfortable and undecided. His shoulders slouched, his wings drooped…he definitely should never play poker while shifted, she noted absently. Those things were absolutely a tell. Who knew human-proportioned wings could be so expressive?

“Look, don’t take this the wrong way, because I’m really grateful that you didn’t go fleeing in terror the second you saw me like this, but…why are you trying to help me? I mean, I’m trying not to assume the worst here or anything, but its not like we’re friends, and I have a lot to lose here, so how do I know you’re not just interested in writing a paper about me or turning me over to some science lab for a cash reward and a byline?”

“I have money, Scott, I don’t need more,” Lydia answered abrasively, not knowing how to address his perfectly valid concerns any more delicately than that. For all her varied skills, handling with care was not something ever likely to appear on her resume. So she fell back on playing to her strengths. When in doubt, steamroll them. “And as for the rest, you’re right, I absolutely could turn you over to the science community and solidify my place in history for all time. Fortunately for you, not all of us are attracted to science for altruistic purposes and because we want to spread and share knowledge and information with all for the betterment of mankind. Some of us are just smug bitches who like knowing we know more than anyone else, and knowing I’m the only one who knows all this right here? That’s my catnip.”

“Now sit,” Lydia patted the edge of the bed closest to his desk, having already claimed his chair for herself. “I’m thinking our initial approach should be delving into psychosomatism and the effects of the id and the superego on our physiologies. Obviously there’s a mental trigger involved in the shift from human form to your altered state, and such triggers frequently involve psychological factors like confidence and self-esteem, both of which, no offense, I don’t suspect your cup overfloweth with, so it seems worth a try.”

Scott shook his head and resumed his seat on the bed, albeit closer to the desk. A bemused smile played across his lips. “You’re kind of a force of nature, you know that? Hurricane Lydia.”

“Mmm,” Lydia said absently. She booted up his browser, gratified that his search bar didn’t autofill with various porn site selections. What a treasure. “I prefer to be classified as a tropical storm. It leaves me the option of upgrading to a full scale natural disaster when appropriately pissed.”

“Noted.”

“I always knew you were a smart boy, McCall.”

“No you didn’t,” he scoffed, though he seemed more amused than offended. Curious. “You didn’t even know my name two weeks ago.”

“An oversight on my part. Don’t worry. I learn from my mistakes,” Lydia assured him. They exchanged sidelong classes, complete with smiles. Something shivered along her spine. In retrospect, the wings were the moment Lydia Martin’s life got interesting. This right here? This was the moment Lydia Martin’s life got very, very complicated. That awareness would come later though. For the time being, she simply turned back to his computer, fingers poised above the keyboard, ready to begin the search of a lifetime. “Now in the immortal words of every teenage boy in the history of modern English: Let’s do this already.”

[kinetic-elaboration]

May 4: Thoughts on 4x10 Die All Die Merrily

So as expected this episode was generally pretty boring and focused primarily on the people, events, and actions that interest me absolutely the least in this show. But as I said, I was anticipating as much, so in a weird way, I was pleasantly surprised? I was expecting nothing and got a bit of something, whereas, for example, last episode I was expecting a lot and got less than nothing and was super disappointed. So... I actually feel kind of...good...for having watched it? Weird.

Anyway a few observations (in chronological order today because I actually paused to write down a few notes this time, which I don’t usually do for first watches):

Clarke would have sided with the council on the Ark, I think we’ve now more than established that. Her line to Roan “I want humanity to survive, even if it’s not my people” is pretty much indistinguishable from the guiding philosophy of the Ark, except that there were fewer “factions” on the Ark, so “my people” might mean, like, my family or my friends or this poor parent stealing medicine, etc. I’m not mad about this, I think it’s interesting. Clarke was so morally righteous about the Ark Council in early S1 but when push comes to shove she adopts their way of thinking: that the whole is more important than the parts. And even though I don’t have much by way of concrete thoughts on the Bellamy and Clarke stuff in this ep (yet?) I do think it’s inevitable, narratively, that they come to a head, because his guiding philosophy for the apocalypse is “We save who can we save today,” which is much more about the parts than the whole. (ETA: I do know she was lying but this is her philosophy, that the big picture is the most important thing. And while she was obviously taking the bunker for just her people, not the Grounders, she was also influenced by her belief that Luna would win, meaning that it was her people or nothing in her mind.)

I’ve never cared for Echo as a character or thought much about her appearance wise but she was looking hella hot in this episode.

Octavia’s Roan voice is hilarious. “I am a serious warrior now, a Damaged Person who’s Seen Things and Felt Tragedy and now wields Weapons of Death so I must talk in a low gravely voice all the time.” Imagine S4 Octavia stepping out of the dropship and snarling “We’re back bitches” lol.

I was thinking during the announcement of the champions (or whatever they’re called) that this Grounder language really makes no sense and is not consistent. I mean obviously they’re going to primarily speak English on this show but...didn’t they say once that only warriors understood English? I bet they’re regretting that line hardcore right now. Because it is QUITE obvious that everyone and their baby sister knows English.

Because my never-indulged-in kink is Emotional Conversations and Relationship Development there were a few scenes I liked. I enjoyed Bellamy and Octavia and Kane: I liked how smart Bellamy was (side note: the whole mess with Clarke and the twist ending could have been avoided with proper communication; she didn’t realize O had like a Great Plan in place to win and basically gave her up as a lost cause too soon haha), I liked the Octavia and Kane hug. I also enjoyed the Indra and Octavia scene, though it would have been better if their history wasn’t quite so...fraught. And I liked the Indra and Gaia and Kane and Bellamy scenes as well. Probably my favorite of this set was the Kane and Indra conversation, though. It still bugs me that we have no idea how they became the BroTP of BroTPs but...at least we have them.

Bellamy: “I will not stand for cheating! I will not stand for it!!!!!” The moral core of the show.

I hate Polis but it is a cool set, I will give it that.

Unpopular opinion but: Luna is the worst. I have never been a Luna fan. I liked her introduction and the first shot of her rig but ever since she’s been nothing but annoying and she’s been Extra Annoying this season. I do not regret in the least bit that she is gone lol. Maybe I should be interested by her whole philosophy and story or whatever but I’m just...not. It strikes me as very shallow and flat. Like absolutely the least amount of thought was put into it. Let’s-go-to-the-common-room-and-talk-about-apartheid Unyielding Morally Superior Undergraduate Faux Hippie devolves into Unyielding Pseudo-Goth all-humanity-is awful-without-question-or-exception kill machine is just not compelling I’m sorry.

Basically my biggest problem with this episode is that it is an Octavia episode and I’m just not that interested in her and haven’t been...well, ever, really, but I lost what little interest I did have in her when Lincoln was killed. Like, the episode was actually better written and plotted than I was expecting, but I still couldn’t really care about its main character. I do wonder why this is. Is it because of the fandom? Is it because her arc has been badly written? Is it just because it’s not to my taste, not bad in any way in particular but just not suited to my personality? I don’t know,

Re: the Roan and Echo scene: where tf did the word “sire” come from? Like I know what it means but has anyone ever called anyone else that on this show before, ever? It seems like kind of a weird word to survive the apocalypse considering these people’s closest real world ancestors are 20th century East Coast Americans lol.

Anyway, Roan was great in that scene, though. I liked his devotion to honor as an abstract concept not just like a badge you show to people so you can trick them into trusting you, and honestly it’s scenes like this that make me sad to see him go/hopeful that he’s not actually gone.

Also re: that scene, while I am of the belief that it’s Octavia, not Bellamy, who is at fault for the sibling rift, I did think the sequence where she overhears him talking about her was touching. Like I was touched ngl.

While watching Kane and Indra and appreciating their friendship, I started wondering if inter-clan dating/marriage/procreation is a thing. Like they all mingle together in places like Polis, certainly some people have got to fall in love outside of their little group. What happens then? Does one person leave their clan? Were there people watching the conclave who were like ‘well, my husband’s clan is gone but my birth clan is still in the race, I wonder if I can like sneak him in when we win?’

Re the deaths: I don’t care. As I said, I’ve never liked Luna, and as I might have mentioned repeatedly in other posts, I’ve never liked Ilian either so good riddance to bad rubbish that they’re gone. I’ve had a love-hate relationship with Roan, and my mom likes him so I feel bad for her that he’s gone, but my feeling generally is...if he does miraculously come back, that will be cool, but if he doesn’t, I won’t miss him. In a way, I’m glad for all of these deaths because I feel like they were supposed to be really Upsetting and Scandalous and maybe that means we’ve filled our quota of death for the season. (Also, except for arguably Roan, these are all the sort of people who die a lot on this show: mid-level guest stars, characters introduced earlier in the season, etc. These sort of deaths comfort me because they show me the writers have some idea of how to kill people in a “we gotta kill people SOMEtimes” environment, as opposed to deaths like Wells’s or Lincoln’s that are just like ???? narratively.)

As for the ending...I know O made the right call morally and that in a sense it was the only thing she could do in this story and in order to fulfill the theme. She had to say the bunker is for everyone because that’s the truly humane thing to do; it not only honored Lincoln, it showed how wrong Luna was about the inherent badness of people. But...honestly when she was talking my first thought was to groan and think that this means that YET AGAIN an ENTIRE EPISODE was literally and completely POINTLESS like omg will literally ANYTHING happen EVER??

And the ending...Ok. IDK what to think of Clarke’s decision morally, like I didn’t have an instinctual reaction to it and I haven’t thought much about it because I just finished the ep like half an hour ago... but practically speaking, as it turned out, it was really dumb lol. If she had just let things run their course, Octavia would have won anyway, and then they’d be in place to keep the bunker without betraying anyone (or, more importantly, causing damage to the incredibly precarious political peace that Roan established with the conclave idea) and it would be fine. I mean, she’d have to contend with O’s promise to give space to other people but like I said, I don’t think Arkadia still has 1200 people so there’s wiggle room here. Plus, Octavia’s pronouncement made everyone all warm and fuzzy and compliant for literally the first time possibly EVER, so I think arguably some nice diplomacy, like by Kane perhaps, could have had at least a shot of smoothing things over. But nope. Griffin’s gotta do it all herself.

Basically, I’m saying: way to have faith in your friend, Clarke. Yet again she says all the right things, but then just like...does whatever the fuck she wants (see what I did there?) otherwise. I mean it’s very consistent and definitely IC of her and in that sense I can’t be mad, especially because her ruthlessness is actually one of my favorite traits of hers in a way but... I would like to see her grow. Finally. A little.

In particular “I have no choice,” “I did it because I had to,” “I’m doing what I have to do” and all variants thereof need to die. Or at least be Called Out. Because it’s never true that only one choice exists to a person, first of all. And second, it’s obnoxious. It’s a pass the buck phrase if ever there was one. I guess what I’m saying is I’d like Clarke to take responsibility for her actions finally, especially because I think she’s had enough opportunity to learn this lesson.  I thought maybe her S3 experiences might have helped. Also and most significantly, experimenting on herself instead of Emori in 4x08 did seem to be her finally comprehending that “I have no choice” is a falsehood. I know she was still being a martyr when she did it (her misuse of the Dante line) but STILL. UGH.

Also...obviously there’s a lot of THE SKY PEOPLE ARE BECOMING MT. WEATHER AHHHH going on, and it’s not subtle (experimenting on people, “welcome to Mt. Weather,” the gas canisters that are literally from Mt. Weather, the 4x09 blockade), but I don’t...really know what to make of it tbh. It’s falling a bit flat but I don’t know if that’s just me being dumb and/or unappreciative or if it’s a problem with the construction.

Yay two seconds of Miller. I love seeing him as a leader type.

BUT...sorry, what is this ridiculous stuff about each Station getting like half a floor though? Alpha, Mecha, Farm, and the occupants of prison station made it to the ground. That’s it. And most of Farm was killed by Ice Nation either during the hiatus or in 3x03. So, like, where are these alleged Hydra station survivors? Are our three Factory people (Bellamy, Octavia, and Mel) going to get a whole level to themselves or something? The inconsistency, it astounds.

And...yep, that’s that.