#sparrow's going as vague as possible but like.

[cassynite]

Sparrow, please tell us about your most embarrassing situation in the bedroom.

OH MY GOD SPHINX LMAO

--

Sparrow chokes, her face twitching. "Excuse me? I--" She buries her face in her hands. After several seconds, her voice emerges, muffled, from her hands. "It wasn't in the bedroom."

It takes another few moments for her to regain her composure, hands on her lap, shoulders back. Only the scalding red on her face reveals her actual thoughts on discussing the matter. "This was. Several years ago. We were in Nerosyan, to help push through a bill that would solidify the number of years an individual is required to reside within the country borders before being considered a proper citizen and given related rights. There was pushback, mainly from the Royal Council, and many of the lords who were there to vote were undecided on the matter. The matter was at a standstill, we were on day thirteen. It was exhausting, no real progress in sight. If Lord Bravas would bother to take a side, the rest would follow like lemmings. He liked our proposal but disliked us, or me specifically, and dragged his feet on the matter."

There is a pause, but Sparrow clearly cannot talk around the answer any longer. "During recess Daeran suggested we...find a way to de-stress. Blow off steam. I don't...usually, outside of a bedroom...definitely never outside of our home...but the recess was not long enough to return to our chambers--no one used that parlor, it was so out of the way, it should have been--"

She abruptly cuts off straightens again, her hands folded tightly in her lap. "Apparently, Lord Bravas wanted a book to occupy his time. We were. Already. We couldn't really hide what we were doing.

"And the worst part was that it ended up helping us." Sparrow pinches the bridge of her nose. "Lord Bravas wasn't offended, he was amused. Friendlier than before. Apparently catching us in flagrante delicto gave him a sense of...kinship? Or perhaps he really was just happy to learn I was 'actually a person underneath it all.' Either way, he supported my bid and we finally pushed through the proposal.

"Now, whenever any council meeting takes longer than a day to conclude, Daeran always has the same recommendation of how to move things along. I'm going to hear about that escapade until the day I retire."

Intrusiveness level: 100000000/10

[maybeelse]

The Problem of Witches

"What is true power" is supposed to be one of those deep, philosophical questions with no real answer. It—and the thought experiments which grow on it like clinging weeds—are meant to become a mirror to the speaker's biases, to reveal how they think about the world. Let that be so.

To my mind, the answer is simple: true power is control of the context in which the world is understood. It is the ability to say "this is what the world is", and be heard.

It is intoxicating, and dangerous, and many-layered.

Seen through the fantastical lenses of works like This Is How You Lose The Time War and The Book of the War it is conflicting frameworks of the Commandant and the Garden or the Great Houses' anchoring of the thread (the creation of history with themselves at the center). It is the pinions which Exordia's Khai place in their subjects' souls, narrative prisons that make the Khai's success inevitable; it's Elden Ring's outer gods struggling for control of what the world will become.

In the real world it's the narratives which bind our comprehension of what the world could be, and what it is; and it's the processes which led to their current state. It's all of the choices that constrain the space of what's possible.

Perhaps this is an unsatisfying answer. Perhaps it is trite. Perhaps I'm just vaguely waving my hands and going "society's the real power, man! It's everything around us!" So be it.

In my own stories, there is magic: the ability to change parts of the world. Sometimes this is fundamentally altering part of the world (sunlight is a honey-thick liquid, that drips and stains and smells of sweet rot); more often it's changing the way something works (as long as you remember to chant these words once a day, your body will become soft and plump) or what part of the setting is like (things around the graveyard doll get spooky and sepulchral).

That's not an exhaustive list, by the way.

And then, there are witches, and the problems they create.

By the time a witchling becomes a small-witch, their existence has already begun to distort the world. Rules stop applying, or get more complex, or more conditional. There are loopholes.

Put too many small-witches in close proximity, and weird stuff happens. Things skew and break; points of disagreement or conflict gather narrative weight. There is always potential for escalation.

And then there are true witches. "A skin worn by a fragment of the Unreal", I said. "The hollow left behind by a hidden heart. Someday a sparrow will wear down the mountains which stand beyond the world and they will watch, uncaring." And then, lest I be misread, "their presence leaks into the world, corrupts narratives, stains souls. They become undeniable. Some call this a curse."

By their mere existence, they shape the world.

I've been grappling with the consequences of that ever since I started writing about them.

Because—think about it. What does that do to a world? What happens?

My forever-unfinished map of the City of Corrade shows that city as a series of thin bubbles, with buildings and forests and suns clinging to their pastel surfaces. Setting cast as a series of moods, as layers, as abstract bubbles of influence; a city seen through the lens of subway trains, connected-yet-disconnected. In many respects this is a concession to my writing; landmarks recur, and moods, but everything around them (and their relationships to each other) shift as easily as a dream's psychogeography.

That, then, is what happens to the people and places within a true witch's influence. They exist within her context, within her understanding of what the world is. In Corrade, capitalism only exists in the city's Downtown, whose striving spires cling tight to the Astral Witch's midnight observatory; the waves of gentrification and decay which lap at the city's client suburbs flow from the blended presence of several lesser true witches. Crossroads Station, HER orbital citadel, a relic of a long-ended war still ringed watchful angels, exists only because of the power slowly leaching from HER still-warm corpse.

And at their feet the lesser creatures squabble and struggle and try to thrive. Some become witches; most do not.

I grew up across the bay from San Francisco, all those years ago, and perhaps that tells you something of why I understand geography in terms of the great powers that affect it, of the titans whose movements shake the world and the fungal outgrowths of the lesser powers which serve their whims. Today I regard them as pathetic, all those child-kings clawing at the edges, desperate for more, for the glory of their unfinished apotheosis, for a final escape from reality's laws and constraints—but that's part of my witches, too. Abusers are fundamentally pathetic; powers grow so tangled in the context they create that they can never break free. They choke and die on their own success, still unsatisfied, still wanting more.

That hunger is all they are.

[hearts-hunger]

evergreen — part two

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Series Summary: Jake takes you on your first vacation to the cabin the gang stays at every year. When memories of past relationships loom heavy, will this vacation send cracks through the foundation of safety and trust you have in each other?

Chapter Summary: You're trying to let the past stay in the past, but Jake keeps making it difficult.

Pairings: Jake x Reader, Josh x Baby, Sam x Danny | Genre: fluff, angst, emotional h/c | Word Count: 4.4k | Warnings: smoking, sexual innuendo, mentions of infidelity

A/N: Hehehe more Jake being and idiot and Sparrow struggling emotionally. We're in for a little more before the end, but at least Baby and the boys are there for them ♡

You woke to a late morning sun, dappled daylight shining as well as it could through the trees growing right outside the window. Jake was on top of you, as he always was, his legs tangled with yours and his arm snugly around you, his face tucked into the crook of your neck. You absently brushed his hair back from his face, trying to take stock of yourself as you became aware of a vague, constant achiness.

Oh, right — margaritas strong enough to down a grown man, one cigarette too many, sleeping in a bed you'd felt completely uncomfortable in. All that was why you felt like you'd been run over by a truck. You needed to shower and take something for your headache and get out of this bed you hated with every fiber of your being, but you couldn't face trying to move just yet. 

Jake stirred and moved closer to you, if that was possible.

“Sparrow,” he mumbled. “You awake?”

“Yeah,” you said. “Hi.”

“Hi yourself.” His morning voice was deep and raspy. “What the hell did we drink last night?”

“The whole liquor cabinet.”

He gave a soft laugh that trailed off into a groan. “Yeah, I guess so. You feel okay?”

“Oh, I feel super,” you said. “How do you feel?”

“Like roadkill.”

You snorted. “Sexy.”

He propped himself up a little, looking down at you with a scrunchy, dazed kind of smile. 

“If you say so,” he said. “That reminds me. We were gonna do some swashbuckling last night, weren't we?”

“We sure were,” you said, “before you passed out.”

“Right.” He gave you a quick smooch good morning, as he always did. “Sorry about that. I can make it up to you right now if you want.”

You gave a doubtful hum. “We need to shower. And brush our teeth.”

“Oh, come on,” he coaxed. He kissed your neck. “Napoleon told his wife not to bathe for three days before he came home and ravished her.”

Though you usually wouldn't have minded some sweaty, tangled-up morning sex, there was no way you were doing that in this bed. 

“Too bad you're not Napoleon,” you said sweetly.

He didn't get the hint, perhaps too absorbed with kissing your collarbone. He was still dressed in his clothes from the day before, but you were in nothing but your underwear; you couldn't exactly blame him for exploring what was usually available for his enjoyment, but no part of you wanted him to touch you like that in this bed.

“Jake,” you said, gently pushing him off you. “Let me up, babe.”

He did, respecting your less subtle cue but giving you a wry smile. “You must really not feel good,” he teased.

It wasn't your hangover that was killing your libido, and you were a little annoyed that he didn’t know that. You sat on the edge of the bed, touching a hand to your pounding head.

He ran a soothing hand over your back. “You feel sick, honey?”

You didn't answer that. You did, but you didn't want to tell him why. You wanted him to use his brain and figure it out himself.

“I’m gonna go shower,” you said. You blindly grabbed a shirt from the drawer, and it happened to be Jake's “I'm the reason all the rum is gone” tee.

“Oh, now you’re just teasing me,” he said with a smile.

“I'm not teasing anybody,” you said, and you surprised yourself with how harsh it was.

He raised a brow. “Okay, sparrow. I’m just messing with you, baby. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.”

You wanted to say that not meaning to didn't make it any better; in a way, it made it worse. Where did he keep his brain sometimes? You felt it was stupid for him to be so oblivious, or maybe you should be thankful that he was. If he wasn't thinking about Izzy, why should you be?

You gave him a half-hearted nod, raw with guilt and discomfort. “Okay. I’m just... not in a great mood. Sorry.”

“You’re allowed to not be in a great mood,” he said kindly. “Go get a shower, honey. You want coffee?”

His gentle care for you wore down your frustration. “Yes, please.”

“Okay. It'll be ready for you when you get out.”

You gathered up some clothes and headed for the upstairs bathroom, but you heard the shower running in there already, so you made your way to the downstairs bathroom. Sam was in the basement fooling around on the mellotron, and you were mildly embarrassed to be seen in your current state of undress.

“Sorry,” you said bashfully. “Just going to shower.”

He squeezed his eyes shut. “All good.”

You laughed. “Thanks. You're a gentleman and a scholar, Sam.”

“Oh, I try.”

You took a long time in the shower, letting the hot water ease your many aches. Even from the basement, you could smell the promised coffee brewing, and you came into the kitchen to see Jake and Danny working on breakfast.

“For you, my dearest,” Jake said, handing you a cup of coffee made just the way you liked it. “Danny reminded me that we're switching rooms, so I went ahead and moved our stuff.”

“Oh,” you said, pleasantly surprised and relieved. “Thanks, honey.”

“Sure.” He kissed your cheek. “I’m gonna go shower. You look like you're feeling a little better.”

“I am,” you said truthfully. All of your worries had been very quickly assuaged with a simple room reassignment, and you felt a huge weight come off of you.

He smiled. “I'm glad, honey.” He slapped a bottle of ibuprofen into your hand. “Eat up.”

You huffed a laugh and boosted yourself up onto the counter. Danny was working on pancakes, his hair up in a claw clip and a dishrag over his shoulder.

“Thanks for mentioning the room thing,” you said.

He smiled. “No problem, sparrow. I didn't say why, just asked him if we were still switching. I'm sorry you had to stay in there last night. You could have moved our stuff.”

“He forgot, and he was asleep as soon as his head hit the pillow,” you said. “I figured it was easier to stay put.”

“You're a good man, Charlie Brown,” he said. “I’d be climbing the walls in a room Sam had been in with his ex.”

You gave a rueful hum around a sip of coffee. “I almost was. He wanted to get into some... extracurriculars, shall we say, just now, but you can probably figure out how that went.”

“Not the way he pictured it, I imagine.” He added to the growing stack of pancakes. “He still doesn't know why you don't want to be in there?”

You sighed. “I guess not. Maybe I should be glad he’s not thinking of her, but I can't get her out of my head.”

“Who, me?” Baby came into the kitchen wearing one of Josh’s shirts and sleep shorts. “Sparrow, tell me it's me. I need an ego boost.”

“Girl, I'd rather it was you. But no, it’s Izzy.”

She looked over at you as she made herself a cup of coffee. “You didn't tell me you were into masochism.”

You and Danny laughed.

“They stayed in Jake’s old room last night,” Danny explained. 

Baby's expression scrunched. “Oh, ew. Why?”

“Ask the genius,” you said wryly. “I guess it just didn't occur to him.”

She sighed and leaned against the counter. “Well, the Kiszka boys aren't famous for being the world's most observant on some things. Are you switching rooms?”

“Yeah, we kicked Sam and Danny out,” you said. Danny walked past you to take the plate of bacon to the table, and when both you and Baby reached out, he stopped and let you take some.

“Go round ‘em up,” Danny said. “Everything’s ready.”

You did as he said, and when you were all gathered at the table, the six of you enjoyed a leisurely breakfast peppered with mentions of how bright the sunlight was and requests to pass the ibuprofen. Jake sat next to you, one hand on the back of your chair, his thumb occasionally skating across your back in a soothing motion. That was one of your favorite things about him: those little, unobtrusive touches that told you he was there, that he was tuned into you even if he wasn’t talking to you directly.

“I heard you working on something earlier, Sammy,” he said. “Sounded very orchestral.”

Sam gave him a lopsided smile. “Yeah, it's just something I’m messing around with. Maybe a cool opening for Josh's ‘Heat Above’ song.”

“You want to put the mellotron on that?” Josh asked, animated.

“I was thinking kind of like Age of Man,” he said. “I can show it to you if you want.”

Josh was up out of his chair and down to the basement before anyone could stop him, if they'd been trying to, and Sam followed with a proud smirk on his face. All four brothers tried to impress each other with their new ideas, and you knew that Sam was pleased with Josh’s eager anticipation to hear what he’d been working on. 

At the other end of the table, Danny and Baby were talking about their plans for a Chopped-style cooking competition. You and Jake sat in companionable silence, nursing your coffee and enjoying each other’s closeness.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” he said after a moment. The sun caught in his hair, bringing out the hint of red in it. “I really was just teasing. You know I don't want anything from you that you don't want to give.”

You touched his cheek. “I know, honey. I shouldn't have snapped at you. I’m sorry too.”

He gave you a gentle kiss. “Love you, sparrow.”

You smiled. “Love you too, Jakey. I think I’m gonna read out on the porch for a little bit. You wanna come and be bored to death?”

He breathed a laugh. “If you want me to, sure.”

“Or you can go jam,” you offered. You patted his chest. “Actually, go do that. I know you'd rather be playing music than watching me read.”

He considered that. “Okay, what if — and here's another one of my theories — I bring my guitar out and play while you read?”

“Again, not a theory,” you teased. “But sure. If you want to, I’d like that.”

He left to get his guitar and you grabbed your book and refilled both of your coffees, heading out to the porch swing. He came out with a throw blanket and his acoustic guitar, and he tossed the blanket at you and managed to cover your head with it.

“Ah, I get it,” you said, your voice muffled. “You don't want to see me while you hang out with me.”

He chuckled and rearranged the blanket so it lay over your lap. “Sorry. My toss was a little over-zealous.”

He sat next to you on the swing, playing an aimless tune that eventually made its way into Jackson Browne's “These Days”. You tried to focus on your book, but his voice was so warm and soft as he sang that you couldn't help but watch him play.

He noticed and looked over at you, giving you a bashful smile. “What?”

“Nothing,” you said. “I just like watching you play.”

His cheeks pinked. “Lucky you got a guy who does nothing but play guitar.”

You smiled. “Yeah, it is lucky.” You watched as he effortlessly picked out the solo in skillful, intentional movements of his fingers across the strings.

“You know this is kind of our song,” you said.

He nodded in that distracted way you liked, when he was focused on playing but still listening to you. “Yes ma'am. I remember.” You'd danced to this song at the wedding where you’d been reunited last winter, the same wedding where you’d finally done something about the feelings both of you had had for each other even after years of being apart. 

“You know the words,” he said. “Sing with me.”

You blushed. “Oh, I dunno. I'd rather hear you without me screwing it up.”

He shook his head. “Your voice could never screw anything up, sparrow. Sing with me.”

You couldn't say no to him, not when he was so sweet to you. He started the next verse, and you offered a quiet, tentative harmony.

“Well I’ll keep on moving, things are bound to be improving these days.”

His smile was impossibly tender. “See? I told you. Beautiful.”

You leaned close and kissed him, slow and gentle and so in love with him.

“Say you love me,” you said softly.

He touched his nose to yours. “I love you, sparrow. More than you could ever imagine, and more than I could ever tell you.”

—

He went to join the guys downstairs after a while, and you felt a warm glow in your chest long after he’d left. You didn't know why you’d been so upset about the whole Izzy business — of course Jake was just being oblivious, and there was no malicious intent in his absent-mindedness. You decided to put the whole thing out of your mind and not let the idea of her intrude on your picture-perfect vacation to a beautiful mountain cabin with the ones you loved so dearly.

Putting a bookmark between the pages of your novel, you ventured inside after a bit to find everyone downstairs. Baby made room for you on the couch and shared her gummy worms, and you snacked contentedly while the boys worked on a song that wasn't entirely coming together.

“I don’t know, it feels a little boring,” Danny said. “It need something like — ” He played a driving beat on the drums, making ample use of the cymbals. “Something brighter.”

“It’s a ballad,” Jake said, shaking his head. “A love song. It just needs the bass drum and the toms, maybe.” He strummed a few chords, and Sam scrambled to join him on the bass. You watched, amused, as Jake was wholly absorbed in playing the tune at a blinding volume while Danny didn't play a single thing. 

Jake looked up. “Yeah, like that,” he said.

Danny lazily twirled a drumstick. “Well, I wasn't playing anything, so...”

Jake gave him an abashed smile. “Oh. Well, maybe it doesn't need any drums. It's just an acoustic thing.”

“You’re cranked up to the loudest, crunchiest tone possible,” Danny pointed out. “Play it on acoustic and I’ll see what I can do with that.”

Jake sigh was half irritated groan. “Maybe we should just scrap it.” He tied his hair up in a bun, and you knew he must be getting frustrated — Jake never put his hair up when he was playing unless he was fed up with it and needed a little less sensory input.

“I don't know, man,” Josh said. “It’s not terrible. I like the chord progression.”

“Okay,” Danny offered, “what if i build up with the drums, like start off with just the bass and come in later on the snare, but keep it soft, and give it a few splashes? Or — ” He extended his hand to Sam, and somehow Sam knew to toss him the egg shakers. “I’ll do some kind of maraca thing, and you can do a beat on the body of the guitar like that Iron and Wine thing.”

“So many things,” Sam teased. “Is that the technical term, Daniel?”

Danny shook a maraca at him. “Yes. Don't question the master.”

Sam put up a hand in surrender. “I wouldn't dare.”

Jake unplugged his guitar and slung the strap over his head. “Let me think about it for a minute. I might decide I hate it.”

His brothers were content to let him take a break, changing tacks to work on the song Sam and Josh had played around with earlier. It was obviously missing a guitar, but it didn't sound half bad with the mellotron and a bright, splashy drum beat to accompany Josh’s voice. 

Jake all but collapsed on the couch next to you. “Hi.”

You smiled. “Hi, honey. Rough day at work?”

He ran a hand over his face. “I guess. That song’s not my best work, but I thought we could try it.”

“Don’t give up on it,” you said. You handed him a gummy worm. “Here. A little something to take the edge off.”

He snorted. “Thanks.”

You brushed back a few wayward strands of hair that had missed the bun. “When did you write that song, anyway? I don't think I've ever heard it.”

“Sometime last year,” he said. “Summer before last, I think. I don't know.”

You tried to ignore the creeping doubt that you'd promised yourself you were done with. “Before you met me?”

“Well, not technically,” he reminded you. You’d been friends in high school before you’d lost touch for a few years. “But yeah, before we got together.”

“Right.” You hated the uncertainty in your tone. “And it's a love song?”

He sighed. “Trying to be, anyway.”

You bit the inside of your cheek. A love song that he'd written before you were together, presumably with someone else in mind. Izzy, namely. You felt a nudge from Baby, and you interpreted her sympathetic look to mean something like I’m sorry he keeps being stupid and you can't really blame him for it at the same time.

You let out a long breath. You knew you couldn't hold his past relationships against him, but it didn't exactly feel great to know he was working on an old love song he’d written for her. You wondered how terrible a girlfriend you would be if you told him to scrap it like he wanted to.

You steeled yourself. No, you remembered, you weren’t going down that road. The past was in the past, and you’d let it stay there, where it belonged, buried six feet underground.

That was a little morbid, granted. You didn't want Izzy six feet under, though you did wish for some karmic payback for the pain she’d caused Jake. But it wasn't yours to deliver, so you'd support this song if he really wanted to make a go of it.

You patted his thigh. “Come play some Pac-Man with me.”

“Ooh, me too,” Baby said, getting up to go with you to the game on the far side of the basement crowded with a pool table, a pinball machine, and a foosball table. Jake followed somewhat reluctantly, but you knew him; he couldn't pass up an opportunity to beat the pants off of you in any game. He was usually successful, except in spades, which he was terrible at for some reason; then, he always insisted on being on your team and letting you carry the two of you to victory. 

As you played, he tried to give you pointers, but you were resigned to being awful at it. 

“Come on, honey,” he laughed. “It’s kinda like skipping stones, remember? All in the — ” Your Pac-Man dissolved and died. “All in the wrist.”

You let him have a go, and he was much better at it; you and Baby watched intently as he moved up a couple levels before he lost. 

“Damn,” he said, looking at the high scores. “Who's that at the top? That was one of us, right?”

He looked to Baby, and she fidgeted a little beside you.

“I think... I think it was Izzy,” she said cautiously.

He didn't say anything for a moment, and you listened with baited breath for how he would react.

“Huh,” he said finally, his tone as even as could be, as if revisiting a pleasant memory. “Yeah, I think you're right.”

As stupid as it was, you couldn’t stop the hot spark of frustration that flared to life in your chest. 

“Guess she knew all about the wrist technique, or whatever,” you said flatly.

He shrugged. “I guess. She was good at that sort of thing.” He stepped aside to let Baby play, and she glanced over at you with an uncertain expression.

“You want to get beaten in foosball too?” Jake asked you, a playful smile on his face.

“No, thanks.” You turned to Baby. “Does Josh have any cigarettes hidden away somewhere?”

“Yes, and I’ll show you where,” she said, “because it’s a dumb hiding place where he thinks I won't get at them.”

She gave you a conspiratorial smile and looped her arm around yours, abandoning her game. 

“You’re gonna die!” Jake protested.

“Sparrow needs me,” she said tartly. “Besides, who cares about a score on Pac-Man?”

You were glad she could sass him when you couldn't quite get up the nerve to, and you let her lead you upstairs to the room she and Josh were sharing.

“Holy shit, is he dumb or what?” she asked, rooting through Josh's backpack. She put on an affected voice. “Oh, she’s so talented and good at that sort of thing that you're bad at. What a moron.”

You couldn't help but laugh, thankful for her lighthearted tone and collusion with you in your frustration. She reached elbow-deep into the backpack and finally found the pack of cigarettes, holding them up triumphantly. 

“Ha! Take that, Joshua.”

The two of you went out to the porch, leaning against the railing as you smoked. The air was chilly and fragrant with pine, and you closed your eyes and let the breeze soothe your riled emotions.

“Am I overreacting?” you asked. “Maybe I’m making a big deal out of nothing.”

She shrugged. “I don't know, sparrow. I was lucky Josh never brought anyone else here.”

You blew out a thin stream of smoke. “And Josh never had any serious relationships before yours, did he?”

“Not really, which is also lucky.” She looked a little wistful then. “We were too busy pining over each other to worry about anybody else, I think.”

Though you’d all been friends your last year of high school and the summer after graduation, you knew Baby had practically grown up with them. You hadn't been surprised to find out that she and Josh were together when you met up again last winter, and it also didn't surprise you that they'd spent a long time secretly in love with each other without saying it.

“Did you ever have a crush on the other guys?” you asked. “Even just a little thing?”

Her smile was telling. “Not really. I guess I thought Danny was a looker when he grew out of his awkward middle-school phase, but I like my guys a little shorter and weirder.”

You laughed. “I guess we have similar tastes.”

She flicked her cigarette. “In that way, yeah. But Jake and Josh are as different as night and day, you know that.”

“Sun and moon,” you said, remembering with fondness the comments you'd seen on social media posts featuring the twins.

She smiled. “Yeah, sun and moon. Sometimes a dumbass sun and moon, but hey.”

You sighed and put your cigarette out. “I don’t know what to do. Sam said I should tell him.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that advice from him before,” she said wryly. “Tends to be solid, but it’s easier said than done.”

“No kidding.” You heard the sound of Jake’s guitar join the song drifting from inside. “Would you tell Josh? If he was doing something like this?”

“Well, I'd like to think I wouldn't have to,” she said. “But... yeah, I would. I trust Josh. And I trust Jake, and I know you do too, even if he’s being an idiot.”

You scuffed your shoe against the railing. “Yeah.” You did trust Jake; you trusted him with every part of you, even the most vulnerable ones, and he’d cherished and honored that trust every time it had been put to the test. Why was this time so hard for you?

Baby gently bumped her shoulder against yours. “Why are you scared to tell him? You know he’d understand how you feel.”

You crossed your arms over your chest. “I don't know.” You hadn't talked to anyone about this before, not even your best friends who would surely have listened and given you advice, but you wanted to try and talk to Baby about it now.

“We’re out of the honeymoon phase, I guess,” you said. “Not that that’s a bad thing, and not that I expect us to break up or anything, but...”

“It's hard,” she said kindly. “I get it. The first time Josh and I had a big fight, a few months after we got together, I cried the rest of the night. I went super crazy and catastrophized the whole thing.”

That was a familiar feeling. You'd bickered more with Jake these past few months than you ever had when you first got together, and sometimes it had devolved into an actual argument. You hated it, but it was a natural part of relationships.

“I’m not used to that sort of thing,” you confessed. “Me and Jake... this is my first serious relationship, and I don't know what the hell I’m doing. I want to marry him, and I think he’s that serious about me, but... he was probably that serious about Izzy too.”

She didn't say anything for a moment, and you felt your heart sink. “He was, wasn’t he?”

She sighed. “I don't know. I won't lie and say he didn't love her. And I guess she loved him too, as much as you could love a person while still being able to cheat on them, which maybe isn't much.”

She put her cigarette out. “Jake’s like a totally different person with you, sparrow. He lights up like a firefly whenever you're around. I didn't know if he’d ever recover from Izzy, but he has with you, and he loves you like you're his heart.”

You swallowed around the tightness in your throat. “Really? You're not just saying that?”

She took your hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “No way, sparrow. You know me — I’m a straight shooter. And you fit with us like you were made for us, just like you do with Jake.”

You squeezed her hand back. “I love you.”

Her smile was a little wobbly. “Aw, sparrow, I love you too. I'm so glad you're in our family.”

“Me too,” you said softly.

She kissed your cheek. “I think Sam’s right. Go talk to Jake. You’ll feel better, and Jake will stop being so dumb, and then you can have super great celebration sex.”

You laughed, really laughed, and she laughed with you.

“You know I’m right!” she said. She gave you a gentle push towards the door. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

You stopped at the door and looked back at her.

“I’m really glad you're my friend,” you said.

Her smile was warm and very kind. “Me too, sparrow.”

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[thefirstknife]

hey have you seen the lore tabs for the exotic ghost shell and ship in the super high levels of the season pass? if so what do you make of them. like, speaker is a new light, has a name starting with s, is dealing with vex, and speaks as if theyre part of humanity in the ship lore tab like that cant possibly be maya sundaresh right but im not sure what other candidates there could be since the episode is called echoes and is almost certainly going to involve the vex on nessus

I've seen them! There's also one on the sparrow of the same type. I genuinely have no idea. There's some clues in the tabs, but they're super hard to understand without context, but yes, I do believe this is Maya.

Spectrum Shell, Unbridled Iridescence sparrow, Polychroma ship. Putting them in this order, because of the number on the log. Each lore has a "personal log" with a number: 0002, 0025 and 0031.

It starts with a vague description that I don't think shows a new light or a Guardian at all:

It is strange to be awake, physically, after so long spent wandering.

This is very peculiar; it has the vibe of this person having existed in some other form before gaining physical form. Since we know we'll be dealing with the Vex and Maya, this immediately reminds me of Ishtar scientist simulations.

Following the number of the logs, there's "AS." The speaker explains what this means:

Keeping a log will help, at the very least to track the days. As will my silly little joke to make myself feel important, two days after the rebeginning of myself. Anno… me. I suppose.

This specifies that the "0002" is "two days" and the "AS" is a joke on the time designation: "anno" being "year" as when used for example in "anno domini" (year of our lord) or AD. Instead in this case it's the author's name which as you've noted begins with an S. This bit:

I ignored and abandoned the best person I knew. I feel foolish, empty. Daunted at the immensity and masochism of my own stupidity. It feels childish to admit I'd always assumed she would follow me.

... first made me consider it being Maya thinking of abandoning Chioma. Then "S" would be Sundaresh, and it would also fit with her being a simulation newly awake and finally physical, as would the rest of the information of the author being a scientist and knowing things from the Golden Age.

Also interesting from the first lore tab:

At least I am not alone here. My new ally more than makes up for the Vex's dreadful company. His disposition is calming, reassuring—a welcome voice when I need affirmation and guidance. And such a fascinating origin! Such astounding variance in biology and culture. I look forward to our continued partnership.

The author has some sort of an "ally" among all the Vex, someone with a "fascinating origin" and "astounding variance in biology and culture." I have no idea what this means. Possibly non-human? Or at least neo-human, so perhaps Awoken? If this is Maya, she would not know about the Awoken. I'm thinking Awoken because, if we're dealing with the Vex, there's a guy in there: Asher Mir. But I would NOT describe Asher as calming and reassuring. Another option is possibly Mithrax? If we're dealing with some Vex shenanigans, he might be involved.

The sparrow lore originally made me feel like it's Maya because of the topic of discussion; the science and philosophy of personhood and simulations. The author also mentions "pre-Veil contact philosophy" which implies the author has been there or is at least well-read on the topic, which suggests a connection to the Golden Age. Also:

Traversal through other states of being are possible, as proven by my own journey and ascension over my Vex...

"Proven by my own journey" also would imply Maya, but the addition of the ominous "my Vex" is strange. Is this a hint to the new plotline then? Maya ascending over the Vex and becoming capable of controlling them or just using them in some way? Wild. Curious addition in the next paragraph with "... Vex, even these older ones..." Older Vex? As in Precursors? Or something else? I am very intrigued.

The ship lore is somewhat concerning as the author talks about humanity's unwillingness to continue progressing:

My hypothesis is that it is a true technological leap that hinders us. Perhaps when humanity sees what can be accomplished using a force that can reshape the planet itself, they will feel secure enough to turn to science once again.

The author thinks we can use a "force that can reshape the planet itself" to continue the technological advancement of humanity. A what? Is this something to do with Nessus and the Vex abilities to terraform? Furthermore:

These are problems my Vex can alleviate. Why take risks with AI when a more straightforward force may be utilized to facilitate a civilization's rise? Related… research with my ally has proven the path forward. Radiolaria remains easiest; its individual minds are simply so small, although they are multitudinous their connections make it simple. Other larger, more complex minds prove difficult for the time being… But I am not unfamiliar with the rigor of practice. I will delight in trial and error.

Again with the "my Vex" and the implication that the Vex can be used for these advancements, specifically radiolaria. This also includes "research with my ally" which makes me want to discard Mithrax as an option because he would simply not be suggesting these things. But who knows about the radiolaria's effects on people and transformation? Well, Asher does. However, I don't think Asher would suggest this either? Like, he may have the research, but I don't think he would ever make any implication that this would be good.

This was my thought process reading these. There's a lot of context missing and I can't wait to get back to them after the Echoes starts. I'm definitely leaning on this being Maya and don't have any other theories for who it might be. If anything, then another Ishtar scientist, but I doubt it they would put anyone other than Maya or Chioma here and it doesn't sound like Chioma nor does she have the "S" as her name.

I have no other theories for the "ally" either; my only other thought is Praedyth, whom Maya and the scientists met at one point and he helped them escape (?) the network. That was the whole deal in Aspect lore book + what seems to have been implied with the Starcrossed ending. Praedyth would also know a lot about the Vex to help with research, but he would equally not be someone thinking using Vex for a technological leap is good. Interestingly enough, a D1 quest somewhat implied Praedyth was part of the Future War Cult, which adds another layer of his connection to Maya.

The most of what I'm getting from this is that Echoes is going to be really damn cool.

[nonconstories]

Saw your request for snippets and… I would really love to see a sidekick getting railed by a superhero

ME TOO.

Sebastian Graves AKA Sparrow is an established Superhero in the city of Hasper. He's also a bit accident prone, and one of his Rogues has dosed him with honest to god sex pollen. Sparrow's sidekick, Starling, has told him a million times to be more careful. He always has to clean up Seb's messes...

Click under the cut for: A trans guy annoying his sidekick death before riding him on their safe couch

Word Count: 1800

"You're a fucking dumbass sometimes, you know that?" That was just about the only thing he could think of to say, while his boss was sprawled out on the couch with a hand down the front of his pants. Keeping his eyes locked firmly on Sparrow's chest, which was still covered in his feather-stamped armor, he gestured in a vague, broad way, trying to indicate their entire situation. "Like. Like, how did this even fucking happen?"

Sparrow didn't answer for a second; likely too busy jerking his t-cock under his suit. Blood rushed to Gray's face when Sparrow groaned in pleasure and lifted his head from the arm of the couch to give his "side kick" a wobbly, sweaty grin. "Told you, Grumpy, I tried to fight OakenAsh on my own and I realllllly shouldn't have!" He tried to laugh, but it turned into a moan as he humped his own hand. "FUCK, oh, oh fuck, I really shouldn't have--"

Cringing, Gray turned his back on him and, at loss for what else to do with his hands, started undoing the straps of his gauntlets. "You, you pull your punches with that guy--" He mumbled, and prayed to literally nothing for his dick to stay soft. Which, admittedly, was difficult when picturing Sparrow and OakenAsh rolling around on a rooftop and fighting for the upper hand. "Seriously, don't, fucking talk to them! Hit them, for Christ's sake, Seb. They're...bad guys."

Behind him, Sparrow gave another shaky laugh, and the couch creaked as he continued to play with himself. "Oh, my, god, are you SERIOUSLY going to stand there and lecture me on my bad guys? Who I've been dealing with for 15--15--15 years oh my god come on I am so fucking close--" His words fluctuated between whines and moans, and Gray tried not to sprint across the room to the sink. The safehouse he'd found Sparrow in was a studio apartment, so his options for fucking off were limited.

As he pointlessly filled a glass with water, he shouted over his shoulder, "Well, clearly, I need to! Cuz this shit keeps happening!"

"Oaken could've killed me and he didn't," Sparrow pointed out, and then whined again. "Or maybe it is possible to die of blue balls. Is it? Gray. Gray, is it?"

"HOW WOULD I KNOW?" His dick was refusing to stay soft. He downed half the water in two gulps, and then gripped the edge of the sink as he tried to get himself under control. "Take this seriously!" He added, much less punch to his words. His ears were burning as badly as his face, and when he rubbed the back of his neck, he felt a thin sheen of sweat there. Wildly, he wondered his OakenAsh's pheromone-laced pollen was contagious. "He dosed you with a goddamn...date rape drug..." Laughing. The lunatic was laughing, and Gray rounded on him, abruptly more furious than mortified. "What is so goddamn funny?!" He stormed back across the cheap imitation hardwood and actually knocked the coffee table aside as he approached the couch.

Face flushed pink and lips swollen from his own teeth, Sparrow looked up at him and gave him another smile. "You!" He chirped, and wiggled his hips like he was seeking a better angle. "You get soooo upset. You get so mad! Come on, name one time it hasn't been fine!"

"Now!" Gray snapped, and pointed at him with one bare hand. "Right NOW, it is not fine, Sebastian!"

Sparrow was still wearing his domino mask, but, even behind the white-out lens, Gray could tell that his eyes had refocused on his finger. His hips wriggled again, and his hand to seemed to slow. Like he was teasing himself. "...Aw. You said my name. That's awfully cute." Throat suddenly dry, Gray took a step back, and stumbled against the crooked coffee table. "It's going to be fine," he added, looking his partner carefully up and down. His hair, the same mottled blend of red and brown and black as his armor, was falling out of place, the sweat dissolving the gel's hold on it. "Because you're right, this is a date rape drug. I can't get myself off, I need help."

Gray tried to answer, but could only manage a faint wheeze as Sparrow licked his lips, bright pink tongue dragging over his excited smile. "Sorry?" He managed on the second try.

"Mmm. Don't be. Come here."

"Nu-uh." Gray said reflexively, and tried to take another step back, only to feel the coffee table still blocking the way. "No way," he added and shuffled to the side to continue retreating. "Not gonna happen." He could not fuck Sparrow. He could definitely not fuck him while--because--"You're drugged!" He added, as his dick continued to insist on being hard.

"Exactly!" Sparrow whined, and thrust his hips as hard as he could into his own hand. His free one, no longer gripping the back of the couch, reached out for his friend. "I'm drugged! By that horrible plant monster you want to kill so bad--"

"I don't wanna kill him, I wanna beat the snot out him until he acts right--"

"--and I need help!" He pouted, which was ridiculous for a man his age, and then he beckoned with two fingers. "C'mon, I'd do it for you."

"C-call one of your--" He started weakly, but cut himself off with a wince. Call one on your friends, Seb! Oh, wait, they're all in hiding, or dead, or locked-up somewhere, or they're the guy that literally did this to you in the first place. Great suggestion, Gray, you fucking ass.

"Gray," Sparrow said, and there was less humor in his voice now. He clenched his teeth, and dragged his hand out of his armor, and sat up on the couch. "Gray," he said again, sweat still rolling down his forehead. "I've been rubbing myself off for like, 45 minutes. Oaken screws with his pollen recipe all the time, and this time? There was like. Zero urge to bang HIM, I just got super horny. I'm prettttttty sure that I need someone else. You know, sex. Not jackin' it. If you want me to find someone who isn't you, I--I probably can? But, that's gonna be super hard while I'm. You know. Actively under the effects of his stupid sex pollen in the first place. Help me out? Please?"

His dick told him to help. So did his brain, which was pointing out that Sparrow was right, he could barely keep his hands out of his pants. Swallowing hard, he furtively glanced at Sparrow's hands, twitching in his own lap, and asked, "Um. What do I do?"

Lighting up, Sparrow reached for him and this time, Gray stepped forward, into his waiting touch. "Ever fucked someone without a dick before?" He sounded cheerful, of all things, as he grabbed Gray by the wrists and pulled him to the couch. Gray let himself be pulled into a seat, and then jumped in surprise as Sparrow straddled him. "Undress me," he added, and started taking off Gray's Starling armor.

"No," he admitted, and started popping the catches and seals on the lightweight body armor. "Never."

"Well, good news! I just need something to bounce on." Sparrow was practically leering as he tossed the chest piece aside and got his first look at Gray's chest. "Oh my god. Do you wax?" Sounding delighted, his hands dropped to Gray's smooth pecs, and Gray's hands faltered on his back as those clever, gentle fingers started to explore. "I'm gonna mark these up," he whispered, and flicked his thumbs over Gray's nipples. "That sound nice, Grumpy?"

"S-Seb--" He wasn't sure what he was trying to say. It might have been let's get this over with before I embarrass myself or it might have been please slow down I've had a crush on you since I was 15 and I want to savor this. Mindlessly, he continued stripping his boss out of his suit. Sparrow, to his delight, did not wax. Dark brown hair covered his chest and stomach, and brilliant scars, like pink and white rivers, criss-crossed them both. "Can...can you feel--" Instead of pulling his pants down, he rubbed his fingertips over Sparrow's nipples, and they moaned in unison.

"Babe," Sparrow said, a small note of warning in his voice, but Gray ignored him and kept touching. "Babe, I'm so not in the mood for teasing." Hands back on Gray's shoulders, he turned them, and shoved Gray down on his back. Their legs tangled, and Gray yanked him into a sloppy kiss. That was pure self-indulgence, and the surprised noise Sparrow let out was going to be fueling his daydreams for a long, long time. For a few minutes, they stayed like that, tongues tangling, crotches grinding together through armor too thick to allow much relief. When Gray grabbed his ass with one hand and squeezed it, Sparrow pulled back, and growled, "No more fucking TEASING. Told you, I need something to bounce on."

Worming a hand down in between them, Gray undid his own belt and shoved his pants down as much as he could. The pieces of armor on his thighs made that pretty damn difficult, unfortunately, but he could pull his cock out. He gave himself a few quick strokes before trying to fumble Sparrow's pants off, and Sparrow kept kissing him. Each dip of his tongue into Gray's mouth felt like a reward.

Frustrated, Sparrow sat up, and Gray panted at him as he tried to get his pants off. Finally, the armor hit the floor beside him, and he was naked except for his mask, and yeah, this felt very familiar. Almost like Gray had been jerking off to that imagine for over a fucking decade. "Bounce on it, then," he said, and wrapped a hand around the base of his cock. Sparrow's own cock, plump and stiff and so fucking sweet looking that it made Gray's mouth water, was twitching above his pussy, which was both dripped and clenching on nothing.

"Hold still." And then Sparrow was sinking down onto his cock, and Gray threw his head back.

"SEB--"

"Oh my god--" Sparrow was whining, and grinding against Gray's hand, which was keeping him from sinking down any further. "You, are, big!" He was laughing again, and Gray moaned, grabbing his thigh with his other hand. "Move--move your--I need--"

"Fuck, fuck, I'm sorry--" He forced his fingers to uncurl from around his dick, and mimicked Sparrow earlier, grabbing the back of the couch. "Seb--" He cut himself off with a high-pitched whined as Sparrow raked his nails down Gray's pecs. Bright red lines of pain burned in their wake, and Sparrow sounded downright feral as he started barking orders.

[eternal-armin]

SO, HOW SHOULD i begin this?

this is the first time i'm going to do a multi-part fic that goes beyond like 2 or 3 parts (rip to the chandelier fic.) bear with me ;;;; but i'm obsessed with everything everywhere and i wanted to do something with the abilities evelyn and joy specifically have. and, of course, the angst that can come from it. looked over this as much as i could but im exhausted so my apologies for any errors ;;;

pairing : five hargreeves x male/transmasc reader [he/him pronouns]

─────

where : five is instantly intrigued by the eighth sparrow, a kid just like himself, which makes him try to seek him out specifically; nothing better than a second opinion about time from another person who knew its intricacies, right? well, he... may have gotten more than he bargained for.

─────

warnings : future mentions of trauma, fighting and injury (specific mentions of choking), existentialism, reader is just exhausted of life and shit in general, future cheesiness and such because i said so, depression, a whole lot of 'if i can bend reality to my will then how much does it really matter' kind of questioning (later on for the most part.)

the disheartening sight of seven other people—ahem, sorry, and one very confusing cube—was made endlessly puzzling by the appearance of a kid behind them. someone who looked five's age. physically, anyway. they both seemed equally entranced by the other; the kid's eyes were wide, his lips slightly parted, as if seeing someone he had been missing for decades. he furrowed his brow a bit, cocking his head, and klaus found himself peering where five glared.

"well, would you look at that? they've got a little brother, too!"

"zip it, klaus," he hissed, though with a certain degree of gentleness in his voice, even excluding the volume he had to use. looking back at the balcony, he was wearing more casual clothes with a sort of... varsity jacket of the sparrow academy's traditional colors and emblems. he was a sparrow, meaning he was born in 1989, meaning he was around thirty years old. so why did he look thirteen? it clicked then, suddenly; his power could have something to do with time. five felt instantly that he needed to speak with him. and if it needed to be done by force, then...

hands crossed neatly over his lap, barely restraining that very obvious agitation, ben chimed in with, "dad, who the hell are these assholes?"

a chorus of "shit" rang out amongst the umbrellas. five stared at him with the same amount of emotion as usual, mostly overrun by confusion, however his sentimentalities ended there. that balcony, barely a few yards from where five stood, held something—someone, rather—that could be an answer to his predicament. or at least help figure out if he could retire or not. if this world was safe enough to stay in. there was a whole host of colorful characters. if he was the sparrows' number eight, what exactly inspired reginald to adopt him as well? or was it just sort of a convenience thing?

luther stepped forward along with klaus. "is that really you?"

no amusement struck ben. if anything, he somehow managed to look more annoyed.

"and who are the weirdos on the balcony!"

"they are the sparrows. my children." reginald's controlled, vaguely irritated voice was such a contrast to diego's harsh tone.

much to five's chagrin this moment was a bit more important than staring at a boy. he turned on his heel, narrowing his eyes at the old man. "i'm sorry, what do you mean your children? that's not possible, old man."

"of course it is! i think i'd know, wouldn't i?"

well. something was very wrong, wasn't it?

the sound of footsteps and shuffling caught his attention and yet again he looked back forward; all of the sparrows once situated haphazardly on the balcony now stood across the tile threshold. the kid was shorter than he expected, in all honesty, and he seemed to be the least serious out of all his siblings—not to say that he looked like he was having fun or that he was laughing, but that he didn't want to fight. he looked like he would avoid it at every cost.

"everyone else can see ben, right?"

"cute hat, sundance."

"they call themselves the umbrella academy," reginald interrupted, "a group of scheming, perfidious malcontents who accosted me in the fall of '63 when i was away on business in dallas. be warned—they claim to be my spawn." all throughout reginald's little schpiel, five and the other kid maintained eye contact, five puzzled at his existence and him puzzled by five's puzzlement. he seemed to find it weird but, oddly enough, he didn't seem weirded out specifically. occasionally five would glance about the rest of the sparrows, gauge them if he could, and when that happened he would sometimes catch the barest glimpse of the kid looking at two of his sisters with confusion.

should i be worried? he was probably thinking to himself.

with five on his opposition? absolutely.

"claim? look, five, what the hell is going on?" allison sounded like she was moments away from boiling over.

"not sure yet, but it's concerning."

"is he telling the truth?" seeming to sense the steadily-rising tensions, the kid started, very slowly, to back away, retreating to the furthest reaches of the carpet before the battle had even begun.

"not the part about us being perfidious." vanya seemed to kind of placate that cowardice in him. maybe he even smiled at vanya.

"no! no, we're amateur-fidious, at best!"

"but we are his children, this is our house."

"yeah, we grew up here."

"yeah, yeah, we grew up here," alphonso mocked, getting a snicker from jayme, however the kid just shot them both a slightly judgmental look.

"i kind of think we would've noticed you," sloane said, to which luther stated his name and offered out his hand. sloane did not accept, really she didn't do a thing, and some whispers broke out amongst her and her little brother, whispers that five couldn't make out.

"okay. none of you belong here."

"oh! well, then. i guess we'll just pack our bags and move out."

christopher babbled and chittered, milking chuckles from his brothers and sisters. five had to say he looked way better smiling than frowning, though he figured it would probably be the same for anyone.

grace came in to the living room, heels click-click-clicking, holding a plate of cookies in her hand and apologizing that she couldn't do better. five couldn't catch the precise details. it was just kind of nice to see her again, even if she was certainly in need of a... few repairs.

"mom." diego's sentimental mumble caught some of the sparrows off-guard. the kid included.

"she's a robot, you perv."

"it's not a robot."

"don't call him that!"

"or what?" ben challenged.

"come closer and find out." bickering broke out between the two families, vanya and marcus actively trying to keep everyone's heads on straight, and five may have lost track of the conversation. until ben threw the first punch, anyway. he ducked back, watching as luther next was flung like a ragdoll across the room, landing on and breaking the poor couch. he saw the boy duck out and wanted to chase but first kept his loyalties, attacking ben and getting lost in a flurry of sharp punches and occasionally-failed dodges.

"you're alive. that's—great, or possibly horrible, i haven't decided yet."

"is that some weird kind of smack talk?"

"it's more of an existential problem, really, ben."

"awesome. well, here's your next problem." with his arms extending back and torso leaning forward, a grimy tentacle quickly burst from his chest, though not fast enough to stop five before he blinked away and onto the balcony.

"y'know, even though you're a total asshat now," five began, rudely cut off by another attack which he yet again evaded with ease. it was easier to land a punch and he watched as ben crashed into the ground. "it's nice to see you again. really." after seeing a particularly disturbing scene between diego and the cube, he stepped in to save allison from a few of the other sparrows, yet again finding himself on the second-floor balcony.

"thanks," allison managed through uneven breaths.

"no problem." both standing up, both dusting themselves off, they saw someone rounding the corner. it was him. still, that look of passive pacifism remained, now somewhat stoic in nature; he didn't want to fight, but he may need to. he was resigning himself to that fact and five could see it in his setting expression. and most importantly, there was also endless loyalty. oh, well.

five furrowed his brow, readjusting his jacket. "go help the others. i'll handle this one."

his new opponent almost seemed to space out, eyes narrowing just a bit as if being flooded by tons of new information. with grace and precision, and certainly speed, he set into a defensive stance. five blinked behind him to try for an attack and it was blocked. he continued to block, evade, block, evade, as fast as five tried to attack. the only sounds he made for a while were little grunts.

every failed punch and every successful block was adding to five's aggravation and his exasperation.

"y'know, five," he said, and hearing him speak for the first time startled five terribly, "delores wouldn't like you fighting like this! i'm not doing anything to you!" that shocked him so bad he misfired a punch but it landed for the first time because of how he went to dodge. he was weaker than five first surmised, falling onto the ground, and five continued to strike him back down until he was pinned and unable to move. he looked enraged, face twisted, eyes wide, teeth bared and gritted, glaring daggers at the kid, who looked to be in quite a bit of pain.

"how do you know my name?!" he barked. "how do you know her name?!" five got no answer and that was endlessly more irritating. the kid slammed his hand onto the ground and grabbed the first thing he could, a small piece of rubble, but five watched as, in those few fractions of seconds, that small piece of debris turned into a metal candlestick.

a metal candlestick.

the moment five saw that, he teleported, reappearing just a few feet away. he pushed off his total confusion; no time. the kid kept the candlestick in his hand when he fumbled to stand, not getting even a moment before five tackled him into a headlock. he didn't think twice about the look of pain on the kid's face because that wasn't exactly imperative and he didn't hesitate at the sounds he made.

the kid raised the candlestick again and five watched in subtle horror as it flitted between many different forms, each punctuated by a small sound and a bit of light. he only recognized a few of those hundred forms before he saw it land, like a wheel of fortune, on a knife and he plunged it down. five jerked out of the way of the blade. even though he had once been so hesitant to fight, so afraid of hurting other people, he seemed finally able to push that away and actually defend himself. he may not have been particularly strong, but he was swift and flexible while wrenching himself out of five's grip and adept at landing hits that would still make five flinch and pause. the kid blocked a punch and the moment that they came in contact with each other, the world around them... changed.

from the slightly destroyed upper floor of the academy house, it became an office building, papers flying about while people panicked about the violent fight between the aisles of cubicles. in that moment of confusion, he landed a hit on five, right in the gut. after a pained second, eyes squeezed tight, he grit his teeth and kept fighting.

the office building had become a high-rise skyscraper that they were fighting on the edge of.

another punch and they were on the deck of a cruise ship.

another block and they were in a spanning parking garage. the kid advanced and forced five to back up, closer to the edge of the space, and certainly to a painful fall. he continued to evade every attempted hit, no matter how five had calculated them, before pouncing on him and shoving him right out of the concrete monolith, plummeting down toward the ground along with him.

"how the hell are you doing this?!" five shouted, voice swallowed up by the shouting winds. he grabbed his shirt, bunching up his collar tight enough to cut off his breathing. the panic in his eyes welled up very quick.

and then they were back. instead of hitting the hard pavement ground, five lost all the air in his lungs when he thudded onto the carpeted academy floor, gasping for a second as the kid scrambled away from him, coughing and wheezing.

five hadn't even strangled him for that long, what the hell?

five forced himself to sit, to stand, shooting the glare to end all glares at the boy across from him—however he didn't attack yet. after all the disorientation he felt from those few... transitions, he wanted to keel over and vomit. he was in no condition to fight. luckily, however, neither was his opponent.

killing the kid would not get five his answers, no matter how badly he wanted to do it.

the kid was on the ground, propping himself up on one of his hands, his entire body seeming wracked by pained, nauseated tremors. he looked to be heaving, expression conflicted, exhausted beyond exhausted. he held his head the way one would when suffering from a bad headache.

his question went unanswered, which just served to annoy five further. "are you a time traveler or something? no. a multiversal traveler? do you work with the commission? that's the only possibility i can think of." knowing about delores, knowing about his name, certainly knowing his past, instantly transporting both of them to different places, it could all connect to multiversal travel.

but that spacing out part, before he could dodge like some highly trained professional, and that debris-to-candlestick-to-knife part? those still kind of puzzled him.

the kid wrinkled his nose. "that's the only possibility? you've got a narrow range." for someone who sounded so pained and exhausted, he could manage some mouthiness. somehow he sounded more genuine than sarcastic, though. strange. what about him wasn't?

five's eye twitched and his lips pressed hard into a scowl. "a narrow range? a narrow range? my 'range' isn't narrow! i've seen so many possibilities unfold! do you even know what i had to do to get here?" his words hissed with pure venom. that didn't faze his opponent, even whilst he jabbed an accusatory finger at him, as though somehow this was his fault.

"i do, actually," he managed, although still short of breath. "you got trapped in the apocalypse for a few decades, offered a deal from the commission, broke your contract with them and became a fugitive, got back to your family, and have been trying to evade apocalypses ever since. third time's the charm, right, five?" he recounted it all with the cadence and sensitivity of a history teacher summarizing an important, yet complicated, period of time.

"how could you possibly know—stop calling me that! how are you able to do any of this!"

"i'm not gonna stop calling you by your name." he laughed through his words. he laughed.

"is my exasperation funny to you?"

"i-i mean, kinda! do you know how many ways i've seen this conversation going?" five stilled like a statue. "this was the most common outcome. well, uhm, aside from you just killing me. it's just a little funny how you always react the same way." he shrugged a bit, as though this was simply some high school gossip, and not (one of) the most puzzling thing that five had ever been exposed to.

"look," five began, trying to steady himself. "if you don't tell me how you know about me—how you know about delores—this will become a timeline where i kill you. okay? capiche?"

he raised his hands in surrender. they shook. "capiche, five."

"stop. calling me that."

"to even the playing field, i'm [y/n]. there." he sat forward, resting his elbows on his knees, checking his hands. yet again he seemed to space out, just for a moment this time, before going through a grounding technique. he looked determined now, not as tired as before, though it did remain rather clearly in his eyes. [y/n] was just a kid again. he looked like a pathetic, sick kitten. "it's my power. i was born like this. you travel through space and time, i travel through reality. all of reality. alternate universes, as you know them. close by, far away, ones almost exactly the same and some with very distinctive evolutionary branches. the further away the world, the... stranger they get. i can see literally any possibility. so i—i fucking know you, five. i know you. i know your brothers and your sister and your in-laws and your niece and every other niece or nephew you could've had. there are so, so many worlds where i was an umbrella, or your friend, or stuck with you in the apocalypse, or... something like that. that's how i know you, and know delores. i was there."

sister, singular?

fuck, why was that his first take-away?

five narrowed his eyes slightly. "you can see every alternate universe," he said, slowly, as if clarifying something to [y/n] when he really needed the clarification for himself.

he nodded. "use them, too."

"use...?"

[y/n] broke into a little smile. his answer remained unknown because their restrained conversation was interrupted by one of [y/n]'s sisters. just one glance and his smile disappeared, staring at five with now-widened eyes, mouthing something along the lines of 'get the fuck out.'

five didn't need to be told twice. a flit of light and he had disappeared to who-the-hell-knows-where.

"who the hell was that creep," jayme mumbled, watching as [y/n] stumbled to his feet and dusted himself off. she grabbed him by the scruff of his jacket out of instinct to make sure he didn't fall over.

"uh... someone pretty interesting," [y/n] said, staring at where he'd once been, the flash of bright light still burned into his eyes. he wanted to find him. maybe needed to find him. probably because something in the world was very wrong, even if no other timeline had figured it out yet.

if any of the umbrellas knew where to hide out, it would probably be klaus, right? simple solution. kind of. as long as he could sneak out undetected by his siblings.

a good bit of time had passed when you finally had the chance to scope out the hotel obsidian. you had changed into something more casual and lowkey, sunglasses now balanced atop your nose and a nice light scarf about your neck. music played over your headphones and you wandered inside of the place, stricken with the sight of heavy art deco. it was rather nice, actually, when you took the time to appreciate it. then again, your mind was rather preoccupied with what was probably a very big deal. on the other side of the lobby, in the little bar and lounge area, you could spot a few of the hargreeves siblings. most notably five, now wearing a white bathrobe. soon his eyes glanced to you and you could feel his gaze sharpen. he looked back at his brothers and excused himself, stepping off the stool and teleporting to you before his feet hit the ground.

"what are you doing here," he hissed through gritted teeth.

"i mean, our conversation got cut off earlier. seemed right to continue it, y'know?"

five looked back at his brothers and then at you once more. klaus was staring after him but you didn't know if he recognized you; luther and diego were still totally enraptured in their chinese food.

the look on five's face told you a whole lot; it was critical to him to talk with you, figure things out, because he guessed—and guessed right—that you weren't just here to politely finish a conversation. something weird was going on, whether he wanted to know or not. "alright. okay. fine. just," he grasped your shoulder after a second and then you were both gone, reappearing instantaneously in a room you assumed to be five's. small cot in the corner, bunk bed opposite, and a couch.

god, you wanted to throw up. you clutched your stomach, squeezing your eyes shut for a minute.

he crossed his arms and looked at you. "so where exactly did we leave off?"

you paused to scrub your mind, trying to recall. a few blinks broke the few seconds of spacing out. usually you weren't this forgetful, but, uh, today was an interesting one. "i said i can use those universes and that confused you. and then jayme came around and i told you to leave."

"right," five muttered. "what exactly did you mean by that?"

"well, obviously i can use them for information." your voice was somewhat soft, actually, which was mighty strange to him.

"hmph. how could i forget." five's flat voice was thick with sarcasm.

you managed a smile. "but i can also use them for skills and stuff. the dodging, earlier; i can't really do that here. there's a world where i star in fighting movies and stuff, where i'm good at dodging and i'm fast and flexible, and i can... link my mind, i guess, and use those skills. and the... the candlestick. knife. thing. i can change things to whatever another me is holding. i can change my clothes. i can change reality."

"so, in essence, your mind is able to find every other instance of you across time and space and access them? and... communicate with them, i suppose, in some way or another."

you shrugged a bit. "about explains it. but the—... can i ask you something?" you suddenly sounded sheepish, hesitant, like you were constantly rethinking what you were about to say. five furrowed his brow, a little surprised to see that look on your face, and he really didn't like it.

"depends on what that something is," he responded, speaking cautiously.

you found yourself spacing out again, but this time not to access some alternate plane of existence. every other universe had its own noise, and every other universe was persistently audible; that loud buzz was starting to give you yet another headache. it was probably possible to overdose on tylenol, right? suddenly that constant look of exhaustion on your face was even more obvious to five. for a moment, he seemed almost sympathetic to that. he could certainly understand it, at the very least. "you've got about twenty-eight years of experience on me," you began, forcing your voice to be steady. "do you have any clue how to deal with the, uhm, existential part of it all?" lightheartedness seemed to be a skill of yours. five could respect it.

you doubted, sincerely doubted, that there could be anything in the world to help you from the persistent noise. or from the pain and exhaustion of swatting from world to world to world in the span of thirty seconds during a fight. it was a wonder you were still walking.

"why should i help you with that, exactly? your family tried to kill mine."

"i didn't try to kill anyone. i hid upstairs the entire time. well, uh, almost the entire time. i can be an ally to you guys. i'd... prefer to be allied with you guys." if anyone else in the world knew about the ins and outs of the umbrella academy, five had no doubt in his mind that it would be you and your presumably-torturous ability. it would probably be a smart idea on their side as well, to ally with you.

"before i agree to help you at all, how can i be sure your family isn't using you as some sort of... puppet? some sort of inside man?"

you shrugged a bit after a second. "i wouldn't be a very good choice."

"seriously? do you think i'm stupid or something?"

you crossed your arms, looking at him with narrowed eyes. "no. i know you aren't stupid. and i'm pretty sure that your first choice wouldn't be a 'weak thirteen-year-old kid with a power that cripples him with headaches and exhaustion whenever he uses it,' either. not to mention that said kid can't hear what's going on sometimes because of literally every other sound in the expansive multiverse." the words were sarcastic but the tone was very genuine, almost excruciatingly so.

"i have... so many more questions now."

you shrugged a bit. "i can answer some of them, i guess." considering that you knew almost all the ins and outs of his life, it seemed only fair to share some of yours. you were too tired to steer the conversation back to why you had came. perhaps you'd already forgotten it.

"why exactly are you thirteen? you were born in 1989, you had to be."

"... i chose to stay this age."

"how can you just choose to stay that age?" exasperation met with confusion in a very strange voice of five's. even after all he'd gone through and learned, you were just springing question marks all over the place. god damnit.

"i can manipulate almost every aspect of reality, five," you said, softly, in response. "it's not out of the realm of possibility to stay thirteen. not for me."

five nodded slightly after a second. that nod steadily turned into a shake of his head. "jesus—i should've grabbed some coffee." he pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. "just give me a second."

"oh. uh, no need." glancing about the room, there was a small corner table, atop it an ice bucket and some plastic cups for water. he watched, for some reason a bit puzzled, as you placed your hands on it. spaced out. and it flitted to a fresh coffee pot and a mug. they seemed like something from a diner.

well, that would make sense, wouldn't it?

you poured him a cup and handed it, still steaming, over to him.

five scowled a bit, staring down at the filled mug, before his sharp gaze landed on you again.

"it's just coffee, five. it's not poisoned or anything. here." you plucked it back out of his grasp and took a sip, waited a few seconds, and handed it back. "see? you're fine."

after a second, he nodded. "right." he didn't find himself bothered by drinking from the same mug you had. he'd done a lot worse things, hadn't he?

"so... what were those other questions?"

after taking a few healthy swigs, he cleared his throat. "your ability—it really taxes you? even after all these years?" five would never admit it, but the coffee was pretty goddamn good. whatever diner your alternate-self worked in was worth a visit, if it existed in this world. "is that why you were shaking and panting so much earlier?"

you felt a bit embarrassed. "yeah," you mumbled. "i trained with it a lot, but, i wasn't very strong to begin with." you sat down carefully on the sofa, pulling a bottle of painkillers from your coat pocket.

"when's the last time you had a dose?" five asked, mug to his lips, shooting you a side-eye.

"... maybe three hours ago. why?"

he clicked his tongue and shook his head, plucking the bottle out of your hands. "not now, then."

"dude! what the hell! i-i need those!"

"well, i can't keep asking questions to someone sick from taking too much tylenol. and you can wait three hours."

you groaned but didn't complain, just settling back against the comfortable cushions. "fine. i'll wait." and you mumbled 'you're just like sloane' under your breath.

"good," he mumbled, sitting down beside you after tossing the pills onto his bed. "you said you could hear every sound in the multiverse. something tells me that isn't a hyperbole."

you nodded a bit and slouched down, trying to figure out a decent analogy. "when you remove a door from its threshold, you can always hear what's on the other side, unless you actively tune it out. just, for me, there were never doors. it was always like this. every single feasible universe is out there, fighting for my attention, almost every waking moment." you recounted with a deep sort of mourning. five couldn't blame you, he supposed. you had been robbed of silence, of pure solitude, of privacy. his heart almost ached for you.

had you been born with the doors off their frames? he wanted to ask, he really wanted to ask, but it was probably going to be way too... private of a thing. personal. from what he could tell.

"and i thought wrangling that crowd of toddlers was bad. i can't imagine hearing everything they do, everywhere, constantly," he mused.

you cracked a smile. it had been a while since you were able to joke around with someone, even if that someone had interrogated you like a police investigator. "oh, it's the worst," you giggled, and he laughed along. "i mean, it's bad enough knowing what your brothers do into their socks, it's even worse to walk in on them over, like, over two thousand times."

"i've known you for a very short period of time, but something tells me that's the worst thing you've ever said."

for someone in a very persistent and terrible bout of pain, your laugh, and your smile, were incredibly bright. five couldn't really say that he was expecting this when first appearing in the umbre—ahem. in the sparrow academy building, but he wasn't exactly complaining. this could be nice. he really hoped it would be, anyway.

silence fell on you two for a while. the overbearing static was starting to edge back in now that you had nothing more to say. the pain was ebbing.

"... something's wrong." you sounded deadly serious, it was horrifying.

"s—sorry?" five felt like he had whiplash after such an extreme diversion from the topic.

you seemed to be fighting that urge to space out a whole lot more. this was important, you needed to stay on track, and yet your stress was doing exactly the opposite of tunnel vision. shit.

five noticed; and he kind of needed you to talk, as fast as possible, so reached out and pinched your neck, successfully getting you to tense and wake up, in some sense of the words. offense was replaced with gratitude in your eyes. "i don't know exactly what. no other universe has figured it out. but you aren't supposed to be here, this isn't your timeline, that's—a very big problem. it could potentially 'rip a hole in space and time.'" five muttered along with you, cussing and hanging his head.

"why didn't you say this first?" he hissed.

"i'm sorry!" you sounded very genuine and he felt rather bad. "i-i—the interrogation and then the pain and then the... getting along with you, i forgot." it was another world, some utterance of 'not normal yet' that brought the thought back to you.

your voice was cracking. you felt far worse than five could ever make you feel.

"... it's fine. it's fine."

"it very much isn't. you know that."

five knew it all too well. he groaned, pinched the bridge of his nose, and downed the rest of his coffee. "fantastic."

"i mean, it may be a problem we can solve." you shot him a smile, a tired and weak little thing, but it did comfort him a bit.

"the universe will really mind if seven dumbasses stick around?" his humor had soured, but it was still there. you felt very guilty, unable to look him in his eyes, shoulders slouched as if defeated in some great thing.

"she's a stickler for rules."

"hmph." he scowled a full-face scowl. "no retirement yet, i guess."

out of all the things you could ever have seen, heard, felt, and known, one thing seemed... important. emotionally, anyway. "if it's, uhm, any consolation... retirement did look good on you, by the way."

he couldn't help but smile a bit. somewhere out there was a world where you and five were friends well into his retirement, be that at his confusing age or his chronological age from 1989, where he was happily retired with no time-threatening anomalous issues to draw him out. even if he was bound to die in this timeline, there was some comfort in knowing many other timelines saw him content. "i'll take your word for it."

[stackofpossums]

Could I get a Hc for how the M6 would react to finding out Mc's past is worse than they thought? Like finding the shop is the point their life goes from awful to okay to eventually great. Before then? You can leave it as vague as you'd like.

(I have an Mc who was an executioner/pet similar but different from Muriels executioner/gladiator role being Their scars are from the person in charge and all their opponents were never given a chance. Another Mc who tried to live up to others expectations for him. Eventually forced to leave his home or die at 10 because his sister tried to murder him for a power he didn't even want. My third Mc who had abusive parents and learned from a passing by sparrow that they need to run away to save themselves.

What if before the shop Mc's life was actually horrible? So like to the point they never told anyone, not even Asra. Only telling stories about after they had moved to the shop to live with their aunt.)

I just finished a big assignment so Mc who has a dark past let's go:

Asra: He already knew MC past was dark and was kind of glad they didn't have to remember that when they lost their memories. Then they got their memory back. And oh. OH. He never knew it was this bad. At first, he's a little upset that MC never felt safe enough to confide in him. He quickly realizes, "No, it wasn't him." He's grateful MC chose to confide in him now, and he's going to do everything in his power to support them. He'll hold them and comfort them while they talk if MC is comfortable with that. The salamander has already lit the stove so he can brew some calming tea. Therapy has been scheduled. He is fully committed to helping MC heal as much as possible, mostly out of love, but there's a tiny part of him that feels guilty for not knowing sooner.

Julian: He thought he had it bad. He didn't know it could be this bad. He may be a doctor, but... for quite possibly the first time in his life, he knows he isn't qualified to fix this. He's gonna set MC up with the best mental health care. Until then, he's going to attempt to theraptize them himself. He encourages MC to talk not only about their past but also about how it made them feel, how they're feeling now, what challenges they are having, and anything and everything else they want to share. He's going to respond with hella words of affirmation, making sure MC knows how much he cares about them and that their safe now.

Nadia: Patiently listens to MC's story, no matter how gruesome the details are. She'll hold them tightly when it becomes too much for them to bear. There are no words to describe the hurt she feels for them to her very core. Afterward, she is setting them up with the best mental health support money can buy. Only the best therapists, medications, if MC wants to try them, or anything else. Anything MC thinks will help them is theirs. No expense is too great for her beloved MC. She's pretty venengeful, though. It'll be tough to convince her not to make the lives of anyone who's made MC suffer hell. She'll relent eventually, though, because she's knows if MC doesn't want that, it won't be helpful.

Muriel: Out everyone here, he understands it the most. It's a little hard for him to listen sometimes because he remembers times in his life where he felt just as hopeless as MC. He's here for MC, though, and makes it his mission to make sure MC NEVER feels that way again. He shares the techniques he's found for dealing with trauma, as well as helps MC find what works for them. He pushes them to keep going when he notices they are struggling. He comforts them when it's too much. He celebrates with them for every challenge they overcome, no matter how "small." It's the least he can do for them after everything they've done for him.

Portia: When MC first opens up about their past, their a bit afraid they're going to get squeezed to death by Portia's hugs. She's the other LI mostly likey to try to go after the people's who hurt her precious MC, she solves problems with fists flying. But that's okay. She's sneaky. She's going to make sure anyone who hurt MC wakes up to a fun surprise. Other than that, MC can always count on Portia for a listening ear. She will comfort MC through any story they need to tell and wants to help them find closure however she can.

Lucio: Oh. Oh no. No one gets to hurt his MC. No one. Who shall he defeat in battle for you? That won't help? Oh... well... what can he do? Lucio would do ANYTHING to make things better for MC. Just say the word. Hugs, he's here. No hugs? That's fine, too. He's here to listen. He knows a thing or two about unpleasant pasts. But you have each other now. MC has had his back despite everything he's done. It would be criminal not to do the same.

[brothermoth]

Big fan of the "Marxist" feminists who just .... don't know what Marxism is. Like y'all, you have to have faith in the inherent ability of humanity to coexist and form community in order to be an actual Marxist. I can't fathom how any form of exclusionism or radical "feminism" that claims men are inherently aggressors can possibly be Marxist in any shape or form. You can't just have communism for some people and not others. Community is in the goddamn name (you also have to be nice to people to foster community. I've never met a self proclaimed Marxist who was willing to be a compassionate and patient person).

Also can someone explain to me how you can claim to be an anarchist and be anti porn? How do you fucking enforce that??? Oh so you want the government that you hate to decide what porn is? You really think those people should have that power? What is porn....consider what would be included under a ban. Goodbye to your Mommy's bodice ripper collection because that's porn, unfortunately (porn is a very vague term and no government should be given the reins to define it).

Some of you (many of you) parrot leftist ideas without any spine to them. You have no plans for the future, no concrete plans to actually bring about this change without fucking everyone over. Yeah sure, anarchy!!!! What happens to my 85 year old grandmother on social security when you overthrow the government? {I think anarchism is stupid as hell but I appreciate the aesthetic at least}

Who enforces your ideas? What happens to the systems put in place? How will your programs be funded and where will the funds go, what percentage goes to employees? What positions are needed? How many people are needed to enforce this?

Don't even get me started on "radical feminism" lmao that trough of pig slop is about as feminist as Margaret fucking Thatcher.

If bodily autonomy for EVERYONE is not at the forefront of your feminism then you're a christofascist pawn and you're a pathetic fuck sucking off the teat of actual feminism like a goddamn magpie in a sparrow nest.

--

You can hold very leftist ideas while understanding that progress is a snails pace. You have to ease society into these things, you can't just have a revolution and wipe the slate clean. That worked out real well for France, hmm?

[insipid-drivel]

Personality Ratings Of The Birds That Visit My Bird Feeders

I have the beginnings of a little bird/pollinator garden outside of my bedroom window. It's nothing to show off yet, but I have a pretty big variety of regulars. And, like any bartender, I've come to silently judge them all from afar. Here are my ratings of my local Seed Bastards:

Dark-Eyed Junco:

Bastard Rating: 4/10 They take no shit and don't mind continuing to eat within about 10' of me when I'm actively working outside. Mostly bogart the feeders through numbers rather than actual bastardy. They go berserk for sunflower seeds and shelled peanuts. Don't scare easy but also aren't terribly interested in getting into it with the other birds.

House Finch:

Bastard Rating: 7/10 Refuses to share feeders. Chases other birds except their wives from the feeders, and will fully "nest" on tray feeders so their fat asses block the other birds from getting any from the feeder. I vaguely suspect they're racist toward the other birds because they'll only allow other house finches to eat from the feeders they're squatting in. At the same time, I've seen males feeding other males. Possible problematic queer icons. More review needed.

Chestnut-Backed Chickadee:

Bastard Rating: 5/10 Too tiny to really pose much of a territorial issue, but kinda remind me of flying chihuahuas. They mind their own business when they can, but will not hesitate to throw hands with other birds over either the sunflower feeder or suet cake. Generally don't hold grudges and stay in their lanes, until it comes to suet cakes.

Golden-Crowned Sparrow:

Bastard Rating: 2/10 Hang out in pretty big numbers, but otherwise mind their own business and eat when the other birds aren't taking up the feeders. They prefer the ground feeders. They're generally pretty chill. Their only true crimes are their systematic massacres of my supplies of black oil sunflower seeds.

Varied Thrush:

Bastard Rating: 0/10 Competes with Spotted Towhees in terms of raw cunt-serving power, both my cat and I get all kinds of tingly when this thot shows up. Yeah, he knows you're staring. He knows how good he looks. He's the flashiest bitch on the block. Robins? Dowdy Catholic school kids. Goldfinches? All color, no drama. This magnificent slut is here to slay.

Spotted Towhee:

Bastard Rating: 4/10 The hot goth vampire kid in high school you're 99% has their own OF account. Professionally Round. Uses his phat ass to own the runway (and my feeders) next to his frumpy competition. Is secretly a complete nerd. Basically if Laszlo Cravensworth was a bird.

Pine Siskin:

Bastard Rating: 9/10 This barely-there wannabe-goldfinch would apply lube to the bottom of your heels on Drag Night. The Heelies of the bird world; never truly cool but grasping at any legitimacy he can get. Nobody appreciates plagiarism. And ugh, he couldn't even be bothered to finish blending. What a rank slag. Get off my stage and learn how to work, bitch.

Black-Capped Chickadee:

Bastard Rating: 11/10 DO NOT BE DECEIVED BY THEIR ROUND CUTENESS. These little fuckers are the gangbangers of the forest. Subsist on raw suet cake and spite. They're consistently possessed with the rage of a lust-addled Klingon woman. What the fuck are you doing at their suet cake? God help you, if you're at their suet cake, they will c u t y o u.

Song Sparrow:

Bastard Rating: -1/10 Babygirl. Precious. Just wants to sit on the edge of the gutters or the top of the feeders and make it as independent folk singers. Probably resort to posting hole from time to time to make end's meet. Always eat last because it's all love, my brothers in Christ.

Anna's Hummingbird:

Bastard Rating: 9/10 While they may have cool optical illusions when it comes to their holographic feathers, they verbally abuse me every time I refill the feeder and it hurts my feelings :(

Rufous Hummingbird:

Bastard Rating: 1/10 Shy bois. They stay out of the way until they're sure I've gone back inside before they'll visit the feeders. Generally loners.

Ruby-Throated Hummingbird:

Bastard Rating: 3/10 Generally the It Girls of the bird world. You know your garden is officially making it when these start showing up. They know they're the most popular but generally try to stay grounded about it. Will sometimes hang out and chat while the hummingbird feeder is being refilled. Used to scare me as a kid because my sister convinced me they'd try to stab their beaks into acne spots. While untrue, they don't have much of a sense of personal space.

Mourning Dove:

Bastard Rating: 1/10 Generally only bother the other birds because they're fat and eat in groups big enough to make it hard for the other birds to get at the seed on the ground. Sing beautifully. Makes Hatoful Boyfriend kind of make sense. Ngl kinda wanna befriend one. Confuse me a little bit whenever I see them because I live in a swamp and didn't expect to find any doves out here.

Stellar's goddamned Jay:

Bastard Rating: WHAT DO I HAVE TO DO?!/FUCK I KNOW THE SUNFLOWER DISPENSER JIGGLES WHEN YOU TRY TO FLY YOUR FAT ASS INTO IT. NO, I CANNOT MAKE THE FEEDER POLE STOP WIGGLING WHEN YOU PARK YOUR WIDE LOAD ON TOP OF IT. GDI I BOUGHT PEANUTS FOR YOU. STOP IMITATING A SHRIEKING HAWK TO SCARE AWAY THE OTHER BIRDS AND LEARN TO SHARE YOU ABSOLUTE TWAT.

[throwawayasoiafaccount]

honestly, the more i think about it the more certain i become that winds of winter and specifically the kings landing plot/vale/gc plot will significantly parallel the dance of the dragons (mainly the end of the dance).

others have already made great metas on this lol

i think cersei’s downfall will resemble alicent’s. im sad but certain that both tommen and myrcella will be killed (maybe paralleling aegon and rhaenys deaths?). i’m kind of hoping the sand snakes will go through character development and not choose revenge… but i kind of doubt it. i’m sure that cersei will definitely break down even further tho. that’ll be interesting and horrifying to read.

tommen will certainly die first, leading to myrcella being crowned. i think it’s likely that tommen is killed by the sand snakes, but i think myrcella will be killed during the fall of kings landing to (f)aegon. i wonder if the sand snakes try protecting her and fail?

i highly doubt that dorne is going to join (f)aegon. i think arianne will see the truth and will be able to successfully maneuver her way back to dorne. (tho i think she’ll have a run in with aurane which would be cool to read). however, (f)aegon will think that arianne is on his side. i’m worried that lady lance wont leave with the dornish party tho…

anyways, after the fall of kings landing cersei will likely be locked up as she won’t be considered a threat. but this won’t be enough to stop the crazy that will be childless cersei.

the high sparrow will certainly support (f)aegon.

i’m 50/50 on whether margaery marries again. i am worried that margaery will get jaehaera’d :/. i think it’s certain that she’ll be held hostage tho. what if she goes the helaena route… yikes… that’s a sad thought.

at this point in time i think the starks will hold winterfell once again and the freys will have be destroyed. the tullys will probably hold the riverlands again.

euron will be causing absolute havoc in the reach.

i think the vale plot in winds will resemble what happens during the dance. harry and robin will both probably die, so i think littlefinger, who’d be in trouble at that point, would try to gain power through sansa. so i think the knights of the vale will make their way to kings landing with sansa with the intent of making her queen.

this is where the tourney at ashford theory comes into play. though jonsas have it completely wrong, as (f)aegon will be the one taking the place of prince valarr. i’m a bit iffy about sansa marrying (f)aegon due to sansa’s marriage to tyrion… but it could be annulled i suppose? but would the high sparrow do that? i think it’s possible.

i wonder what will happen to trystane and the sand snakes tho? i do think that the sand snakes are savvy enough to be able to escape on their own but trystane worries me :(. and he’s gonna be devastated by myrcellas death.

anyways if the plot does move in this direction then i totally expect to read many littlefinger vs varys showdowns.

this will definitely be a false dawn tho. euron will likely be making his way to kings landing and i’m fairly certain that he will sit on the iron throne at some point. bet this is when cersei is able to rise again.

i’ll admit that this prediction for winds has many holes in it. i may be misremembering some stuff as well and i likely haven’t considered all variables either, so take everything i just stated as a vague prediction.

some questions i’m asking myself rn lol: would the tyrell army go down that easily (or maybe varys friends in the reach will help the golden company win the battle?)? will sweet robin really die :(? baelish won’t be able to try and take back the north bc the starks will hold it once again, and going north would mean definitely giving up his hold over sansa… so wouldn’t trying to make sansa the new queen make more sense? since he’d still be able to isolate her and she’d likely need to depend on him? but wouldn’t going to kings landing again be dangerous for him? well if his and varys interests line up then maybe not… but would the knights of the vale follow him? i guess if both harry and robin died then they’d be totally lost too…

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Sparrow’s Guide To Meditation BY SPARROW JANUARY 2020

The Sun

I HAVE MEDITATED twice a day virtually every day since 1974. That means I have spent approximately twenty-two solid months of my life in meditation. This alone qualifies me to write this guide.

EARLY IN MY meditation career, I scrupulously filled out a daily chart supplied by my meditation group, the Ananda Marga Society. For some reason I vividly remember these charts. In the late 1970s I would sometimes miss an evening meditation, I am ashamed to say. I would go to a party, get home at two in the morning, and fall asleep. But since 1980 I have meditated twice a day without fail. If I leave a party at two in the morning now, I meditate on the subway or force myself to sit for fifteen minutes before sleep. (Though I always meditate before bed, I procrastinate my morning sitting as long as possible — sometimes until 6 PM.)

I AM PROUD of my consistent meditation practice, but you need not be so obsessive. You may meditate for three minutes, skip a week, then meditate on a Thursday for five minutes. Be a rebel! Consistency is a virtue of bureaucrats, not mystics.

I FIND MEDITATION slightly excruciating, to be honest. It’s boring, frustrating — humiliating, actually. And even after forty-five years I can’t seem to “still” my mind.

So why pursue this treacherous path? For one thing, I’d be too embarrassed to stop. For another, I’m addicted to it. If I put off my first meditation until evening, I get a strange sensation in my brain, as if it were filled with styrofoam; as if all the images I’ve seen that day have cluttered up my head. After I finally do my meditation, I open my eyes and feel … normal. This is quite similar to how junkies describe heroin addiction. At first you feel an extraordinary high, but after two years you take the drug just to stop feeling awful.

MY GOAL FOR this guide is not to offer detailed, step-by-step instructions. (Luckily, Meditation for Dummies and The Complete Idiot’s Guide to Meditation both exist.) But here are the basics:

Sit comfortably, either in a chair or cross-legged on the floor. (You may wish to use a firm cushion.) Try to keep your spine as straight as possible, without being rigid. Close your eyes. Pay attention to your breathing, noticing the breath entering and leaving your nostrils (or your mouth, if that’s how you breathe). You’re not trying to breathe slowly — or quickly, for that matter — just noticing the flow of air in and out. After three or four minutes, stop. Unless you’re desperate to keep meditating; then go for as long as you like.

How was it? Sometimes the first sitting is extremely powerful. Most of the time it’s about as memorable as using an ATM.

QUITE POSSIBLY YOU shouldn’t meditate. But if you’re determined to try, it’s not terribly difficult. Just expect to waste time twice a day, and you’ll do fine.

MEDITATION TEACHES THAT change is constant. You fool yourself into believing that you are a fixed entity, but you are not. You are a river of transforming whims. This sounds like some Buddhist abstraction, but if you actually try to meditate, even for three minutes, you’ll discover that it’s true.

WHILE YOUR EYES are closed in meditation, you don’t actually exist. Your body has disappeared. Your social identity is gone. What’s left? Not much. Just a puddle of anxieties and a vague sense of continuity. You believe these disparate thoughts are coming from your “self,” but are they? Maybe they are somehow being placed in your mind by a creepy professor with a mind-control machine! Try not to think about this. It may lead to insanity. (There is a small danger of going insane from meditating too much, but your constant inability to concentrate will modulate that threat.)

MEDITATION TEACHES HUMILITY and patience, because you must constantly confront that most disappointing person: yourself.

THE INEVITABILITY OF failure is the main lesson of meditation. It is preparation for all the other failures in your life.

I SIT MUCH more today than I did in 1974, but I don’t feel that I’m making progress. If anything, I seem to be slightly more distracted. The only difference is in how I react to a crisis: If a subway train stops in a tunnel, I just pull out a book and read. If a fight breaks out in a bar, I don’t panic — or, at least, everyone around me panics more. Perhaps meditation teaches us to differentiate between problems we can solve and problems we can’t.

IN THE EARLY 1990s I met the poet Thaddeus Rutkowski in the East Village of Manhattan. We discovered that we had both attended Cornell University at the same time. In fact, we’d lived in the same dorm, Sperry Hall. Thaddeus, who has a remarkable memory, began naming residents of the hall, most of whom I’d forgotten.

“Did you know Mike Motel?” he inquired.

“I was Mike Motel,” I replied. That was the name I went by in college.

“But you’re nothing like him!” Thaddeus remarked. “He was a nervous, hyper guy, and you’re very calm and relaxed.”

This is the one piece of evidence I have that meditation works.

SOME BOOKS ON meditation imply that you’ll quickly stumble upon inner peacefulness. Actually the precise opposite is true. You may think you’re a fairly calm, centered person, but the minute you cross your legs and attempt to count your breaths, you’ll discover there’s an out-of-control 2 AM disco inside you — in fact, two discos, each playing separate songs at ear-splitting volume, each filled with frantic dancers in mismatched polyester.

MEDITATION IS SLOW — as slow as the moon crossing the sky. If you want to change quickly, use drugs.

THIRTY YEARS AGO I went to the beach with my parents, my sister, and my brother-in-law. At one point I sat in the sand and meditated. Afterward my brother-in-law said, “That was amazing! A volleyball player ran into you, and you didn’t even notice.”

“I felt someone brush by me,” I replied.

“No, that guy ran right into you!”

Maybe I actually am good at meditation, I thought.

AFTER WE REACH our forties, we begin to notice how swiftly time passes. We can’t slow its relentless pace, but with meditation we can come close. When you sit in silence with eyes closed, an hour can become seven, or occasionally open into a spacious eternity.

THERE IS A deep and hideous truth that we all spend our lives avoiding. That’s why we constantly chatter with friends, go to Lakers games, and spend hours on Facebook: we’re desperate to distract ourselves from this one heartless fact.

Meditation asks: Suppose we stop running from the nameless demon. Suppose we turn and behold its twisted, ugly face. What will happen?

OF THOSE WHO practice meditation, some give up, because trying to still the mind is futile and absurd. Others continue meditating, because trying to still the mind is futile and absurd, but they have a taste for absurdity.

IN 1984 MY girlfriend broke up with me. Devastated, I went to a Benedictine monastery near Elmira, New York, and meditated almost continually for two days. Was it better than weeping? I don’t know. I’m not very good at weeping. If I’m really miserable, I may cry two tears. This is the problem with being an American male.

MY WIFE AND I met at a poetry workshop in the East Village in 1985. The group met every Saturday from September until May. One day Violet and I both arrived early. We were the only ones in the room and sat on opposite sides of the table. For no apparent reason, we stared wordlessly into each other’s eyes, descending into infinite silence. This is a type of meditation called traspaso, because it “trespasses” the ego boundaries. Violet and I were not particularly friendly before that, but we’ve now been married twenty-eight years. This is the sort of bond wordless concentration can create.

MEDITATION IS A lot like marriage: You begin in pursuit of ecstasy and eventually settle for mild contentment. After twenty years you realize that contentment itself is a kind of ecstasy.

ONCE YOU COMMIT yourself to a meditation session, the room’s temperature suddenly becomes evident. You notice that you’re uncomfortably chilly or hot. But is it so unpleasant that you should stop meditating and get a sweater, or remove a sweater? A dialogue begins between the part of you that’s meditating and the part of you that’s never meditating:

Meditator: I’ll be all right.

Nonmeditator: You’ll catch a cold! You’ll regret this for two weeks!

Meditator: You worry about everything.

Nonmeditator: You worry about nothing.

Meditator: I’m not supposed to be worrying. I’m supposed to be meditating. [Grows silent.]

Nonmeditator: You’ll catch a cold.

Meditator: Shut up!

IN MEDITATION YOU become vividly aware of breathing. The rest of the time we don’t notice our inhalations and exhalations, but closing the eyes brings this mostly involuntary action to the forefront of awareness. Breathing is a quiet internal labor that never ceases. We are completely dependent on an invisible ocean of air to sustain us. Air is much like God: an unseeable, omnipresent entity that gives us life.

MEDITATION MAY BE viewed as an action or as an abstention from action. In the first case, its merits are debatable. In the second, they are indisputable. Quite possibly meditation will get you nowhere, but most of us have a desperate need to be nowhere. Modern existence is a constant contemplation of brightly lit screens. We live our lives on the edge of a headache, with no escape from ubiquitous stimuli. It’s highly salubrious to sit twice a day and search for the Absolute, if only because it forces us to turn off the fucking TV.

WE LIVE IN a visual culture. When a young woman wants to know how to tile a floor, she searches for a video on YouTube. To entertain ourselves, we stream a movie on the laptop or binge-watch TV shows. In such a culture meditation is radical, because it removes our field of vision. When you close your eyes, the world becomes limited to the sounds of passing cars, workers hammering in the distance, and muffled voices. Sound-reality is much more fluid than visual-reality. A mooing cow can become a laughing man.

IS IT POSSIBLE that everyone who possesses wisdom does some form of meditation? Yes. You can almost see in people’s faces how many hours they’ve sat in silence.

“STRUGGLE IS THE essence of life,” my guru used to say. And meditation is certainly a struggle. For eight years I was a substitute teacher. Meditating is a lot like forcing a class of unruly thirteen-year-olds to study irregular verbs.

AROUND FIFTEEN YEARS ago trees began speaking to me. I don’t usually hear words — I just have a sense of consolation and guidance — but sometimes there is a distinct message. A tree in Brooklyn said to me today: Most of the time we seek what we don’t have, but sometimes we seek what we already have. This tree is describing meditation.

AS I STUMBLED into the Church of the Most Holy Redeemer on East 3rd Street in Manhattan, the priest was giving a sermon. “Put Christ first,” he said. “If you put yourself first, your life will be troubled. If you put Christ first, your life will be full of blessings.” You can have all the pleasures of the world, he explained, so long as Christ still comes first. (What a deal!)

I’m saying the same thing: Put meditation first. Meditate twice a day, if only for three minutes. Don’t give up anything else in your life. Don’t change your diet. Just put meditation first, for six minutes a day.

NEVER TRY TO “live in the moment.” It’s like attempting to shrink your body down to the size of a molecule.

MEDITATION IS AN optimistic practice. The theory is that, by closing your eyes (or leaving them half open) and doing nothing, you can change your consciousness. Most people are too pragmatic to accept this harebrained notion, but scientific studies suggest that it’s true.

YOU DON’T HAVE to meditate upon waking each morning. You can wait till you’re in a doctor’s waiting room filled with frayed copies of Family Circle magazine. Or stay in the car while your husband goes into Best Buy. Close your eyes; count your breaths. Don’t expect inner awakening. Don’t expect happiness. Prepare yourself for boredom and mild exasperation. After a few minutes you’re free to return to the manifold distractions of earthly life.

MEDITATION IS AN elusive subject to describe. It’s like writing about the color blue.

IN THE EARLY 1970s, there were numerous slogans to summarize the spiritual life: “Be here now.” “Love, serve, remember.” “The universe is perfect.” “Everything is everything” was probably my favorite. They all seem archaic now, like Coca-Cola ads from the 1920s. In this apocalyptic era of hurricanes, mass shootings, Donald Trump, ISIS, and millions of refugees, no one wants to “be here now.” Everyone wants to watch Game of Thrones while simultaneously texting on a cell phone.

MEDITATION IS LIKE practicing the guitar, but without the guitar.

THERE AREN’T MANY synonyms for meditation in English. Ananda Marga uses the term sādhanā, which derives from the Sanskrit for “effort.” I’ve invented other phrases to describe meditating: “brain-cleansing,” “cross-legged nonthinking,” “silence-chewing,” “mind-yoga.” Sometimes I refer to meditation as “self-kidnapping”: you stick a revolver in your own ribs, throw a bag over your head, and drive yourself to a warehouse where you sit in silence, awaiting ransom.

IT’S A BIG mistake to expect joy and happiness from meditation. That’s like expecting bliss from a bag of pinto beans. It’s much more logical to expect bafflement: Why am I meditating? What can this possibly achieve? These questions recur throughout the decades.

I DON’T MEDITATE to achieve mystical heights, but rather to appreciate the rest of my life. I want to wash the dishes with gratitude, like a slow-motion dance.

Mostly, though, I meditate to “kill time.” (I like this violent, somewhat outdated phrase.) Once you have murdered time, you can continue with the rest of your day nonviolently.

MEDITATION IS LARGELY a pretense. Sitting with eyes closed and legs elegantly folded, you resemble an ancient sage. Inside, you’re still the same idiot you always were.

ONE VIRTUE OF meditating is that you learn to forgive yourself: each day you fail at pure concentration, and each day you compassionately accept your failure. Ideally this self-forgiveness will lead to friend-forgiveness, spouse-forgiveness, even world-forgiveness.

MY PARENTS WERE Communists, and my father used to tell this joke: A Communist is giving a speech. At a climactic moment he shouts, “Come the revolution, we’ll all have strawberries and sour cream!” A voice from the back of the crowd replies, “But I don’t like strawberries and sour cream!” The orator pauses, then announces, “Come the revolution, you’ll like strawberries and sour cream!”

This joke conveys a great paradox of political transformation: Just jailing all the capitalists and setting up an equal distribution system is insufficient. Individuals must evolve somehow. We need personal transmutation, what the Soviets called a “new man.” But how do we create this new self? The best tool for self-transformation I’ve found is conscious breath-awareness. Crystals are worthless. Incense is annoying. New-age music is awful. Most “spiritual” books are nonsense. What’s helpful is to sit still and observe the fretful mind.

WE ALL LIE to ourselves every day, especially about our emotions. We tell ourselves we’re happy when we’re actually anxious, dismayed, resentful. When you close your eyes and listen to your breathing, you discover what a liar you are.

THE BIGGEST SURPRISE about meditating — and it remains a surprise after four decades — is how ineffective I am at controlling my own thoughts. In normal life my mind seems to work fine: I choose words and say them. I tell my hand to move, and it does. But closing my eyes and attempting to quiet my thoughts is almost impossible. The mind is a formidable adversary! You try to shut out the world, and the world pours in. You go to a quiet room and close your eyes, and suddenly you remember your fourth-grade teacher, or a friend you haven’t seen in thirty-seven years, or a visit to Puerto Rico. The riches of this earth arrive, in disarray.

Sometimes, though, you can undress the mind — remove, one by one, the mind’s habitual garments. Afterwards the mind stands momentarily naked.

EACH OF US feels that we are separate from our environment, an island of ego looking out through eyeholes. In fact, our lungs are in constant dialogue with the atmosphere, and with all the earthly plants and animals producing that atmosphere. This dialogue literally gives us life. Separation is illusory; atmospheric unity is truth.

JOAN OF ARC heard celestial voices in church bells. Dr. Seuss wrote his first book, And to Think That I Saw It on Mulberry Street, after taking a trip to Europe and hearing the ship’s engines say the title over and over.

I suspect that invisible beings are constantly speaking to us: through a stream, or the wind, or the subway. Meditation may open our ears to these benevolent voices.

THERE ARE MANY arguments against meditation. One is that it shields us from the passions and grime of the world. It creates a manufactured bliss, immune to the oscillations of human emotion. Is it really better to stay in a middle range of emotion than to have highs and lows? Don’t we occasionally want to fall into a rage, burst out weeping, or scream at traffic?

As a prospective meditator — or a current one — you should consider this problem.

HAS MEDITATION IMPROVED my life? I can’t tell. There’s only one of me. If I had an identical twin who’d never meditated, scientists could examine the two of us and analyze the differences. As it is, I can only guess. I do suspect that, had I never performed sādhanā, trees would not speak to me.

IF MEDITATION IS addictive, is it any better for us than drugs? Undoubtedly. Old stoners ruin their lungs. Speed freaks die young. Cokeheads inflate their egos and eventually go bankrupt. Meditation makes one younger, not older. It “strengthens the immune system,” as we say nowadays.

INCREMENTAL PROGRESS APPEALS to me. I apply this method to books and records. I just finished the opera Gianni Schicchi, which I listened to in two-minute increments over the course of five months. Meanwhile I was nibbling away at Jane Austen’s Persuasion. Each day I tootle a brief improvisation on my plastic flutophone.

I enjoy the idea of slowly achieving mastery.

THE MOST PAINFUL place to meditate is in a quiet room with a ticking clock. I would rather do my sitting practice in the midst of the Russo-Japanese War than next to tick-tock, tick-tock.

MEDITATION IS SUPPOSED to empty the mind the way a pump empties water from the bilge of a ship. To be honest, I never quite feel empty after I’ve meditated. But I do feel emptier.

ACTUALLY ONCE IN my life I did feel empty. In 1975, the day after attending a retreat with Swami Muktananda in Ocala, Florida, I was walking down a sidewalk and saw an azalea bush. Suddenly I had no thoughts! I could see the azaleas lucidly, without any interference from ideas, concepts, memories. I felt fulfilled, timeless — and a little scared: What if I never had another thought again?

Since then, I haven’t stopped thinking.

ONE DANGER OF meditation is the “rubber-band effect.” My old friend Satyamundi coined this term in 1979 for the tendency to “snap back” after long periods of virtuous and selfless action. Satyamundi would be scrupulous in his spiritual practices for months, then suddenly run off to visit a prostitute. So don’t try to be perfect.

MY FRIEND BARIUM was telling me he had started to write a book about his sex life. “Then I realized,” he said, “I don’t have a very interesting sex life.”

“How do you know?” I replied. “You can’t see what anyone else is doing in the bedroom. And porn is no help — those people are just acting.”

Meditation is the same way. I have no idea whether my meditation life is exemplary or lousy. There’s even a meditational equivalent to porn: videos of swamis entering samādhi (union with the divine). But, just like porn actors, these swamis may be pretending. It’s as easy to fake spiritual bliss as it is to fake sexual ecstasy.

I’M CAT-SITTING FOR a phlegmatic tabby named Baby. Last night was the first time I meditated in the house, and Baby playfully rubbed her muzzle on my folded hands. Perhaps cats are drawn to a meditator because they sense it’s a person aspiring to be catlike.

MEDITATION IS THE closest humans come to purring.

AT SOME POINT your practice will be threatened — by a sudden emergency, a family crisis, a crucial deadline. Feel free to stop meditating or, conversely, to charge into the face of the enemy and meditate twice as long.

WISDOM IS FOUND not in books or intellectual lectures but in the struggle to hear silence.

I PROJECT AN unnecessary piety on my meditation practice. Meditating should be the same as taking a shower: an act of renewal without “spiritual” connotations.

IF YOU OFFER your meditation to God, it becomes a prayer. If you offer your meditation to the universe, it becomes an affirmation. If you offer your meditation to humanity, it becomes activism.

DON’T BE AFRAID of the word God, but don’t get too excited about it either.

BOB JACOBSON WAS an artist who lived in a trailer near me in the Catskills. The outside of his home was an art gallery of sorts, bedecked with paintings he’d made on aluminum panels. He also carved abstract wooden sculptures in his front yard.

“No one knows how to look at art anymore,” Bob once told me. “You should be able to gaze at a painting for an hour.”

A few months later he elaborated: “You can look at anything as if it’s a painting. Sometimes I’ll go into the woods and just stare at the scene in front of me as if it were a Cézanne canvas.”

Bob Jacobson died a few weeks ago. I just realized he was teaching me meditation.

YOU RECHARGE YOUR cell phone by plugging it into an electric current. You recharge your mind by plugging it into the Vast Oceanic Current of the Universe.

THE MESSAGE OF meditation is: “You already have everything you need — if not forever, at least for the next ten minutes.”

* * * *

SPARROW lives in a hamlet deep in the Catskill Mountains. After turning sixty-five, he modified his broccoli rabe recipe to include chopped prunes.

[yanderes-galore]

hi! can i request a yandere jack sparrow scenario? i thought a plot where darling is new to the crew, and a rookie pirate would be interesting, maybe jack feels the need to support and help them constantly? thanks! <3

Of course! I hope this has a good length and plot ^^ Jack's age is never said in the movies, but people assumed he was in his twenties, early thirties on a forum so I went with that.

New To The Seas

Yandere! Jack Sparrow Scenario

Pairing: Romantic/Platonic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Heavy manipulation, Vague partnership, Threats, Murder, Possessive behavior, Implied Darling loves Jack just never specified how, Drinking, OOC Jack at times.

Being on the seas has been one of your biggest dreams. The freedom from the rules of the shore would quickly be forgotten. You already had to steal to survive...

Would being part of a pirate crew be much different?

Since you were young, you had lived on the streets. A dirty young kid who could barely get enough coin to feed yourself. Life was tough until you had grown past eighteen.

You had come across a bar and entered. That's where you encountered the infamous pirate, Jack Sparrow. Drinking rum and looking for a crew. This had been your big break.

You, an eager rookie-to-be, sailing with Jack Sparrow. Needing a crew, he had accepted you with open arms along with a few more men. You've heard stories of him never being able to keep his crew.

Though you felt anywhere was better than here.

That was your simple origin story as a rookie. From street kid to pirate, you felt it was destined. As you soon come to learn, maybe meeting Jack was destined too.

Jack liked how eager you were. You were eager for freedom, for adventure, eager to travel with him. You're naive and able to be manipulated.

The idea of using you was possible. Jack thought about it on a few ocassions. Yet... he couldn't help but see himself in you. Sure, he was born a pirate, but that yearning for freedom was admirable.

You were both in your twenties although Jack noticed you still acted starstruck. You were a rookie pirate that would soon be hardened into a fine traveler of the seas. The more he influenced you, the more he enjoyed you.

Jack was your idol the more you two worked together. His charisma lured you in and how could you not like him after a few drinks? Jack was the closest you've ever been to someone...

The closest you've ever been to a man in general.

The crew acted like the family you never had. Even if Jack took up most of your time, the crew aided you in your travels. Being a pirate was... fun.

Although there was always the tragedies. You'd lose a crew member here and there, there would be lying and theft, murder even. Jack did a good job helping you through your tears and feelings. He felt like a mentor...

That or you were falling for him.

Jack was starting to accept his role towards you. As your captain... he needed to keep you safe and help you. Although, compared to the rest of his crew, he was biased....

Jack never cared too much for the rest of his crew. But the rookie that joined him with eager eyes? The rookie who looked up to him? The rookie who stroked his ego?

The rookie named (Y/N), whose name pleasantly rolls off the tongue....

Naturally, Jack and you grew on each other. Other members saw how much Jack liked you. The close hugs and drinking sessions said as much.

The relationship between you was vague. It was on the fence of recruit and leader, to borderline romance. Jack made you happy, you even made him happy.

Your partnership had dark turns at times. You were so used to Jack, you never saw it. Jack never acted normal with you.

He was possessive, threatening crew members in private to stay away. He played it off as light-hearted... but the threat was very much real. Jack wanted to be your only partner.

Jack also was not above using his sword against others. The moment you're threatened, murder comes to mind. Jack had made you go from rookie to first mate.

Not without a price.

You didn't know Jack killed your superiors. You didn't know those hugs of his held possessive implications. You were still naive.

Which is why Jack felt he should be the only one for you.

Sure, he may be manipulating you. He's sweet talking you and making you rely on him. Yet, who else did you have?

You'd give everything to him, your captain. He was the one who molded you into a fine pirate. If he planned on acting out romantic desires later, you wouldn't refuse.

You loved him, you wanted to thank him for giving you a chance. He wouldn't let anything hurt you. You were... nothing... without your captain.

Each time you drank with him, spoke with him, felt his warmth... you trusted him. He could betray you if he wanted. He doesn't...

He loves you more than you'd ever know...

But he'd never tell a soul.

No, Jack knows if anyone knew how close you two were, you'd be targetted. That's why any crew members who wished to leave... are strangely found dead. Jack was never a man with high regard for morals anyways.

All he cares about is freedom, the sea, and you sailing with him in it...

Even if it requires him to threaten and murder those around you to keep that fantasy.

[sparrowsage]

Warehouse Drabble: Unsettling Reality - Alex's POV

So, I saw a prompt on here that someone reblogged and it gave me inspiration for this piece! It's set three days after this piece. I also wanted to write Sparrow's POV for this conversation as well and you can find it here. Hope y'all enjoy it! Also, a huge thank you for @oddsconvert for the usage of her oc's Ronan, Henley and Izaak from her series A Taste of Your Own Medicine!

TW: kidnapping implied, reference to past kidnapping, vague reference to past trafficking

“Hello?” Alex said, running his free hand through his hair. It had been a long day at the hospital; he had been too absorbed in his thoughts about Sparrow. He had gone missing three days prior and both Alex and Felix had been a mess trying to work with the FBI on finding him as soon as possible. 

“This is Alex Sharpe, yes?” the voice over the phone asked, his voice low and a bit husky. It reminded Alex of Dr. Greyston and he couldn’t help but frown at the memory of him. 

“It is, yes. Is there something I can help you with?” 

There was a short chuckle on the other end of the line that made the hairs on the back of Alex’s neck stand up. 

“Not really, you’ve been enough help. I just wanted to call and thank you personally for taking such good care of my little Songbird. If it weren’t for you, he’d be dead in a ditch somewhere.” 

Alex was frozen in his chair, his heart pounding. Songbird. Damon’s nickname for Sparrow. 

The doctor grabbed a notepad and a pen as quietly as he could from the corner of his desk, his hands starting to shake, almost too afraid to speak. 

Damon took Alex’s silence as recognition and chuckled again. “I take it you know who I am, that’s good.” 

“I do, yes,” Alex responded slowly. “How’d you get this number?” 

“I have my ways, Dr. Sharpe. How goes the search? I’m sure you’ve gotten some kind of lead on your patient by now.” 

Damon’s remark and patronizing tone made Alex grit his teeth, but his words confirmed his suspicion on where Sparrow was. Felix, Henley and himself had hoped it wasn’t the case, but at least now there could be some kind of lead, even though no one knew where this facility was. 

“It’s going as well as one would expect,” he responded, writing down the time and date in his notepad. “Why are you calling me? Isn’t it a risky move? For all you know, the police are tracing this call.” 

Damon let out a huff of amusement, “You and I both know that is a lie. The FBI isn’t that smart, not this early on in the game. As to why I’m calling? It’s like I said, I wanted to thank you for taking such good care of Sparrow while he was away. There were countless times while he was in your care that he almost took it too far, but you stepped in and made sure that he didn’t.” 

How on Earth could he possibly know about that, Alex thought. They had been at the hospital, which Alex, up to this point, thought was a pretty secure and safe place. He jotted down a small note about it on his notepad as he managed to stop himself from asking how Damon knew about what he and Sparrow had worked through, his mouth hanging open slightly as he tried to find something else to say. 

“I was merely doing my job. He wouldn’t have gone to those lengths if you and the others hadn't treated him the way that you did.” 

“We were merely teaching him what his purpose on this Earth is. I do have to say though, you have given me quite a lot to fix now that he’s back where he belongs. You’ve set back his training a fair bit, but it’ll be righted soon enough.” 

Alex’s whole body was shaking now, doing all that he could to keep his cool. It felt like he was being baited, almost like the Keeper wanted him to lash out. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. 

“It won’t last long,” he said finally. “The FBI will find you and shut that place down-”

“Oh, will they?” Damon cut in. “Are you banking on Henley remembering where this place is?” 

“How do you-,” Alex started, his composure slipping. 

“I know a lot of things, Dr. Sharpe. Henley’s owner took measures to prevent both him and Izaak from ever knowing where this place is. Any lead you manage to find, it’ll go cold within days. It would be in your best interest to forget about your patient. He’s back where he belongs and will stay here.” There was a pause, and all Alex could hear was the faint sound of walking before he heard a few low groans in the background as Damon stopped walking. “Have a good night, Dr. Sharpe.” 

Alex was about to say something, but there was a click on the other end before the line went dead. 

Alex stayed frozen in his seat for a couple minutes after the line went dead, not knowing what to do, his body refusing to move no matter how hard Alex willed it to do so. 

He was terrified, to say the least. The groans he heard at the end of the call, they sounded like Sparrow and the doctor’s heart was in pieces knowing he was back with that bastard, enduring only god knows what at the Keeper’s hand. 

It took Alex a bit before he could move again, writing down everything he could about the phone call before he forgot. Once he had everything written down, he picked up his phone again, dialing the number an FBI agent had given him the day before with shaking hands, holding his phone up to his ear as it rang, praying the agent would answer at this hour. Hopefully they could help now that it was confirmed where Sparrow was. 

Taglist: @mannerofwhump, @honey-is-mesi, @painful-pooch, @whumperfully, @hiding-in-the-shadows, @flowersarefreetherapy, @goronska, @blueyellow8green, @darkthingshappen, @oddsconvert, @whumpcereal, (If you'd like to be added, let me know!)

[mathmusicninja]

Fun facts and little details about my fic "Wow, What a Coincidence" (part 1)

(part 2) (part 3)

(spoilers for WWAC under the cut)

I reread and rewrote the first 10 chapters so many times, I can’t stand looking at them anymore XD

Donatello and Leonardo were the closest to running into each other when they dropped off their kids—they only missed each other by an hour or so. Raphael was there the day before, and Mike saw Lee off at the bus stop by their apartment

The kids lower their third eyelids whenever they imitate their dads <3

When Little Raph told the story of his dad hanging onto Uncle Mike as long as possible, Lee instantly put two and two together about his dad’s thumb getting portal-chopped. He managed to dodge talking about it all of camp, but there were definitely moments he was thinking about it

Michelangelo drew plenty of realistic portraits of his brothers and of himself before the explosion, but Lee always thought he was exaggerating how solidly built he used to be

Big Leo has a moment where he says “I don’t know how I feel about this.” Later, Little Raph has a similar line. Out of all the Rise and ’12 boys, those two probably enjoy each other’s company the most

In chapter 6 Dee asks about an activity labeled “LP” on their schedule and gets a vague answer about candy because “LP” stands for “Living Piñata”

Angie was the first one to know about Little Raph’s stinks because he pulled out Dr. Delicate Touch on him on, like, their second day

One of the CCs for the Yellow Sparrows is named Jack and he’s a sparrow as a reference to Pirates of the Caribbean :D

Before I decided that IDW Hob was going to be the main antagonist for the fic, I was going to have a Rise version of Hob be the Gray Giant’s CC

Mort is short for Mortimer, but it could also be short for Mortified. I’ve mentioned this in some of the comments but I projected onto him a lot haha (social anxiety be rough sometimes). I also made him a monitor lizard as a lowkey Redwall reference, but he does have more expressive frills, so his exact species is left up for interpretation

In chapter 17, Dee says that Big Leo would probably not like the fact that he’s been changing around their schedule if he knew. Later we see that Big Leo did in fact know about that and straight up did not care

Dee often says “Shuddup, Lee.” Raphael mirrors this when he says “Shuddup, Fearless” to Leonardo

When they’re complimented for Little Raph being a good kid, both Big Leo and Leonardo have a similar line about Little Raph deserving the credit

[wolfsbane-and-nettles]

hehe for the ask fic writer game! 15, 19 and 22 <3

Oh these'll be fun to answer! I totally won't write an essay below...nope. Not at all.

15: How do you come up with titles for your fics/chapters?

Okay, this one is a doozie and I feel like I spend way too much time on deciding what to title things...For my main fic, Chosen Horizons, I spent nearly a week or so deciding on what to actually call it.

I was worried while writing the first draft, that if I gave it a name then I wouldn't finish writing it. Kinda like putting all my eggs in one basket, kinda deal...if that makes sense? So, when I was done the first draft, I took my time to figure it out. I asked myself what I wanted the reader to get from the title...like, if it was published and someone saw it in a library or a bookstore, what feeling I want the cover and title to give them.

I wanted the reader to look at the cover while holding it in their hands and instantly get this feeling of whimsy and adventure, of endless possibilities and adventure! Yet, also a sense of myster, in a way. Yes, there are endless possibilities...but it is about choosing what path you will take.

It is about Bilbo knowing all of his options, and having to make the hard decision of choosing which one to go with.

Once I came to this decision on what I wanted the reader to feel, I was able to come up with a good name...or at least one I felt satisfied with. It wasn't too to the point, not was it too vague...it is just right.

Before I settled on that concept, it was a struggle to figure out exactly what I wanted. I thought having something nature related might me nice, so I threw around a lot of tree and oak related things...like: Music of the Oaks, Nordoindale (my attempt at an elvish "music of the oaks" like the Ainulindale), The Oaks Refrain...and so on.

Then I wanted something more relating to both Bilbo and Thorin, and some of those ideas were: Songs of Earth and Stone, Harmonies of the Heart, Oak and Mountain, Through Meadows and Mountains.

There was one idea I really liked at first, and tossed it around a bunch, mixing it up and trying to make it work..but it didn't fit in the end.

-Of Stone, Soil, and Secrets.

-Secrets in the Soil and Stones

-The Silence of Stone and The Secrets of Soil

But...nothing fit quite like "Chosen Horizons" did. Not only do I feel like it fits not only Bilbo having to make hard decisions, but also Thorin, and everyone else. I remember that one line from the end of the Pirates of the Carribean: Curse of the Black Pearl, where Jack Sparrow goes: "Now, bring me that horizon."

"Horizon" isn't just about the literal place where sky meets land/sea/etc...it is also what is ahead. It is the future. It is what awaits you whenever you look outward and forward. It is a feeling that constantly pulls you forward to keep moving, no matter what may happen.

So, the title "Chosen Horizons" is my attempt at putting all of those thoughts and feelings and ideas into two words....hopefully two words that stick in the reader's mind as much as they do in mine.

19: Give us a small teaser from one of your WIPs.

Oh goodness...I have so many right now that it is hard to chose! I'll just add a small exerpt from the one I currently have open...honestly, I'll probably post a longer teaser from it just for fun! I am absolutely excited to finish writing it, and I hope you like it when it's finally published! -----

“My dear, I am sorry, but I do not know why these birds keep circling our home.” Bilbo sighed through gritted teeth and a forced smile. His eyes twinkled with annoyance to anyone who knew him well, but the problem lay in the fact that no one knew him well…not even himself. 

As Bilbo Baggins of Bag End looked up at the bright blue, cloudless sky, he watched as three large black birds circled The Hill. Looking down the path that led from his garden to his front door, he saw his fiance standing with her hands on her hips and a raging look of disapproval on her face. 

“That’s your answer to everything, now isn’t it, Bilbo Baggins! I don’t know this, I don’t know that…that’s what you always tell me!” The hobbit hissed at her betrothed, and her lips slipped into a snarl when she saw the absolute look of exhaustion cover Bilbo’s face. 

“And that, my dear, is because you know as well as the rest of the land that I don’t know!” Bilbo spoke harshly back, though quickly put back on his mask of kind manners and gentleness. His patience was constantly tested by this woman, and he asked himself more and more every day exactly why he was engaged to her.

How in Yavanna’s Green Gardens could I have fallen for Lobellia Bracegurdle, of all hobbits? Bilbo Thought to himself, trying his darndest to maintain his composure as he pointed at the crows, or whatever black bird they were, flying off to the east once more. Sighing, Bilbo made his way down his dirt and stone path to awkwardly affectionately pat Lobellia’s shoulder. 

----

22: Do you know how your fic will end before you start writing?

I always think I do...and I'm always so confidently incorrect. Many times when I start writing a story, I have the ending as the idea first...then I get frustrated because I can't stop the need to add background information. Why is Thorin acting like this? Why is Bilbo doing that? I end up writing so much backstory for what was originally supposed to be a quick little one shot that the original ending changes dramatically from it's original intention.

"Chosen Horizons" originally started as a short little epistolary tale after the Battle of Five Armies...it was around 30k words (originally longer than intended). I was satisfied with the ending...but craved to write the story leading up to it! So now, the first draft is over 400 pages...and it doesn't even take into account that that only covers 1/2 of the now intended story.

So yeah! I totally knew how this story was going to end before I wrote it...but has it changed dramatically since? Though the path to the ending of the story has changed, it's conclusion remains the same:

Thank you again, so so much for asking these! I have a blast rambling about my writing and process...so these made me very happy! I hope my answers were satisfactory and not too rambly...though that is a habit of mine I doubt I'll be rid of any time soon. <3

[mae-dwrites]

Taking Flight - Chapter 15 - Conference

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| Ao3 | Wattpad |

October 8

-

Camilla stepped up to the front of the conference room, while it was one of the smaller ones it held fewer people than it usually did. But she had promised not to reveal the Paris situation to more people than necessary. Camilla easily slipped into thinking of the young heroes, it was something that happened often over the past year.

Over the past few weeks, she had been meeting with the France President and the Mayor of Paris, trying to figure out how to best handle the week-long stay of French students. She got to finally speak to Ladybug once the groups had been finalized. Camilla had not been prepared to see the gir- young woman again.

Camilla sighed, she had aged in a way she’d seen in hundreds of heroes, but kids? Ladybug had possibly seen more than young adult heroes ever had, she could only imagine what it would be like to see Chat Noir face-to-face again. Camilla had watched the videoes of the Ladyblog and newscasting. They’d become more brutal, more dangerous, it was a relief to see some easier ones. Their suits had changed as much as themselves having more prominent armor.

Camilla looked up to the few in the room: Sparrow, Uncanny Valley, Mercury, Knight Owl, and Majestia. Knight Owl sat at the end of the table, her mask conveying nothing, just as she liked it. Majestia to her right, politely waiting arms folded on the table. Next to Majestia was Uncanny Valley, sitting similarly, her eyes while calculating, taking it all in, held a softness. On Knight Owl’s left was her sidekick, Sparrow leaning back in her seat clearly not liking the seating arrangement. In front of Sparrow is where Mercury sat, his blue suit giving a faint–almost pulsing–light.

“Thank you for coming even under the vague explanation,” Camilla straightened her back as she welcomed them. She pulled down on her vest, a comforting movement, helped her to relax from the anxiousness that built up.

“Thank you for having us,” Majestia gave a nod, Uncanny Valley did the same movement.

“What she said,” a laidback response from Mercury, Camilla could feel Sparrow roll their eyes. Mercury’s hand sat lazily on the table, lightly tapping the wooden surface. While he looked calm with his head leaned back a little he was far from it.

“What is it about these French students that we must meet,” Knight Owl rested her elbows on the tabletop, leaning forward. Camilla never liked to talk about it, not that she did with anyone outside of French government leaders and the Parisian heroes themselves.

“There is something that has stayed in the confines of Paris, I’m not entirely aware of how much of the population outside of Paris knows but neighboring cities and towns know of the city’s struggles,” Camilla spoke her back now a rod, unbending, she could do this. “That being of a, a magic war happening within its limits.”

Majestia tensed at the word magic, Knight Owl’s head twitched only the slightest, and Uncanny’s eyes flashed and she blinked as she processed the information. Sparrow and Mercury had the most movement in terms of the reaction that Camilla could see.

Sparrow’s head snapped up looking at Camilla and she could only assume the young hero was making glances at Majestia with the way their head was angled. Mercury jolted up, while Camilla couldn’t see his face she just knew his eyes were wide, eyebrows raised. The kid was very predictable once you got to know him.

“Please go on,” Majestia spoke before the silence overtook them.

Camilla reopened her computer everything was already open and set up for her briefing, “Paris has been emotionally under siege by the villain known as Hawkmoth.” Camilla went through images of the villain from the butterfly face to the Queen Wasp or Miracle Queen. She brought up Mayura, “As of his big attack he has had an accomplice on the field. She has been spotted out on rooftops, usually around the time of Akuma attacks. The heroes,” she brought up images of the two heroes, Ladybug on the left and Chat Noir on the right, “Have chased her down a total of three times to no avail.”

“Those are children,” Knight Owl stated. Her modified voice seeping with anger, “Why are children fighting alone?”

“According to what Ladybug told me herself, she and her partner were given these jewels at the beginning by a “Guardian” of these jewels. He did not interfere nor did he guide them, he only gave a rule and a mission. They could not know each other’s identities, and to retrieve the Miraculi he lost.” Camilla pulled up the Ladyblog, she had been given access to when she had first met with them.

“The Ladyblog,” Uncanny Valley’s head tilted as she took in the image of the screen.

Camilla nodded, “This is a blog run by a fan of the heroes in Paris. She is one of the most reliable sources, sometimes she posts things not entirely related but for the most part almost all information is posted here. Other than official websites by their government.”

“May I?” Uncanny looked to Camilla. The woman nodded to her, Uncanny’s face went blank after that, her eyes having a light glow that brightened every once in a while.

“Again children, and with no training no less,” Knight Owl growled from her seat. Majestia rested her hand on her arm giving a small smile.

“Fifteen and fourteen to be specific,” Uncanny spoke up, her face filled with worry.

“What,” came out loudly from Majestia, Sparrow, and Mercury. Camilla deflated, as she looked at the faces on her screen again.

“How do you know?” Mercury asked.

“Their suits are made by magic, they can jam technology or not work with them. And the magic function to conceal their identities is for human minds. My face recognition worked, but I do not know how well,” Uncanny looked at everyone. Uncanny’s mouth became a thin line while her eyes whirled, still processing information, “They’re done a lot, seen a lot.”

“You’ve already gone through it all?” Sparrow asked leaning against the table.

“No, I’ve played many of them but I took a detour. Most of the team was revealed last month, soon after security footage was leaked, while many speculated from what parts of running camera footage were going it was only confirmed by this leaked footage,” Uncanny blinked.

“That’s what I was going to head into next, the temporary heroes were…young.” Camilla sighed “I knew Ladybug was young but you can’t blame her for choosing younger people. How can she when the only clue she’s got is that the terrorist is an adult?”

“But Uncanny was able to figure out the heroes' identities no problem. Why can’t she do the same with the Hawkguy?” Mercury looked between Uncanny and Majestia.

Uncanny shook her head, “All of the images are unclear, grainy, taken from afar. And the Butterfly face is of no help, even if I got lucky enough to be able to match his face the effects of magic for a young person versus an adult may be different. From what I can gather younger people have limitations, adults do not have such adversities.”

“What about the woman?” Mercury asked.

“Again all of the videos and photos are too blurry, even if I tried to piece them together it would probably be for nothing,” Uncanny took a deep breath. “Magic is tricky, sometimes I can see past it, sometimes I can’t. There are too many variables.”

“What about the revealed heroes,” Sparrow spoke up.

“There were only five,” Uncanny Valley stated her eyes lit up with the glow spinning. “All but one coming from one of the classes that won the trip to come to New York City.” Uncanny hummed to herself before quietly saying, “Interesting.”

Camilla cleared her throat bringing the attention back to herself and the screen. As much as she loved when the younger heroes took some charge, wanting to help, wanting to come to a solution even on their own. She still had more to go over, and these younger heroes were still children.

“That is part of what this is about, the trip,” Camilla looked everyone in the eyes, or at least hoped she did with the three whose faces were concealed. “There are three classes coming from Paris, two from cities close by, and one from much farther.” Camilla swallowed, avoiding fidgeting. She looked from the computer back to her teammates, “These children have triggers, most of them anyway. They can spiral depending on the specific trigger, Hawkmoth surprisingly does not take advantage of this, usually. There have been three times in total.”

Camilla tapped search, tapping in The Plucker. She heard Sparrow snicker at the search.

“The Plucker? Seriously, what kind of name is that?”

“Sparrow do not laugh, this is obviously one of the people who got turned into an..Akuma due to their trigger,” Knight Owl scolded the young one. Sparrow straightened up, gave an apology and to not do it again.

“The names can be laughable, the suits or transformations they are forced to undertake can be too,” Camilla spoke out. “But those looks can be deceitful to their power.” Camilla went to the main screen and swiped down to a rectangular icon. The previously dark tablets inform the heroes lit up, showing the same article that was on the screen.

Uncanny reached for the device without a reaction, like Majestia and Knight Owl. Sparrow’s head snapped at the device as if she forgot of it. Which wouldn’t be too far-fetched. Mercury jumped in his seat, having not noticed the device there before. He usually wasn’t a part of small group meetings like this.

Sparrow’s shoulders shook, signally her quiet laughter. Mercury kicked her sit as he picked up the tablet, before Sparrow could retaliate in any way Knight Owl spoke her name in warning. Sparrow huffed before turning to the device to read the civilian's report of the…Akuma attack.

Uncanny quickly read it before exploring other parts of the blog, looking to know more and understand. Soon the other heroes would finish, Mercury shifted uncomfortably in his seat. He and Sparrow take a few deep breaths.

Camilla holds her elbows face blank as she looks at them. Uncanny and Majestia had an understanding in their eyes, and while Camilla couldn’t see the other three she could feel it.

“Why do you need us for this trip?” Sparrow asked finally. She wasn’t talking about all of them, but of herself, her sister, and Mercury.

“The classes from France will be staying with your school, most of them at least. I arranged for all the Paris students to specifically be with or around your classes for this,” Camilla explained. “You will watch over them, be there if they need your help. We do not any of the students of France to be in any danger during their stay, but we want to watch the Parisians in particular.”

“So why am I here if they’ll be her class?” Mercury spoke up.

Knight Owl stood up, taking attention away from Camilla, “Camilla did bring up to me that it would be far more beneficial to have you know each other's identities, and in light of this situation, I believe it would be foolish for me to refuse that request.”

“Excuse me?” Sparrow stood up. “I am not letting him know who I am.”

“If he isn’t comfortable with me knowing I don’t think we should fight about this,” Mercury interjected before adding, “but if it’s necessary then maybe we should comply Sparrow.”

Sparrow faced Mercury fists clenched, “I don’t think it’s necessary.”

“Sparrow,” Knight Owl came behind Sparrow. “It would be easier to know his identity and for him to know yours for the mission. It could make future missions or fights easier as well.”

Sparrow slowly deflated, facing her head away from her mentor. While it was standard for her to hide her identity from basically everyone she liked it for herself. There was no one to look down on her, she was just Sparrow. Everyone liked him, and Jessica was a civilian girl that mostly blended in with her fellow New Yorkers.

She didn’t want more people to know, it should be her choice. But like usual, for the mission, it wasn’t a choice.

“Fine,” Sparrow stated. She looked over at Uncanny who gave her a smile, it relaxed Jessica a little bit.

“Are you su-”

“He is sure,” Knight Owl interrupted Mercury. Mercury tensed at the stare he felt from Knight Owl.

“Awesome,” Mercury let out weakly.

Sparrow brought her hood down before pulling the mask down, and Mercury tapped a button on one of his circular stabilizers, unconcealing his face.

“Jessica?”

“Allan?”

Uncanny giggled as she changed into her civilian persona, Aeon.

“Aeon?”

“Who else?” She smiled at him. Allan flopped back in his seat, pulling his hands down his face.

“I thought Sparrows and Knight Owls were guys?” Allan looked over at Jessica and Knight Owl for an answer. He knew Jessica didn’t have a dad, so either her mother was Knight Owl or she was recruited by Knight Owl. Second one didn’t seem so good.

“That’s what we appear to be to others,” Knight Owl said. Allan waited a moment but turned back to Camilla when it was clear Knight Owl was not going to continue. Which fair enough.

“So we’re watching over the Paris kids?”

Camilla nodded, “Majestia and Knight Owl already live in the area, they will be notified of anything as soon as possible. Usually, I would only meet with the students at the end of the trip, but I will be here the entire week. We will be meeting with Ladybug as according to her she will be on the trip.”

“What about Paris,” Majestia asked a light frown on her face.

“She has her ways, she would not leave it completely defenseless without its much-needed heroine. Besides the city would have Chat Noir.” Camilla stated firmly, her head raised just the slightest bit. She got to experience her using a portal to bring the France President, the mayor of Paris, and herself. Camilla was confident the girl would use the same thing to go back to Paris if needed.

Uncanny Valley, who had turned back, frowned looking at the tablet and then facing Camilla. She opened her mouth but thought better of it. Majestia put her hand on Uncanny’s shoulder, “What is it my daughter?”

“I don’t know if I should speak on the matter as it may have changed between the time President Hombee spoke to Ladybug and the Monday following.” Uncanny rested her hands in her lap and looked at the table in front of her but not really seeing it.

“What would have happened?” Camilla sat next to Uncanny, resting her hand on the machinic girl’s other shoulder. Uncanny faced Camilla, a light nervousness on her face.

“Chat Noir will also be attending the trip, whether Ladybug knows that detail I can not tell.”

Camilla’s lips became tight for a moment before nodding, “Ladybug may know he won’t be in Paris at the time but not that he is on the trip. I stand by my statement, she would not leave the city completely defenseless.”

Knight Owl's fists tightest where she sat. It was obvious she did not like the sound of this, but she kept quiet. She finally spoke up after a moment of Mercury and Sparrow looking over the blog, “As long as they cause a recuses in our city I don’t care what they do. Just tell them to stay in line.”

“Of course they will,” Camilla nodded before turning back to speaking to the younger heroes.

-

Bruce sipped his cup of coffee looking between things that didn’t add up. While none of them seemed to be related a part of him said they had to be.

Back in January, Flash sensed an anomaly in the Speed Force, but he couldn’t find anything. So did Wally West, but didn’t find anything either. In May everyone felt something off, but the speedsters said it was nothing. That if anything it had to of been some “Universe bad vibes,” they didn’t say the exact same thing but they both said almost the exact same thing. It made Bruce suspicious of their reactions toward this.

Then before that in April, their monitors picked up an anomaly in space. When their space-surviving allies checked there was nothing, but one of them did catch a glimpse of a pink-red blur. They searched for months wondering if they could find it. There was a similar affair last year in October, orbs of some sort picked up on their sensors, floating above Europe at a mostly slow pace leaving Earth. But when someone was able to check it was gone and a swirl of pink and red was all they caught.

It frustrated Bruce to no end, but Shanghai had to be the most frustrating. His daughter had been near the city so after the night she investigated, it was multiple days later when she met Ladydragon. She explained in detail many things but she still kept a whole lot to herself. Cassandra had determined that she was not a threat but an ally, and while he trusted his daughter's judgment in people he did not trust this new hero. She was young and did not take orders.

There wasn’t much to work with in terms of finding out what happened that night in Shanghai, but one thing stands clear magic was involved. People had died and yet they walked around living and breathing. This was beyond the pits and that made it dangerous. He needed to know how, what, or who was responsible for this. They could not walk around free, they were a threat if they could control life.

But one thing not related to this, that shouldn’t be whatsoever was that President Hombee was going to be in New York City for the whole week of French students coming. She never was there for the whole week, no president usually was. So it was odd that she would be. Something was up with those students that Victory, the President of their country felt she had to be there for their entire stay.

It was very off-putting.

Bruce went to take a sip from his mug to find it empty. Disappointing. He sighed setting the mug on his desk.

He looked over at Diana’s order and message she had sent as of recent.

“Father.”

Bruce looked up to find his son in front of him, he had not heard him come in. Perhaps he should come home earlier like Alfred says he should.

“Yes Damian?” Bruce started sorting through and reorganizing the papers in front of him.

“Cain has arrived on a surprise visit,” Damian spoke in his ever-formal voice. His voice did not have the same venom it carried when he first arrived. As he saw all around him as his next challenge. Now there was a light layer of affection that Bruce believes Damian hasn’t noticed.

Bruce stood up and started putting the reports and notes away, “I will be down shortly.”

Damian nodded with a very light “Tt.”

Bruce watched his son walk for a moment, “Damian.” His son straightened his back, as if it weren’t already perfect, and faced Bruce.

“Yes, Father?”

“Thank you,” Bruce gave a smile, or tried to. Damian’s chest lifted and the ghost of a smile was on his face, but it was clear in his eyes. Damian nodded, “Of course Father. I will see you when you join us.”

And with that, Damian left Bruce to put away his papers. Bruce let out a light sigh, not exhausted or worrying, he felt content. His daughter usually called before coming home to the manor, but it was just as enjoyable for her to surprise them.

This rabbit hole could wait.