#the antidote to despair is awe

[druid-for-hire]

[image id: a four-page comic. it is titled "immortality” after the poem by clare harner (more popularly known as “do not stand at my grave and weep”). the first page shows paleontologists digging up fossils at a dig. it reads, “do not stand at my grave and weep. i am not there. i do not sleep.” page two features several prehistoric creatures living in the wild. not featured but notable, each have modern descendants: horses, cetaceans, horsetail plants, and crocodilians. it reads, “i am a thousand winds that blow. i am the diamond glints on snow. i am the sunlight on ripened grain. i am the gentle autumn rain.” the third page shows archaeopteryx in the treetops and the skies, then a modern museum-goer reading the placard on a fossil display. it reads, “when you awaken in the morning’s hush, i am the swift uplifting rush, of quiet birds in circled flight. i am the soft stars that shine at night. do not stand at my grave and cry.” the fourth page shows a chicken in a field. it reads, “i am not there. i did not die” / end id]

a comic i made in about 15 hours for my school’s comic anthology. the theme was “evolution”

[charlie-pippin-faraday]

my danganronpa v3 chapter 5 investigation and trial running commentary:

nuh uh no way kaito’s dead. this is gonna be like in DR1 when they made us think kyoko was dead and then actually it was a body that had been dead for 4 chapters. we didn’t even see a body, just blood. they’re just pulling shenanigans rn

yeah the file just says “unidentifiable body.” no way that’s kaito

yeah the press stops when it detects a living organism? yeah they definitely crushed someone who’s already dead

the evidence is suggesting that both kaito and kokichi were shot with crossbows. did they get into a scuffle and shoot each other?

also himiko definitely brought kaito the crossbow and passed it through the bathroom window. was there a premeditated plan to take kokichi out?

i’m like so positive that neither of them are dead and one or both of them will show up once this trial starts

oh we redesigned the trial room to look like the one from DR1, have we

i still wanna know who left that flashback light just sitting out on the table for us

or maybe kaito and kokichi were working together for some reason?? which is why neither of them are here??

haha kaito!! i knew he wasn’t dead!!

“i hid in an exisal and dozed off” ah kaito i love you buddy

wait or is it kokichi in there?? god i’m so confused

kokichi voice actor has a good singing voice tbh

that’s a wax figure of kaito i’m calling it now

no none of this makes sense!! the safety precautions on the hydraulic press!!!

“i hit you with the ‘everything you buy will go on sale the next day’ curse” lmao that’s a good one, an absolutely devastating curse from himiko

why are the mentions of junko, hope, and despair making kokichi pause?

and why did we hear kaito’s voice if he’s supposedly dead?

maki’s kind of getting a one-track mind here, she’s losing focus

i’m not gonna believe literally anything until someone comes out of that exisal

did maki go in the hangar last night in an exisal??? i knew her not having her electrohammer was suspicious! and when i found that hammer while investigating i even said “oh look it’s maki’s hammer”

i still don’t believe kaito’s actually dead. something in my gut is just telling me something’s fishy and we don’t know the whole story

calling it now: i think kaito and kokichi worked together to pull off some kind of really elaborate plan

bro wtf why are they making me vote rn??? it’s so early!!!! and i still don’t believe kaito’s actually dead!!!!!! there’s still too many unanswered questions!!!!

oooh throwing us a curveball. was this all a trap for monokuma? was i right and kokichi and kaito worked together?? is he still alive?? did kokichi scramble the electronics, tell kaito to go hide, and then fake his death??

i KNEW he wasn’t the mastermind! that felt way too convenient

lol monokuma’s on my team now?

i figured it out!!!!!! you pressed the pause button on the camera you bitch!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i was so laser focused on that i was one mind mine too early, i was looking for the camera in the first mind mine i got confused lol

ha i KNEW they were working together

okay so…i’m guessing kokichi didn’t actually drink that antidote, he gave it to kaito instead, and then said okay let me get crushed by the press since i’m dying anyway?

bro they are not gonna make me execute kaito after all this are they?

i still don’t believe either of them are dead tbh

aw maki’s trying to protect kaito

bro what in the world was that thing floating around the screen in argument armament

AHAHAHAH i was RIGHT about him pretending to drink it!!!!! i thought that in the first time they showed the cutscene, i was like “it looks like the lid is still on”

if they still kill kaito after all this i am going to be EXTREMELY upset

damn they really pulling a fast one on me by making me do more gameplay after the closing argument? and i had literally been thinking to myself “thank god they didn’t make me do the lying mechanic this trial!”

there he is!

i knew he was alive!!!! but oh god please do not make me do chapter 6 without him i can’t handle that

if it was kaito in the exisal the whole time it makes sense that he had no fucking clue what we were talking about when we mentioned junko or the remnants of despair lol

oh man he’s gonna die for maki. he did it because of maki. he did it!!!!!!!!!! for HER!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

oh shit kaito got not-covid, y’all

damn kokichi gave him a whole script AND a written plan?

you know whenever we mentioned junko kaito was just frantically flipping through that giant script book in a panic looking for something to say and finding nothing lol

oh shit fam we’re getting the maki admission of feelings

bro at least HUG each other oh my god

seeing maki break down and cry like that breaks my damn heart

kaito got what he wanted: going into space. and he went out on his terms, hell yeah

uhhh can we fix keebo plz??? not the ahoge!!!!!!!!!!

excuse me what is that giant monokuma head and the silhouette of junko???

so himiko and tsumugi joined me and maki out in the courtyard. but what about keebo? is he doing okay?

oh he out here flying and destroying the school with laser cannons? tbh i can’t blame him. the ahoge was really holding things together huh

but guys keebo is the only thing i have left, nothing can happen to him it simply can’t

guys, that one hurt, that one FUCKING hurt. i cried, i cried actual tears. that was worse than chiaki, worse than gundham. actually it was like combining them both together. it’s the pain of losing your running mate/bestie/rock/love interest in chiaki and ALSO the emotion of gundham committing murder so that sonia could live on and the heartbreak of seeing sonia be forced to lose him. (that’s exactly what happened with kaito and maki!!! yelling!!!!!!!!!!) you combined two of the most heartbreaking executions of the series into one super heartbreak (you can argue which trials and executions are the most emotional, i’d say these are up there, alongside peko peko/fuyuhiko and taka begging for mondo’s life). damn this one really fucked me up, y’all. and i bet y’all were fucking LAUGHING at me confidently proclaiming that kaito had plot armor. i bet that gave you a real good chuckle. it’s okay, you can tell me if you were laughing at me. i was SO confident he’d live to the end being wrong about that feels like a gut punch

dude i need keebo to be alright i NEED it in my soul. on to the next chapter now, I guess

[phoenix-manga]

Little Cherubi, Where Are You Off To?

Summary: An incident in the alchemy lab caused Phoebe to be turned into… a Cherubi? With no antidote for the effects, the students have to look after their little, walking fruit friend.

[Story Under the Cut]

“Careful with that, Deuce! Just make sure to pour TWO drops alright? Two!”

“Shut up, Ace! I’m trying to concentrate!”

Deuce hissed at the red head as he carefully kept his arm stiff as a branch as his eyes locked on to the neck of the bottle, making sure the liquid was slowly inching closer to the rim.

‘(Almost there!)’

*DRIP!*

‘(That’s one! Now just one more…)’

“Watch out!”

*BUMP!*

A student bumped into Deuce by accident trying to avoid being splashed by the contents of the cauldron when it started bubbling aggressively.

The whole bottle was dropped into the cauldron and now THEIR cauldron is acting up. It started to foam and fizzle before the cauldron started to shake as if it was under an earthquake.

“You guys, duck!”

Phoebe grabbed onto Deuce and Ace’s lab coats and pulled downwards as fast as she could.

*BOOM!*

Pink and green foam exploded everywhere! Luckily for the brain cell duo, they were saved from the substance but…

“Agh! Henchman!” Grimm shrieked.

Phoebe wasn’t as lucky, the potion spilled all over her. She’s probably drenched by now!

“Out of the way puppies! Ace, Deuce, You’ll be reprimanded later but for now we need to get the child out of that foam!”

Crewel orders the students with a stern glare. They wasted no time in using the empty cauldrons to scoop out the foam away while others use mops.

But when they got to where Phoebe was supposed to be, all they saw was a lab coat on the floor but the girl was nowhere in sight.

Deuce dropped to his knees in despair.

“I MELTED HER! I’M A MONSTER-“

Deuce lets out a wail as he pounds a fist into the ground.

Ace stood there in shock, actually thinking that the accident really did kill off Phoebe when his eyes spotted a lump under the lab coat that started to wriggle.

Everyone in the room held their breaths as the lump struggled to wriggle its way out of the large clothing. When it finally managed to free itself, it paused and looked around in confusion.

“What in Great Seven-“

Crewel gasped as his put a red gloved hand to cover his mouth that was agape in shock.

It was a small little pink cherry with two large leaves with a smaller cherry attached to the stem, it exerted itself to walk on its two stubby legs.

The creature’s golden-brown eyes blinked at the confused faces that started at it with awe and disbelief.

“Umm… what’s going on?”

“Ah, that voice is- Henchman is that you!?”

Grimm ran towards the cherry who stumbled backwards upon realizing the feline was way taller than it.

“Whoa, Grimm?! How did you get so tall?”

“What the heck, it is Phoebe!” Ace yelled out.

Deuce got up from the floor and picked up Phoebe, his eyes were blurry with tears but he didn’t give a damn right now. All that mattered was that Phoebe wasn’t melted!

“P-Phoebe! Thank the Seven, you’re alright! I didn’t know if I could live with myself when I thought I melted you-“

“MELTED!? IS THAT WHY I’M SO SHORT!?”

Deuce winced and put some distance between him and Phoebe when she shrieked.

Crewel snapped out of his daze and walked towards Deuce, he analyzed the situation that is currently out of hand.

First, there is a huge mess that needs to be cleaned up.

Second, the magicless beast tamer is now a sentient cherry.

He was going to need more whiskey to get through this. Pinching his forehead from frustration, he points to Ace and Deuce.

“Bad boys! You weren’t aware of your surroundings to take notice of oncoming trouble which lead to one of your fellow classmates turning into… THIS! I’ll have you both clean out the laboratory until it’s spotless, and then you will have to take care of Miss Phoebe until this potion wears off!”

The two boys winced at his tone but complied nonetheless. As for Phoebe, she was still confused as to what has become of her.

“Excuse me, can someone lend me a mirror?”

Crewel paused and seemed hesitant to comply.

“Puppy… I’m not sure you would want to see yourself right now…”

“Please?”

“… Alright”

Crewel pulls out a hand mirror from his coat (why he has one in his coat? Phoebe has no idea) and holds it to the girl’s level.

Phoebe got a good look at herself. At first, she was startled and slightly jumped in Deuce’s arms, but afterwards she recognized this form.

“Oh, Ho Oh, I’ve turned into a Cherubi!”

“A what?” Ace blinked.

“[BZZT! I can tell you what that is!]”

Dexter the Rotom conveniently flies out of Phoebe’s lab coat pocket and displayed a picture of a similar cherry creature on its screen.

“[Cherubi, the Cherry Pokémon. A Grass-type…

It nimbly dashes about to avoid getting pecked by bird Pokémon that would love to make off with its small, nutrient-rich storage ball. When the small ball is drained of nutrients, it shrivels to herald evolution. BZZT!]”

After that explanation, the screen turns back to display Rotom’s grin.

Even with an explanation, that poses more questions.

“How the heck can something like this turn a human into… that?!”

Ace was tempted to rip his red locks off his head from the absurdity of this.

*CRACK!*

The sound of Crewel’s teaching stick echoes loudly in the room that alerted everyone into silence.

“This is no time for questions when you two have a lab to clean! For now, I’ll take Miss Phoebe with me, you two can have her back when you’ve finished”

‘(Somehow it feels like I’m demoted to a pet when he said that)’, Phoebe deadpanned.

She had no choice but to sink into Crewel’s really soft fur coat as he ushers almost everyone out before he leaves the room himself, Grimm and Dexter follow him in tow.

“Now, pup. Do you feel any pain? Anything uncomfortable in that… pink, spherical body of yours?”

Crewel’s gaze held concern as he looked at Phoebe’s unfortunate predicament. Though he would have to admit, it was kind of cute to see her pudgy little legs try to turn around only to stumble onto her bum.

But that’s a thought he’ll keep to himself.

From the looks of it, she seems to be fine. Her expression doesn’t show any signs of pain, though it’s hard to deduce that from a fruit with only two beady eyes and a tiny smile.

“I kind of regret leaving Furret back at Ramshackle now, he would’ve gotten me away from that explosion mere moments!”

She sighs dejectedly as Grimm hopped onto the desk to curiously prod at her little cherry behind her leaf.

“This is kind of weird, you got two heads but one is way smaller and all it does is sleep! Is it edible-“

*SMACK!*

“Funya!?”

“Bad cat! What if that hurts her? Keep those paws to yourself, if you want cherries then go to Sam’s! He could sell you a whole variety!”

Grimm rubbed at his swollen paw where Crewel’s hand smacked him on. As the alchemy professor held the Cherubi securely in his hands.

‘(This feels kind of nice~! Is this how Furret feels when I carry him?)’

Phoebe unintentionally snuggled closer into Crewel’s arms that went unnoticed by the man who is keeping a sharp eye on the fire-breathing feline.

“Yo! Crewel, heard you got two lads on cleaning duty, what did they do-“

Speak of the devil, Vargas came into the staff room with his booming voice. But he paused when he saw the most absurd scene before him.

Crewel holding a large cherry while Grimm is pouting.

“What’s with that huge cherry? You planning to win a state fair or something?”

“No, the students ruined a potion but it exploded onto one of the students who were unable to evade it… this cherry is the student-“

“Huh?! They alright?” Vargas’ eyes widened in alarm.

“Yes, fortunately for her she is now a sentient cherry monster… thing. So, we won’t have to worry about anyone accidentally eating her”

The moment Crewel said the word “her” Vargas immediately connected the dots and knew who he was referring to. For a muscle head, he can have his moments where he uses his actual head.

He stared at Phoebe who just blinked at him with her beady little eyes. The two blinked blankly at each other for a few moments before the burly man scooped up the Cherubi out of Crewel’s arm as he lightly tossed her into the air before catching her.

“Aww, look at you! You look like a plushy you’d win at the fair! Haha!”

“Vargas, give me my student! If you drop her, I swear to the Great Seven I will-”

“What is with the commotion here?”

The two men froze when they saw the icy professor of magic history entering the staff room.

Trein entered the room with Lucius in hand, his face held a stare that could only express what he thinks of the scene unfolding before him.

‘(What childish nonsense…)’, he huffs at them as he rolled his eyes.

Lucius locked his eyes on Phoebe who tensed up when she noticed that his eyes were dilated. That could only mean one thing…

“Uh oh…”

Lucius got out of Trein’s grip and pounced on her, claws out and all.

“MREOW!”

“Lucius!? Stop that!”

“Mozus Trein, get that furball away from my student!”

“Student?! Crewel what happened-“

“Henchman, let’s skedaddle outta here before you end up a puree! Funya!”

It was pure chaos, Grimm held Phoebe in his paws as he ran as fast as his hind legs could carry him out into the hallway as a commotion happened in the faculty.

Crewel’s protective instincts over Phoebe made him move to grab Lucius, unfortunately he grabbed the cat’s tail which prompted the feline to howl from the grip.

Trein, acting on his parental instincts over Lucius, smacked the back of Crewel’s head with a book to get him to release his poor cat’s tail.

“Crewel! Get your mitts off my Lucius!”

“Your cat just tried to dice my student, Trein! You keep him in line or I’ll buy a cage from Animazon and put him in time out!”

“Don’t you DARE-!”

Vargas just side stepped their argument and left. He wasn’t going to deal with two of the strictest, educational tyrants in the college. And forget trying to break up the fight, even for a man who takes pride in his muscles, he at least knows when to use them.

This is clearly not a good time to use them.

Grimm slumped down onto the ground to catch his breath as he plops Phoebe down on the floor. Running would have been faster if he was doing it on all fours but he had to make sure there was a good enough distance between him and Lucius.

“We ought to find Ace and Deuce back in the laboratory but… that would mean going past the staff room again…” Phoebe sighed in dismay.

“And we’re not going to risk meeting that furball again! I say we just head back to Ramshackle, Dexter can just send them a message, right?”

“That WOULD be ideal… if only Dexter wasn’t left in the staff room. And it probably flew off somewhere so there’s no point in trying to retrieve the phone now.”

“Tsk, whatever. We can just use the rest of the time to have fun instead! I was getting bored in class anyway so now I wanna play, Nyeheh!”

Without even giving her a chance to refuse, he held her and trotted off to anywhere he felt like going.

But soon Grimm was having a hard time holding Phoebe in his paws as it was tiring to just carry her around like this. In a stroke of genius, he took off his ribbon and tied her on his back like you would a cargo.

“The great Grimm is a genius! This way I won’t get tired from carrying you, henchman!”

“Yeah, good for you but can’t you adjust the ribbon a bit? My eyes are covered!”

“Nah, it’ll be fine!”

It wasn’t fine. The ride was so bumpy from running on all fours that Phoebe swears that if she vomits right now it would probably come out as cherry jam.

Chunky cherry jam.

The students in the hallway stopped for a moment to process what they were seeing. Grimm, that cat monster has a large cherry tied to his back. They paid it no mind because they thought it was just that, a big ol’ cherry.

Phoebe felt her insides tumble as Grimm climbed a tree to get some apples. She was seeing stars from the vertigo.

“Huh? What’s with the cherry Grimm?”

She heard a voice but it didn’t sound like anyone she knows among the NRC students.

Forcing herself to wriggle the ribbon off her eyes a bit then she proceeded to look down she didn’t expect to see Furret, but where was the voice coming from?

“Wait, why does that cherry smell like my trainer?”

It was Furret that was talking!

Phoebe looked shocked but she guessed that because she’s a Pokémon now, she can understand Pokémon speech.

“Furret, it’s me Phoebe! A lab accident turned me into this!”

Furret blinked twice before his jaw was agape from the realization. It all came together because not only does this Cherubi smells like Phoebe, the eye color was not dark red like a Cherubi would usually have.

The eye color was golden brown like Phoebe’s.

Furret hurriedly climbed the tree and grabbed the ribbon to drag Grimm and Phoebe to the ground. The cat is protesting but Furret’s priority is getting his trainer out of that dangerous height.

Untying the ribbon and haphazardly tossing it to Grimm as he checks over Phoebe.

“Those potion things in this world are very strange… And it’s odd to see you this small, trainer.”

“Ugh… it’s been a long day Furret, I don’t know where Dexter is and I don’t know when this potion wears off! L-let’s just go back to Ramshackle, I’ve had enough!”

Phoebe slumps against Furret’s coils in exhaustion, Furret shoots a stern frown at Grimm’s direction but the cat was too busy tying his ribbon to notice.

“Well, you heard my trainer, Grimm. Let’s head back to Ramshackle”

Furret carefully walks on his hind legs while carrying Phoebe with Grimm grumbling as he followed.

To Be Continued…

[self-loving-vampire]

Love your narcissism reminds me of when i was 15

Various life events can break people down and cause them to give up on their dreams, but if you always respect yourself, maintain your integrity, and hold yourself in awe your inner greatness will radiate outwards and start attracting a certain kind of bisexual woman.

Your golden days may come again, if you fight for them, for the best antidote to despair is to take action.

[stevishabitat]

From Daneen Akers, author, Holy Troublemakers & Unconventional Saints and Dear Mama God

I began writing this newsletter in the week after the election, which felt like a storm after THE storm (Helene) in our region. But I couldn’t quite collect my thoughts, and we still regularly had neighbors from Asheville coming to our home for showers, meals, and laundry because they still didn’t have clean water (after seven weeks, clean water is finally mostly restored now), and I decided to just pause.

What the teachers are teaching me

What emerged in that pause was deep gratitude for the teachers of this moment and those who are our ancestors in holy troublemaking who have faced tremendously challenging times and yet continued to do their work in sustainable, community-centric, even joyful ways. I need that right now. My children need that right now. And I suspect a lot of us need that right now, which is why a renewed commitment to a second volume of Holy Troublemakers & Unconventional Saints has also emerged. More on that below because it will take a community effort again, but we have a donor match willing to double efforts here at the year-end, which is incredible.

But first, a few insights that have been especially encouraging and nourishing to me these last few weeks:

Valarie Kaur on how our work will be multigenerational,

James Baldwin on why despair was never an option for him and why we must give children hope,

Rabbi Danya Ruttenberg on the research showing that nonviolent movements really do work better,

Kurt Vonnegut (the “Christ-loving atheist”) on why creating art matters, and

Thich Nhat Hanh— on the importance of treating our anger mindfully and gently in order to not cause more destruction.

Play as the opposite of trauma and awe as an antidote for anxiety

And an insight about play being the opposite of trauma in our bodies (that I wish I could remember the source for) continues to return to me as crucial for how we help the children in our lives as well as ourselves process grief and fear right now. Play is how we community to our bodies that we are safe and okay right now in the present moment. Remember play?! So many of us have become more trauma informed in the age of social media, and that’s been helpful. However, we are less informed about how to feel safe and joyful in our bodies.

Research has shown repeatedly that outrage and fear are contagious emotions online, far more than they are in person. Joy is also, but to a much lesser extent. This seems to be particularly true for adolescent girls, so taking intentional pauses from online spaces and finding embodied ways to play can be deeply healing. Play can mean many things, but the quick definition is any activity that makes us lose track of time because it’s fun means play to our bodies. Maybe it’s singing, improv games, tag, imaginary play with stuffies, a dance party, creating together—the options are limited only by what is play to your body! And our children are experts in play, so we can let them lead here (and likely we need to put our devices out of sight for the fun to actually flow).

Research also shows that one of the best antidotes for anxiety is awe and wonder. And one of the easiest ways to access awe and wonder is by being in the more-than-human world and simply paying attention (again, ideally without the portal-to-all-things in our pockets).

On not catastrophizing the plight of our times

A thought about not catastrophizing the plight of our times from C.S. Lewis has also been helpful for me (my sister originally shared this with me a few months ago as I was lamenting climate change, but it’s evergreen in this new technological age when we’re more aware than ever of every catastrophe everywhere). As a caveat, Lewis is not really my go-to theologian, despite my deep love of Narnia as a child, but this advice resonates, and it coheres with the post shared widely on Nov 6th, including by me on the Holy Troublemakers FB page from Venice Williams.

This advice from Lewis was written in response to a letter someone wrote him asking how to cope in the (then brand new) age of nuclear weapons, certainly a global development that would seem to justify continual anxiety. I certainly don't think this advice means we don't find the ways to make good and holy trouble, organize, and all of the things. But it's been a helpful framing for me and one I want to model for my children and other children in my life.

“In one way we think a great deal too much of the atomic bomb. 'How are we to live in an atomic age?’ I am tempted to reply: ‘Why, as you would have lived in the sixteenth century when the plague visited London almost every year, or as you would have lived in a Viking age when raiders from Scandinavia might land and cut your throat any night; or indeed, as you are already living in an age of cancer, an age of syphilis, an age of paralysis, an age of air raids, an age of railway accidents, an age of motor accidents.’

In other words, do not let us begin by exaggerating the novelty of our situation. Believe me, dear sir or madam, you and all whom you love were already sentenced to death before the atomic bomb was invented: and quite a high percentage of us were going to die in unpleasant ways. We had, indeed, one very great advantage over our ancestors—anesthetics; but we have that still. It is perfectly ridiculous to go about whimpering and drawing long faces because the scientists have added one more chance of painful and premature death to a world which already bristled with such chances and in which death itself was not a chance at all, but a certainty.

This is the first point to be made: and the first action to be taken is to pull ourselves together.

If we are all going to be destroyed by an atomic bomb, let that bomb when it comes find us doing sensible and human things—praying, working, teaching, reading, listening to music, bathing the children, playing tennis, chatting to our friends over a pint and a game of darts—not huddled together like frightened sheep and thinking about bombs. They may break our bodies (a microbe can do that) but they need not dominate our minds.”

May it be so!

Daneen Akers

author, Holy Troublemakers & Unconventional Saints and Dear Mama God

[thatstormygeek]

We are living in period of destabilization and radicalization. These things go hand-in-hand. As America’s hegemony falters - or, rather, as global capitalism finalizes its cannibalization of the American hegemony and seeks other means of proliferating, dragging us into a new era of oppression and exploitation - we were always going to see more and more discord here and around the world. This is how Russia invades Ukraine, how a terrorist attack in Israel spirals into ethnic cleaning and threatens to spill into a larger regional war, and how we’ve come to face an existential crisis in seemingly every corner of our lives. There is no way to avoid it anymore. Everywhere you turn is more and more evidence of worsening conditions.

If this were a just world the ethnic cleansing in Gaza would have never commenced. Our leaders would address the obvious and historic inequality that causes our decline. Human dignity would be paramount and conditions would improve. We know this. We’ve studied the past, we’ve studied ourselves, and we know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this crisis is avoidable and addressable. And with every passing day that it worsens we are haunted by a pressing fear that this is the world as it is and as it will be. That feeling, unfortunately, is at the very core of authoritarianism.

[...]

The essence of the authoritarian appeal begins with powerlessness. When it finds hold is when there seems no alternative to brute force and cruelty. It disguises itself as cold rationalism, telling the hopeful convert that any hope for a better world is misguided unless it comes at the expense of others. When the purveyors of Nazism and Fascism radicalized their followers, it was with a simple declaration: the nature of the world is brutality, and it is past time to accept that awful fact and wield it like a weapon. You are meant, and I am sorry to tell you this, to either embrace that weapon, run from it in fear, or be smashed by it. Those are the conditions of widespread authoritarianism. You are to live in trying times and fall to them. You are to believe that the only lubrication for this machine is blood. You can supply someone else’s, sacrifice your own, or choose to turn away from the process and let the strongmen handle it for you. That is it. Violence, destruction, or submission. If that sounds like an abusive relationship, that’s only because it should. Authoritarianism is widespread, systematic abuse spread among millions and billions. It seeks to crush your soul and cure you of any empathy or hope you may have. It wants to rid you of any imagination you have for a better, more human world and replace it with a calloused thirst for vengeance. It tells you the world may not getter better for us all, but if we are to steal the lives and resources and very life of others, you might find a pitiful facsimile of sustenance.

The antidote to authoritarianism and fascism and nazism and all the forms of oppression and exploitation is hope. A defiant and revolutionary belief in the possibility of things getting better. In things changing in the interest of human dignity and democracy. It strikes a blow to authoritarians and fascists and Nazis to look at these disasters and feel the magnitude of the tragedy and believe, in spite of what you are told and fed, that it does not have to be this way. I say this: authoritarianism is not just a Republican problem. It’s not just a Russian problem. It’s not just a problem as millions of people are being destroyed. It’s not just a problem as elections are stolen and rights and liberties are being aggressively eradicated. Authoritarianism is a trajectory. A momentum. You can vote and you can root on politicians, but this is not an easy out. The very basis of the post-war American project has been authoritarianism because it is the current installation of the capitalist project hellbent on subjugating peoples and fitting the entire world into a mold of hierarchical control. The beginning of your resistance isn’t going to the ballot box. It’s making a personal and spiritual choice to see both the world as it is and how it could be. To defiantly protect your hope and belief that you deserve better, that everyone deserves better, that better, in spite of what you are told by authoritarians and institutionalists, that better is not only possible, but worth the fight.

[cursedcapt]

Day 163 of 365 When asked "How are you doing?" in an interview Jordan Peterson replies “brilliantly and terribly ..That’s… You know when you listen to a profound piece of music, one that sort of spans the whole emotional experience it’s not happy.  Happy is elevator music and probably you just shouldn't listen to that at all. Right and you think why well it's harmless. It's trickily. It's sweet. Simple it lacks depth, it's shallow that's a problem. It doesn't have that deep sense of awe and horror, I would say, that is characteristic of the best of all music. You know you listen to some simple music, Hank Williams is a good example.  Blues cowboy from the 50s who died of alcoholism when he was 27 and whose voice sounds like an 80 year old man. Simple melody you know but there's nothing simple in the song and in the voice its deep you know it's like the blues it's like black blues in the states from the 20s and it was certainly influenced by that tradition there this admission of a  deep suffering at the same time as you get a beautiful transcendence of the music and that's meaning you know that's awful in the most fundamental sense but you need an antidote to suffering and it has to  be deep and deep moves you tectonically and it's not a trivial thing but that's better than happiness. And maybe if you're lucky while you're pursuing that and while you're immersed in it you get to be happy and you should fall on your knees and be grateful for that when it happens. You know it's a gift, it really is a gift and it comes upon you unexpectedly, your happiness you know but you aim to climb uphill to the highest peak you can possibly envision and that's better than happiness.  Interviewer questions why he includes terribly….    Well for example now when i go wherever i go in the world people come up to me and they're usually I wouldn't say they are happy to see me they're often in tears you know and they often have a pretty rough story to relate you know they were suicidal or nihilistic or homicidal or trapped desperate you know and they tell me that real fast and then they say I've overcome that to a large degree and thank you for that and and you think well that's really something to have that happen over and over in some ways you might think well how could anything better possibly happen to you than to have people come up to you all over the world strangers and open themselves up like that. Like their old friends so quickly but at the same time  it's an awful thing because you see even in the revelation of their triumph the initial depth of their despair.. So i wouldn't change that but its not nothing and it's certainly not just happiness it's better than happiness but it's almost unbearable

[sallysoot]

ANON ASKS... ALBSJZJAGAJJAKA I’M SO HAPPY I FOUND A FELLOW YANDERE WRITER- that being said, I shall go by ‘Yandere anon’ since I’m not that creative lol. May I please request Yandere!Ghostbur? With general headcanons - what type of Yandere would he be please? Maybe how he would react to his s/o being hurt please? You can always change the Yandere and what you write, all I want is that you enjoy it! Thank you!! ~ Yandere anon

i LOVE yandere content, which i’m definitely going to make everyone else’s problem. i’ve never written a single WORD for ghostbur before now, so this is new territory for me! just a reminder: this is ALL FOR FUN!!! i do not condone these behaviors in a real-life context, they are unhealthy and dangerous-- it is JUST a dynamic in a fictional story!

      ↱  YANDERE!GHOSTBUR HEADCANONS !  ↲     CW FOR UNHEALTHY RELATIONSHIP / OBSESSION !!

of course, after his death, wilbur really only remembers the good things. he’s foggy on so many things, always stumbling over the little flickers of memory that he gets from places and people, but he remembers you, at least marginally more than most things. and when the amnesia makes every memory that stays intact feel so heavy... who can blame him for what he thinks? how he feels? you must have been the most important thing in his old life if so much of you is still intact in his mind. he isn’t in the wrong for this.

wilbur is the type of obsessive that is one-track and overwhelming. he has nothing else, after all. everything he worked for is gone and only exists in a dreamlike fantasy he has. but you’re still there, so he focuses in on that. you occupy his thoughts, his intentions, his everything. if there is no afterlife, if everything was a lie all along and his existence is only pain, you serve as a rush of an antidote that he doesn’t want to share with anyone else.

with immortality and the overwhelming despair comes a lack of self-preservation that shows most of all when it comes to you. he cannot die, but he knows you still can. so if someone hurts you, they’ve put themselves in a position of danger incomprehensible by seeking to challenge someone so difficult to be rid of.

oh, of course he wants to be a good person. the person he was when he was alive hurt so many people and did such awful things. he tries so very hard to never be that person again, to maintain the innocence and naivety of a dead man. but people don’t make it easy for him, do they? they just HAD to lay a hand on you, DIDN’T THEY?

wilbur is such a non-threat to so many people that it’s a shock to think he’d be willing to kill. but he’s more than just willing, when it comes to you. he’ll lure those who wronged you in and lull them with a sense of security that he’s such a NICE guy, now, he’s so reformed and so well meaning after the death of his first self. 

it always looks like an accident. 

you can have your friends, your home, your life, if that’s what you want. but wilbur will always be there. he needs you. everything that you have is only because he is so kind to have let you keep it.

wilbur will never let you forget that you are the most important thing to him. a precious memory, a blessed relic. his prized person, at the end of it all. the blood on his hands exists only to paint the portrait of a past live he craves to share with you.

[screamingatanemptyroom]

Please Fix the Story Pt 19 - Sci Fi

The new part is here. I've struggled with this story a little bit recently, but I wanted to continue this, to share it with you.

Master Post linked here

Enjoy!

_________________________

“Bel…”

“BEL!”

The world around me was pitch black, empty except for voices I didn't recognize, shouting a name I couldn't remember. I blinked, trying to clear my vision without success.

“Hello?” My anxious shout faded into the nothingness around me.

“I have to do it, Bel. It’s how the story goes.” A blurry figure stood in front of me, his facial features unclear behind his blond hair, but his tone contained frustration and regret. “You know what happens to a world when the story is incomplete. Sacrifices have to made.”

“Who are you…?”

“That’s our fate, we just have to accept that.” He faded away into the darkness, leaving me alone again.

“Come back! Explain what you meant!” I screamed at the disappearing figure. “WHAT SACRIFICE? WHAT FATE?!”

"YOU MUST ACCEPT YOUR FATE."

“Are you lost?” A new voice spoke up, strange, yet completely and utterly familiar.

I spun around, but there was no one behind me. “I’m… I’m lost.”

“No matter where you go, who you become… I’ll find you, Bel. I promise.” The voice was a whisper in my ear. “Fate can’t tear us apart. I won’t let it. Even if I have to destroy fate itself.”

“But I can’t find you. I don’t remember who you are!” I was crying, my tears disappearing into the surrounding mist.

“I’ll find you.” The words were quieter, as if the owner of the voice was fading away.

“DON’T LEAVE ME!”

“I promise.”

“NOT AGAIN!”

"You must accept your fate."

"Bel..."

"You must.."

“…I promise…”

_________________________

“LIAM!”

I woke up, screaming a name that disappeared from my mind as soon as the sound as faded, tears and sweat staining my cheeks.

I curled up into a ball, my head resting on my knees, trying to catch my breath.

Who am I?

Finding no answers, I eventually steadied my nerves, getting up, showering and changing. I looked up at the clock on the wall, wincing as I realized that I was running late for class.

Great, now I’m going to miss breakfast, and I'm starving.

I put on my uniform jacket, lamenting silently my lack of time to fill my empty stomach. As I left my dorm, however, my eye caught something sitting on the floor right outside my door. It was a small plate with a peeled apple and a note with Alaira’s name on it.

I thought Alaira was supposed to be loner… This has to be a trap, right?

It had been several weeks since I woke up in this strange world. It couldn’t be more obvious that she didn’t have any true friends or allies. No one who would care enough to send breakfast, definitely.

Maybe it’s from whoever has been following me around?

Since the second day, I had noticed a shadowy presence following me at a distance. Whoever it was, they never attempted to try to speak to me, or interfere with me in ay way. But it was always nearby, always watching.

So now they’ve upgraded to leaving me food?

I picked up the apple, looking around, and scanned it with the personal computer on my wrist, which showed no drugs or other abnormalities.

Well… I am hungry, which outweighs the possible grim outcome of death by poison, I suppose.

Shrugging mentally, I took a bite. The taste was sweet. I sighed with satisfaction and took another bite. As I chewed, a thought occurred to me, confusing me all the more.

How did they know I like peeled apples?

As far as I could remember, Alaira had never liked apples. It was considered an ancient fruit, more of an oddity than a dietary staple. She had tried it once or twice and hadn’t been impressed.

But I liked it…

I liked apples a lot… but only peeled ones. It was something almost instinctive I had felt whenever I thought about the fruit. But… I hadn’t eaten any apples since I woke up as Alaira.

So how do they know? Does this sci fi story come with mind readers?

I took another bite, feeling confused.

_________________________

“Why the hatred for the apple peel?”

The young man seemed genuinely curious from his tone of voice as he handed me a freshly peeled fruit.

I shrugged, taking a bite. “You try living as a princess in a lower fantasy realm. I bit into a poisoned apple once and the inside was glowing green.” I shuddered. “Ever since then I can’t stand to bite into an apple with the peel still on.”

The man had already started peeling another fruit, and paused in his actions. “Did the prince have to kiss you to break the spell?”

“Why, are you jealous?” I grinned.

“N-no… I’m just asking.” His head hung down, as he seemed to stare intently into the apple in his hands.

I patted his head. “I took an antidote ahead of time. Didn’t fall asleep. Instead, I beat the crap out of the witch.”

He laughed at that. “Didn’t you get in trouble for changing things?”

“Of course. But it was so worth it.”

_________________________

I stared down at the partially eaten fruit in my hands, feeling overwhelmed at the memories surging through my mind.

I keep seeing these memories, but I can’t connect them to anything. What are these lower realms? Is that what I’m in right now? Who is this person I keep seeing?

I felt incomplete, a large part of my memories, my emotions, were missing. What was worse, I wasn’t even sure what was gone, what I should be sad about losing.

I grabbed my bag and walked out the door.

“Alaira.” A voice called out, stopping me in my tracks. Turning, I sighed with odd sense of disappointment at the person standing before me.

Who was I expecting?

I forced a grin and made a rude gesture. “Hey Chris, how awful to see you this morning! Terrible of you to stop by.” I checked my personal communicator and shrugged. “Fortunately for me, I’m running late and have no time for your nonsense. So we’ll save your annoying ranting and raving for a later date, okay?”

He ignored my words, stepping closer with an excited look. “Have you heard the news?”

“Even if I say yes, you’re still going to tell me, right?”

“Don’t pretend, it’s not fooling anyone!” He glared at me. “You’ve been hoping to trap me as your Connector since the match results came back!”

I sighed. “At this point, it’s not even funny anymore. What can I say that will possibly convince you that that is NOT the case?”

“You won’t be able to stop my dreams, Alaira! Next time I’m going to win!”

“Yes, you’re the absolute greatest.” I rolled my eyes. “I cry myself to sleep each night over the fact that we aren’t partners, and I will never feel anything in this life but anguish and despair… now can I go to class?”

He looked ever angrier at my sarcasm. “Just wait until the next match. You’ll see that I’m good enough to be a Guardian. Because I’ve got…”

“Okay, buddy. Sounds good.” I interrupted, walking away.

“Wait, you didn’t finish listening…”

“Yep. See you next match.”

I left him behind, ignoring his rage induced sputtering.

Met an idiot first thing... but hey, at least I'm not hungry anymore!

_________________________

A few days later, the next round of mock Mech battles began.

As the winner of the prior fight, I was slated to go first, completing the first four battles with relative ease. As the day wore on, however, the drain on my body from using the Mech was increasing exponentially. Fortunately I was on my last scheduled fight of the day… even if this was the hardest so far.

A light headache was throbbing at my temples as I scanned the field around me. The arena stood as a large stadium, featuring a high-class barrier shield that extended up to twenty stories in the air. Hundreds of seats surrounded the fighting field, all equipped with holo screens that played the footage taken by the referee bots floating around the fight.

The excited screams from the audience were slightly muffled by the protective screen, and the remaining noise was filtered out as I focused on the fight ahead of me.

My opponent this time was a third year A level Guardian, an experienced fighter, who fought along side a D level Connector. Alaira had faced off with them multiple times in the past, and she had always struggled to win despite the difference in strength of abilities.

There was no denying the advantage that a Connector brought to the fight.

I grinned, ignoring the draining sensation of operating my Mech, the headache and weakness that quickly came on each time I made the Connection. The pain was severe, like a knife stabbing through my eye, but I forced myself to ignore it. As I fought, I couldn’t help but feel bitter.

It’s not like I haven’t been looking for a Connector.

Each day I went to the Matching Center. Each day I endured the laughter, the stares, the whispers and pointing. Each day I was faced with the same words: “No match available.”

Do I need to come up with a different plan? But I can’t fight the Hive without a Mech, and I can’t operate a Mech without a Connector… unless I want to slowly destroy my mind like Alaira did.

I sighed, not seeing any easy answers, and focused on the fight ahead of me. Although I had Alaira’s memories, and operating the Mech came as almost second nature with my S level alpha waves, I had run into an unexpected obstacle:

Alaira’s weapon of choice had been dual wielding energy pistols.

What a waste of the cool looking sword on my back. My physical body was suspended in the Connection chamber, a shielded globe filled with suspension gel. Although the Mech was controlled through alpha brain waves and the Connection, the closer I was to the Mech, the easier that control was. Thus the space for the Guardian was always in the center of the Mech.

I wore helmeted mask monitoring my vitals such as oxygen saturation and heart rate, adjusting the air composition and breath volume to accommodate my body’s stress reaction during battle. A skintight silver suit covered me, interacting with the gel to provide me physical feedback that the Mech would feel. My vision was shared with my Mech’s video system; I looked down and saw the pistols resting in the robotic hands. It was strange, I was obviously inside the robot, but the sensation of the ground beneath my feet, the guns in my hands, was all too real.

The physical sensation made it easier to fight, but it had an obvious drawback, which was that I felt any blows that my Mech sustained. During the fight I was the Mech, and it was a part of me. I tightened my grip around the energy weapons, feeling tired.

Something felt off about using these as my weapons.

I still had no memories about my past, but as I had practiced with the Mech these past few weeks, I had noticed a familiarity with fighting and battles, even more than what Alaira had in my memories after a lifetime of training at home with her father and then in the academy.

Am I some kind of warrior or something?

It didn’t seem right, but I couldn’t explain the comfortable sensation of judging my opponent and fighting with them. But that comfort and familiarity did not extend to dual wielding pistols.

I just wasn’t a great shot.

We had already been fighting for ten minutes. My headache had worsened and I felt tired, but I had only managed to score a few hits on non-vital areas. The only benefit was that the opposing Mech had only been able to strike me twice with the energy-enhanced spear he carried.

“You seem a little off today, Alaira, everything all right?” My opponent’s voice came over his speaker, shocking me. It was technically considered bad etiquette to talk during battle, but it was hard to fault him, as he seemed genuinely concerned about my less than ideal fighting state.

I shook my head, raising my pistols once more. “I’m fine, let’s continue.”

I rushed forward, taking advantage of my superior speed and maneuverability to get closer, trying to make it harder to miss my shots. The opposing Mech jumped backwards, but it was too late. Its hand was within my grasp. Turning and using its significant weight to my advantage, I flipped the robot over my own’s shoulder put the barrel of my gun against the metal head.

My final shot through its temple destroyed the key mechanisms within it, rendering it immobile and finishing the fight.

That was too close… I’ve been practicing with the pistols since I’ve woken up in this strange world, and seen no improvement… what am I doing wrong?

As the referee called out my victory, I backed away, letting out a sigh of relief. It had been a harder fight than it should have been, but at least it was over.

I need a nap.

“I WANT TO CHALLENGE ALAIRA!”

An extremely annoying voice spoke up, causing my already bad headache to worsen.

... Why me?

I turned towards the speaker. “Chris. Didn’t we agree that we were going to avoid each other? … Or was that just my wishful thinking?”

His all white Mech landed in front of my own, holding a large, oversized sword. He swung it back and forth, and although I couldn’t see his facial expressions, the smug tone of his voice through the Mech’s speakers were enough to make me wish I could make my Mech roll its eyes.

“Surely the legendary S level Guardian Alaira isn’t SCARED to fight with a mere D level Guardian such as myself, right?”

“Guardian Chris, please retract your challenge. Guardian Alaira has already finished five consecutive mock battles, and needs time to recover.” The instructor’s face was stern on the holographic screens around us, leaving no room for disagreement.

Chris laughed mockingly. “Oh, I thought she said that even with all the advantages and luck she could still beat me? I guess it was just empty arrogance.” His Mech shook its head. “With such a weak personality, no wonder you can’t find a Connector to match you. Who would want to endure such a woman?”

“…”

CLANG!

My Mech’s foot connected with the other’s crotch, and I heard a high-pitched squeal of pain. Ha, shared sensation with the Mech comes in handy sometimes.

“How dare you?!” His pained shout made me grin.

“Less talking, more fighting. I accept your challenge, Chris.” I took a deep breath, trying to ignore the feeling of my head splitting apart, as well as the light ringing in my ears. I had reached the limit of how long I could safely operate the Mech.

But the sound of his smug satisfaction infuriated me.

Every night, I was haunted by nightmares. Sometimes it was fragments of memories of unfamiliar worlds and people. Most nights, however, I dreamt of Alaira’s end. Alone, broken, terrified, a horrific death for a lonely girl.

And this idiot had watched it happen.

It might not be smart, but I just really want to beat him up. I took a stance, brandishing the pistols, feeling off kilter once more at the light weight in both of my hands.

In the meantime Chris had recovered from his inconvenience, and had resumed his taunting. “Oh, yeah, you ran away so fast the other day, I never got to share with you the good news:” He paused for what I assumed was dramatic effect. “I matched with a Connector earlier last week.”

He obviously meant this to be a huge blow to me, but Alaira’s memories had already warned me this would happen. A beautiful young woman, one of the many who competed for Chis’s affection. This one is a princess… Ilene, I think?

Unbidden, my mind was filled with the thought of the serious, quiet Prince William. I hadn’t seen him since that first day in front of the matching center. So he would be her brother?

I felt a moment of concern at his absence, and then confused, I shook my head, dismissing the thought. I had no reason to see him. Why would I worry about a stranger? Shrugging, I waved casually to Chris’s Mech.

“I welcome the princess to the battle. Sorry you’re on the losing team!”

“…”

There was a moment of shocked silence. “You already know?!”

I winced at Chris’s ear piercing shriek. “Know and don’t care.”

“But… I have a Connector.”

“Yeah, you said that.”

“So I won’t be YOUR Connector!”

I sighed. “We’ve long established that. Look, buddy, it’s been a long day and I’m really tired, are you gonna keep talking about your boring personal life, or are we gonna try to crush each other with massive robots?”

“... Fine then! Keep pretending you don’t care!” Chris seemed really upset at not eliciting a bigger reaction from me, but fortunately turned his attention to the battle as well.

As the hologram around us signaled the start to the fight, he raised his sword and moved towards me, but I had already moved behind him.

BAM!

A shot hit his shoulder, blowing large metallic pieces into the air. I frowned, frustrated. I was faster and stronger than him, but my shots just weren’t going where I wanted them to.

Chris ‘s Mech turned around to face, me, the oversized sword’s momentum swaying the robot from side to side. His movement accuracy and speed had tripled from our last encounter. Clearly, he and his Connector were well matched, well over the required 50%.

But I was still faster.

I ducked under his blow, aiming upwards at his elbow and firing another couple shots.

BAM! BAM!

I missed. Cursing, I recovered, dodging another blow as I increased the distance between us.

Stupid guns.

_________________________

A young man threw up his hands, clearly frustrated.

“Why are you so stubborn? Every single world you insist on using a sword. We were in a laser battle for goodness sake!”

“Swords are more dependable.”

“Oh come on…”

“Plus I’m a terrible shot.”

He sighed. “Fine. But what if one day you don’t have me watching your back?”

“It will be fine.” I grinned. “Don’t you love saying that everything is according to fate? Maybe a sword is just mine?”

“... It doesn’t work like that.”

_________________________

A brief memory flashed in my mind, confusing me.

During my distraction, Chris’s Mech tried to strike again. With no time to dodge, I raised my gun, blocking the blow with the barrel. The weapon cracked under the edge of the sword. I pushed him back, relying on my superior strength and jumped backwards, throwing away the broken weapon in my hand. Glancing down at the remaining gun I had, I felt a warm liquid drip from my nose. It was bleeding, a sign of the increasing strain of the Connection.

I was breaking down. I wouldn't last the rest of the fight.

I had to surrender.

Screw that!

I holstered my remaining gun, drawing the large sword on my Mech’s back. As I held it in front of me, I suddenly felt at home, completely comfortable, as if I had held a sword many times before. I stared at Chris’s Mech, feeling excited.

Now, this feels like a fight!

I raced forward, swinging my sword in a horizontal strike.

_________________________

I was standing in a group of zombies, my sword cutting through the neck of the closest monster.

_________________________

Chris dodged, stumbling backwards. I used the momentum of my first swing to smoothly transition into a downward slash.

_________________________

I was an elf, dancing in the forest, my blade striking down shadowy creatures in the midst of a large battle.

_________________________

THUD!

A robotic hand fell to the ground as I cut it off at the wrist. Chris let out a moan of pain, cut short as I controlled my Mech to kick him in the face, knocking him on his back.

_________________________

I was a vampire, holding a sword made of darkness, fighting humans with elegance and grace.

_________________________

Chris tried to stand up but my foot on his chest prevented the movement. I rested the tip of my sword at his Mech’s throat.

“Do you surrender?”

_________________________

“Surrender?” I smiled as I spoke, staring down at the man on the ground. I couldn’t see his face clearly except for his dark blue eyes, which stared at me without a hint of embarrassment despite his defeated position.

“I surrender.” His voice was warm. “You’re pretty amazing with a sword.”

“After all the realms I’ve fought through? I would have to be.” I shook my head. “Don’t you use swords when you travel?”

“I’m not permitted to travel anymore.” He grinned. “I keep refusing to play my role.”

_________________________

I blinked, focusing on the partially destroyed Mech in front of me. Not hearing his answer, I dug the tip into his neck slightly, only stopping when he let out a groan.

“Do. You. Surrender?”

“I surrender.” His answer sounded like it was forced through gritted teeth.

I could hear muted cheers from the crowd behind the shield as the holographic screens around us displayed my name as the victor.

“Good.” I moved my sword and turned away. My body felt drained, every muscle screaming in pain. I tasted blood in my mouth, my head hurting worse with each passing second.

“I’LL BEAT YOU ONE DAY!” Chris called out behind me. “I’LL GET STRONGER, AND I’LL SHOW YOU!”

“Tell it to someone who cares.” I didn’t turn around, and left the arena.

At least I won. Now if my head would just stop hurting...

As soon as I reached the docking area, my legs crumpled beneath me, and my world faded into darkness.

_________________________

Where am I?

I woke up in a white room, on a plain, clean bed, wearing a hospital gown.

This isn’t a different world, is it?

I carefully searched my memories, but didn’t feel anything different. I sighed, realizing I must be in the school infirmary. In my memories of her life, Alaira had helped bring her fellow students there in the past, but had never stayed to be examined. Deep down she had known that without a Connector she was breaking down, and was afraid the school would prevent her from fighting.

It might have saved her life if she had.

I sat up, rubbing my forehead tiredly. It was still throbbing.

“Are you okay?” A soft voice spoke up, startling me.

I jumped, looking to the chair beside my bed, where a dark haired young man sat. His dark blue eyes studied me carefully, his face expressionless.

“…Prince William?”

“…” After a long silence, he nodded slowly.

“What are you doing here?”

He stared down at the floor silently, and just when I thought he might not respond, he reached out, handing me a peeled apple.

I took it, feeling dazed. “Umm… thanks.” I took a bite, and after swallowing, asked the question on my mind. “Were you the one leaving food outside my dorm room then?”

“…hmm.” His gaze never left the ground.

What the heck kind of answer is “hmm”?!!

“How did you know I like peeled apples?”

“…” A look of genuine confusion crossed his face, but quickly disappeared as he shrugged silently.

“Okay. Well. Thanks.” I pushed myself up, trying to swing my legs to the side of the bed.

He stood up, his face concerned. “Wait. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, my head hurts, but otherwise I feel great.”

“…You should rest.” He frowned as he looked me over.

“It’s just strain from a prolonged connection.” I sighed. “I’m used to it.”

“You haven’t matched?” He seemed mixed, as if happy and disappointed at the same time.

“Nope. Not for lack of trying though. ” I looked him over. “Are you a Connector? Have you matched yet?”

“I…” A look of agony distorted his features.

“He can’t. He’s broken.”

A young woman stood at the door of the infirmary, a mocking smile on her face.

I studied the newcomer carefully. She had long black curls framing a heart shaped face, and large blue eyes that looked down on me with pride. Given the similarities in features to Prince William next to me, it wasn’t difficult to figure out her identity.

“I’m assuming you’re Princess Ilene?”

She ignored my words, walking closer to her brother, whose face had become expressionless once again.

“He can’t Connect. His mental barrier is too strong.” She stopped a few feet away from him and raised her hand, knocking on what looked to be empty air. It made a solid noise, her hand stopping at the same invisible point. “He can’t put it down even if he wants to.”

I thought back to the first time I met him, remembering people being pushed aside.

“A useless Connector who can’t make the connection. A Guardian who can’t match. Two failures together.” She smiled at me. “Sorry I took away your only possible chance at matching Chris, but you needed to see the reality of the situation. He’s a better Guardian than you.”

“…Remind me again who ended up flat on their back at the end of the last fight?”

Her eyes narrowed in annoyance at my comeback. “At least he will be around a long time to help fight the Hive. You, on the other hand.” Ilene pointed at her head and turned her finger in a circle. “You have no future. But on the bright side, at least my useless brother can keep you company while your mind slowly breaks apart.”

BAM

William stood up, angry, and with the loud sound of an impact, Ilene was pushed by an invisible barrier out of the room. Her face enraged, she slammed her fists against it while her mouth made motions as if she was shouting. I stared at her, confused as to why I couldn’t hear her.

“…I sealed her out of the barrier.” William whispered. “Her voice can't make it through either.”

“Oh.” I nodded with satisfaction, watching her shout silently outside the doorway. “Thanks.”

“I can expand the barrier… but she’s right… I can’t drop it.” His eyes dropped down to the floor again. “I can’t Connect… I can’t help Guardians… useless…” His voice slowly dropped in volume, until it was barely a whisper.

“Well, you’re helping me out right now, and I’m a Guardian. So I’d say you’re a pretty useful guy.” I gave him a thumbs up. “I know that not hearing her is already making my day better.”

He stared at me silently for a few moments. “… Are you hungry?”

“Kind of. Why? Do you have more apples or something?”

William shook his head. “No… cake.”

“Please tell me you are serious.”

He solemnly set a container with a piece of cake on the table next to me, along with a napkin and utensils.

I stared at it in shock, motionless.

“… Do you not like it?” His nervous tone broke me out of my stupor. I quickly reached out and held the container close, grabbing the fork and taking a bite.

“Oh, this is amazing… totally worth passing out after my fight.” I took a few more bites, noting him relaxing visibly as I showed my enjoyment. “…Why are you being so nice to me, anyways?”

“Why?” William blinked, looking shocked as if he hadn’t considered it before.

“Yeah. As far as I can tell, I haven’t met you outside of running into you in the hallway once. Why go out of your way to leave me food and sit by me in the infirmary?”

He finally looked up, his dark blue eyes staring into my own. “…I’m not sure. “ He shrugged. “Whenever I see you, I feel happy. I want to help you.”

I leaned back against the backboard of the infirmary bed. “Well… I guess I could always use a friend.”

“Friends?” A trace of a smile crossed his face, before it disappeared into expressionless once more. “Really?”

“Yeah. So let me introduce myself officially, Prince William.” I started to reach out a hand to shake, but remembering his barrier, I pulled it back. “I’m Alaira. Level S Guardian but unable to match, and your new friend.”

He stared at my hand with a look of regret before looking back up. “I’m a Level S Connector… but can’t connect. I’m your new friend… “ He hesitated. “Can you call me a nickname instead?”

“Sure.”

“Then call me… Liam.”

_________________________

“Are you lost?” I woke up in a strange world to the sound of an unfamiliar voice, laying on my back, confused.

“Seems a good description for my current situation.” I stared into a pair of dark blue eyes, smiling despite the dizziness. “Nice to meet you, Stranger.”

He grinned, reaching out a hand to help me up. “Call me Liam.”

“Nice to meet you, Liam.”

_________________________

I blinked away the memory, smiling at the timid young man in front of me. “Nice to meet you… Liam.”

[theres-no-protocol-for-this]

Snippet: Words Unspoken

The premise was something about an enemy that captures Keith, injects him with a slow-acting poison, and tells him he'll get the antidote if he lures the paladins into a trap. Instead, Keith goes back and warns them, at the potential cost of his own life.

And has a heartbreaking conversation with his husband.

This is not a fluffy snippet. Please don't read this unless you want dark and somewhat despairing. It's also incomplete because I hurt myself writing it.

Later, the debriefing is done, Keith calls Shiro directly and asks for a private connection. He doesn’t know what to say, but silence doesn’t appear to be an option. Not when he has a dozen unread messages, and more missed calls than he dares to think about it.

He’s also married to this man, and he can’t avoid his husband for long.

“Keith!” It’s a bellow, and maybe he deserves that. “What the actual fuck?”

“Sorry.”

“I love you, Atlas and I are on our way, so you… better be there when we land.” Shiro’s expression is caught somewhere between righteous anger and endless fear. “Stars above, what happened?”

Keith doesn’t think Shiro wants another mission debrief. “I don’t know. I was careful, followed the protocol to the letter, it was supposed to be a diplomatic engagement. Blades don’t fuck up like this.”

“Shit, baby, I know. I know you. You’re not careless, and you don’t miss red flags.”

“Yeah, so…”

“Do you think they were telling the truth?”

Keith nods hesitantly and chews on his lip. “They injected me with something. I heard them whispering something about how they’ve seen this shit fuck up Galra twice the size. So, probably.”

“Fuck.” Shiro paces his living quarters like a lion trapped in a cage.

“Shiro…” Keith’s voice comes out soft and the words catch on his tongue. “I love you. I always have and always will. If I don’t get to say it again.”

“Don’t! Please, Keith.”

Keith can’t promise not to die, not when he didn’t set the timetable. The Blade feels tears burning in the corners of his eyes. He’s hollow inside, like reality hasn’t quite settled in. He knows he’s dying, understands rationally that his body is sick, but emotionally he’s still catching up.

“I miss you.”

“We’ll be there in just under three cycles.”

Neither of them mentions that it will be too late, that the cold equations of space travel and living bodies don’t lie.

“I’ll see you when you get here,” Keith offers, thinking that perhaps pretending for another five minutes that everything is fine is good enough.

Shiro looks downright horrified. “No. Keith, not, that’s not what I meant. I would rather talk to you for as long as have than sit here. I just…” He sobs. “I’ve known a lot of helplessness in life, and none of it felt like this.”

“I wish you were here.”

“What about the space wolf?”

“He’s with mom on a rescue mission, and they’re still trying to get ahold of them. On account of… you know.”

“Are you OK? Do you feel sick?” Shiro asks.

“Not yet, at least not any worse than when I got here.” That was already a flavor of awful, bruised, battered, and dehydrated.

“You should lie down. Rest. Shower. Take care of yourself.”

Keith is definitely looking forward to all of those. They’ve assigned him a room with a private restroom, small mercy that, and he plans on not letting it go to waste. “You, too.”

“Just don’t hang up, OK?”

Keith looks down at what remains of his tattered uniform and starts stripping out of it. Shiro has seen him naked plenty before, and the new bruises are what they are.

“Yeak, OK. Of course. I’m here."

***

Aboard the Atlas, Shiro is plotting a painful demise for the ones responsible. He will find them and end them in ways that the galaxy is unlikely to ever forget.

And if he has his way, Shiro will do it with his husband by his side.

[druid-for-hire]

hi sorry i just went through your "antidote to despair" tag and im feeling a lot of emotions about it

i've been kinda apathetic lately from various stresses but your collection of little things made me feel warm so thank you for liking the things you like and feeling the things you feel

i hope the wind is cool but never cold and the sun warm but never biting for you

I have a sideblog where I reblog even more of these kinds of things to. If it can help more people, I should share more of my collection here.

The "love" tag may also be of interest to you. It's similar, but where "the antidote to despair is awe" is a little more focused on the large-scale things and the 3.7-billion-year-long riot that is life on earth (did you know sharks are older than the North Star?), "love" is more focused on human minutae.

I am also going to recommend to you the story of the HMS Carpathia, the ship that picked the RMS Titanic's survivors out of the water: part one, two, and three. Nothing has moved me quite as strongly as this.

Many people seem to think it foolish, even superstitious, to believe that the world could still change for the better. And it is true that in winter it is sometimes so bitingly cold that one is tempted to say, ‘What do I care if there is a summer; its warmth is no help to me now.’ Yes, evil often seems to surpass good. But then, in spite of us, and without our permission,* there comes at last an end to the bitter frosts. One morning the wind turns, and there is a thaw. And so I must still have hope.

(*The bold is mine.)

... said Van Gogh, the famously "tortured" artist. (No, all his finest pieces were made when he was loved and loving, and he was very, very loved.)

Be well. Someone, somewhere in the dark, is in love.

[magioftheseas]

Oumota Week Ficlets #7

For @oumota-events

DAY 7: Insecurities & Antagonist & Interview + free prompt!

Well...there aren’t any warnings I can think of, but...

It’s a Mastermind (Accomplice) AU.

He was the kind of man who went for the long game.

An easy grin, a puffed out chest, an exuberant confidence—the role of the heroic dumbass was an easy one to play. Just a couple easy nothings and even stupid so-called assassins and stupider so-called detectives both melted like butter. It felt nice even if it was despairing too just how fucking easy it all was.

Shirogane was working so diligently, but it was just...kind of boring, honestly? He really needed to liven things up and fast because his shitty body was really insisting on being a pain lately.

Unfortunately, the so-called supreme leader was being a fucking pain, too. Saying shit about taking control of the game and honestly, he wouldn’t be surprised if Shirogane failed to dumb him down.

Ouma was always much too clever for his own good. All puppy eyes and quivering lips, acting sweet and unassuming one second and stabbing you in the back the next.

This Ouma was...different.

“What did you say during your interview?” he had asked.

“It’s noooone of your business!” Ouma smiled up at him.

“Aw, come on. You already know what I said.”

“Because you’re predictable! Unlike you, I try not to be predictable.”

“Yeah?”

...yeah. Unpredictable was right.

Why had the idiot kidnapped him? What the hell?

Well, it won’t be too hard to convince some of the extras to help him out. Even with Ouma keeping an eye on him, he can’t be two places at once and Shirogane’s sure to be fussing up a fucking storm.

Ouma has been staring at him for a while though. He musters up a glare back but it’s getting more and more exhausting to keep it up. And...honestly, it’s not his Ouma. But it’s still his Ouma’s silver-tongued face.

And that sweet, charming, childish smile that he puts on is enough like the original to tug at him.

Aah. I want to make him squirm.

“You’re not going to get away with this,” he says instead because it’s the stock heroic thing to say. Ouma’s villainous grin only brightens.

“With what, Momota-chan?” he purrs. “Whatever could you be talking about?”

Yeah. A villain alright.

Ouma was always destined for villainy with his personality. Obviously Shirogane would capitalize it and...I wonder what I was hoping for? Certainly not him being a good, hopeful person. Gross.

“You know what,” Momota snarled, still playing along.

Ouma giggles at him, and then, that smile drops. Rather than retort, he stays quiet. Keeps his mouth shut.

Ugh.

I’m so fucking bored.

“Shuuichi’s going to see through you,” he went on, even though he fucking doubted it. If he didn’t get this Ouma and if Shirogane couldn’t keep her own tacky creation under control, Shuuichi was downright hopeless. Hell, Shuuichi couldn’t even see through his stupid dumb hero act.

...if anyone could...

He stares at Ouma. Ouma stares back.

They both stare and stare.

...it’s the only guy that no one’s ever going to believe.

And ah, what the hell? If he ends up dying in this shithole, it wouldn’t be so bad to see Ouma make an interesting face first.

“Something to say, Momota-chan?” Ouma asks, and yeah, Ouma’s immediately on his guard. Ouma immediately senses something’s up. Such a cautious, paranoid fucker. Shirogane didn’t toss that—and maybe she couldn’t have even if she wanted to.

“Even if Shuuichi doesn’t—and he won’t because he’s a fucking needy idiot,” he drawls. “This is a story where the villains aren’t allowed to win. The mastermind will make sure of that.”

Ouma doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t stiffen. Remains on guard. Lowers those surprisingly long eyelashes. Feigns an unimpressed face.

Momota sees that face and wants to fucking strangle him for it.

“No matter what you do, you’re gonna lose, Kokichi. It’s already been decided.”

Come on. At least feign some fucking shock. Don’t tell me—

“Did you already know? Is this desperation? Hope? Is that it?” He can’t help but laugh even as it’s harsh and painful on his throat. “Wait, wait, no. It’s to get back at me, isn’t it? How much of a fucking petty bitch are you?”

“Don’t flatter yourself,” Ouma said. “You were just in the way.”

“Oh fuck off with that!” he exclaimed. “I know you—I know you well enough to piss you the fuck off even under these circumstances. I know you better than anyone and let me tell ya, you’re not that fucking complicated. You just don’t like being told what to do or being told no.”

That’s a lie. There’s more to ya than that, but I don’t know how much of it Shirogane tore out before stuffing you with this cliché bullshit. The cackling, the cheerful misdirects, the antagonism—you used to be so careful and meticulous.

I really loved and admired that about ya.

And Ouma—his expression twists. Like he’s sniffed something rancid.

“You’re such a fucking idiot.” He can’t stop himself now. “If you really fucking wanted people to do as you wished, you could’ve just not been a fucking asshole. Could’ve buttered them up with bullshit and useless feel good sentiments. Do you have any idea how fucking easy it is? A smile and a thumbs-up and those idiots fall over their own feet. People aren’t that hard to control if you just tell them what they want to hear.”

And Ouma—

“I hate liars. I’d never lie like that.”

“What? You’re saying you’re too fucking noble?” Momota shook his head, incredulous. “God, how fucking stubborn did...”

...did Shirogane make you...?

He almost wants to tear his own jaw off. Instead he bites down, tastes his blood again, and ends up seething.

This was supposed to be my moment. Damn you, Shirogane. The second I get out of here, I’ll just fucking kill you. The studio is not going to care.

“Aw, Momota-chan,” Ouma gushes at him. “You look so sad!”

“Do you just like pissing people off?” he grumbled, annoyed. “Seriously—at least fucking act surprised that I’m not a good person. You said it yourself. No one could possibly be as stupid as I was.”

Ouma laughs, but it’s a wispy little thing. It’s...strange. Actually, he hasn’t heard that kind of laugh before. From either version.

Momota looks at him, and Ouma looks back.

Nothing is reflected in his stare. Nothing is even brimming from it. And he can’t even tell if it’s despair or not.

“I’ve always really liked you.” Rather pathetically, this is what comes out next. “I really, really wanted you to see right through me like how I see you.”

Ouma’s smile can only be called rueful.

“I’d rather just surprise you.”

   (...and he really fucking did, didn’t he?

Because... When stupid, needy, desperate for love killer girl swooped in and poisoned them both—

Ouma still gave him the fucking antidote.)

[marvels-writings]

Memento Mori

Summary: Apocalyptic AU, you and Natasha have been trying to find the rest of the team for almost a year now. It’s decided to meet in an abandoned theatre, where you decide to throw one last show with your fiance.

Word Count: 4.6 K (beautifully morbid)

A/N: This is some of my best writing, genuinely. Like I drafted this multiple times, it’s some of my best, please do me the honor of reading it

Grey light, dull static, dampened moods filled the small structure. The shattered windows numerous, some cracked, almost breaking. The electronics were either static or dead, refusing to show anything except grey or black.

The radio placed next to both of you resounded the same static. A contrast from the transmission it had received minutes ago. The rest of the team, whoever remained, had been sending the same message every day. The radio you had was the only one still working. Its need for repair brought you here, in the middle of an abandoned TV shop in a ghost town.

The transmission was simple, a message to meet the two of you in the biggest standing structure in a town a few miles from your location. You’d sent a message back agreeing to it, without coding it. There was no need to. Even if someone else picked up on the message, you would be happy to see anyone else.

Neither you nor Natasha knew how many of the team were still there, still alive.

The tins of food you ate were near empty, your spoon scraping dully on the bottom of the tin. You glanced at your bag, trying to ignore the lack of food in it. The grocery stores nearby were empty, looted before you even had the chance to get there.

“How far is the town?” Natasha asked, interrupting the silence. You shrugged and double-checked the map. Your fingers gingerly tugging it closer as you examined it.

“A few miles,” You shrugged, putting the tin on the corner of the map. “we should get there by tomorrow if we start early.”

Natasha nodded in acknowledgment, letting the silence sink over both of you. There wasn’t anything left to say. All you had to do was wait for tomorrow to get to the rest of your team. You weren’t sure if you wanted to meet them if you wanted to know what remained if you had lost someone.

The redhead glanced towards the bag of food. The cans near the bottom were showing, just barely covering the bottom of the bag. After this, neither of you had any backup plans for food. You were eating out of what you had left.

“We should stop by to get some food on the way,” Natasha commented, gesturing to the almost empty bag with one hand. You shrugged and closed it, keeping away the thoughts of tomorrow.

“True,” You said, closing off the bag with a sigh.

“I don’t know how many stores there would be though.” You commented. The town you were supposed to get to was one of the first hit. It wouldn’t be a surprise if all the food was already gone.

“Maybe we could start a farm.” Natasha joked half-heartedly. She moved to lay down with her head in your lap. Her hair falling onto the dusty ground, collecting in the red strands. The strands had gotten darker over the years. You didn’t know if it was dye or dust that faded it.

The joke was underlined with a tone of sadness. The despair of losing what could have been. Of what you had planned out for both of you. You could still see it, a small house near a lake, with enough space for the children you and Natasha could have adopted running around. The lake perfect for ice-skating in the winter and fishing in the summer.

A sigh left your lips as you looked down at your fiance. Her green eyes met yours, watching you carefully. Your hand went to her hair, running through the soft strands. The color had faded, but they felt as soft as they always had.

“Maybe,” You nodded, another heavy sigh leaving you. “After this is all over.”

When it’s over. Everyone had a plan for when this is all over. Without knowing when, or even if it’s going to be over. We keep returning to our plans when everything made sense because that’s all we know. Even if our hopes bring us more sorrow than joy.

Your hand went towards Natasha’s, stroking the back of her knuckles, feeling the soft skin there. The engagement ring that had resided there when it all began. It never got the chance to be exchanged for a wedding ring. Sometimes, you thought neither of your ring's ever would.

————

Footsteps padded the ground as you walked towards the town. The sun was directly above you, beating down through the clouds of smoke and fog. The heat wasn’t as bad, the light was awful. Everything was grey, even the trees.

Neither of you spoke, even though there was something to talk about. Tony had come up with a sort of a medicine, he’d gone far enough to call it an antidote. But he hadn’t gotten to test it yet. He was trying to get away from them rather than get a small test group together to see if it worked.

As far as anyone knew, it wouldn’t work. If it did, it could change everything. Your plan for when all of this is over could become a reality. “A penny for your thoughts?” You asked, walking side by side with Natasha. The redhead turned towards you, cocking an eyebrow before turning ahead.

“Do you even have a penny?” Natasha asked quietly, even though it barely mattered. Money only mattered to those who didn’t have other things to care about. You shrugged and pulled out a penny you had in your pocket for safekeeping.

“Not that it matters,” You pulled it out of your pocket and set it out in your palm. “but yes.”

Natasha chuckled as you tossed her the coin, turning it over in her fingers. The metal had lost its shine, but the value remained. Her fingertips traced over the lines and the minted year before pocketing it.

“Since you paid me for it, you might as well know,” Natasha answered, taking in a deep breath. You stayed silent, waiting for her to speak. It took her a few moments to bring her thoughts into words, you waited patiently.

“I’m thinking about what would happen if the antidote didn’t work.” She said eventually, each word sounding deliberate. She didn’t throw it out casually, as if this was just another possibility.

You stayed silent, unwilling to think of what would happen. Ever since you’d found out, all you’d been thinking about was what would happen if it worked. Not if it didn’t. The bright side of it seemed too tempting after staying on this site for too long.

“Penny for your thoughts?” Natasha said, tossing the penny back to you. You caught it and twirled it around in your fingers. Green eyes watched you, your footsteps slowing down a little as you thought. Natasha didn’t comment, only waiting for you to speak.

“I, I don’t know Natasha.” You answered, faltering slightly. You couldn’t bear to think that this would have all been for nothing. All the lives you’d saved, all the people you’d helped, it wouldn’t make a difference. To think you’d lived your life trying to fulfill a purpose that didn’t need to be fulfilled drained you, haunted you.

“We’ve come this far, I don’t want it to be for nothing.” You commented, trying to voice your fears. It didn’t work the way you’d hoped. It made it seem lighter of your fears.

“Even if it is for nothing,” Natasha spoke after a small silence, her hand finding yours. The penny dropped out of your hand and onto the ground. You couldn’t find it in yourself to care enough to pick it up.

“We found each other.” She commented, eyes glancing to yours. your lips curved upwards into a smile as a small chuckle left you. Your fears felt lighter for a few seconds.

“Always the romantic.” You remarked, grinning to yourself.

An abnormal silence filled the area around you. the only noise your and Natasha’s footsteps. The theatre was one of the few standing structures left in the city. Steve thought it was a good idea to meet there since it was easy to find. Even though the dark fog and the dim light of the clouds above, you could see it from far away.

The stench was awful, decaying plants, collapsing buildings, spoiled food. You covered your face using the black mask you brought with you, gesturing for your girlfriend to do the same. The redhead scrunched her nose and put on the mask, quickly tying her hair in a braid behind her.

The theatre was quite large. There was some graffiti on the side. A faded white lettering caught your eye. You moved to the side to read it.

“Memento Mori,” You read the sign aloud, voice muffled slightly by the mask, tilting your head to the side slightly.

Natasha shrugged, the lettering seeming morbid considering the circumstances. Latin was a dead language. It wasn’t something you expected to be graffitied on the side of an abandoned theatre. You seemed to be waiting for her to explain what it meant.

“It means ‘Remember you must die’” Natasha explained, gloved fingertips running over the faded white. It wasn’t spray paint. It was chalk. Dust came off on her fingertips. She looked at it from afar. The lettering wasn’t graffiti at all. It was a child’s writing in chalk.

Her breathing hitched when she noticed a child had written this. Swallowing hard, she gestured for you to follow her into the theatre. Guns ready, you waited for her to open the door, following her adamance to enter before you.

Her fingers signaled a countdown when they all disappeared behind her fist. She banged the door open and pointed her gun inside, the bang echoing in the theatre. No one was inside. It was empty. The chairs were a dull red, some toppled to the side. The light fixtures on the stage were blinking, illuminating the curtains dropped on the floor.

“The team should be here soon,” Natasha stated, putting down her gun and pulling out her radio to signal them. The redhead shut the door, bolting it. You moved around to explore after the redhead gave you a warning to be careful.

Taking off your gloves, you let your hands run over the dark velvet of the chairs. It was soft to the touch. Dust came off in your hands. You wiped it off and moved towards the stage, you easily climbed on top of it, your soft footsteps resounding in the space. Moving the curtain to the side, you looked out onto the chairs.

Flashbacks of before all of this came to you. Seats filled while you sang, the applause, the lighting, the smell of popcorn. It was something you missed.

“Hey, nat?” You called out, standing at the center of the stage, flinching as your voice echoed through the room. The lone light flickering to a steady light on top of you. She hummed, turning to face you. Emerald eyes scanned the empty stage, taking in the appearance.

“Wanna dance?” You asked, reaching your hand out for her.

Natasha sighed, but followed you up to the stage, taking your hand to help her up. Engagement rings clinked against each other, always missing the chance to be turned into wedding rings. The redhead whistled as she looked around the stage before you pulled her in for a twirl.

The redhead laughed as her feet slid smoothly across the wood. You giggled softly, twirling her elegantly, letting her guide you through the motions. This might be one of your last dances, might as well make the most of it.

The dust on the floor floated as your feet shuffled across it. Soft laughter emanated from you as you twirled her again before pulling her close to you. Both of you were captured in a trance. The shuffling of feet, your voice humming a soft tune, your fiance close to you. It was entrancing.

Loud sounds outside broke you out of the trance. Feet stopped, you turned to face the entrance of the theatre. Natasha glanced towards the bag she left close to the entrance, her weapons left there. The knife in her boot the only weapon she had. She couldn’t reach them without making more noise.

Noticing the distance of the weapons, you pulled the redhead behind you. Natasha rested one hand on your shoulder, the warmth of her hand seeping through your shirt. Taking in a deep breath, you opened your mouth, ready to use your voice as a weapon if it came to that.

The noises became quieter as they approached the door, sounding like footsteps. They stopped just before the door. You took in a deep breath, ready to scream.

The door burst open with a loud boom, revealing the team behind it. Steve stood in the front with his shield, Tony had his iron man suit ready behind him. Wanda’s hand glowed with red mist whilst Carol’s glowed with yellow. All of it stopped when they caught sight of you.

“Don’t sing!” Tony shouted, lowering his blaster. Steve lowered his shield and smiled up at both of you, chuckling at Tony’s reaction. The rest of the team stood behind him, laughing at Tony’s reaction while walking up to both of you.

“I haven’t seen you in a few years and that’s the first thing you say to me?” You remarked, sliding off the stage, Natasha’s hand in yours. The redhead chuckled and followed you to the center of the theatre.

Relief filled you as you hugged them. You and Natasha were passed around like prized trophies, for everyone to admire and talk about. All of you had changed in your way.

Tony’s beard was less well kept, he kept scratching at it nervously. Steve’s hair grew longer and messier, his posture slightly slouched. Wanda’s hair turned into a darker brown than the red you were used to. Carol’s hair had grown out a little, it was in a choppy cut now rather than the well-kept one. Rhodey had dark circles under his eyes, as did Maria. Sam was more tired, joking less than you remembered.

The changes made it seem like longer had passed since you had last seen each other. None of you acted the same way. All of you paid more attention to what was around you, ears perking at every sound and movement. Time does change people, sometimes for the worse.

“I missed this,” Natasha stated, leaning back against one of the chairs while she watched the team chat amongst themselves. You smiled at her before standing next to her, arm sliding around her waist comfortably.

“Got sick of me that easily?” You remarked jokingly, thumb stroking her side. She tilted her face to meet yours, winking at you.

“You know I could never,” Natasha commented, you laughed and kissed her cheek before facing the rest of the team. Speaking of which, all looked like they had seen the worst rom-com movie play out in front of them. Sam was the first to speak, after clearing his throat.

“Two years, not much changed,” He gestured to both of you. “you still want to make me barf my guts out.”

The team laughed, relating to his statement. You shrugged and kicked his shin lightly to get his attention. He looked at you amusedly, waiting for a sarcastic response, to which you replied promptly.

“And I missed you too.” You replied, laughing as you sat down with Natasha in one of the theatre seats.

————

Tony began talking about the antidote, how much time you had left. It wasn’t a conversation you wanted to have but needed to. You played with Natasha’s fingers in your lap, trying to distract yourself from this nightmarish reality.

The antidote was already set to arm when someone entered the theatre. There was no certainty around it though.

They had set up small detectors for activity everywhere before the pandemic broke out. Most were expected to break out, some still serve as a safe place. But all of them went off, blaring and screaming that the area was unsafe.

Now, the detectors are being set off which are closer. The entire horde is gaining on the team. There was no loophole, no underground base, nothing. Sam had fixed up an old radio and found that people were living underground in the far west. Some even as far as Canada.

But there wasn’t a way to get there. The ground was clogged with the horde. Maybe you could get there by air? There had to be another way. You refused to believe anything else.

“Even Carol can’t fly us out of here?” You asked, looking to Carol after they had finished explaining. Her hazel eyes looked down before meeting yours, a sullen look clouding them. Blonde hair fell just above them, staying there at her refusal to wipe them away.

“The caves are too far for any of us to fly there,” Carol answered, wincing when she saw your hurt expression.

Her dejection did nothing to dampen you, you began to spurt out suggestions. Something, anything that might work. This is what always happened, there was no hope until someone came up with an idea. You were spewing all the ideas you could come up with, only to face a dead-end at each of them.

Five, maybe even ten rejections to ideas you could handle. But every single one, it hurt you to a point where you couldn’t recover. Each dejection your head hung just a little lower, the light leaving your eyes just a little more.

Natasha noticed, she squeezed your hand, signaling you to stop. But you kept on going, speaking anything till you were out of ideas. A heavy silence filled the room, no one dared to interrupt it. Sadness was as clear in your eyes as anger was in Natasha’s. Clearing your throat, you stood up, hand sliding out of Natasha’s.

“I need, I need some air.” You stuttered, licking your lips nervously as you walked towards the changing room. Familiar footsteps sounded behind you, you couldn’t care enough to turn around. It was going to be Natasha, she would try to comfort you even if you refused. It was all she could do to help.

Opening the door to the costume room, you walked around for a bit before familiarity caught your eye. Moving towards it, you pulled it out. It was the same costume you wore while performing. Hardly anything had changed.

Your fingers ran down the front, watching the dust float off and collect before disappearing again. A hand appeared in the small of your back, trying to provide comfort. An exasperated sigh left you as you let the hangar return to its rack.

“I’m sorry about them,” Natasha gestured to the team outside the door as you turned to face her. “there might be a way-”

“You and I both know there isn’t a way out of this.” You stated, cutting her off. Natasha blinked at your sudden response. You hardly ever interrupted her, adamant that communication was the best path to anything. Now, you didn’t care. She would be lying if she said it didn’t scare her.

“Y/n.” Natasha began, her hand sliding into yours once again.

The cool metal of your ring met hers, providing a sense of familiarity, of comfort. Before your hand slid out of hers before settling on her waist. Your forehead rested against hers as she wrapped her hands on your neck.

“Nat, this is it.” You whispered, a heavy sigh leaving you.

You deflated, everything leaving you, your sadness, your plans. Everything is gone, your eyes were barren. It was a look not many people wore, it was a look you might see someone wearing just before they died.

“Everything we wanted, everything we planned for,” You sighed, leaning your forehead away from hers to look into her eyes. Emeralds glazed with tears looked up at you. She reached up and swiped her thumb across the crease in your forehead before settling next to your cheekbone.

“It all comes to this,” You whispered, a sad, broken smile gracing your lips. Natasha bit the inside of her cheek, wanting desperately to be the strong one, to try to protect you from this. But nothing she could do could shield you from this.

She released a heavy sigh before letting go of her cheek. You barely noticed her warm arms tug you in closer, a warm hug encompassing you. It was warm, so warm, compared to the cold threatening to take over you. The comfort bringing you out of your despair as she leaned towards your ear.

“This isn’t the ending you deserve,” Natasha whispered, despondent and tired.

You wanted to say that this wasn’t the ending anyone deserved. But she knew. No one got what they deserved. Everyone hoped for the best and avoided the worst. Some complained about what they got while others tried to make it better. Even those who tried to make it better didn’t get what they deserved.

Sometimes, you managed to convince yourself and Natasha that you’d done enough good to deserve a happy ending. You just wished you’d managed to convince yourself a little longer.

————

Shuffling of cloth, muffled footsteps, gray light filled the small room. The clothes on the racks shuffled as you moved to change. The changing rooms remained unused, there was no point. The racks of clothes high enough to cover both of you.

The stage was already set, the audience was already seated. All that was needed was the performers, you and Natasha. The costume you wore for your performances was untouched, just as you’d left it. The smell of your old perfume still lingered as a memory that refused to leave.

Goodbyes had been said, different versions of them. Different emotions, all the same. The idea of saying goodbye to your family, knowing that in an hour, none of it would matter scared you. But you were numb. You didn’t know why. Maybe it was shock, denial, you didn’t know.

Shuffling of cloth sounded behind you before Natasha cleared her throat. A smile on your face, you turned around to face Natasha. She wore a chiffon ballet dress that matched the color of her hair. The pointe shoes were black, just her size. The makeup she wore brought out the green in her eyes, complimenting every feature you found yourself adoring.

The low cut dress you wore was adorned with small gold lines. It still fit the same way, felt the same as it did before. So much had changed yet nothing had.

Both of you said the obligatory compliments to each other. It was a routine, every time either of you changed your clothes to go out. This time was so much more. This time felt like the last.

You hated it. The silence, the goodbyes, the feeling that this is the last time you’re experiencing everything.

Natasha’s lips met yours in a soft kiss, sealing the moment, freezing time for a few precious seconds. You wanted to stay there forever, just stop time, leave everyone else just to be with her. It was all you wanted to do. Even that you couldn’t take.

Natasha held your hand as you led her up the stairs with familiarity. The skin touching hers gently before your rings clinked together. The team applauded as you reached the middle of the stage. You squeezed her hand tightly before letting it slip from yours.

You leaned against the wall, unable to stand straight without support. Natasha took her place at the center of the stage, glancing towards you. The team looked towards you, waiting to hear you sing. None of them knew what song you’d picked. Though, you wished you could have picked a better one.

“Thought I found away. Thought I found a way out.” Your voice echoed through the room, silencing any other sounds. Natasha’s feet shuffled across the floor as she danced, her limbs elegantly distorting the light above her.

More sounds came from outside, scrambling, rushing to get here. Some of the team glanced nervously towards the walls. Your voice became louder, drowning out everything else.

“Oh I hope someday I’ll make it out of here Even if it takes all night or a hundred years.” Your voice became louder, breaking as you sang. Tears made their appearance on their cheeks, streaming down into their lap.

More tears came on Natasha’s cheeks, resembling liquid gold as they streamed down her face. Never once did she falter, making a perfect pirouette on her toes. The tears dropped down onto the floor, the soft patter barely audible.

“Isn’t it lovely, all alone? Heart made of glass, my mind of stone.” Your voice broke slightly, you fixed it and sang louder. The sounds became louder, just in proportion with your voice. Taking in a deep breath, you continued singing, holding the microphone closer to your mouth.

“Tear me to pieces, skin to bone Hello, welcome home.” Gently placing the microphone on the side, you took your place in front of Natasha. Without missing a beat, she wrapped her arms around your neck as you slid around her waist.

Dance is supposed to be dignified, fluid, elegant. This was hardly what you would call dancing. You just swayed from side to side, occasionally twirling Natasha as she danced. Tears flowed down your cheeks, you paid no heed to them as you continued singing.

The lyrics came to you automatically as you danced with your fiance. A small fantasy-filled your mind, the fantasy that this was your wedding. Instead of hiring a singer to sing the first song, you chose to do it. All your family was watching you.

Fantasies, dreams, are all a dangerous thing. Sometimes even stronger than reality.

The sobs of your family slowly dragged you back into the dreaded reality. Natasha rested her forehead against yours, uncaring to how loud your singing was. It helped drown out everything else, she didn’t need anything more.

“Isn’t it lovely, all alone? “Heart made of glass my mind of stone.” you sang, singing the note higher than intended. No one cared as the noises grew louder.

Nuzzling your nose against your fiance, keeping her close, your feet shuffled across the ground. The dust had long been disturbed, still moving as you danced. The light above you flickered before becoming steady once again.

You thought you heard someone say goodbye, it was hard to tell over the music and the noises. Your arms tightened around Natasha, fooling yourself to protect her. Once, you had yourself convinced that if she was close to you, nothing could go wrong. How powerful, how wrong illusions can be.

The antidote armed itself as the doors burst open. The noises were louder than ever. The powder was a bright scarlet, clouding itself around everything. To drown out everything, you sang the lyrics, finishing your last song, your last performance.

“Tear me to pieces, skin to bone Hello, welcome home.” You sang, still dancing with your fiance.

The dust clouded everything, you couldn’t see anything that was happening. You weren’t sure if you wanted to. even if you did, you wouldn’t tear your eyes away from your fiance. It could be the last time you got to see her.

But you kept dancing, the noises drowned out by your voice as you sang the tune of the song. Natasha remained in your arms, like some sort of a dream. If it was a dream, you never wanted it to end. If it was a reality, you wanted to turn it into a dream.

Memento mori, such a morbid phrase, making death itself seem like a distant illusion. Maybe it was an illusion, maybe it was a reality, who were you to tell the difference?

A/N: Hope you liked this as much as i liked writing this. Send me a ask or a reblog and comment, please tell me what you think!

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[headstrongblake]

 OCTAVIA SEES HER BROTHER IN A NEW LIGHT DRABBLE / V. GANGS OF TONDC / @imnobodysson​

     horror is all that can be described upon octavia’s face as she enters the back warehouse at the mecha garage & junk yard. she didn’t want to believe jasper on the phone, finn’s been stabbed, they’ve got lincoln. hadn’t been willing to see it murphy’s way about her brother until — lincoln’s strung up in front of her, hands tied. she’d freed him from his people’s torture, only to be shoved into her brother’s. “ bellamy, what are you doing? ” she moves forward into the space, shock keeping her steps slow. “octavia, get out of here”, is his only response.

    “ i told you he was protecting me, you didn’t have to do this... ” bruises have healed to light shades of green and yellow, some disappeared entirely but her brother’s gaze on her reflects the same rage and despair she’d seen when he’d finally saw her black and blue. but it wasn’t lincoln. wasn’t lincoln’s fault. “yeah and why’s that, o?” her eyes narrow up at her brother, knowing he wants her to admit to what she’s been doing behind his back all summer and now. “doesn’t matter, this isn’t about you, i’m doing this for all of us.” 

     eyes move to lincoln, head shaking at the blood that coated his face. “ you did that, for all of us? ” brow lifts at her brother. that’s when he begins listing all his reasons for his hatred of the rival gang. all the people who’ve gotten hurt since her brother and murphy began to build an empire. but that’s not on lincoln is all that radiates through her. not his fault. he wants information out of lincoln, closing in on him and it sends her back to the dark room at the warehouse where murphy was tortured. this isn’t them. she’s quick to react though, hands coming up to grip her brother’s wrist, trying to keep him back from lincoln, “ no bellamy, please! ” 

     “miller, miller get her outta here.” miller rounds on her then, stepping between the two siblings to push her body back and away from her brother’s torture. “ hey, get, get off of me! ” she pushed against miller, disgust shining back in her eyes as she looks to bellamy. 

     there’s a commotion outside, clarke running in to say the blade lincoln had stabbed finn with had been poisoned. her eyes go wide then, gaze turning to lincoln who stares back at her. “now do you believe me?” her brother shouts her way before demanding to know how to fix this from lincoln. they can handle some stab wounds. especially superficial ones but poison? they weren’t equipped for that. no. she still doesn’t believe bellamy because nothing would have happened to finn if her brother hadn’t sent him and miller into her apartment where lincoln had been since she’d traded nyko for him. 

        bellamy, the vials. emerald eyes narrow on the small container miller brings forward from lincoln’s belongings. inside were six small vials. some filled with herbs, others looked to be filled with a liquid. her gaze shifts to the poisoned knife clarke casts aside in favor for the vials momentarily but then she’s facing lincoln. one of the vials had to be the antidote and this would all come to an end if he just showed them. eyes and words pleading with him. “ show us which one, please. ” but lincoln doesn’t even answer her. 

      “i’ll get him to talk,” her brother draws his arm back, fingers rounding into a fist as octavia’s hands circle around his arm, “ bellamy, no! ” trying to yank him back. he moves his arm quickly, anger turned on her. “he wants finn to die! why can’t you see that?”

     panic sets in because she doesn’t want finn to die but she’s sure clarke’s interest in protecting lincoln might just be skewed now. quickly, she’s steps back from the whole scene as bellamy creates a new weapon with a seat belt and winds up. she’s just about to reach for her brother but then there’s an awful smack – the seat belt colliding with lincoln’s skin. “ please, just tell them! ” this time her panicked words aren’t meant for anyone else in the room except for lincoln enduring their torture. all he has to do to make this stop is tell them where the antidote was.

   again lincoln says nothing, holding strong as she imagined he’d been with his own people. already his body is littered with cuts and all her brother does is add more and cause some of the healed ones to rebleed. she can’t take it, can’t watch as her brother becomes this monster. eyes fall to the floor, hearing another smack of the belt. again and again until the seat belt comes clattering on the concrete ground with a sound of her brother’s frustration. she’s convinced it’s his own frustration with himself that drives him to send a knife through lincoln’s palm.

     emerald hues snap to raven coming in, explaining that finn had stopped breathing but she’d helped him, for now. he’s dying. he’s dying and lincoln’s only enduring further pain. what more can they do besides seek real medical attention for finn — she’s ready to tell them that. tell them they’re wasting their time here when raven’s new idea of torture makes octavia’s stomach turn violently as the older girl sparks two live wires. “ no... ” they connect with his skin, octavia gritting her teeth together so hard they cause an ache in her jaw as lincoln yells. 

     she has to do something. can’t let this go any further or else they’ll kill lincoln! eyes find the poisoned blade and she’s quick to it, picking it up and shouting, “ NO MORE! ” 

    “octavia what are you...” she doesn’t wait for her brother to finish, digging the knife into flesh and slicing it up her arm. “ he won’t let me die. ” she says with confidence, eyeing the fear in lincoln’s eyes before she drops to her knees behind the spread out vials. “ which one? ” she asks, knife tapping at the different vials. “ this? ” she taps but lincoln doesn’t say anything, so she shakes her head, picking up another and lifting it up towards him. “ this one? ” she watches the wheels in his mind turn before his chin motions to the one by her knee. she drops the vial in her hand, grabbing the other, confirming with lincoln before shoving it at clarke. “ there! ” she says, wrapping a dirty rag against her arm tightly as she watched lincoln. her brother’s hands come to touch her shoulders but she pulls away from him harshly, “ don’t touch me! ” 

    it isn’t until octavia’s taking the antidote herself, away from the group of them that her brother comes near again. “who we are, and who we need to be to survive are two very different things, o.” he explains to her, as if that���s supposed to make what he’s done here seem right. but it doesn’t. doesn’t explain the person he’s become. murphy’s right. he’s lost his way. “ no, ” she says, head shaking, “ i don’t think that’s true about you anymore... ” 

[spiritualdirections]

This is a nice book review that points out how we ought to be realists about what politics can accomplish:

Less than a year before he died, George Washington privately worried that “the Union … [was] hastening to an awful crisis.” As an elderly man, John Adams claimed there was a through line from the American Revolution to the terrors of the French Revolution. He thus lamented: “Have I not been employed in Mischief all my days?” Two years prior to his death at the hands of Aaron Burr, Alexander Hamilton lambasted the Constitution as a “frail and worthless fabric,” and decided that “the prospects of our Country are not brilliant.” By the final year of his life, Thomas Jefferson was privately referring to the federal government as the “foreign department” and contemplating whether “the dissolution of our union” would be preferable to “submission to a government without limitation of powers.”

Depressing sentiments like these permeate Dennis C. Rasmussen’s new book, Fears of a Setting Sun: The Disillusionment of America’s Founders. Drawing on reams of personal correspondence between the Founders, Rasmussen persuasively argues that the vast majority of America’s Founders—including the likes of Washington, Adams, Hamilton, and Jefferson—went to their death beds disillusioned with the political order they had created. The causes of their disillusionment varied from insufficient civic virtue on the part of Americans to the growing sectional division over slavery, but their takeaways were similar: “most of the founders … came to feel deep anxiety, disappointment, and even despair about the government and the nation that they had helped to create.”

Why? And what can we learn from their profound political disillusionment?

The main lesson is to not place much hope in the amount of happiness, amity, and social progress that politics alone can produce. And the great teacher of that lesson, the lone Founder who retained a great deal of optimism about the American future, is James Madison...

Madisonianism as the antidote to disillusionment.

The roots of  disillusionment lay in the outsized, inflated expectations the Founders had for American politics. Washington envisioned an independent-thinking and publicly spirited citizenry. Adams foresaw a people who could consistently place the good of the whole over their own. Hamilton sought the rapid transformation of thirteen separate sovereignties into a unified, national mass of unprecedented military and economic power. Jefferson dreamed of an idyllic yeoman farmer’s republic even as a “market revolution” was well under way. To varying degrees, these were all fanciful goals for America’s near-term future. And when such dreams did not become realities, each Founder descended into some form of political depression. 

But not Madison. Rasmussen hits the nail on the head as he connects Madison’s view of politics with his unique optimism about the American future:

“Madison simply expected less from politics than most of the other founders. He never supposed that his fellow citizens would consistently surmount partisanship or sacrifice their self-interest for the sake of the common good, nor did he long for the nation to achieve economic and military greatness on the international stage or for virtuous yeoman farmers to conduct the politics of their local ward—and this meant that he was less likely than the other founders to be disappointed in what America became.”

We would do well to imitate the fourth president’s approach to politics. This is not to say that we can’t be partisans or be committed to certain principles; Madison surely was. Madisonians accept the hard truth that politics is more about coping with problems than solving them, more about muddling through than forging boldly ahead. In that vein, we should not let our day-to-day political defeats and disappointments trick us into thinking that the American experiment is somehow a failed one.

[heronchildlove]

Hi!! I've read your fics and loved them, and wanted to ask you in case you haven't done it yet and of course if you feel like doing it, if you could consider please writing about Matthew comforting James after Christopher gets injured. Thank you!!

Hi, nonnie! Thank you for the love and I hope you enjoy this.

.

James closed his eyes tight, but no matter how much he tried, the images behind his eyelids wouldn’t go away: the demon appearing behind Christopher, its claws slashing through his chest, Christopher crumbling to the floor, the blood drenching the cobstones, Christopher’s eyes, closed, motionless, no matter how much he begged and screamed for him to open them.

It was one thing to know about the demon disease from afar, to be aware of it in a strange detached way, even when Barbara had gotten caught it hadn’t hit him this hard, but this... This was Christopher, his cousin, one of his best friends in the whole world, someone he saw and talked to and joked with practically every day, for years now, someone that he loved and cared for, someone he saw interesting things and wanted to share with, turn around and tell him... And now he couldn’t, maybe he would never be able to do it again, and just the thought of it made his breath hitch and him cry even harder.

It was even worse because he had seen it all, it had happened right in front of him, and he hadn’t been able to help. If only he had been stronger, faster or more intelligent, if he had realised sooner that the demons were after Kit, then, maybe...

Tears started falling down his face again and he heaved, trying to get air into his lungs even though it seemed like they were frozen solid and he would never be able to breathe again. He had been able to keep sane and focused all day while they had something to do, but now that night had fallen and he could do nothing but wait and think and remember, it had all caught up with him. 

The door to his room opened and he didn’t even bother to look up to see who it was. He didn’t have to, he could feel it. And when the other came close and wrapped his arms around him, James let himself be pulled into Matthew’s comforting embrace.

“So this is where you were, Jamie. I’ve been looking all over for you.”

“Sorry... I didn’t, didn’t want to see anyone...”

“...Do you want me to go?”

“No. Stay, please,” James asked, and felt Matthew’s arms tighten even more around him as he sobbed his heart out. He needed Matthew there, he was the only person that could keep him from completely breaking down. All through it, Matthew didn’t say a word, he just held him and shared the burden in James’ heart until it felt a little less heavy.

“I can’t believe that Kit, that Kit is...”

“I know, Jamie, I know...”

“I was right there. Right there. And I couldn’t save him, I couldn’t do anything. This is, this is my fault.”

“Shh, Jamie, no. That isn’t true. I was there too, remember? They were after Chris, there was nothing we could have done...”

“No, no, I don’t accept that. There’s always something... He was right there...” He repeated, unable to get past that, the awful reality that he just wasn’t good enough, that he couldn’t protect who he loved, and, deep inside, even more insidious, the reality that all of this was only happening because of him in the first place. “If I had remembered, if I had thought things through...”

“If you are to blame, so am I, and Kit. None of us thought about it, none of us managed to get ourselves out. I can’t diminish your pain, Jamie, but please let me share your guilt. It’s all far too heavy for you to carry alone.”

James just shook his head, still too overwhelmed by despair to listen to anything, much less hopeful and encouraging words. 

“I just can’t believe... That he might never wake up again. He was the only one that knew how to make the antidote, without him not even Thomas might...”

“He can do it. You said it yourself earlier, and I know you don’t say things you don’t mean, nor doubt your friends. He will do it, and we will do our part, too. We will all fix this together, you will see.”

“Mathew...” James pressed his face to Matthew’s coat and breathed in his scent of brandy, cologne and smoke. It was oddly soothing, or maybe not odd at all, since it was part of Matthew. They were two halves of the same soul, and his presence always made feel James feel more at ease, no matter what was happening. Matthew was the opposite of him. He often said things he didn’t mean, specially about himself, but in these moments, when it was just the two of them, it was when he was most truthful and solemn. James knew he could always believe Matthew, but in these times, between them, even more so.

“This wasn’t your fault, Jamie,” Matthew repeated in a low voice. “And we will find a way. You know I am not the most hopeful of fellas, so if I’m saying it, Jamie, please believe in me: we’ll find a way. We are going to save Christopher. I believe in it, I believe in you, and in us, all of us. We can do it, ok? I promise you. So cry all you want with me tonight, and tomorrow we will get to work, okay?”

“Okay...” James sniffled, and even managed to open a small smile, before he went back to clinging to Matthew and hiding his face against him, borrowing his strength, and his light, for just a while longer.