#the worst part is that the events that happened were like. so tame compared to most other peoples traumatic events

[busiest-bee]

I watch 1 video explaining the story of the game “Mouthwashing” (rlly cool game btw) and suddenly I end up trying to maladaptive daydream past-me out of events that gave me trauma

[mrsluttystark]

Repeat After Me

Tony was growing tired of his life, the never ending routine he’d tied himself down to.  Even with a fiancee, a stable job, and a comfortable life, there was hardly a time where he didn’t think about the past to escape the present.  He could never have guessed a simple friend request and a pretty Peter Parker would be his undoing as well as his sanctuary. 18+

Part 1 | Part 2

Tags: nff, age difference, former teacher/student

Word count: 3.1k

Read below the cut

Peter hadn’t been on Facebook in years...technically.  Maybe every so often just to update his profile picture so people knew he didn’t still look like a 15 year old with a face riddled with baby fat.  Sure, he could just delete his account, but he’ll admit he likes knowing what his high school classmates are up to.  It was interesting to see how some people he’s known since elementary school turned out now that they were all college graduates.  He’s never interacted in those times, just lurked and scrolled for a few minutes before he came across a corny meme or a factually incorrect post that looks like it was screenshotted a million times and had to exit.

He was extra bored tonight, though.  Peter tried not to think about how quiet it was now that he lived in his own apartment.  Aunt May had moved in with her boyfriend after Peter graduated and landed a job at Oscorp. It came with a starting bonus and a large paycheck that allowed Peter to live comfortably on his own while he worked in the R & D department. A compromise made with Norman Osborn instead of selling him the rights to the web fluid he created in college.  Peter wanted to continue to develop it front and center; find every possible application for it. So much so, that he didn’t get to go out much. Ned was in DC at his NASA internship, living out his “guy in a chair” dreams.  MJ was somewhere in Asia, backpacking with her girlfriend.  The friends he made at Columbia went their separate ways.

So this was his life now. Wake up, go to work, come home, sleep. Alone.

After getting home from work around 6 pm, Peter went for an hour long run, ate dinner, and showered.  8 pm found him sitting on his living room sofa, flipping aimlessly between different streaming services unable to find anything interesting to watch.  He went through Instagram, Twitter, and even Tumblr a few times before the last “you’re all caught up!” notification popped up on his phone. So, with a heavy sigh, he propped two pillows against the wall for him to lean on, flopped down on his bed, and opened Facebook.

The first post Peter saw was a life event update from Flash Thompson, his high school nuisance, (“bully” would be giving him too much credit) “In a Relationship with Brad Davis”. Peter huffed out a breath, not really surprised with how much Flash used to tease him about being openly bisexual. Penis Parker. How original.

A memory appeared at the top of his feed from 7 years ago, today.  It was a picture of him and Ned when they finished building his Lego Death Star.  Peter smiled at that, Ned was holding it above his head with a beaming smile plastered on his face.  His younger self had both scrawny arms thrown in the air looking triumphant as ever, curls unruly, and rectangular metal glasses falling halfway down his nose.

Peter was glad he filled out a bit since he was 15 and traded in wearing glasses daily for contacts.  His curls were still nice and floppy, the tips of them tickling his ears, but he liked it that way.  Plus, he could tame them when he wanted to.

He scrolled for a while longer, watched a few videos of cats being adorable assholes and one-pot recipes, went on Marketplace to see what people in his area were selling.  He even went through his old pictures and deleted the incredibly embarrassing ones, and updated his profile picture to his most recent selfie.  

This Facebook arc was coming to a quick end, he could feel the boredom seeping back in. He looked to his right, the bright red digital numbers on his clock read 10:05 pm. Good enough.  He can turn in for the night without feeling inept.

Thumb poised, ready to swipe the App closed, his eyes caught on a name in the “People You May Know” section.  Tony Stark. As in, Mr. Stark, his Sophomore Chemistry teacher. AKA his most inappropriate high school crush.  Despite being alone, Peter could feel the tips of his ears heat up.

Wow, he hadn’t thought of Mr. Stark in years.

Alright, that’s not true.  Peter thinks about him every time he wonders why he has an affinity for older men. Besides the point, he’s taken back to Midtown, sitting front row, head balanced on his palm watching dreamily as Mr. Stark explained how atoms and molecules join together through ionic and covalent bonding (which Peter already knew, so it was fine that he was zoning out).  The man’s voice was like honey, words oozing smooth and sweet, rumbling deeply in his chest.  Peter remembers every time he caught his eye while he scanned the room during lectures.  Mr. Stark was 30 then, it was his first year teaching, and a 15 year age gap seemed like a canyon.  

Peter tapped on his name to go to his profile so he can get a better look at his picture. His heart was racing, despite a few sporadic grey hairs at his temples, some crows feet wrinkling at the corner of his eyes, and deeper smile lines, he looked the absolute same.  Fucking hot. If anything, all those things made him look even sexier.  Licking his lips, Peter tried to go through his profile to see more photos of the man, unfortunately he had a lot of his privacy settings on so there wasn’t much to see but his last profile picture update and location.  He still lived in New York, so that was a plus, but Peter wanted - needed to see more.

His thumb hovered over the Add Friend button.  It wouldn’t be weird, would it? He was Facebook friends with other teachers from Midtown.  He graduated over four years ago, and he wasn’t a lovesick kid with a school boy crush anymore.  Fuck it, right? The worst he can do is deny the friend request.

Tap.

“Add Friend” turned into “Cancel Request”, and Peter blew out a large breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

Alright, Peter.  Time to turn in. He said to himself as he threw his phone onto his bed and got up to brush his teeth.  No use waiting around, he wasn’t going to accept it tonight or any time soon for that matter.  When he got back from the bathroom, he didn’t even bother looking at his phone.  He plugged it in, placed it face down on his nightstand, and drifted off to sleep.

A few minutes later, the man’s phone lit up with a Facebook notification, unbeknownst to a slumbering Peter Parker.

-

Tony’s daily routine had been rather monotonous lately, to say the least.  Since he’d made his way up the proverbial ladder of life and moved on from being a teacher to becoming a senior engineer at a major tech conglomerate, you’d think his day-to-day life of overseeing technical advancement projects wouldn’t be so boring.

The paycheck was substantially bigger than when he was a high school teacher and the amount of technology he had access to was more than the idle body walking the street could ever dream of, but…he missed teaching.  He missed the kids.  The pure unadulterated joy they displayed whenever Tony praised them on their science projects.  He watched over brilliant men and women every day but nothing compared to the ambition of those kids.  

Tony often found himself dreading going to work each day, and coming home to an empty house and take-out food his fiancée left for him that night.

Pepper was a great woman.  Fierce and reliable.  She was there when Tony’s parents died.  She even stuck through all the years of Tony trying to decide what he wanted to do with his life. So, naturally, Tony proposed to her when he graduated from college. As a “thank you” and as a promise.  That once he had enough money he would make an honest woman out of her.  Of course, she already was an honest woman.   It was Tony who needed the support, she was all he had left besides Rhodey, but he decided to join the Air Force and shipped off right after graduation.  Tony sees him every couple of months, if even that.

She has had all these years to focus on her own career as well while Tony worked menial jobs and then became a teacher.  When Tony finally got the Mechanical Engineer job, she was so relieved to not have to be the only one taking care of the bills.  Though she never said it, Tony knew. Pepper is the head of HR at Oscorp as well as Norman Osborn’s personal assistant.  Operating at the same routine for seven years now and she doesn’t seem to be bored, but that’s Pepper - reliable.

It’s been nine years since Tony asked her to marry him, and he’s been financially capable of paying for an adequate wedding for two of them.  The truth is, Pepper has become a part of the monotony that Tony is so tired of.

Tony opened the door to their apartment, the main hall light illuminating the dark wood flooring and the entry table he tossed his keys down on. Toeing off his shoes, he could already smell the Thai food Pepper had eaten and left for him.  He flipped the lights on and made his way to the kitchen, loosening his tie and unbuttoning the first two buttons in the process.  Rounding the large white marble island at the center, Tony reached into the bottom cabinet, pulled out a bottle of scotch, and poured himself a finger before throwing the left-overs in the microwave to heat up.  

A little white card with Pepper’s uniform handwriting sat on the table next to the take-out bag: Emergency at work. Don’t wait up. Love you, Pep x.  Tony took a sip of his drink, unaffected, it’s been happening more as of late with Oscorp’s new launch around the corner.

“JARVIS, could ya turn on the TV for me? Oh, and heat up my food.” Tony spoke into the open space.  He’d been working on his own Artificial Intelligence software in his spare time and recently implemented it-him into their apartment’s security and electrical.  Pepper was wary at first, seeing Tony put up cameras in every single room. Even the bathroom, Tony?  He assured her that it was unhackable, bet it on his life.

“Certainly, sir.”  A disembodied british voice replied.  Sure enough, the TV powered on and the microwave came to life.  

“Thanks, J.”  Tony would be lying if he said he wasn’t proud of himself.  He’d been drawing up the specs for JARVIS since he was in high school, now he finally had the means to develop him.

When the microwave turned off, Tony gathered up his plate and went to sit on the black leather sectional in the living room.  Shoveling a mouth full of pad thai with his chopsticks, he kicked up his feet to rest them on the ottoman in front of him. He very well knows he could just pull out his phone and look, but he wanted to give JARVIS a little workout.

“Got anything new for me?”

“An email from Mr. Justin Hammer about a job offer, would you like me to read it aloud to you, sir?” Tony waved his hand dismissively with a sour expression.  Justin Hammer, a sad excuse for a tech mogul, cutting corners for a bigger pay off.

“Delete it, will ya?”

As Tony scrapes the rest of his plate clean, he rises off the couch and stretches his arms and body.  The pain in his lower back calls for a hot shower to soothe his aching muscles.  Earlier today he’d been bent over his lab table working on an advanced prosthesis that can form to any amputee with ease and give them full range of motion like it was theirs, not just a placeholder.  He was grateful his employer seemed to actually care about the greater good.

Tony went to pour himself another finger before retreating to the bedroom to take that shower his body was craving.  He undressed slowly, watching himself in the full length mirror opposite the foot of his California King bed. The tie went first, falling lightly to the carpeted floor.  He unbuttoned the rest of his shirt and tossed it in the laundry basket along with his slacks.  Olive skin pulled taut against the small yet defined muscles of his stomach, chest, and arms littered with various burns and scars from working with robotics and chemicals.  

Tony definitely wasn’t 21 anymore but he knew he looked good for 37. He could only thank his genes for that and the still full head of hair despite his greying temples that he never bothered to dye.

“JARVIS, shower?” He heard the water splash against the tile of the shower floor and waited until he could see the steam bellow out into the hall to down the rest of his glass and make his way to the bathroom.

The hot spray connecting with his cool skin made him jump a little until he got used to the heat enough to relax.  The buzz he was feeling from the scotch aiding the water in loosening his muscles.  After washing his hair, Tony decided to stand beneath the spray for a while longer, reveling in the gentle caress of the water.

He then grabbed his mesh loofah ball, poured some body wash on it, and started scrubbing his body.  Washing away the trials and tribulations of the day, along with some oil and grease.  He worked over his arms, chest, and back.  Bent over to wash his legs and feet, then dragged the loofah over his ass and stomach before he lightly grazed his cock, making it twitch in response.

God, he was so wound up, he and Pepper hadn’t had sex in over two months.  Always so busy, always just missing each other.  When they did happen to be home at the same time, they were too tired to do anything.

He wrapped a soapy hand around his shaft and stroked lazily to work himself to full hardness, which didn’t take very long.  Tony tried thinking about Pepper but he couldn’t quite imagine her face and her body, the scotch must be making his mind hazy.  He chuckled softly at the thought, not even believing it himself.

Searching through his brain for something to get him there, Tony grunted in annoyance that nothing was coming to him.  

He thought harder, until a body started to form in his mind.  Smooth pale skin over a lithe, hard body.  The V at the bottom of the abdomen pointing to a skinny dick with a pretty pink head.  Tony had a fondness toward pretty twinks in college, the one he was imagining mirrored the ones he fucked before he met Pepper.

His hand began stroking faster as his thoughts got more detailed.  In his mind, he stretched the young man open with his fingers before seating his newly opened hole on Tony’s larger, thicker cock.  He braced himself with one arm against the shower wall while his other hand tightened around his shaft.  Hunched over, eyes closed, he saw a pert little ass bouncing up and down, swallowing every inch of him.  He moaned loudly, keenly aware that he was home alone, imagining high whimpers and whines thrumming in his ears as the boy in his mind came.  Tony came in spurts down the drain soon after with a choked off groan.

Rinsing himself again, he got out of the shower, quickly toweled off his body and hair before wrapping it around his waist and making his way out into the bedroom once again.  His body definitely felt looser than it had been when he arrived home from work.  Pulling out another of the same bottle of scotch from the small bar cart he had in his room, he poured himself another drink.

“Have a good shower, sir?”  If Tony didn’t know any better, he’d think JARVIS was taunting him.

Tony scowled and raised an eyebrow at the ceiling.

“I don’t remember programming you to be nosy.” He mumbled under his breath.

“Actually, sir. You designed me to do exactly that.”

“Or to give me lip.” No response.

“You did receive a new notification in your absence.  Would you like to know what it is?” He took a sip of his drink.

“Yeah, sure.”

“You received a Facebook friend request from a Mr. Peter Parker.”

Peter Parker? Why did that seem familiar?

“Throw it up on the screen for me, J.”  The flatscreen lit up, displaying Peter’s profile.

The first thing Tony noticed was the sharp, angular jawline coupled with high cheekbones.  A stark contrast to the delicate chestnut curls pushed back into a nice cowlick wave.  His smile was bright, pure, and genuine, like the photo had been snapped right as he finished laughing.

It wasn’t until Tony looked at his eyes did he realize who this was.  The soft brown eyes were identical to a lanky teenage boy that sat in the front row of his Chemistry class when he taught at Midtown High.  Even behind his wiry glasses back then, Tony could tell that his eyes radiated a wholesome energy - just like they did now.  That had been...what? Seven years ago?  Peter was one of his most brilliant students.  Hardly paid attention in class but knew the material like the back of his hand.

Tony almost felt guilty about finding him attractive. Almost.

He accepted the request without another thought.  Peter would be 22 by now, nothing weird about that, right?  He scrolled through his basic info.  Still lives in New York.  Graduated from Columbia.  Single.  Interested in men and women.  He doesn’t ever really post anything, then again neither did Tony.  The only things on his page were happy birthday posts and tagged photos from his Aunt May.  Tony remembered parent/teacher conferences with her, he guessed being smokin’ hot ran in the family.

Tony couldn’t bring himself to feel bad about potentially lusting over this kid.  He’d always been faithful to Pepper, but something was missing.  Tony craved excitement and some inkling of control over his life.  Besides, he could look, as long as he didn’t touch.  This is just a Facebook friendship after all.

He pulled the Facebook app up on his phone and tapped on the “Message” icon.  When the screen pulled up the chat box, Tony gulped down the rest of his scotch, feeling just on the right side of drunk, and typed out two words.

Hey, Kid.

-

tags: @sweetqueen449, @slut-for-starker, @dim-ships-johnlock, @starkerhowlter, @sthefystarkersworld, @crazycocococonut, @bris-sins, @delicateavenuenacho, @problemchildnoonewanted (I’ll def be implementing some of your points in future chapters!)

[plus-size-reader]

House Party

Young! FP Jones x Plus size!reader

Word Count: 1570 words

Warnings: none 

Summary: The reader has a huge crush on FP but she doesn't think he'll like her because she isn't like the girls he usually dates

———————————————————————————————————

As far as reputations went on the south-side, FP Jones was infamous. He was the youngest of his family to ever take over the serpent's gang and he didn’t go anywhere without a posse to prove it.

He was incredible, but you knew that he would never give you the time of day.

It just wasn’t how it worked.

In fact, you would be shocked if he even knew your name-even though you two had went to the same school all your lives and you lived in the same neighborhood.

You simply didn’t command attention like he did. No one paid attention when you walk past, and quite frankly, you preferred it that way.

Slipping under the radar was just how you rolled, it was much easier than having to deal with the ghoulies hanging on you, like they did with the popular girls or getting catcalled in the street.

In fact, you were hardly ever bothered when you walked the halls of Southside High school...until today.

Your step-sister, Julie had decided to throw a party and because she was much more popular than you, people actually showed up. However, when the doorbell rang for the fifteenth time tonight and you looked around to find Julz doing a keg stand-you decided to get the door.

It was probably just the rest of the football team. Apparently, they had stopped to pick up some beers and seeing as most of the south-side was here, you knew better than to leave them on the porch.

That wouldn’t go down well.

However, when you opened the door-there were no jocks to be found. Instead, one man stood in its wake, brown hair parted down the middle and a leather jacket hanging from his frame.

you were so shocked at first, blinking slowly as you tried to figure out if this was really happening or not.

It was FP in the flesh, the guy you’d been completely and totally infatuated with since middle school. You didn’t even know that Julie knew him, led alone that he would come to some party she threw.

“What are you doing here?” you asked, the words slipping from your lips before you even meant for them to.

He looked confused at your question, mostly just trying to figure out where he’d seen you before. Though, that look of confusion quickly morphed into a smirk that could have stopped your heart.

“This is where the party is right?” he checked, looking past your shoulder to the rowdy scene behind you. It was tame, compared to the things that he was used to but it could be interesting.

...If nothing else, he knew that he could find you if he got bored.

You nodded, trying to still your shaking hands as you let him in, pulling the door open all the way to make room for him before closing it. FP watched you, amusement in his gaze as he studied you.

He thought that you were in one of his classes, probably English though he didn’t attend very often.

One thing was bothering him though...he had never seen you at one of these parties before. By his standards, they were more like social gatherings but he didn’t mind.

It was better than going home to his drunk dad and a pile of dirty laundry he had to take care of-even if it wasn’t as eventful as a rager at the Wyrm.

FP just didn’t get it.

You’d never been at any of the other high school parties and now you were getting the door? It didn’t add up. However, when he took another look at you, he realized you weren’t attending this party at all.

Dressing your frame was a t-shirt, which hung low on your shoulders and fell just above your hip line and a pair of shorts. It wasn’t exactly typical of what girls wore to these things but there was something endearing about it.

You weren’t like any of the other girls here, and he thought it was cute, in a quirky sort of way.

“The drinks should be in the kitchen, I’m sure you’ll be able to find Julie” you gestured, instantly regretting coming down to get a glass of water and a snack.

You should have just stayed in your room where you belonged, because FP had just seen you in your pajamas, and probably thought that you were a total loser...not that that was a secret to begin with.

“You know Julie?” he wondered, not putting the pieces together. Julie was at least three years older than you two were, and he wasn’t sure how you knew her.

She didn’t usually make friends with underclassmen unless they could do something for her.

There it was.

That was the line that you dreaded in every conversation.

Your mom marrying Julie’s dad had been the worst thing to ever happen to you because every guy that talked to you now wanted to get to her. You should have known that FP would be no different.

Still, it sucked to hear it out loud.

“She’s my step-sister” you grumbled, hating the words as they bled into the air, seeming to stain the environment all around you.

FP could hardly believe it, he didn’t even know Julie had a sister...led alone the fact that you were that sister. If he had known, maybe he would have crashed one of her parties before tonight.

“Cool, are you gonna hang around? I don’t really care for anyone around here” he asked, making your stomach flip. If you hadn’t known any better, you would have thought that FP was flirting with you.

...but that wasn’t possible.

Guys like FP didn’t go for girls like you, it just didn’t happen. Guys like FP dated girls like Julie with size 2 waists and a collection of pumps. You couldn’t even remember the last time you wore something other than jeans and sneakers.

Usually, you didn’t have a problem with it but every once and awhile, moments like this came along and reminded you all about everything that was wrong with you.

...Everything you desperately wanted to change.

“I was actually gonna go watch a movie upstairs, I’m not much of a party goer” you shrugged, assuming that you’d just blew it, not that you really cared. As far as you were concerned, FP would be all over one of the seniors before midnight.

He didn’t actually want to spend any time with you. Who would with all the other exciting things he could be doing?

You could have sworn that you saw his face fall a little before he finally nodded.

“Well maybe I’ll come visit you if this gets too painful” he winked, leaving you to it. You let out a deep breath as he walked away toward the living room, your skin felt like it was on fire.

You couldn’t handle this.

Before you could have an actual stroke, you headed back upstairs, hoping to leave all memory of this whole thing behind you in favor of watching MTV until you went to bed.

Julie had a habit of not clearing out until the very last minute and it was likely that the party would go all night long. If you were lucky though, you wouldn’t have to go back downstairs until morning.

...Or at least that was what you were hoping.

Of course, nothing every worked out like that in real life so half way through watching a taping of the exorcist, there was a knock at your bedroom door.

At first, you assumed that it was just Julie, telling you she was going to leave with some guy she just met but if that was the case-she would have just yelled through the door.

This had to be someone else.

You groaned, rolling out of bed and pausing the tape, before making your way over to the door. You weren’t used to being interrupted when you were trying to chill but for all you knew, it could have been an accident.

There were a few different rooms on this floor and they could have just made a wrong turn at the stairs. You wouldn’t know unless you checked.

However, when you opened the door, it wasn’t  an accident at all. Standing there in the hallway, holding a couple sodas between his right arm and his chest, was FP.

You had no idea what he was doing here, but you couldn’t help the butterflies in your stomach at the sight of him. Even if he got lost and was looking for another room, it was nice to see him again.

As nervous as he made you.

“Hey, the bathroom is down the hall” you gestured, pointing in that way as if that was what he was here for. You had no idea what he was here for but you knew that it wasn’t looking for you.

There was no way he would come all the way up here to find you.

“I actually came to see you” he grinned, holding out a can of pop for you with that same charming smile on his face. You were shocked, mostly, when the words left his mouth but you knew better than to argue.

It may not have made sense to you, but for whatever reason, Fp Jones was standing at your bedroom door and you weren’t going to close it in his face.

[chickensarentcheap]

Best Part of Me -Chapter 59

Warnings: Profanity

Tagging: @c-a-v-a-l-r-y​, @alievans007​, @innerpaperexpertcloud​, @ocfairygodmother​

A hot shower and a three hour nap -aided by a mixture of antidepressants, anxiety meds, and pain killers washed down by three shots of tequila- has done Tyler a world of good.  Waking up feeling energized; still riding the high of the morning’s adrenaline rush and relatively pain free. Nothing more than a dull throb in the deepest part of the shoulder; some discomfort and audible cracking and popping when he stretches and manipulates it. But it’s bearable, unlike the agony that’s been a near constant fixture in his life for the past couple of years. While the initial replacement surgery and rehab had both been complete successes, a full recovery had eluded him. It had been his own fault, of course; the surgeon’s orders  had been to alter his lifestyle and to avoid the very ‘activity’ that had caused so much damage in the first place. That ‘advice’ had lasted all of four months, until Nik had called, desperately needing his help and he’d been unable to resist both the lure of the game and the promise of damn good money.

He’d attempted to walk away several times in as many years, fully intending to commit himself to being a family man with his own little side business. Content with the motions of being the one to stay home with the kids while his wife either went back to school or found a new career she’d be happy with. But sometimes the best laid plans don’t work out. Not long after an early term miscarriage when the twins were two and a half, she’d  gotten pregnant with Declan DESPITE being on birth control and coming to a mutual decision to wait until both Millie and the twins were in school full time before once again trying to add to their family. It had been completely unexpected, and off of their previous plans regarding their home life quickly went by the wayside. The job was easy money; he was confident in his skills and his abilities and Nik had promised to offer only the easiest of gigs.

That changed quickly. What should have been an ‘in and out’ assassination of a key political figure in El Salvador turning  into a four day shit show that had him falling into dangerous enemy territory and almost needing to be extracted himself. After that, he’d said ‘fuck it’ and began taking whatever Nik brought to the table. And his physical health began to pay the price.

He orders a meal from room service and cracks open the bottle of whisky in the mini bar. He’s stuck to his word; staying sober while actually ON the job and not ever indulging during his downtime. Unlike the old days, he’s able to both pace himself AND stop after just a couple. A far cry from the guy who’d polish off an entire bottle and would be either too hung over to get up with his kids in the morning, or already passed out in the early evening; missing school events and extra curricular activities that he’d promised he’d attend. He refuses to be that guy again; the one who’d almost single handedly ruined his marriage because he put the bottle and the pain meds at the top of his priority list; allowing his addictions to take precedence over his family. The one who’d rightfully had his ass kicked out and then spent the next six months in a drunken stupor.

Never again. Never again will he be ‘that guy’. The absolute failure as a husband and a father. He can control it now; no longer needing to silence the inner demons or lessen the emotional suffering by getting. The want not nearly as powerful. Before it had been a way of life; no day complete without at least the smallest buzz. Now it’s a matter of convenience. Even enjoyment. A feeling of satisfaction and relief when the whisky finally hits the tongue and he experiences the initial burn in the back of his throat. After that, one drink doesn’t make him crave more. Instead satisfying his palate with bottle water and Gatorade and terrible coffee made in the hotel provided maker.

He’s lounging in the middle of the bed in a pair of boxer briefs when Koen finally returns. Back resting against the headboard and his legs stretched out; laptop resting on his thighs and a plate of food in his hands. And he only gives a brief glance towards the door when Koen stomps in and allows it to slam shut behind him.  Offering no greeting, calmly and casually eating from the enormous serving of goat curry and naan bread,  eyes never leaving the video playing on the computer; his three oldest on the plane, reading HIM a story and every so often having mispronounced words gently and lovingly corrected by their mother. And the grin that plays on his lips is double fold; pride and love for those beautiful and intelligent little human beings he’d had a hand in creating, and amusement at Koen’s mutters and complaints and strings of profanity.

“Look at you,” his friend grumbles. “All fucking relaxed and shit. Cocky, shit eating  grin on your face.”

Tyler’s attention  never leaves  the laptop. A different video this time; Addie giving a real, genuine smile when she has her chin tickled. That one brings the prick of tears to his eyes. She’s still so tiny and so fragile, but she is...in fact...growing up.

“Why do you swear all the time?” He finally asks. “Makes you sound stupid. Find another fucking adjective.”

Koen smirks. “Well aren’t you just the clever one. Leave it to your brain damaged ass to remember THAT.”

“It’s my short term memory that’s fucked. Although I do remember threatening to throw your ass off the balcony. Keep calling me stupid or brain damaged, and it’ll happen.”

“Don’t be so goddamn sensitive. What’cha watching?”

“Just some videos Esme sent me. Of the kids. I’ve got two five year olds and a six year old that can read better than I can. How’d the fuck that ever happen?”

“Well their momma’s pretty damn smart. Maybe just be thankful their brains at least took after her.”

Tyler frowns, then flips Koen the middle finger.  “I meant that they’re practically babies still and they can read like they’re a lot older. They’re so smart. So fucking smart.”

“Definitely gonna be trouble makers when they’re older. Imagine them as teenagers? Especially Millie? With that mouth of hers?”

“That mouth of hers is going to keep trouble AWAY from her. She says what she wants; fuck anyone’s feelings. Someone gets mouthy with her when she’s older, she’ll put them in their place. And if her own mouth doesn’t do it, her right hook will. She's a savage that kid.”

“Best of both mom and dad if you ask me. And look at you just kicking back. Acting like  you didn’t just butcher two people this morning.”

Tyler shrugs. “Am I supposed to feel sorry for them?”

“Just thought maybe you’d be a little more...I don’t know...grumpy.”

“Why would I? They got what was coming to them. And they deserved a lot worse. You think that was brutal? Wait until I have more time and more space.”

“You’re starting to scare me a bit, mate. You’re enjoying this a little too much, I reckon.”

“Well if it was  your family being threatened, you’d enjoy it too. You know what kind of things they would have done to my wife and kids? What I did is tame compared to what they had planned. I’ve heard the threats; you haven’t. It’s nightmare inducing shit. Let’s leave it at that.”

“That why you been freaking out in your sleep? Waking up barely able to breathe and shit? Scared the crap out of me the first couple of times.”

“It’s fucking with my head a bit,”  Tyler admits. “Kind of hard not to let it mess with you. Trust me when I say that what I read? What was said about Esme? About the kids? I don’t wish any of it on my worst enemy.”   It makes bile rise in his throat just thinking about it and he places the laptop on the bed and reaches for the bottle of Gatorade sitting on the nightstand. Downing half in order to rid himself of the bitterness and the burn.   “Heard you guys had a bit of trouble.”

Koen scowls, pausing in the middle of taking off his gear. “Don’t get all cocky again, young man.”

“Not getting cocky. Just repeating what I heard. Didn’t you guys leave the same time I did?”

“Your point?”

“No point.” A slow, sly grin spreads across his face. “Just making an observation. I mean, I was alone and had to take out two people. By myself. Took me twenty minutes. And that includes me getting there AND back. You know all the shit I’ve done since then?”

“Nope. But I bet you’re gonna tell me, aren’t ya.”

“Took a shower, ate, slept for three hours. Now I’m eating again. And you’re getting back. Just now. It’s almost six. In the evening.”

“You’ve kept yourself busy. You jerk off sometime in there too?”

“Twice, actually.”

“Your lazy ass could have handled some more work. Instead you’ve been here slacking.”

“I’d done my bit for the day. Next time be faster.”

“Easy for you to say,” Koen scoffs. “Mister ‘I have all the experience’.  You now, we could have used your help out there.”

“Oh I’m sorry. I didn’t hear that. Can you repeat it?”

“Don’t be a little prick."

“I swear you just said that you could have used MY help. I swear you just said that.”

“You’re asking for an ass kicking, you know that?”

“Funny how you wanted my help when this morning you were acting I like I didn’t know what the fuck In was doing. It’s almost like...I don’t know...like you’re actually admitting you were wrong.”

“I ain’t admitting shit. Just saying we could have used your help.”

“Why? Apparently I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“I am five seconds away from punching you in the face,” Koen growls. “And your wife won’t be too happy if I mess that face up. So…”

“Just swallow your pride and admit you’re wrong, mate. That you shouldn’t have underestimated me. Get it off your chest. It’ll make you feel better.”

“Make you feel better, you mean. I’d rather stroke your cock than your ego.”

“Well you’re definitely never getting anywhere near my cock so it’s my ego or nothing.”

“Fine,” Koen sighs heavily. “I underestimated you. I will never again second guess your skills or your abilities. But I still think you’re a brain damaged fuck.”

“I’ll take it,” Tyler says, then sits the now empty plate and Gatorade bottle on the nightstand and swings his legs over the edge of the bed. “How did it go in the end?” he asks, groaning and grimacing as he stands. Forty starting to feel like it’s closer to death, never mind middle age.

“They’re dead. So it ended on a good note. Put up a hell of a fight. Rata took an elbow to the face and went crazy. Beat the guy to death. You would have been impressed. I think he’s a natural.”

“And you?”

“I prefer the simple things in life. Pull a trigger and it’s done. I’ll leave the more hands on, gruesome shit for you two. Gotta date or something?”

“Going to the airport.” He slips into a pair of jeans and a simple black t-shirt. “Going to see my wife and kids.”

“Think that’s a good idea?”

Tyler sighs in exasperation. “Don’t fucking start this shit again.”

“Just if anyone is following you and you lead them right to your family…”

“Anil gave me the okay. Said he’s got tons of guys keeping their eyes on things. Yaz is sending a couple of people with me. So fuck off with this overprotective bullshit.”

“Now you know how your wife feels.”

“I have a reason to worry about her. A LOT of reasons. Damn good ones too. If you’re going to ride my ass so hard, at least pull my fucking hair.”

Koen smirks. “You’re into that kinda shit, aren’t ya. I knew it. Always knew you were a freak.”

“As much as I’d like to stay here and discuss my sex life with you, I’ve got better things to do.”  He attaches his holster to his right hip, gathers up his wallet and hotel key card and both phones.

“You better not come back here with that ‘’just got fucked’ grin on your face,” Koen warns. “Because I will beat your ass.”

“You’ll be too busy beating something else.” Tyler retorts, right hand mimicking jerking off. Chuckling when Koen throws a shoe at him when he steps out the door.

****

It’s only a fifteen minute drive to the airport and he already knows everything there is to know about the young tech that Yaz has recruited to ‘escort’ him. It’s annoying enough not to be able to something as simple as driving, but to have to stuck with someone that is overly chatty and friendly is nothing short of torture.  He’s never been a social creature; unlike his wife who makes friends easily and never shies away from making conversation with just about anyone, including strangers in the grocery store or out on the street. She’d been the first...and only...chatty person that hasn’t gotten on his nerves.

Her name is Riya and she’s twenty one; last of eight kids, her mother and father both extremely successful and wealthy business people in Dubai. The so-called ‘black sheep’ of the family; all but disowned when she’d decided to attend an American university  -Georgetown- and  make her home there. Even if he HAD have been talker, he wouldn’t have had the chance to offer up much commentary; her mouth running a mile a minute as she nervously and awkwardly spills even the smallest details of her life.

He doesn’t have the heart to tell her to stop her. The old Tyler...the one that existed only six short years ago...would have already snapped and told her to shut the fuck up. But who he is now...the man he is...is different in so many ways. Far more patient. Considerate. Empathetic, even. And the father of a little girl that is the very definition of a chatterbox. Who’s bright eyed and bubbly and talkative from the time she opens her eyes in the morning until the moment she closes them at night. And he wouldn’t want some asshole speaking to his own daughter like that, so why would he?

“How long HAVE you been married for?” Riya asks, and he can hear Esme’s voice in his head; reminding him that not everyone is out to get him. That their curiosity is often just that. They’re genuinely interested in him and want to be his friend.

“Six and a half years.” Sometimes it doesn’t feel nearly that long. Other times, considering all of the bad shit they’ve been through and the time they didn’t think they’d make it. It seems a hell of a lot longer.

“And five kids, right? In only six and a half years?”

“We’ve really been together for seven. Well, almost seven. But yeah. Five kids.”

“They must be really close together.”

“First three are. My daughter is six, the boys are five.”

“Twins? Identical or…?”

“Fraternal. Millie...my daughter...was only two months when we found out they were on their way. They were kind of a surprise, needless to say. We have another boy after them; he’ll be two in a few months. And we have a baby girl. Almost eight weeks.”

“Just a little one.”

Tyler nods. “Very little. Very tiny. My wife is, too, Small. But feisty as hell. And tough. Toughest and strongest person I know.”

“Yaz said you met on the job.”

“Yeah, we got sent out on the same gig, To Bangladesh. Actually had to pretend we were married.”

Riya laughs. “Really?”

“First time I ever got mixed up in something like THAT. It’s a long story, but in the end, my fake wife ended up becoming my real wife.”  He doesn’t feel the need to fill in the gaps between beginning and end; Dhaka and what happened there has never been kept off the radar. Word travels fast in the dame, and every single details has been made available; everything from Mahajan fucking him over to Gaspar’s betrayal to  his near death experience.

“Probably the best ending to a job you’ve ever had,” Riya comments.

“Took me nearly dying and her sticking her fingers in my neck to keep me alive, but yeah, in the end things turned out pretty damn good. What about you? You got a family? Other than the ones that don’t speak to you?”

“Nope. It’s just me. It’s hard finding someone that understands this kind of life. Who won’t judge you for it. And the people you meet through this life aren’t exactly the settling down types. As much as I want to believe I’ll meet someone, I probably should just prepare myself to be alone for the long haul.”

“There’s gotta be someone out there. Either in the game or someone who won’t be bothered by it.”

Fuck. He’s starting to sound like his wife. Years spent listening to her reason with her little sister over the phone that there has to be a guy -or girl- out there that would be into her; a full time student with five cats and a host of mental health issues and an extremely toxic family. Or hearing her talk Ovi through his personal issues; always chasing the wrong girl and left brokenhearted in the end. Normally he just stays out if; offering shrugs of the shoulders or a simple nod or a head shake when Esme attempts to get him involved.

“Maybe there is,” Riya sighs. “Do you have any single friends?”

“My single friends are single for a reason. And I’m a lot older than you and they would be too. So…”

“What about Ovi? He’s your friend. He’s young. Is he single?”

“He’s actually more my son than my friend”

“Son?” Her brow furrows in confusion. “How…?”

“Another long story. We ended up taking in him, giving him a proper home, a family. But yeah. He’s single.”

“Do you think  maybe you could…?”

Tyler laughs. “Yeah...no.  Just no. I’m not trying to be a dick about it, but I don’t get involved with this kind of thing. That, and I’ve got some pretty serious shit I’m dealing with and it’s definitely NOT the time even if  I WAS  the kind that would help. I mean, my wife likes to stick her nose where it doesn’t belong. You could always ask her to talk to him or whatever. I’m not who you want. Trust me.”

“Do you think she would? Put in a good word for me?”

“I guess,” he shrugs. “I don’t know. Look, I’m not the sociable type. So I don’t mean to come across as an asshole, but…”

“You’re honest,” she says. “I heard that about you. That you don’t say much, but you mean what you say and don’t pull any punches.”

“I can be a little harsh,” Tyler admits. “So I’ve been told, anyway.  I’ve bet you heard a lot of things about me.”

She nods.

“Probably not a lot of good things.”

“More good than bad. But the bad is pretty...well...bad.  I don’t know; you don’t seem that awful to me. I mean, how awful can someone be when they have a wife and five kids? No woman would stick around long enough to have one kid, never mind that many.”

“Never thought of it that way. I’m not an easy person to live with. I’ve put her through a lot. But maybe I’m not as terrible as I think I am.”

“I don’t think she’d still be around if you were. If she’s as tough and strong as you say she is, she would have hauled ass a long time ago.”

****

He’s still thinking of those words when they arrive at the airport; pulling right onto the tarmac behind the smaller hangar he’d flowed into only two days before. It feels like a lifetime has passed since then. Since he’s stood in front of his home, kissing and hugging his wife and kids goodbye and wondering if he’d ever see them again. With how successful the morning had been, he wants to be more confident in regards to the eventual outcome. But he knows how things work; each kill will get harder and messier and more complicated. Mahajan will clue into his involvement and up the stakes even more. One good day doesn’t mean you can let your guard down. Not in the slightest.

Riya waits in the car, but both drivers and passengers of the three vehicles that had followed them climb out. Staggering themselves along the tarmac, eyes surveying the surroundings; bullet proof vests under their clothing, weapons at the ready.  The jet’s already arrived and the stairs being placed in front of the open door when he crosses the distances between it and the car; less than ten feet away when the first little body appears. Millie with her ever present messy hair and those Spiderman sandals; an Incredible Hulk t-shirt paired with a frilly -and glittery- pink and purple tutu over a pair of camo leggings.  Her head down at first and a slight frown on her face; shrugging a unicorn and sloth themed backpack onto her shoulders and one foot tentatively checking the strength and support of the stairs in front of her. And when she finally does glance up, the look is one of shock at first.  Her brow furrowed and those huge blue eyes wide and disbelieving. Then quickly widening and sparkling when realization sets in; a brilliant smile spreading across her face.

“Daddy!” She shrieks, and immediately forgets about her discomfort on the stairs, rushing down them and leaping from the second last one; not even stumbling or missing a single stride. “Daddy!”

Tyler catches her as she throws herself at him, effortlessly scooping her up into his arms. Feeling those little arms immediately circle his neck, squeezing as tight as they can and how soft her cheeks and her forehead are against his lips and how impossibly light she seems.

“You said we wouldn’t see you  for a few days!” Her tone has a slight scolding quality to it.

“I thought I’d surprise you guys. I got things finished nice and early so I could come and say hi. I missed you,” he lays a hand on the back of her head and presses a kiss to her temple and then her brow. “I missed you so much.”

“I miss you too. This is the best surprise EVER.”

“Even better than getting Saju as a late birthday gift?”

"I love Saju, but I love you more. You’re my daddy. And I was worried about you. About the bad guys getting a hold of you.”

“The bad guys don’t stand against me. You know that.”

“Daddy!” TJ hollers, and soon both he and his brother -and two dogs- are racing towards him. And with Millie still on his hip, he drops down to one knee, laughing when the force of those of those small bodies - and all of the power and excitement and love inside of them- knock him off balance and he finds himself on his ass on the damp, cold tarmac. Gathering all three kids into his arms and pulling them tightly into him.

“I knew you could do it,” Tanner’s face is buried in the side of his neck, tears hot against his skin. “I knew you could beat up the bad guys and still come and see us! I missed you. I missed you so much.”

“I’ve only been gone two days, mate.”

“Doesn’t matter if it’s only two hours. I still missed you.”

“I missed you too. I missed ALL of you.”  

He presses his lips to each forehead, returns each tight, fierce hug. Still sitting on the ground as he listens to all three speak at once’ excited tales about what they’d done on the plane and the movies they’d watched and the naps they’d taken and the food they’d eaten, Millie showing off her matching bracelet.  And she moves out of the way when Delcan arrives; a beaming smile on his face and a ‘miss daddy’ in his tiny voice before throwing his arms around Tyler’s neck. And he runs his fingers through his son’s silky red hair and showers his cheeks with kisses and holds him as tight as Declan will let him. And even now he’s not sure he deserves all of this. The adoration and the unconditional love and their blind faith and trust in him.

“Good to see ya,” Kyle says in greeting, placing Addie -in her car seat carrier- on the ground beside him, then offering a hand to help Tyler to his feet and giving him a one armed hug. “Especially in one piece. Heard today was the day. Must have went okay. You’re standing here.”

“Went better than I thought it would. I’ll take a good start over a bad one any day.”   He drops to a knee once more, smiling at his baby girl as he unfastens the straps of the carrier.  “Hey sweet pea...hey little peanut…” he scoops that tiny body into his arms, settling her against his chest; a forearm under her bum, hand on the back of her head. “Daddy missed you. He missed you so much.”

“What are you even doing here?” Esme inquires as she joins them, a playful scolding tone to her voice and a look of pure relief on her face.

He grins down at her. “I guess crossing your fingers worked.”

“I guess it did,” she says, and he’s able to keep Addie pressed securely against him with one arm as he wraps the other around his wife; pulling her tightly into him, lips meeting her temple. “I know it’s only been two days,” her voice is muffled against his chest, both arms around his waist. “But I have missed you so much.”

“I missed you too. It’s felt longer than two days.”

She nods, pulling away slightly to look up at him, tears sparking in her eyes. “I was so worried about you. Everything went okay?”

“Better than I thought it would. I’ll call you later and tell you all about it. Fill you in on all the gory details.”

“Yes, because I just love your stories of mutilation and homicide. You’re okay?” Her hands rub at his sides. “You look okay.”

“I’m fine. Not a scratch on me.”

“Guess you haven’t lost your touch after all. And to think you were worried about that.”  Her face turns serious, the amount of tears in her eyes increasing. “I was so fucking worried about you, Tyler.”

“I know you were.” He presses a kiss to her forehead. “It’s okay, baby. Don’t cry. Everything’s fine.”

“I’m just relieved. That I didn’t just have to take your for it and I got to see it...you...with my own eyes. I’m proud of you. I’m so proud of you.”

“Now you’re going to make ME cry.”

“Did you get the videos? Did you watch them?”

“I did. And I’m slightly concerned that my six year and five year olds are already smarter than I am.”

“I don’t think they’re anywhere near being that smart yet, but they are crazy intelligent. Almost scary HOW intelligent. We are going to have our work cut out for us, I think. Having three brainiacs in the house?”

“Four if you count their mom. Where do you think they get it from? My looks, your brain. We’ve been through this.”

“Is that some sneaky, backhanded way of calling me ugly?” she teases.

“Baby, you’re the most beautiful woman in the world, you know that. And I love you,” he places a soft kiss to her lips. “So much.”

“I love you too. And did you see Addie? Her smile? Her REAL smile? She smiles exactly like you.  Her eyes crinkle and everything. So there. She DID get something from you, after all. Are you okay?” She reaches up and lays a hand on the side of her face, running her thumb over his lips. “With what happened? You’re alright?”

“I’m okay. I just missed you guys. It’s been harder than I thought it would.”

“It’s been six months. You had a whole different life for half a year. I’d be worried if going back to this WASN’T hard.”

“It’s not just that. It’s...I don’t know….” Tyler shrugs. “I can’t talk about it right now. Not with the kids around.”

“Is it about what you did?”

He nods. “About what I did. How I felt about it. How I DIDN’T feel. We’ll talk later. I can’t stay long; just in case someone is keeping an eye on me. You guys will be safer at the house than you will be standing out here talking to me.”

“Thank you. For making the effort to get here.  The kids needed that; to see you. I needed that. I really needed to see you. I needed to make sure you were okay.”

“I needed to see you, too. I was worried I’d never get the chance again. And I wish I could stay longer. Or go to the house with you guys. I’d give anything to be able to do that. Anything.”

She gives a small, understanding smile. “I know you would.”

“I gotta go.” He holds Addie out in front of him, kissing her forehead. “I love you, little peanut. Stop growing up so fast. You might be the last one.”

“We’ll talk about that later too,” Esme says, and he leans down to press a kiss to her temple before placing Addie in her arms. “I love you. We’ll see you in a few days, right?”

“Yep.” He attempts a reassuring smile, then kisses her; long and soft and sweet. “I love you. Call me when the kids are asleep. We’ll talk about stuff.”

“Okay,” she agrees, squeezing him tightly and burying her face in her chest once more when he gives her one last hug. Holding onto him longer and tighter than before.  Unable to control the tears that trickle down her face.

****

“You should see this place,” Esme says four hours later, after all the kids have finally settled in their rooms  and have managed to fall asleep. “Remember when we stayed at Mahajan’s? What that place was like? Well this Mahajan’s on steroids. I am serious. Ten bedrooms. TEN! And eleven bathrooms! Who cleans all those bathrooms? We have three and we can’t keep up half the time. And the master ensuite is bigger than our entire bedroom. And our room at home is what I consider huge.”

He can’t hold but smile at the youthful exuberance in her voice. He knows she’s exhausted; physically and emotionally. Not just from a twelve hour flight with five kids, but with everything that’s gone down within the past month and a half.  But he can hear the difference; being in Mumbai and closer to him has lifted some of the stress and worry, replacing it with relief and at least some peace of mind.

“And you should the shit this guy has,” she continues. “I’ve never seen anything like it. An underground garage full of insanely expensive exotic cars. A home theatre, indoor and outdoor pools and jacuzzis, his own tennis and basketball courts. Who needs all this stuff? I thought we had a lot of stuff. This? This is our stuff times a thousand.”

“We have a lot of stuff...normal stuff...because we have five kids. He has a lot of stuff because he doesn't have anyone or anything else to spend his money on.”

“”I mean, we have money too. We’re not exactly poor. Not anymore, anyway.”

“We don’t have  his kind of money, babe. What we have in the bank is like a month’s salary to him.”

“We also don’t buy stuff just to buy and have stuff. This is just insane to me. And the animals. It’s not one or two, Tyler. It’s its own goddamn zoo. He’s got tigers and monkeys and peacocks and a sloth. And snakes. So many snakes. Don’t even get me started in the snakes. All I have to say is thank god they’re far enough away from the house and securely contained. Because you know my fear of snakes.”

“I don’t know where this fear comes from. We’ve only had one snake in the house so far”

“In  my shoe!” She reminds him. “Which I tried to stick my foot into, thank you very much.”

“What was one of the first things I told you when we first moved back to Australia? Especially where we moved TO. Check your shoes before you put them on. If you listened to me more often…”

“What if it bit me?”

“You would have lived because it wasn’t poisonous. And it was a baby. The way you fucking screamed, you would have though it was an anaconda trying to eat one or two of the kids.”

“I don’t like snakes. I told this when we first lived there. That I’m scared of them but I loved you enough to live somewhere where there’s tons of them. And you promised you’d be the one to handle them.  And the spiders.”

“Which I have. And the dingoes. Have I let a dingo get you?”

“You’re probably waiting for the opportunity to feed me to one.”

“Baby, if I wanted to get rid of you, there’s about a hundred different ways I could do it. And feeding you to a dingo is NOT one of them. And I don’t want to get rid of you, so…”  He stretches his legs out in front of him, resting his bare feet on the top railing of the balcony. “...you’re safe.”

“What I don’t understand is our children’s fascination and love of snakes and spiders. If you didn’t encourage them to pick the damn things up and let them crawl all over them…”

“They’re not dangerous. They can’t hurt the kids. Let’s not raise pussies, okay? They have to learn about stuff, yeah? Let them learn. As long as they’re not in danger, what’s the worst that could happen? What are they going to do? Want a Huntsman as a pet?”

“I will refuse to step foot in the house again,” she declares. “I will move out. I will live with Ovi in the guest house. If you EVER let the kids do anything like that, I swear…”

“I’d miss you too much. I know what lines I can’t cross.”

“Speaking of lines you shouldn’t cross. Who’s the girl you were with tonight?”

“Are you serious right now?”

“What? You thought I wouldn’t notice you left with her?”

Tyler grins. “Esme, are you jealous?”

“Do I have a reason to be?”

“I kind of like this. You getting all jealous. You getting all worked up. It’s kinda hot, actually. And no, you don’t have a reason to be jealous. She’s young enough to be my kid.”

“Maybe she likes older men.”

“Good for her. But I like you, so…”

“So who is she?”

“Riya. She works for Nik. She’s from Dubai. Apparently her folks are loaded and basically disowned her for going to school in the States and picking the job she did. Sound familiar?”

“That DOES seem a little too close to home for my liking.”

“She actually wants to talk to you.”

“Oh how cute,” Esme scoffs. “She wants my permission before she bangs my husband. Well at least this is asking before she tries.”

“Only person I want to bang is you. And she wants to talk to you about Ovi.”

“Ovi? What about him?”

“You’re the one who can’t stay out of other peoples’ business, right? You like meddling in relationships.”

“Pardon me? It’s advising. Not meddling. Advising.”

“She wants you to hook her up.”

“With Ovi?”

“Are you following along at all or have I been talking to myself?”

“I mean, it’s Ovi. He’s like my kid. No. Scratch that. He IS my kid. I can’t set him up./”

“Why not?”

“Do you want me setting Millie up? Or TJ? Or Tanner?”

“First off, Millie is six. The boys are five. It’s not the same thing. Just do it. Put in a good word for her.”

“So now you’re encouraging me to meddle? That’s a first for you.”

“I’m encouraging you to help a poor, desperate girl out. And Ovi too. He’s been acting like a little bitch since Chloe took off and I can’t can’t take much more. So do me a solid and save what’s left of my sanity and help Ovi get laid.”

“Okay, wow. THAT’S a little disturbing. Isn’t that supposed to be your thing? Anything sex related? You’re a guy. You find him a piece of ass. Call one of your hoes from your old  little black book.”

“Actually, I didn’t have anyone in India,” Tyler admits.

“You poor baby,” she scoffs. “My heart bleeds for you. And find. I will put in a good word for this girl. But if you want him to get laid, you figure out how to make it happen. And don’t sample the goods, either.”

“Only goods I want to sample are yours. So why don’t you come over here and let me.”

“You’re hurting, aren’t you,” Esme laughs.

“A little. It’s been forever.”

“It’s been two days, Tyler.”

“Feels like it’s been forever. What are you wearing?”

“Are you serious right now? You want to have phone sex?”

“You can’t come here and I can’t go there, so…”

“I’m wearing a lovely combination of premenstrual syndrome, baby puke, and dog hair.”

“Now THAT’S sexy. PMS, huh? So things are going back to normal that way.”

“It was going to happen eventually,” Esme sighs. “After the next one, they can take everything out. I’m done. I won’t need any of it  anymore. They can have it. If I never have a period again, that’s fine by me, I’d say it’s good for you too because you won’t have to put up with my extreme bitchiness once a month, but you have two daughter who will go through this one day.”

He frowns “Can Addie at least get to her first birthday before we talk about this shit?”

“It’s going to happen, Tyler. I mean it could happen to Millie in a few years. I was ten.”

“Esme, for fuck sakes. I don’t…”

“Sorry, honey. I hate to break your heart like this. But one day it’s going to happen. And one day she’s even going to want to have sex and need to go on birth control and…”

“Do you want a divorce? Because bringing this shit up is how you get a divorce.”

“I love you,  Tyler James. You’re my favorite human And I love how you can impale someone with a garden rake but you can’t handle the thought of your daughter maturing. You’re so fucking cute. You’re so cute, I’d have phone sex with you right now if my cramps weren’t so bad. I am telling you, after the next one? My body is done. That’s it. Take it all out. It’s not needed anymore.”

“Next one? I thought we weren’t going to talk about that until I got home.”

“I made the decision. Without you.”

He smirks. “Oh, so you mean like you usually do about everything.”

“Pretty much. If you really want another one…”

“You gotta want it too. Not just me. I don’t want you doing it just because I want it.”

“I do want to. One more. An even number.  And if something happens like it did with the one that should have been between the twins and Declan…”

Tyler sighs. “I don’t want to talk about this.”

“We stop if something goes wrong. Because once was bad enough. Well twice, if I count the one with Mark.  I can’t keep having my heart broken like that. And if we can’t successfully carry another one, we just stop. Okay?”

“Okay,” he agrees. “And it wasn’t fun for me, either. Going through that. It was my baby too.”

“I know. But you were amazing and so good with me and it made me love you even more. I’m worried about you, Tyler. There was something in your eyes tonight. When you talked about what you did today. I can’t put my finger on it. I just know what I saw and that I’ve never seen it before. It wasn’t old Tyler OR new Tyler. I don’t know who it was.”

“Before I tell you what’s going on, I need to tell you what  I did. And I know you hate hearing the gory details. But I need to tell you.”

“Okay…” There’s a slight rustle of the phone as she shifts positions in bed. “...I’m not going to sleep for a couple days after this, am I.” While she accepts and supports what he does, she draws the line at hearing the details. She’d seen enough in Dhaka, and once that was over, so was her desire to ever see -or think about- another drop of blood again. “Did you shoot them?”

“No. I didn’t shoot them. I was more...hands on.”

“Like your bare hands, or…?”

“Sort of. I kinda slit a guy’s throat and gutted another one. Literally.”

“Okay…”

“And I liked it. I liked doing it. And I’ve never liked doing it before. I killed because I had to. Because I had to keep myself alive. Now I’m doing it because I WANT to. Because I enjoy it. That’s fucked, yeah? Tell me that’s fucked. That I’M fucked.”

“I wouldn’t say it’s fucked. And I definitely won’t say you’re fucked. And I can’t say I’m totally shocked. Or shocked at all, to be honest.”

“Maybe we’re both fucked,” he says. “And not in the good, fun way either.”

“Well before you question our levels of depravity and insanity, let’s look at this for what it is. This isn’t a normal job. This isn’t what you’re used to. You’re used to not having any emotional ties to what you do. You go in, you do what you have to do, you get out. That’s it. You don’t know these people, you don’t know the people they’re hurting, none of that. You’re not connected to any of them, right?”

“Right.”

“Well this time you DO have a connection. A very personal one. These people threatened your family. And I don’t know exactly what the threats are, but they must be pretty bad if you won’t tell me.  I mean, people are saying horrible, twisted things about people you love. About me and your kids. It doesn’t get more fucked up than that; threatening children. Addie’s one of them and she’s just a baby. What kind of fucked person says shit like that about a baby?”

“Evil people,” Tyler concludes. “Really fucking evil.”

“And you’re pissed. To your very core. I see if in your eyes, Tyler. I hear it in your voice. How angry you actually are. How disgusted you are. And you have every right to feel those things. This is as personal as it gets. And you wonder why you enjoyed it? I’d enjoy it too if someone threatened you and I got to kill them. I’d enjoy every fucking second.”

“It just makes me feel like such a dick,” he admits. “Like I’m a horrible fucking person. I made the one guy look at me. Made him watch me while I slit his throat. And he recognized me. He knew who I was. And I liked that he did. That my face was the last thing he saw.”

“And that doesn’t make you a bad person,” Esme says. “A bad person wouldn’t  be worried that it makes him a bad person. You’re a good person, Tyler. I know you struggle to see that. But I see it. And I know it. I know who you are away from all of this. I know how loving you are. How gentle you are. What you did today...what you felt or didn’t feel...that doesn’t erase who you are or what you’re like away from all of this.”

He blinks back tears “This is fucked. This all so fucked.”

“You’re doing what you have to do. You’re stopping them before they can do the same thing to us. Or worse.”

“Definitely worse. Much, much worse.”

“Do you want to tell me what the threats were or…”

“No. You don’t need to hear that. You don’t need that shit in your head. It’s bad enough it’s in mine. That it’s  probably never going to leave.”

“We’ll work on that,” Esme promises. “Your brain. When we get home. We’ll work on it TOGETHER. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“I love you, Tyler. So much. And I wish I could be right there with you. I know this isn’t easy for you. That you’re struggling with so many things. But I love you and I’m so proud of you.”

He swallows around the lump of emotion sitting in this throat and using a forearm to wipe the tears from his face. “I love you. And this sucks. Being away from you. You’re so close but it’s like you’re so fucking far.”

“If you need me there, I can find a way. And I will. You know me. I’m pretty sneaky and tenacious on a good day.”

He gives a small chuckle. “Yeah, you are.”

“And there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you. So if you need me there….”

“I’m okay. For now anyway. Stay with the kids. They need you.”

“So do you. Even if you won’t admit it.”

“I do. Need you. But they need you more.”

“Promise me you’ll call if it gets worse. If you change your mind. Because I’ll figure it out. How to get to you and stay with you. Promise me.”

“I promise. I’ll call you if I need you.”

“Get some sleep, okay? It’s been a long day. Call  me in the morning. Just so I know how you’re doing.”

“I will.”

“And thank you. For showing up tonight. Seeing you did a world of good for the kids. Especially Tanner. He’s finally smiling again. And he has such a beautiful smile. YOUR smile. And it did me a world of good too. To see you. I miss you, And your arms. It was really nice to be in those arms again,”

“It felt good to have you in them. Hopefully in a few days…”

“It’ll happen. I know it will. You’re doing fine. Just keep doing what you have to do. That’s it. We’ll talk in the morning, okay? I love you.”

“I love you too.”

“Get some sleep,” she gently orders, and then disconnects the call.

[dcschain]

MID-WORLD, AND AN APOCALYPSE (OR TWO).

TL;DR: While Roland, and all characters related to him, operate in what appears to be an adaptation of our world’s historical West, it is an interpretation of the West filtered through a post-apocalyptic lens. It combines the idea of the West as a dying thing, destined to be swallowed by the inexorable processes of time, with it being the last dregs of a world gone terribly, irreparably wrong. Roland’s West (represented, chiefly, by the gunslingers themselves) is not dying because of progress, a trope typical of neo-Westerns (looking at you, RDR2), but it is dying because the world itself is dying as a consequence of some great cataclysmic event which happened in the past. The threat is not the threat of progress (which annihilates the West anyway), but of a complete loss of self.

It’s known that Roland’s world is a dying world. In Stephen King’s own words: “The world had moved on since then. The world had emptied.” Things we’d think as normal, even typical of a Western setting are scarce. There’s barely any coaches or carriages, for example, and paper is as rare as clean water or non-mutated animals. Guns, rifles and bullets are scarce, too, especially following the fall of Gilead -- Roland is really the only one left with guns of note. Mid-World is certainly a twinner of the American West-- but it’s the West after the apocalypse. What’s even more important is to remember that there hasn’t been just one cataclysmic event that made Mid-World what it is, but two. One centuries before Roland was born, and one in his youth. 

The way these two apocalypses interact (or rather, interlock) shapes much of mine and @cllgood​‘s world-building. 

In neo-Westerns the slow end of the “Wild West” and its frontier values is heralded by the virtually inescapable march of modern progress. The key word is nostalgia: the West, uncivilised, violent, animalistic, must necessarily die in order for modernity to thrive, yet with its death comes the death of R/romance and heroism, a deep-rooted connection to nature that modernity, while necessary, will destroy. This is, of course, a false dichotomy: the nostalgia is for an idyllic albeit violent world that didn’t really exist, built on the backs of enslaved people and indigenous people: a violence narrativised as simplicity. The grizzled outlaw is in the West only because he was promised riches beyond compare, and those riches were to be taken from a land painted as virgin and untarnished -- never mind that people had been inhabiting it for millennia before the colonisation of North America began. (Good) neo-Westerns are aware of this idiosyncrasy and attempt to either resolve it or emphasise it, and usually achieve a mix of both, constrained as they are by their own cultural history, biases and writing.

“Progress”, in typical neo-Westerns, is the plot point that allows the audience to recognise that this advancement is, for better or for worse, ushering in a new age, most often technologically more advanced: steam engines, paved roads, transcontinental railways, so on and so forth. The loss of the untouched frontier (in and of itself, at least originally, an act of progress to tame the “savage” west) is a tragedy, but one that, for better or for worse, is acknowledged as both necessary and inevitable.

Post-apocalyptic fiction, on the other hand, can show us what that progress can wreak when left unchecked. The disasters that cause the wastelands that post-apocalyptic fiction populates are man-wrought, and often the result of a war, a nuclear accident, a massive polluting event. The post-apocalyptic genre serves as a criticism of the progress neo-Westerns try to grapple with -- and it isn’t a coincidence that some of the best post-apocalyptic books and movies rely heavily on neo-Western tropes, such as The Road and The Book of Eli.

The world of The Dark Tower is, obviously, part of the latter category: a post-apocalyptic world with a Western flair. Instead of being threatened by progress, Roland’s world is threatened by the fallout of not only its own hubris, but that of those who came before him and his people. The two apocalypses are both due to human error, and the second cannot exist without the first.

The first one is the one that, ultimately, sets the events of The Dark Tower in motion, and is grandfather to the second one. The Great Cataclysm is the reason Roland’s world is irradiated, crumbling and generally inhospitable. While not much, if anything, is known about what this Cataclysm was, the scars of it are ever-present, from traces of ancient technology much closer to our own (atomic batteries, monorails, robots) to the aforementioned widespread nuclear waste that causes most animals (and some people) to suffer the aftermath of terrible radiation poisoning.

And while it may have been cataclysmic in nature, it was not final, nor was it the death knell of the world. Recovery is slow: Arthur Eld, Roland’s ancestor, manages to pull the land together by the skin of his teeth, and unite it into what would eventually be known as All-World. He founds an order of knights, who then become the gunslinger order once guns are discovered, and who are tasked with protecting the land against chaos, man-made and magical both. This leads to a difficultly-held prosperity.

By the time Roland is born, it is abundantly clear that this prosperity, while instrumental to the gunslingers’ rise as the ruling class, is fleeting at best, and destined to crash and burn at worst. Gilead, the seat of the gunslingers’ power and the ancestral seat of Eld’s throne, is the only true city left. Things we take for granted, and which were taken for granted in the American 19th and early 20th centuries, are scarce or entirely absent: sugar, telephones, trains and paper, to name just a few.

Regardless of the nature of this prosperity, the long-term effects of the Great Cataclysm are inescapable. While Eld was able to unite the land, he lacked the tools to cure it, as did every ruler after him. The land was poisoned by the Old Ones then, and it remains poisoned now: a fact which, with the passing of centuries, was less and less central to the gunslingers’ understanding of their own power. The sickness of the land is what causes the class disparities in Mid-World. The discontent that Walter o’Dim uses to stoke the fires of revolution in Mid-World is not misplaced, quite the contrary: where New Canaan is still prosperous, the barony is not generous with its boons, and the rest of the kingdom must make do with what it has.

The revolution that culminates with the complete eradication of the gunslingers and their way of life causes what is known in-universe as a “beam-quake”. Great events of massive importance either strengthen or weaken the beams which hold up the Dark Tower (and, therefore, reality itself). The fall of Gilead is an upset of such magnitude that the Eagle-Lion beam breaks as a consequence of it.

As the beam is now broken, so reality in Mid-World begins to fully falter. The beam-quake is the second apocalyptic event, and one that is a direct consequence of the first. The land was poisoned by the Old Ones, and the gunslingers that came after failed to see how this fully pertained to them. In their hubris, they caused the Outer Baronies to starve and succumb even further to the inhospitable nature of Mid-World. While they are not at fault for the original pollution and nuclear waste, the gunslingers are at fault for ignoring it as long as they did. 

The beam-quake��s effects are immediate. Time begins to shift, becoming unreliable: days can pass in a moment, months can pass in what feels like decades, and so on and so forth. Space, too, is impacted, as north, west, east and south can shift at a moment’s notice. The barrier between worlds is thinner, and magic creatures, such as speaking-demons and apparitions, become more common. 

Where the Great Cataclysm was mostly an apocalypse of matter, the beam-quake is an apocalypse of philosophy. While the Great Cataclysm could be counteracted, to a certain extent, and was successfully contrasted by Arthur Eld’s actions, the beam-quake causes a complete breakdown not just of the people and their ideology, but of the very fabric of reality. There is no return from it and there is no going back from it, much like progress in neo-Westerns can never be stopped: the difference here, of course, is that it isn’t progress, but a slow, inexorable death.

The world moves on, but it moves on in a flat circle: the endless climb of technological advancement has been stilled. Roland navigates a world grappling with its own mortality, and, much like our West in the face of modern times, can scarcely find a satisfying answer. 

[overdrivels]

The Way to a Heart (17)

<<Chapter 16

The night breeze comes rushing at you, salt and morning dew enveloping your senses the moment you throw open the warehouse door. Greedily, you breathe it all in, the chilly air waking you up, confirming that this is all real.

Taking the first few steps onto uneven earth, you gaze up into the night sky. Thousands of stars, vaster than your eyes can contain, wink, welcoming you back beneath their presence. You open your arms as though you could embrace the half moon that hangs in the air, unobstructed by wires or bed frames or the sticky guilt that suffocates you. Blood runs wild through your rusty veins, your muscles sing, and your weary joints pop at the stretch. The rush almost makes you lightheaded, but the air, the space, the freedom is just too delicious.

Slowly, you exhale, allowing the night settle on you.

You’re free.

“Thank you, Agent Hanzo.”

The man in question stands just a distance behind you, watching from the doorway of the warehouse that had hidden the entrance to the Cellar. He walks up beside you, unbound hair tossing in the wind.

“Did you forget the second condition, Chef?”

You smile sheepishly at him. “Right. Hanzo."

He nods, a strange sort of half-smile on his face that you don't think you've ever seen before. "Just Hanzo," he reiterates.

The name still sounds empty in your mouth without the "agent" in front of it. It sounds too personal, too much like you're...equals. But it is a necessity for going out incognito. So no matter how uncomfortable you were with the prospect, it's still a deal. Besides, it and the other two conditions were nothing compared to what you gained. No matter the deal, anything was much better than being stuck in a bed, useless, while everyone else toiled.

Dr. Ziegler had prohibited you from leaving her care until she deemed you healthy enough to resume work. As of now, she still hasn’t given the all-clear, nor does she know you’ve disobeyed her orders. But you couldn’t abide by them. Not when Age—Hanzo offered to bring you outside where your help was still needed.

While you received an endless stream of visitors since your conversation with the former Strike Commander, all of them were evasive in answering your questions. You wanted to know what was happening with Cœur d’Artichaut. You wanted to know what you could help with. You wanted to know if the agents had the funds they needed, if they were eating properly, if—

No one answered.

All of them dismissed your concerns, telling you not to worry about it and to focus on your own recovery before returning to their previous point of conversation, their previous attempts at distracting you. Even the worst of liars did not reveal anything.

But how could you not worry when the idleness ate at your skin, burrowed into your sleep, kept you awake? What is the purpose of your being there if you were not made to work? Why did you return then if they did not need you? Why do they let you stay when you serve no purpose except to eat up their resources and time?

Even in your sleep, you searched for answers.

It was a gut-wrenching mystery.

So gut-wrenching in fact that when Hanzo came to visit for the first time well after everyone else had already done so, you grabbed him by the arms, not letting him speak, forgetting for a moment that he was one of those heroes you had looked up to and deeply respected, and begged for answers. He was the only one you hadn’t spoken to, the only one who hadn’t had a chance to tell you no. He was your only hope.

To anyone else, it may have been very amusing to watch Hanzo Shimada attempting to console you, clearly unfamiliar and uncomfortable with the process. But for you, it was of utmost importance that you had at least someone who wouldn't lie to you. Question after question spilled from your mouth until Hanzo put down his foot (figuratively).

“Since you are so curious.”

You’re not sure if he’s unafraid of Dr. Ziegler or if he just didn’t care to keep it from you like all the others, but he told you more than anyone else was willing to.

Overwatch contacted the staff at Cœur d’Artichaut and worked out some deal to allow them to break cleanly from this business. Without your permission or knowledge, they essentially cut ties, unable to continue working as a conduit for an illegal Overwatch’s funds, and too afraid for their lives and the lives of their customers to openly defy Talon. You couldn't make a decision as to whose side you stood by, so they decided for you.

It made you laugh, bitter and so terribly sad. The charity restaurant you’ve spent years building up with the other two, taken, just like that. Without a word. With the very last things you’ve said to them, an argument.

What would Overwatch do without them as a cover? What happens to the funds? What about all the events they were preparing for? Who will be running the charity now? What about the results of the audit?

Hanzo seemed to hesitate before he leaned in to tell you, the words awkward in how delicately they were delivered, “They did not do so without thinking of you kindly. They said...they were leaving you in our care, and you are free to do as you liked."

Sound, light, your breath—everything swept into a slow stop. The words echoed in your head, sinking in like falling snow just as it becomes water and seeps into the roots of your heart.

Those words should not have hurt as much as they did. You couldn't pinpoint what part of them made it feel like a knife landed in your chest and began to twist, but warm tears filled with several years of grief came pouring out and it was so hard to not make a sound, to keep your dignity, to not feel like something precious was taken away. There was definitely more that Hanzo did not, or could not, tell you.

Even when you're told you're free, why did it feel like you were more cornered than before?

Gushing sadness was quickly overrun by a dark, sticky anger—an anger born from time and tiny pebbles of resentment that would become an avalanche. A yell tore from the deepest recesses of your being and you couldn't stay still, throwing your pillow across the room, clamoring to get out of this bed, get out of this room, get out of Gibraltar—

How dare they.

How could they decide for you? When you wanted both? When all you wanted to do was to help? How much did you sacrifice to make all of this happen? How could they take a whole company and half a decade's worth of work from you without your input, without a warning, without—

Those selfish thoughts made into words poured from your mouth. Words you couldn't take back. Words that, luckily, only had Hanzo and Athena as witnesses.

"Chef."

A solid hand landed squarely on top of your chest, shocking you back into reality and nearly knocking the breath out of you.

Heaving, bed made a mess by you tearing at it, you stopped and looked straight at the agent who had just seen you at your lowest, tear-soaked face and running nose, made all the more ugly by the black-hearted words that had laid dormant behind a facade of excellent customer service. He only looked back.

"I know."

It was all he said, it was all he had to say. The look on his face, undecipherable but undoubtedly haunted, quickly shut down your brief tirade.

The heat in your skin began to settle, evaporating, leaving nothing but the dregs of shame and exhaustion. His hand slowly lifted from your chest, letting it hover in the air for just a moment before he drew back completely, but the heavy phantom of it still lingered, holding you down.

Where did it all go wrong?

Before you could even ask or apologize for being so unsightly in front of an agent, Dr. Ziegler put an end to it all, rushing in like a right mess.

Even as the doctor shooed him out, Hanzo turned back to tell you, "I will see you tomorrow."

"Not on my watch," Dr. Ziegler grumbled none too quietly. She rubbed her forehead, muttering unpleasantries underneath her breath before tending to the mess you've made of your bed.

You didn't really notice, the rest of the night passing in a daze. Questions that plagued you for so long, your inner monologues silenced when you remember that look Hanzo gave you.

—"I know."—

Somehow, those two words were more reassuring than any of the platitudes anyone else had offered so far.

No other visitors came that night, likely in no small part due to Dr. Ziegler.

Luckily, for the first time in a long, long time, you were able to have a deep, quiet sleep.

Hanzo returned the next day despite Dr. Ziegler's vague threats. It's impressive.

He asked, "Do you still want to know?"

The conversation the previous day was exhausting, but strangely, you feel a little lighter, a little less anxious. The walls no longer felt confining, nor did they seem to echo your worries back at you as loudly.

With resolve less manic and more rational than yesterday, you answered firmly, "Yes."

Everything else he told seemed tame by comparison. Even when you learned the agents were taking turns cooking. In the kitchen. Without permission from a chef. When there's a chef right here.

Strangely, the red-hot irritation that you had become accustomed to feeling boil up inside did not come. Instead, a small, barely there simmer aimed more at yourself than any of the agents burrowed into you.

What the hell are you doing? What the hell are you doing here? If neither the restaurant nor Overwatch needed you then why the fucking hell were you here?

He also told you about the state of the kitchen and how it fared during the attack. Due to Fareeha's insistence and out of sheer necessity, Overwatch had to make their way into the Cellar and connect those systems to Athena. They tried to respect as much of the space as they could, but the security concerns overshadowed any history or arbitrary rules that were created by a person who is no longer here.

There was also the matter of money. While Cœur d'Artichaut pulled their support, Hanzo assured you it wasn't an issue and there were other methods of acquiring the funding and supplies Overwatch needed to operate. The specifics were glossed over, but it sounded like they had a solid plan to get what they needed.

After some time, Hanzo concluded his report, asking, "I have told you all this. What will you do with this information?"

The question filled your head with static. Your mouth went dry. There was no clear path, no purpose, no answer.

"I don't know."

"What is it that you want to do?"

"I don't know."

Everything he told you invalidated everything you've ever done for them. It was cruel of him to tell you so and it was foolish of you to have thought otherwise. You had just wanted to help.

Head in your hands, you asked, "What would you do? If everything you worked for meant nothing? If your reason for being isn't there anymore?"

A strange look passed through his face, jaw going the slightest bit slack and eyes glassy but alarmed. Bewildered might be the best way to describe it, but as close as the word was, this wasn't it completely.

He stroked his beard a few times, a deep inhale and silent sigh flowing out of him.

"That is the past. What do you want to do now?"

"That doesn't—" You bite off the rest of your retort.

What do you want to do now? There's nothing for you here nor at the restaurant, which means there's no reason for you to be in Gibraltar anymore except for Dr. Ziegler's orders. Instead, you could probably do something else like begin your search for Head Chef Richard in earnest again and ask him to return. Once he does, you'll fall back into the shadows again, be useful with someone to be able to tell you what you should actually be doing.

"...I want to get out of here."

As if waiting for you to say that, Hanzo offered, "If that is so, I want you to come with me. I must go shopping for ingredients."

"Ingredients?"

He grumbled, "It's my turn to cook tomorrow. I have...no experience with cooking for crowds, so it may be best to have the assistance of an expert like yourself."

You don't know if it was to humor you or if the request was genuine, but you agreed anyway. Anything to get you out of here. Anything to be useful again.

It was agreed that Hanzo would meet you early in the morning to avoid the others and so he would be able to make it back in time to cook breakfast. While it would only be for a few scant hours, the promise of freedom was irresistible, even when he added three conditions to your freedom, it was a small price to pay.

Present day, Hanzo jerks his head. "We should not waste any more time. Let's go."

"Right."

Even though he said that, he did not seem to be in any particular rush, walking beside you as you got used to your legs again after being bedridden for so long. While Gibraltar was modernized, the residents preferred to keep the city as natural as possible even if it made walking up and down the Rock difficult. The paths are still uneven and only lightly paved. It's so minor, but you smile to yourself, knowing that he is at least considerate enough to match your pace.

He's not such a bad person.

But you knew that already. Anyone who enjoys food as genuinely as he does can't be a bad person.

The trip to the street market is filled with idle conversation.

"We threw away the leftovers."

"What a waste! This is why we don't do buffet-style for such a small group."

"Hah. You consider this group small?"

"Compared to the old days, yes. It's too unpredictable with so few agents. It's just not cost-effective."

"Who knew chefs thought about that cost effectiveness?"

"It's vital! I don't want to feed you all leftovers."

"I am sure some of us will eat anything that's placed in front of them."

The walk takes longer than you would have expected; all the best picks for today are likely already gone, but you find that you don't mind.

A steady stream of people pour in and out of the mouth of the market when you both arrive, the spoils of their haggling and eagle-eyed pickings carried out proudly in their hands and dollies. Vaguely, you wonder if you should've brought a hand truck for yourself, but the thought is quickly banished. It would just be too cumbersome to bring back without your truck.

"Where to first?" Hanzo asks, eyeing the map placed at the entrance.

"Follow me."

The tents are packed tightly together, merchandise flowing out of the white flaps. Lights hang off every tent, illuminating the way for you. The air is alive with shouts of the freshest catches and orders from trucks, it is made fuller with the smell of food and herbs.

It's a nostalgic sight—one you haven't seen since Overwatch formally existed. You were once a part of the crowd leaving this place at this time, rushing to get the ingredients back to the Watchpoint well before the morning shift began. It was almost a ritual: with the change of every season, a team would be sent out to buy samples from nearly every stall, enough for half the staff to experiment with and allow the Head Chef to sample and decide if it made it on that season's menu.

Your dishes were never chosen—never quite creative enough or nutritious enough or well-balanced enough—but it was fun seeing and sampling everyone’s attempts. The Head Chef always had constructive comments, and the competitions fueled fierce knowledge transfers.

“Where are we going?” Hanzo is right at your elbow, carefully stepping through the crowd with a ridiculous amount of grace.

“There’s a grain seller nearby.”

“Grain?”

“We're short on rice, right?"

“I was told there was not much of anything.,” he answers, shrugging.

A frustrated groan rumbles in your chest. "I wish we had a chance to check the inventory."

"We were in a rush, and you had to change."

"You told me to!"

The two of you couldn't just go out the front door of the Watchpoint. It has never been an option since no one wanted to draw unnecessary attention while Overwatch attempted to reorganize themselves. Even if it were an option, you had to get a change of clothes. Going around in a hospital gown is the furthest thing from inconspicuous, and even though McCree gave you his serape sometime during your stay, it was still an unacceptable disguise, so Hanzo had to escort you to the Cellar where you kept your belongings.

You did not have the time to dawdle and see the damage the kitchen took in your absence, not with the way Hanzo ushered you straight through the Cellar door. It was kept open, a bundle of wires flowing out of it and down the halls while several of Agent Symmetra's turrets sat stop the doorway, watching. It should feel like a betrayal, that a place you knew inside and out was now overflowing with so many unfamiliar things, touched by people that so many chefs have attempted to defend from, but with you as you are, there's nothing that could be said or done.

As you changed in your dorm room, you mentally apologized to the Head Chef, hoping that when he comes back your punishment won't be too harsh.

Though, you could argue that you've received your fair share of punishment. You ran your hand across the stippled skin of your stomach, still pink and a little tender. Thanks for Dr. Ziegler’s care, you no longer needed bandages and she said it was unlikely to leave any marks as long as everything goes well.

Flashes of that poorly timed night returned, and you shuddered to think what would have happened if the agents weren't there to help.

Would it even have mattered?

The agents would have figured their situation out. They were already cooking for themselves. It wouldn’t be long before they’re able to walk around, free, touting their status and lavished with more love and money than they could ever ask for.

What did they need you for?

In this dark room, alone with the memories of your colleagues and your job surrounding you, the doubt began to creep in again, seeking gaps in your wounds. Festering. Feeding.

A sharp knock at your door put a quick end to all those thoughts. “Chef. Are you finished?”

“Two seconds!”

Hastily, you yanked down your shirt and pulled on a stale jacket that likely haven't seen sunlight in a year. There hadn't been much of a reason to wear anything other than your work uniforms, and working in the kitchen, it's usually much too hot to wear a proper jacket.

"I'm ready," you announced as you yanked open the door. You could see Hanzo's eyes drift past your shoulder and into the room. Curiously enough, he seemed struck by something not unlike a revelation that made him chuckle to himself.

"Is that what it is?" he muttered, leaving you very much in the dark. Again, he laughed, the sound bouncing off the stone walls of the tunnels. It felt like you were being left out of a very important joke, but you couldn't bring yourself to ask. Not when it seemed like the agent might go into hysterics.

It should have unnerved you. You had never seen him like this before, hand over mouth, head throw back, but he seemed to be enjoying himself. It was genuine laughter and you couldn't help but smile at the unabashed display of mirth. As long as the agents are happy, you're happy even if you didn't quite understand what was happening.

Eventually, Hanzo calmed down, still pink in the dim light, but his eyes seemed to be sparkling. "Excuse me. We've wasted enough time, let's go."

Quietly, you followed behind him as he navigated through the halls with the confidence of someone who has been here multiple times. He didn't even have any trouble with the forks in the tunnels or operating the lift.

What happened in the few days you were stuck in bed?

“Here we are!”

Sacks of rice are piled up atop each other, an open bag in front of each different type for customers to scrutinize.

“Did you say one of your dishes was Japanese curry?”

“Yes.”

“In that case, we should probably go the traditional route and get the short-grain.”

“What’s the difference between all of these?” He points to the open sacks along a wall that seems to hold all the white rice.

"They're just different types of rice for different types of cuisines." Pointing to each one, you explain, "There's basmati, Jasmine, coconut, sticky; normally I'd keep at least four types of rice on hand and two other rotating types, but since we don't have a truck, I think we should just get the one you need for now."

It doesn't take you long to find the rice you're looking for: short-grain rice. Your hand sinks into the bag, a cooling cascade of rice calming your heart. Lifting a small handful, you bring it up to your face, drawing shapes in the rice.

“What are you doing?”

“Oh. Here, give me your hand.”

He complies, watching curiously as you pour the contents from your palm onto his.

Slowly, you drag a finger through the pile as you explain, ignoring the way his fingers twitch. “We’re checking for a few things. Firstly, we’re looking for anything that looks out of place. Like dark-colored grains or insects or mold.” You sort through the pile a few times, accidentally grazing the man's palm.

“There doesn’t seem to be any here, but you never know. We also look for any holes or insect bites.

“If it smells funny, it’s safe to say that it’s not good to eat."

You both unconsciously lean in closer and for a second, your eyes flicker up at Hanzo's face, far closer than you've ever seen him before. His hair curtains most of his face. There's a notch in his brow, focused. But more superficially, his eyelashes are very long. Dark.

A jolt of shock rushes through you when his eyes raise and meet yours. Embarrassment warms your face. Your eyes dart down, heart thumping as you try to rush through the rest of your explanation.

“Oh an—and, if the rice isn’t hard, then that means it’s been exposed to water and shouldn’t be used. But looking at this rice, it seems to be pretty good quality. They usually are."

He drops it all back into the bag, attention clearly elsewhere.

That was a little improper. Taking a moment to catch yourself, you smack one of the rice sacks closest to you. Then again. And again.

With each strike, something feels like it's settling inside your chest. The sounds of the rustling grain and the feel of things sliding into place as you flatten the sack soothes and flushes out the grime that sticks to your veins.

"What are you doing?"

"Slapping the rice." You give the sack another light smack. "You should hit it once, too."

He crosses his arms, a puzzled look on his face. "Isn't this disrespecting the food?"

"I always slap the rice bags. It feels good."

Slap, slap.

"Are you going to buy or just abuse my rice all day?"

From behind the mountain of rice, an omnic shopkeeper appears, arms crossed and, despite the neutral faceplate, exuded irritation.

Heat crawls up your face and you can't help but laugh sheepishly, embarrassed, raising two fingers. "We'll take two."

The shopkeeper nods, uncrossing his arms. "Which will it be?"

Hanzo, ever so quick, grabs the bag you were hitting and the one beneath it, carrying them over one shoulder to bring to the table where the card system sat. You're rushing right behind him as he takes out his card.

“Wait, let me pay—”

“You don’t have any money.”

You splutter, patting at your clothes. “Of—of course I do, I’m…”

“The one who provided us with the necessary funds. I am aware. I am also aware you did not pay yourself while working with us," he counters coolly.

Your jaw drops. Even though you were CEO of Cœur d’Artichaut, your paychecks went to a dummy account to be used by Overwatch and for Winston to reallocate the funds as necessary. There should’ve been no one who knew about this except...

“How did you…?”

“Winston informed me of the financial situation.” He smiles a little devilishly, handing the card to the shopkeeper. “In great detail.”

Stunned speechless by his confession, you could only watch as he finishes up his transaction and hauls the sacks of rice onto his shoulder like they don't weigh anything.

“Oh.” You pat at your clothes again, panic bolting through you as you realize they’re all flat and devoid of any bank cards. “I think I left everything back home…”

"Hard to expect a chef to think of anything else but cooking."

"I don—wait, are you making fun of me?"

You barely see the grin on Hanzo's face before the wind blows his hair into his face.

Unable to control yourself, you burst out laughing.

As though contagious, he begins to laugh, too. It’s a quiet laugh, a personal one meant for enjoying jokes. Even though it’s directed at you, it makes you smile a bit as well despite the circumstances.

It’s nice to see him so relaxed.

Adjusting the heavy sacks on his shoulder, Hanzo asks, "What's next?"

"Eggs."

"I believe there is still a carton from Dr. Ziegler's...attempt." You ignore the way Hanzo's voice trails off in disgust.

"We can never have too many eggs. You can make them soft-boiled, hard-boiled, sunny-side, poached, scrambled. You can make omelettes, huevos rancheros, egg tarts, egg custard, pancakes, waffles, cake..." You continue your list on your fingers as you walk with Hanzo, unaware of how he smiles as he patiently listens to you ramble about the different application of eggs.

"—duck eggs which are great for poaching because of how thick—ah, here we go!"

You make a sharp turn into a tent, nearly missing it and knocking your face into a sign that says in huge letters, “HUEVOS,” with some scrawling graffiti on it that looked like it said ‘splash’ or ‘squash’. It seems that not everything remained the same. Hanzo sets down his purchase, eyeing the delicate products before shuffling the bags carefully around the tiny space.

Carefully, you check the contents of the cartons. Some are laid out in clamshell cartons, others are pillowed on hay in solid containers, allowing the different colors to show like a box of jewels. Should you go for larges or the extra-larges?

Hanzo makes a face. "Chef. Why are these green?"

"Different breeds of chickens lay different eggs."

"Are they safe to eat?"

"Yes! The color itself is just an indicator of the genetics of the chicken. Depending on the breed, there's different properties like a richer yolk or a runnier white. But you can't just tell from the shell."

"I see." He picks up a particularly blue egg, inspecting it like he doesn't believe you. "And these are all natural?"

"As natural as selective breeding goes, I guess."

"Do they taste different?"

"Sort of. Different eggs taste different but it's not the color that decides the taste, it really depends on the type of feed and environment the chicken is in." Maybe you should just go with eggs that the other agents are familiar with.

You inspect a few more eggs until you come upon some gorgeous dark brown eggs, medium in size.

"Are you interested in our Penedesenca eggs?" The omnic tips his sunhat, a smile in his mechanic voice. "They're very good this season."

There’s a momentary back and forth where you interrogate the omnic, asking about the conditions of their chickens, the specifics of the feed, the farm, the history of this business. The merchant was only too happy to reply, going into great detail that fueled more questions from you. It would’ve gone on forever had Hanzo not reminded you that you were both short on time.

"Fine. We'll take four dozen."

"Isn't that too many?"

"We want this to last. It's a lot of trouble for everyone to keep coming out, isn't it? And everyone eats a lot."

"There are other items we must purchase. We should be wiser in our selections."

"Fine." You acquiesce, waving at the merchant. "Excuse me, could we have three dozen instead?"

Noticing the judgemental look Hanzo is giving you, you throw your hands up. “It’s less than four dozen!”

“Two dozen.”

“That’s too little!”

“And whose card is paying for this?”

You both know immediately that Hanzo has won this round, and you curse your own inattentiveness and haste. Having nothing else to say in response, you sulkingly turn back to the merchant and raise two fingers.

“Two dozen, please.”

“Certainly.”

The omnic hands you your purchase just as Hanzo gives his card, flashing you a smug look.

"If we find our final haul is lacking, we will return and get the other two dozen."

You grumble, holding your eggs close to your chest. You’ll get him for this. “I thought you wanted me here for my ‘expert’ opinion.”

“You are. I am making executive decisions.”

You barely manage to stop yourself from rolling your eyes at him, choosing to continue tent-hopping for the ingredients. Hanzo doesn’t seem too offended, following after you with the rice sacks back on his shoulder.

You take your time with the selections, explaining to Hanzo, who listens attentively to your endless stream of information. Hanzo eventually takes the initiative to look into other tents, asking for your opinion on different items. New products fill your arms with every tent you both visit and you begin to trail behind Hanzo, the weight of the growing bags dragging you down.

Despite that, it is the most fun you've had in a long time. The visits are filled with light-hearted bickering that makes you forget everything that had happened in the past few weeks.

Freedom is sweet.

It’s not until you’ve both explored most of the market that you decide it might be nice for Hanzo to pick something for himself. It gives you an opportunity to put down your bags for a moment while Hanzo browsed a mead store near the edge of the market.

You momentarily put down your bags just to give your arms a brief moment of respite.

Dizziness strikes you as you stretch, making you stagger in place. It takes you by surprise and you shake your head to clear it, but it only gets worse. There’s a dull ache all around your body that makes itself more known with each beat of your heart which feels like it has begun to pound with more force.

What’s happening to you?

A few steadying breaths do little to help.

Vaguely, you remember your promise. The third condition.

But you’re sure you can hold on. You’ve been through worse.

Besides, what would happen if you told him? He will just send you right back to the medical bay and then you would be confined again in the bed with no one telling you anything about things you should be involved in and then what?

But he did bring you out here in a show of goodwill. It would be unfair to take advantage of it and go against your word even if it meant cutting your trip short. Sighing and resigning yourself to the promise, you squint at the crowd in the tent, seeking out your chaperone.

You find him browsing the mead, talking with the store keeper in hushed but enthusiastic tones. You shouldn't interrupt him. He seems to be having a pretty good time, if you do say so yourself.

Another wave of nausea and pain nearly knocks you off your feet, the grounds sways once, violently. Your head throbs. It's hard to focus, the edges of your vision shimmering if you leave your eyes open for too long.

Forcing another two steps, your hand reaches out, but you hesitate—what are you doing?—before your hand drops, the feeling of pins and needles immediately swarming on the limb like vultures.

Taking in a few more breaths, you shake your hand to clear the feeling, but it wouldn’t leave. The ground beneath you feels wobbly, making any attempt at walking a challenge.

You falter in your steps, stumbling two steps back and nearly knocking the merchandise off the tables in an attempt to steady yourself. No. You're a liability like this. As much as you didn't want to go back, you didn't want to cause any more trouble either.

With what little coordination you had left, you barely manage to grasp Hanzo by the edge of his sleeve.

"Hanzo."

"Chef?"

"...our last condition. To tell you...when I don't feel good." Taking a shuddering breath, gooseflesh rising everywhere, the feeling of needles pressing themselves deeper and deeper into your torso, your lungs, you admit through grit teeth, "I feel really bad right now."

You can see his body language change from leisurely to tight to liquid. Whatever he saw, he must not have liked. You’re not even sure how you look at the moment. You know you feel weird, but it shouldn’t be so bad.

A hand grasps the bottom of your elbow, hoisting you up against him. You could feel the gush of breath as he carries all your purchases with the other arm.

Faintly, you think of his hands and how strong they are. They must be from using his bow and arrows. It’s...comforting.

Just how many times has he seen you in such a poor state? How must he think of you? The unease weaves itself into the nausea. The noise in between your ears just won't stop.

"Can you walk?"

"Think so."

His steps are hurried and you're stumbling over yourself trying to keep up.

He holds your hand tight, pulling you along a sloped path. This is objectively embarrassing. You're an adult doing some grocery shopping, it shouldn't exhaust you after an hour nor should you be breaking out into sweats. It feels like your body is burning up all the oxygen it has, reducing your steps to mere shuffles and your breath to small puffs.

Eyes half closed and disoriented, you aren't sure where you both end up.

"Watch your step."

The tips of your toes skim across steps and lifting your legs feel like a Herculean effort, but you force yourself to obey. You have had worse. You can do this. You have to do this.

There's noise all around, and you can feel the rumbling of Hanzo's voice against you.

At some point, the support disappears and you sink heavily onto a surface—a plush chair—that creaks beneath you. Shivers run up and down your skin without Hanzo's warmth. It's strange, you had only leaned on him for a short while, but already you're missing the heat he gave. It was comforting.

"Drink this."

Something is pushed into your hands. It feels like a cup. Your vision is still blurred by shine and colors that are slowly swimming away from the center of your vision, but not soon enough.

You hold tightly to the cup, carefully lifting it to your lips. The motion alone saps any energy you are able to muster, forcing them down onto your lap before you are able to take a single sip.

Taking in a few bracing breaths, you try again, successfully managing to swallow the tepid water until you drain it all. Almost immediately, the cup is taken from your hands and another replaces it just as fast.

This time, you just hold the water in your hands, waiting for the unsettling feelings and colors to pass. Maybe you were too hasty in leaving. Maybe you shouldn't have left without talking to Dr. Ziegler. You don’t know what was in the drips you were being provided or the medicine she was giving you. Maybe you wouldn’t be in this situation if you weren’t so hellbent on proving something that you had no control over.

Beside you, the sound of a chair scraping and something bumping up against your knee. The jostle makes a mockery of your attempts to feel better and it sets off another wave of nausea that makes you clasp a hand over your mouth. Immediately, a hand is on your back, unmoving. The weight is hardly comfortable, but it gives you something to focus on in the midst of this imaginary swaying. Among everything, it’s the only steadying force that keeps you anchored.

It’s a slow process, but everything eventually settles into place, allowing you to sit up and finally look around the small space that you had been occupying. Hanzo’s hand slides off your back, the heat dissipating and making your body feel so much lighter. Beside you, Hanzo sits on a chair, a cup in his own hands with something that looks like coffee. The interior is that of a cafe, wooden walls and shelves, the gentle smell of freshly baked goods carried by the underlying aroma of espresso. The beginnings of daylight peek in through the window on the other side of the little shop, the employees nowhere to be seen.

"Where…?"

"A cafe. It was open. They’ve allowed us to remain here until you feel better.”

Absentmindedly, you look up at the clock hanging on the wall. You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting here, wasting time with all the trouble you’ve brought upon everyone. Now even unrelated people were involved. "The other agents should be having their breakfast by now."

"I do not believe you are in a position to be worrying about others."

"I'm sorry."

“Do not apologize. You were just doing your job.”

“No, I mean…”

Hanzo did not say anything, nodding for you to continue.

Heat creeps up your face and you can't look him in the eye. "For what happened just now and...when I had a temper tantrum in the room. I didn't mean for you to see any of that.”

"Is that so," he says simply.

Silence blankets you both as he sips his coffee and you look down at your water. Embarrassment prickles at your skin and almost instantly, you regret having confided in him. But you're sure it would bother you more if you didn't at least apologize for it.

"I envy you."

Your head snaps up at the sudden exclamation. You must have heard wrong. Hanzo does not look at you, instead, he stares off to the side, past the windows, past the slowly brightening streets and everything they contain. He stares like he's watching something from long ago.

"That you could be like that."

"I don't usually—"

"I am aware. You are professional, and a professional. We are your customers. You attend to us because it is your duty."

"...yes."

“It is easy to follow the rules dictated by your duty, especially rules that have always been there, established by others you’ve seen as superior.”

“What would you know about that?” you hiss angrily. “I have to—”

“And what do you think I know?” he asks softly.

His words sound like a challenge, but a melancholy one, one that tells you that you are far less knowledgeable in your subject than you presume to be.

“How far would you go to please those you serve? How far will you go to complete your duties?” he continues, voice strong but so very distant.

"I…"

"If the Head Chef returned, would you take all his orders even if you disagreed with them? Even if his orders were not what your clients wanted?"

"What are you talking about?"

A short laugh makes it out of his mouth and he shakes his head. “Forget that.”

“...I’m just trying to do my job,” you offer.

“You do more than your job, chef.” A rush of humiliation floods you when he spits your title back at you. “They are not so helpless that they need so much coddling. The money, the support—leave that to us. Those matters are not for a chef to concern themselves with."

You bite your lip several times, shrinking in on yourself. There was nothing he said that you could deny. “I’m sorry, I guess I only brought more trouble.”

“That’s—Do not—” Hanzo pinches his eyes shut, pressing his thumb and index fingers into the bridge of his nose, exhaling. “Do not presume that,” he says wearily. Hanzo makes a complicated face and clicks his tongue, the sound sending a sharp and cold shard of fear through you, pins sticking into you anew "...it is not a criticism of what you've done so far, Chef. "

Perhaps seeing how you tensed, he sighs, pressing his lips together and parting them several times.

"...what I want to say is…" Hanzo suddenly looks slightly embarrassed, a hand curled into a fist in front of his mouth as though to muffle the world and hold them close to himself instead of letting you hear; curious look. "It would do you good to rely on others more often. You've done well so far. Thank you."

“Oh.”

You didn’t really know what else to say.

Thank you.

You've heard those words many times before from many different people. Somehow, this time feels different. It’s a little awkward and stilted like it comes from someone who isn’t used to saying it. It reminds you of when you first heard it from Hanzo on a lonely night before this whole mess and before you two really knew each other.

Face now several degrees warmer than before for reasons you couldn't name, you ask, “Why are you helping me so much?”

If anything, it should be you thanking him. One should never look a gift horse in the mouth, but you couldn’t help wondering why Hanzo of all agents would help you. Not even the veteran agents would fill you in on the current situation, and neither did the more outgoing, newer agents. No one made the effort to even ask you what you wanted or get you involved when you knew that they knew you were deeply entangled in the mess that is currently Overwatch. So why Hanzo alone?

He stares back blankly at you, lips parted like he was about to say something but he doesn't.

Maybe...you didn't dare hope, but…

Hesitantly, you ask, "Is it becaus—wait, no. Are we...friends?"

Almost immediately, he replies, "Are you and McCree friends?"

"I guess?" The answer just falls out of you without much thought. It's not a lie, not really. But where did that question even come from?

"Then are we the same as that?"

You fall silent. You and McCree are, very loosely, friends. He gets you into mischief and you retaliate. But were you and Hanzo the same thing? He didn’t treat you the same way McCree does. It’s different, but you couldn’t articulate how.

"...something like it?"

"...then let it be so."

With a self-satisfied smile that seemed more lonely than anything, Hanzo closes his eyes for a moment, allowing his words to settle the conversation. You don't know why, but you didn't want this to end this way, and yet, you couldn't find the right words, so instead, you have to swallow what is unsaid with the rest of your water.

"We should be getting back. Are you able to stand?" Hanzo asks after a few more moments.

"Of course, I rested long enough." The confidence is undue and did not come from any concrete proof, but you're glad you were able to get up without falling on your face. You've embarrassed yourself in front of Hanzo enough.

Truly a kinder hero than most people give him credit for.

Especially when he grabs all of today’s purchases in his hands before you’re able to even touch them.

"I can carry something."

"It is training for me."

“That’s not fair. I can’t make you do this.”

“You’re not making me do anything. This is my choice. And what did I say about relying on others?”

You couldn’t not come up with any excuse or argument against an agent who is hellbent on doing things his own way. This isn’t the kitchen, this is the outside where you have no control.

Sighing, you resign yourself to Hanzo’s whims and follow beside him as best you can. You supposed those two dozen eggs will have to take a rain check.

The trip back is quiet, but the streets become more and more occupied with people with every changing increment of color in the sky. Hanzo does spare a glance every once a while, and each time he does, guilt pricks at you, knowing that he's carrying everything. It takes you a little while, but you notice that you've been walking a little longer than usual.

"Aren't we going back to the warehouse?"

"We should not take the same path we came," he says simply as though that explains anything. It's not very logical since it's a much quicker path to go through the tunnels—that's what they were made for, but you don't have much of a choice but to follow him.

Along the way, you notice the macaques up and about, running around without a care in the world. If only you could do the same. Smiling bitterly to yourself, you wonder if you'd ever have the chance to come outside like this and enjoy your time with another agent. Even if you managed to successfully hold everything together at the Watchpoint, there's no guarantee that when the Head Chef returns that you'd have a place here. So many rules broken and so many people troubled. It would be a miracle if you were allowed to work anywhere ever again, let alone Overwatch.

But despite all of that, you gained a friend.

Despite all your shortcoming and all the trouble you caused, you were still thanked for everything you've done. And that makes something sublime stir in the depths of your heart—maybe it's gratitude, maybe it's humility, but it's something you cannot put a name to, much like many of the expressions Hanzo has shown you today.

It wouldn't be a day you'd forget anytime soon.

The path you both walk leads you up to the backside of the Watchpoint where the space opens up to the hanger. Upon seeing the familiar sight, you both slow down. Given the time to finally relax, everything in your body throbs, your stomach wounds most of all. But you couldn't care less about it.

"Thank you, Hanzo. I had a really great time today. I don't know when I'll be able to do this again, but I really appreciate—"

Hanzo turns on his heel, a fierce sort of look on his face that makes you freeze in place.

"Chef...I will ask you again." He stands tall, staring at you with piercing eyes. Imposing like a king. His voice is loud, declarative. The sun sits at your back, shining on him. "What do you want to do? Not what would your previous Head Chef do, but you as yourself."

"I…"

"Ach du lieber Güte! Are you finally back from your adventure?"

The voice, clear as a bell, rings out across the lightening land. Zenyatta's orb zooms right by, spinning in the air before settling near your shoulder, an instant ripple of calm rushing through you that only deepens with every moment that passes. Three figures emerge from one of the doors of the hanger, approaching you and Hanzo.

"Finally. We were about to send Genji after you." Dr. Ziegler points her thumb at the cyborg behind her so gives you all a two fingered salute. Barely perceptible, Hanzo flinches beside you.

"Now then, Chef, if you're done with your trip, please come with me. We have to do a check up and make sure your trip did not have any adverse effects on your body."

Before Dr. Ziegler could escort you away, you give Hanzo a heartfelt smile.

"Thank you, Hanzo. I had a really great time today."

Hanzo's reply and expression is lost in you when both Zenyatta and Dr. Ziegler usher you back into the base, leaving the two brothers to their own devices.

Chapter 18>>

[thedenofravenpuff]

MLP Kirins in FoE -  A Ramble

Went on a tangent on another site, but wanna try and gather it as a more coherent thought somewhere.

Been on my mind for a while, wondering where the MLP Kirins would fit into the Fallout Equestria Timeline, since the FoE line of events stops at the early seasons of the shows. Thus many things we see and learn in the many later seasons didn’t occur in FoE. Such as no Alicorn Twilight Sparkle. No reformed Discord. And no discovery of the lost tribe of MLP kirins.

I haven’t seen much use of them in the FoE stuff I’ve seen. Only one cameo in one fic I’m currently reading, barely any art.

So

I feel like sharing an idea I have for where the kirins might be in the FoE universe, based on what we know from their episode of Sound of Silence, while going by the FoE timeline which means the episode itself never happened in this crossover universe.

This might get lengthy

Usually my rambles are about personal fan theorize based on available data and how to interpretate it, but this gonna mostly be pure imagination from my part, motivated by what I think could work as an interesting concept. Sooo.. let’s see how this one goes.

In Sounds of Silence, Applejack and Fluttershy finds the Kirin tribe by being summoned to their valley in Peaks of Peril by the Cutie Map. BUT by the FoE Timeline, there is no alicorn Twilight, no Castle Friendship and no Cutie Map to lead up to this occurrence. All these later adventures and grand fates are not part of the FoE universe because of where it bends off from the official timeline to do its own thing. So... what did happen to the kirin during the war?

I like to think they stayed undiscovered, as their valley was never explored before AJ and Fluttershy’s visit, it seems like nopony had reason to go there. Leaving them be in their own, isolated little world as centuries before that.

Meaning the ponies never came to solve the Vow of Silence going on, meant to permanently tame the nirik issue.

Considering the nirik is as natural to the kirin as their own existence as living beings, I doubt it was the first and only time it was decided to try and deal with the Nirik Rage. And doubtfully kept as a permanent solution. Either the Silent Kirins would eventually want Autumn Blaze’s cure to find purpose and joy again. Or the next generation very much might have been born without the effect of the Stream of Silence. Meaning foals would be born with voice and joy, as well as rage and sadness. Who could possibly decide to dunk a newborn into a magic stream to silence their crying? That would be going too far, even if to deal with the destructive powers of the nirik. Parents must clearly know how to handle newborn kirins, whether or not they are capable of turning nirik at young age, for generations. And realize the Vow might be a bit much and not a real fix.

Either way, eventually the kirins would lose the Vow of Silence, either by natural progress or voluntarily to regain what was lost.

Not an instant fix as in the episode, but solving itself eventually.

Autumn Blaze in Sounds of Silence shows it is quite easy to control the Nirik once you accept your feels and know to balance them.

They would stay in their valley, still isolated from the rest of the world as always, their whole world contained within those peaks surrounding their peaceful home. As well as containing the nirik to be only their own problem. Whatever reasons they have had in the past to keep to themselves.

Meaning they miss a war is going on. Living in their protected valley far away from any war zones fought out by civilizations they are not part of.

That is

Until the megaspells fell. Kind of hard to miss, with its world wide effects.

Still, the Kirin valley is a protected place. Not just by the peaks knit tightly around this paradise on Equus, but whatever natural magic preservation that left them in a content peace unnoticed from the world. There must be reserves of gaia energy around that place with something like a magical stream with seemingly no story to where it came from, running only through this place.

That and the distance to the direct targets focused on with the megaspell hits. Whatever reason would there be to aim the balefire at a collection of very big rocks out in the middle of nowhere?

I like to imagine that the nirik fireform are a bit like that of the fiery phoenix. It is a live fire, as in, connected to their own lifeforce as well as their magic reserves. Not just simple, regular fire. It is magic.

Because even with the distance and protecting mountains, not even the hidden valley can hope itself to be past by completely by the waves of balefire and radiation that spread through the nations from their targets. A Nirik is more tough and fire resistant than the more soft Kirin form, although kirins on their own compared to regular ponies are pretty tough too, due to their dragon heritage.

Not to mention the kirins have experienced devastation of their home before and got the skills and magic to rebuild, Vow of Silence or not.

Radiation would still reach the valley, still poison the surroundings and its inhabitants. But limited compared to the communities hit directly or close to the craters caused by the spells. Those still Silent, unable to tap into their own nirik fire, would stand weaker towards the radiation poisoning. The last still sticking to the Vow of Silence dying out as no help will be coming to the hidden and forgotten realm of Kirin Valley,

But not all of them. Those not Silent stood stronger with the Nirik fire to protect them, to tough it through. Even their hidden world stood better against the fallout than most, so isolated and protected by unknown sources that kept them hidden for so long.

Of course not without any side effects. Plenty still died although no enough radiation to cause ghoulification for the most part (unless you want an Autumn Blaze ghoul still sticking around of course, or even that guy guarding the end of the train line by Peaks of Peril). The plant life twisting and dying, but not completely. The magic of the valley still doing what it has done for centuries already - protecting and preserving. There is still plant life in the valley, enough for the surviving kirins and niriks to survive and go on. Even less inclined to leave their safe haven to explore the outside world. Imagine how much worse it must be out there?

The Stream of Silence is hit by the necrotic energies of the radiation as well, fighting to keep its magic properties as always. But still poisoned and twisted like most of Equus in the hubris of ponykind.

Those testing the Stream to see if the Vow of Silence still holds, find it still mutes the subject - but they can still obtain the nirik form despite it. The Nirik form is useful though, they learn. It helped stand tougher against the impact hitting their isolated home. It seemed even stronger in the presence of radiation still lingering, making the flames burn brighter to fight off the poison.

The Vow of Silence is no longer the same as before, no longer a tool to repress the Nirik. And thus what to do with the members who become a problem? Those who are far too aggressive to control their Nirik Rage? Those causing destruction in what little they have left to help them survive these sudden changes.

The Stream of Silence can no longer tame the Nirik completely. But it still symbolizes the need to tame the beast, the anger and rage. To save the fragile valley from completely dying, those who are deemed a threat to the survival of the many gets banished. A dip in the Stream due to traditions and habits that are hard to kill, then made to leave the protection of the only home they have ever known. To protect it and its limited resources, to ensure the survival of the rest.

Outside the valley is much tougher conditions. More radiation, no signs of life, nothing but a dying or already dead world. The new generation of Silent left to fend for themselves, or band together and find ways to communicate and organize.

With the kirin side muted and the nirik free to prosper, the toughest manage to survive the harsh conditions. Determination, spite, rage... many ways to fuel the will to live. With all plant life dead or dying, alternative food sources must be found. Meat. They already have a predatory ancestor, time to reawaken the heritage of their blood.

Meat comes in many forms, even more so when desperate enough. The odd creatures, mutants, roaming the world now. The occasional dying straggler desperately searching for safety from the radiation or simply a place to die in peace. Or the weakest members of their own pack.

The Silent changed. Though tough enough against the worst effects of radiation, that’s not the only way to poison a creature.

Decades pass, the valley stays hidden as always within the Peaks of Peril. Its limited number of kirins surviving on the resources their home still offer, hoping to help it recover bit by bit until it can finally return to its true splendor once more.

There are no visitors, no outsiders reaching this hidden place out in nowhere.

Those who do reach so far to explore will be facing the Silent, unwitting protectors of the home they were rejected from. Meat is meat. Some ponies though are tough. Or just stubborn enough to face off the odd, mute scaled, heavy maned creatures. Some even can stand against them when they burst into flame and lunges for them.

Some ponies seem crazy enough to enjoy the challenge.

Some earn a spot by the Silent’s side, proving tough enough to join the pack. To teach new ways to protect the claimed territory around the curious formation of mountains the Silent refuse to wander too far away from.

New kinds of bands of raiders develop. Why kill to only eat? Make the meat prove its worth it, try have fun despite the empty faces and the tough living.

And what is beyond those rocks? Why are the Silent so against to wander too far away? Wonder if one could find a way in, or around, or over... If one could just get a peek in on the hidden valley. Compared to the rest of the Wasteland, it is lush and full of life. And a community trying to hoard its wealth to itself.

The banished Silent recalling their birth right taken from them. It’s their home too! THEIR valley!

The Valley Kirins finding that hiding from the world only works when the world has forgotten you. But the Silent knows. And now they want what is theirs back. They a tougher, stronger, generations of growing in numbers and toughen up even more. The Valley Kirins can fortify their home further, make use of their own Nirik Rage to fend off those trying to return home.

A war begins, a siege already going on but first now realized. For existence, for resources, misplaced justice, mute cries for redemption through blood.

The Kirins and their home weren’t passed by the war. Forgotten through it, but even they suffer the consequences from territory dispute going out of hoof.

I like to keep calling the banished kirins/Nirik the Silent. Although I mused above the Vow of Silence might not pass to the next generation. The change in the magic properties of the poisoned Stream of Silence might gotten more permanent and passes to the foals through the parents. Or the foals grow silence over time when faced with parents unable to talk, thus never teaching them speech. Maybe a tradition to keep them separate from the Valley Kirins develop by removing one’s tongue to stay Silent. It might be a welcome ritual to outsiders joining the packs of Silent, to truly become one of them.

I can ponies exploring the area of Peaks of Peril when wondering where the lone train tracks lead, either becoming meat for the Silent or raiders tough enough to join them, and teach them how to further their tactics against the natural fortress that is the Peaks further fortified by its inhabitants.

Welp, that is my ideas for it at least. Probably never gonna use this concept myself beyond maybe some RP’ing at some point, as I have no fic ideas to use this for. Just felt like sharing my thoughts tho.

As popular as the MLP kirin started out as, their lack of further appearance and development seemed to have stagnated ideas for them for the fandom. I just like to see how people find ways to add in these later concepts of MLP;FiM into FoE despite its jump in the timeline.

So this is just my take on it for the Kirins in the Fallout Equestria universe.

Feel welcome to share your own thoughts.

[drgnrder82]

Fictober 2019: Day 6

Fandom: Pokemon / Detective Pikachu

Prompt: “Yes, I am aware. What’s your point?”

Rating: Teen

Trigger Warning: None really, just a little swearing

Characters:  Tim Goodman, OC’s Alison Angeles, Emolga, Jack, Lucario

A/N: These snippets follow after the events of a fanfic I finished called Heart of Gold that can be read in full on AO3 here.

___________________________________

Obviously Emolgas are great climbers. They need to get high up so they can glide to the next tree or building. Made sense she would pick a partner as crazy and death defying as her.

“Alison, come down!”

“The view is great up here! Hey, Caterpies infested this tree.”

Based on his snickering Jack loved every second of this. “She’s...uh....entertaining.” Sure, that was a way to put it. Take her out to the fields near the forest of his hometown, what did he think was going to happen with his crazy daredevil of a girlfriend. This was actually tame compared to, well, any time she was in a bar, near a bar, napping. “You’re acting like my mom.”

“Yes, I am aware.” Tim sighed. He would not climb up after her. “What is your point?”

“Just that you sound like an old woman. We used to climb trees all the time.” Jack tossed a pokeball around from hand to hand. Neither could even see her with how high she’d climbed.

“We were kids and I remember you getting vertigo when we got more than ten feet off the ground.” Tim gave up looking for her. “Then you fell out and broke your arm.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“You said the nurse at the clinic...”

“I remember the nurse...” Naturally.

Branches rustled above them, bright green leaves raining down on them as Alison jumped from one branch to the next to get down the tree.

“Don’t you want to come up?”

Before either could come up with an excuse an explosion roared through the trees, causing a rush of Pidgeys, Butterfrees and Spearows into the sky.

“Whoa.” Alison held tight to the branches above and below her but still stayed, miraculously, in the tree. “What do you think it could be?”

Another blast shook them again. “Looks like it came from near the river,” Jack said while he was already turning toward the town. Hopping down Alison ran off.

“W-where is she going?” Jack realized no one was following him.

The second the first explosion hit he knew this would happen. “Toward the dangerous and very deadly explosion. Of course.” He had no choice now. “I’m a glorified babysitter.”  

Emolga burst from the branches gliding after her partner. Trees gave way to the tall grasses of the hills and that made it easier to see where she was going.

Towards the river where another clap of thunder erupted. Emolga had gained enough altitude she was just gliding through the field, avoiding the straggling Pidgeys that flew from the thunderous booms.

Jack had a harder time keeping up, therefore he didn’t see Alison dive under  the attack of the crazed Lucario. Searing through the grass a purple beam cut towards a man.

Alison narrowly missed the beam and aimed a kick at each leg on Lucario while Emolga balled herself up midair and let loose a sphere of manic electricity. Jumping to her feet, Alison slammed into the trainer, sending them toppling over each other but away from another blast of Dragon Pulse.

Jack stopped short with him, “Oh, fucking fantastic. Isn’t that -“

“Ethan.”

Ethan Harding. The Harding Family. Also known as the richest people to live in a little town for no reason other than to flaunt their wealth. And the single worst thing to happen to Tim and Jack since childhood. At least until he turned 11 and they were able to cope for a few years while he was off on his journey. Then he came back with several gym badges and a personal trainer and several of the strongest Pokemon he could capture. Because they were sure no one would willingly want to be his partner. Oh, and his delusions to become a League Champion.

“We should get out of here.” He was preaching to the choir, but it had to be said for posterity sake. He really wanted out of there before Ethan saw them. Also before him or his girlfriend actually got hit by one of those errant attacks the Lucario seemed to be doling out haphazardly.

Alison, for her part, was trying hard to keep Ethan from being attacked. And Ethan was trying just as hard to get back to the Lucario.

“Get out of my way, you dumb bitch.”

“You’re going to get yourself killed! He’s gone completely loco.”

Ethan proclaimed, “He wouldn’t dare hurt me.” Just as another strike, with a bone, catapulted them into the air.

“Yeah. Wouldn’t dare.” Tim dashed through the mayhem, Emolga easily dodging the attacks and unleashing wave after wave of electricity to no avail.

“Grand. We’re all saved because Tim Goodman showed up. Going to bore Lucario to sleep with an insurance sales pitch?”

“Friend of yours?” Alison dragged Tim onto her before he became a crater.

“Because he’s charming.”

Ethan closed in on his partner, “Lucario! Stop!” A gleam in Lucario’s eye brought Tim back to the first evening he was in Ryme. The way the Aipom lost control and the unnatural way their eyes glowed.

“Ethan!” Tim called too late. Lucario struck his partner in the chest with a powerful kick, sending him staggering back. Once. Twice.

Jack tugged at their arms, trying to lead them away while Lucario was distracted.

“Let’s go.” But Ethan tumbled over himself after another blow from Lucario. “Before he realizes we’re here.”

Tim hadn’t realized how close to the river they were but without the blasts to cover the water flowing below he understood what was likely to happen next. The same thought flashed in Alison’s eyes too.

Ethan rolled off the edge of the small cliff, limp, and splashed below in the swollen, raging river.

Stripping off her hoodie, “Damn it.” Alison dove after the dumbass, but not before shoving Lucario down as well.

“She jumped.” Jack wavered a little.

“Yeah.”

“She is one badass traffic cop.”

How much longer could he really keep Jack and his Gram convinced Alison was only a traffic cop?

[zdbztumble]

Botching Backwards and Forwards, Or: Today’s KH Ramble, Part I

As I play through KH III, I’ve also been catching up with the series by watching the Let’s Plays of the other games done by Team Four Star. Because they didn’t play through Coded and only watched the cutscenes from 358/2 Days, that means that there’s only one game on their playlist that I haven’t played myself, that game being Dream Drop Distance. From what I can tell, its gameplay operates on a similar mechanic to Birth by Sleep, which I enjoyed quite a bit. I frankly prefer the Command Decks to what we have in the console games. DDD making levels out of some left-field choices in Disney worlds was a pleasant surprise too. For the Fantasia world alone, I’ll have to consider picking DDD up when I’m not facing a month of utter financial ruin.

And yet, between the two of them, BbS and DDD are responsible for nearly everything wrong with the story of Kingdom Hearts up to this point IMO. Coded got the ball rolling by opening back up a story that had already been satisfyingly ended in KH II, but these two titles do the bulk of the damage to a series that, up to that point, had handled its story pretty well.

Starting with BbS, I freely admit that some of my issues with it boil down to a matter of preference. Turning the Keyblade into a (once) fairly common weapon with many wielders, with a history detailing a great Keyblade War and a test for a Mark of Mastery...all of that wasn’t to my taste, but I can’t say that there’s anything in principle wrong with it. It isn’t necessarily out of place for this series, and the one major wrinkle in continuity it causes (Keyblades choosing wielders) could be squared fairly easily. A prequel focusing on hitherto unmentioned characters rather than the series protagonists isn’t an inherently wrong choice either, though I’ll have more to say about that in Part II of this rant. That I don’t find Terra, Ven, or Aqua terribly interesting as characters is mostly a matter of preference as well, though I do think Terra’s descent into the darkness relies too much on sheer idiocy, and I will admit that Aqua is possibly the most fun player character in this series with her plethora of magic spells. But where I more seriously fault BbS (and Coded, for opening this door) is in its changes to Xehanort’s plots and backstory, and in undermining one of the best thematic ideas from the original Kingdom Hearts game.

"Ansem” turning out to be the true villain of KH I after two-thirds of the gameplay pass under the assumption that it’s the confederation of Disney villains was an effective twist that let an original character, more comfortably of the Square Enix half of the crossover, shine. “Ansem” turning out to be Xehanort the renegade apprentice, with his Nobody Xemnas the leader of Organization XIII, was hardly the most organic twist in the world; I don’t think anyone would go back to KH I and say “oh, it was so obvious, how did I not see it before?” But it made for another genuinely surprising twist in KH II. A villain can only have so many twists and secret plans, however, before effective surprises become cheap gimmicks, and any ability to take their current scheme seriously evaporates.

The revelation that Xehanort is in fact a transparently evil old man who, years before any of the events that led to KH I, plotted to synthesize a X-Blade and bring about a second Keyblade War (with less than ten combatants, so it’d be more of a Keyblade Skirmish) in what basically amounts to a mad scientist’s scheme in fantasy genre clothing, was the breaking point for me. This is a common trap of both prequels and conventional sequels; trying to tie too many things into a small group of characters, or in this case, a single character. Making Xehanort into a villain that spans multiple generations, the man who set into motion everything that preceded KH I and is indirectly responsible for Sora, Kairi, and Riku becoming Keyblade Wielders, can seem like an expansion of the universe on paper, but in execution, it’s a contraction. It reduces too many events down to factors in a single character’s actions. The fact that his scheme is no more coherent than those from KH I and II doesn’t help, nor does the fact that the storyline that most directly leads into Xehanort’s role in those games - Terra’s - is so transparently ripped from Revenge of the Sith.

But Xehanort’s abrupt reentry into the story isn’t truly maddening - not in BbS, at least. For me, the worst part of the BbS story is how it retroactively changes Sora’s. I’d go so far as to say that BbS is to Sora what Dragon Ball: Minus is to Bardock and Goku.

Don’t misunderstand me on that point: BbS is nowhere near as bad a game as Dragon Ball: Minus is a comic. What I mean by that is: prior to Dragon Ball: Minus, most people took Bardock: the Father of Goku to be canon. And, in that TV special, the history given to Goku, derived from what was said in the manga at the time, was that he was of no account by the standards of Saiyan society. He was a no-account spawn of a low-class warrior, sent off to a far-flung planet to clear out its worthless inhabitants. That low-class warrior who fathered him was as ruthless and mercenary as any typical Saiyan, and while he was stronger than the average low-class fighter and was given psychic insight into the fate of his people, Bardock was ultimately just another Saiyan doomed to die and be forgotten by time. Nothing in Goku’s origins is special or fated, which makes his accidental amnesia and eventual surpassing of Vegeta, the supposed Saiyan ideal, more remarkable. By transforming Bardock into a more tamed Saiyan with a close familial bond to his mate, who sends his son to Earth for safety in a blatant rip-off of Superman’s origins, Goku and Bardock both become too special, Goku’s turning into a kind-hearted child becomes too telegraphed, and their stories become too beholden to “chosen one” cliches.

And that is what BbS does to Sora, Riku, and to a lesser extent Kairi. That all three of them just happen, in their childhoods, to have had contact with Keyblade Wielders who left a personal mark upon them - and, in Sora’s case, literally took up residence inside him - is just too pat. It makes the three of them ending up with Keyblades too easy, too predestined. This hurts all three of them, but Sora most of all. Ven looking like Roxas and Vanitas looking like Sora, is a massive headache (and yes, I’m aware that there is at least some explanation of that), but the big loss is in the thematic content of the story, and there is where the comparisons to Dragon Ball: Minus really come into play.

Like a pre-Minus Goku, pre-BbS Sora is not special, in any way, at the start of KH I. He’s an ordinary young teen, plucky and affable and just a bit lazy, with a burgeoning quasi-romantic interest in his friend Kairi and an in-all-things rivalry with his best friend Riku. Compared to Riku, Sora comes up short in pretty much every area. Riku, at first glance, is faster, stronger, smarter, more dedicated, more fearless, and more capable. If you were going to choose one of those two to be the fated hero wielding a magic blade to save the worlds from darkness, Riku’s the better candidate by every metric, on paper. And, in fact, the Keyblade does choose Riku. The whole “chosen one” cliche is subverted in KH I in a brilliant way by essentially having destiny make the wrong choice. That Sora only gets the Keyblade by accident, loses it to its intended master, but quickly reclaims it on the strength of his accomplishments and his purity - that he earns it - is one of my favorite things in this entire series, and is a wonderful thematic idea and moral. Giving Sora and Riku both a fated “touched by a master” backstory kills so much of that idea, and it’s enough to make me wish that there was no BbS, as fun as the gameplay can be.

Ironically, DDD tries to have its cake and eat it too by playing up the fact that Sora wasn’t chosen by the Keyblade, but the damage was done by that point. And DDD further undermines that initial concept in the way it writes Sora, and his relationship with Riku. For one thing, Sora in DDD seems so much dumber than he was in previous games. Up to that point, he’d been written as an upbeat young teen, possessed of a certain level of immaturity and naivete, but always determined to help save the day, and more than capable of getting serious when needed. DDD abruptly starts to portray him as more of a doofy shonen hero, without any clear motivation and to no real purpose. It also introduces the idea that the central dynamic in Sora and Riku’s friendship is that Sora lifts Riku’s spirits while Riku takes up the slack from Sora’s sloppiness and carelessness. I have a real problem with that presentation, because it just isn’t true.

If you go back and look at KH I, those early Destiny Islands scenes set Sora up as the underdog to Riku’s Big Man on Campus. Riku jokes that he’s the only one working on the raft, and Kairi remarks that “he’s changed,” but he doesn’t come off as someone needing to perk up. And with one of the first challenges of the game being Sora gathering raft supplies, it doesn’t seem that Riku needs to take up that much slack either. In any event, over the course of KH I, Riku’s the one who drops the slack and falls into darkness, with Sora literally having to stop him from doing horrible things. And it’s Sora who continues on through CoM and KH II, saving the worlds. While Riku does appear here and there to aid Sora, his aid doesn’t come in the form of “taking up slack” or cleaning up after messes Sora leaves; Sora, Donald, and Goofy are still able to save the day by their own skill in each world. This whole notion, and Sora’s more dim-witted persona, seem invented, if not from whole cloth, then from very little that was previously established.

And again, there doesn’t seem to be a clear motive, unless it’s to highlight the differences between Sora and Riku and give more justification to Riku getting the Mark of Mastery when Sora wasn’t. But the writing doesn’t give a coherent through-line to that idea, nor does it sufficiently justify Sora not becoming a Master. Had the game actively told a story of turning the tables, and made a point to stress the idea that Riku’s fully reformed and that Sora was slipping up, then I’d be more forgiving (even if I still wouldn’t like the idea), but the work just isn’t there.

I’ll admit that there’s a certain amount of bias in my assessment; I’ve never liked Riku as a character. As a teen playing KH I for the first time, I found it easy to project my dislike of certain people IRL onto him, and in the years since, I’ve continued to find that the manner of his turn to darkness in KH I makes it very hard to accept him back into the fold with Sora and the others. He’s also a lousy player character in Reverse/Rebirth and in KH III IMO. But I accept that he’s the deuteragonist, and that his story since KH I has been one of redemption. In principle, a game that builds him up as a character and lets him save the day is fine. But the manner in which it was done in DDD was all wrong. And to an extent, the changes made to his and Sora’s friendship, and to Sora’s personality, have all carried over into KH III, which is even more frustrating.

And, speaking of things carried over...DDD is where Xehanort gets completely ridiculous IMO. Having pulled a third twist that he was actually an ancient Keyblade Master seeking to provoke a war, now there’s a fourth twist where his younger self has been traveling through time (by ridiculous means) to ensure that the fifth twist - that all that business about Nobodies having no hearts was a lie, and that the real Organization XIII exists to create thirteen Horcruxes vessels for Xehanort’s heart, so that there can be thirteen darknesses to face the seven lights in the Keyblade War (which still seems short of the numbers you’d need for an actual war, but whatever). The whole business about “recompletion” allowing an original person to revive if their Heartless and Nobody are destroyed is already enough of a contrivance to bring the original Xehanort back, but time travel and heart-splitting is even more absurd. And I still haven’t been able to figure out how “Ansem” and Xemnas can be back in action, even with the time travel aspect.

Recompletion also means that DDD brings back the rest of Organization XIII. I consider nearly all of them to be glorified henchmen, possessed of a gimmick for combat and a single personality trait at best, so their revival - and their cameos in BbS - do nothing for me. A big exception to that is Axel, but if I don’t care much for Riku, I can’t stand Axel. He comes off as what an “edgy” teenage writer would come up with for a “cool” character in a bad first stab at fiction. From his character design to his abused catchphrase, everything about him pisses me off. His one saving grace in KH II was that he sacrifices himself, and nothing undermines a sacrifice like a contrived way around death. That he’s become a Keyblade Wielder, and one of the Seven Guardians of Light, is ridiculous to me, and I’m not sure if I can think of a more blatant example of a writer’s pet character being so inorganically shoved to the forefront of a story that supposedly isn’t about them.

DDD also started to open the door to the possibility of Roxas and Namine being restored. That idea is less annoying to me than any of these others, but it’s still a mistake IMO. That Roxas and Namine both ultimately elect to give up their lives as individuals to return Sora and Kairi to their full selves, accepting their fate so that others can live more fully, is a bittersweet and touching concept, and one that lets “death” have some real consequences and the happy ending of KH II come with a price. I hate seeing that undermined, and I’m frankly frustrated by how much of KH III’s front half involved chatter about Roxas.

And speaking of KH III...that’s where Part II comes in.

ADDENDUM: Another thing about DDD that I feel undermines Sora is that, while writing him dumber, the game also hypes him up more than he ever was in the past. It’s the same problem as Harry Potter; for all that series’ virtues, constantly pointing out how special Harry is can end up taking away from his character by making his unique traits too ubiquitous. Other characters constantly pointing out how kind and loving and easy to bond with Sora is undermines that trait by over-playing it and turning it into an exercise in “tell, don’t show.”

[hethrewmyheartinthecut]

Peregrine • Chapter One

The Runaway

May had made many rash decisions before, mostly in the wake of the war, but none as rash as this. She blamed it on the sprained ankle.

If she hadn't sprained her ankle, she wouldn't have limped awkwardly into the dining room and tripped on the edge of the rug. If she hadn't tripped on the edge of the rug, she wouldn't have fallen and hit her head on the edge of a gilt-edged credenza. If she hadn't hit her head, she wouldn't have had a concussion, a concussion that stole not only a few memories from her, but also the most precious parts of the season. Some trainers loved the time of the races, the late summer when they got to finally see all their work put into action in some of the most anticipated races in the world.

Not May, though. No, she liked best the spring foaling season and the early summer auctions, seeing all the possibilities in the world. She was never happier then when she had on her sturdiest old boots and was squatting in the mud beside a mare in labor, or when she gently but firmly pulled a yearling's lips back to have a good look at those yellow teeth. If she had been a farmer, it would have been seeding rather than harvest that was her favorite time of year. But thanks to that bloody sprained ankle, she missed almost all of it while she was resting, restlessly, in bed. She missed the birth of six foals and the failed birth of a seventh. She missed most of the key auctions and all the internecine trainer drama that came with it, including one auction where apparently there had been a murder attempt. She missed the smell of the stables near the end of her doctor-mandated bedrest so much that she wholly surrendered her dignity and asked her butler to carry her downstairs and wheel her to the stables in her wheelchair. Poor Algernon had done as she asked, though he really looked as though he thought the walls of the Carleton estate might fall down on his head for such an impropriety. It still wasn't the same when all she could really do was look and talk.

In short, by the time she was allowed to walk and travel again, May had lost her mind. It was the only rational explanation as to why, when hearing about the Appleby New Fair from her head groom, she had demanded to be taken there.

"I'm not sure it's what you're used to," said Gavin. To his credit, this was the most diplomatic way to put it. Later on, when she bullied him into taking her there in that half-charming, half-imperious way she had, he probably wished that he'd been much blunter. He probably wished he'd said, This event is not for you and I don't want you to come.

But standing there in her big boots and her little plum cardigan and her most mulish expression, she knew she'd win him over. Most of her house staff either actively disliked her or at least compared her unfavorably with her mother and father, but in the stables, she reigned supreme over not only the hides of every horse but also the hearts of every man there.

So to the Appleby Fair she went.

"I need to check up with a few of my relatives, all right?" Gavin said as their car neared the fair. May was growing very excited. She could smell the horses in the air. "This is the only time I have to see some of them, to visit with some of them. They're Kale."

"Pardon?"

"Kale. Welsh. They're all the way from Wales."

"Oh, I don't mean to get in your way, Gavin. Just drop me off, then. I'll have a look around myself."

"You can't wander the place by yourself."

"What's the worst that could happen?"

"Look, I'm leaving you with one of my cousins for a bit. Bran will take care of you. You'll have time to watch the horses go down the flashing lane and maybe a couple of races before today's auction, all right? I'll meet you at the auction."

"All right," May said absently, nose pressed to the window. She could see the flashing lane from where they were already, and her mind was already getting lost as she took in the seemingly endless stream of horses trotting by. For about an hour and a half, that was all there was. Passers-by gave her the strangest looks and several of them went up to Bran and asked in various languages that she didn't understand--and occasionally in English--what the hell she was doing there, to which Bran, a stoic boy of seventeen, usually just shrugged and said something about Gavin wanting to stay employed. But May was in her happy place. The air was very fresh and some of these breeds she'd genuinely never seen before in her life. Every horse, from the shortest to the one with the least healthy teeth, was still a beautiful horse. She couldn't say that about humans.

When Bran suggested they go take a look at the races while those were relatively informal and the betting around them was relatively quite tame, May almost turned him down. She could have stood there all day, just staring. But if there was one thing she loved more than observing the trotting gait of a horse, it was observing the speed and technique of a horse and rider galloping together, so she lifted her skirt (hem already muddied), and followed him to a big open field that had been set up as an informal track.

May was all set to sink back into the earthy heaven of watching the form and figure of a few dozen horses, and the ripples of the lush green grass the wind almost had her there, but then her quick ears picked up on a high-pitched neigh.

One bay mare, young, probably three or four years old, a little green still, had been spooked by something--it didn't take much to spook a green horse--and had bolted, was barreling straight for the barricade separating the racetrack part of the field and part where the tents had been set up as temporary shops. Before anyone could so much as shout for help, a rider on a white horse tore after it, going from standing to a gallop in maybe the most exquisite natural start that May had ever seen in her life. As they drew level, the rider leaned over and snatched the long rope of the runaway's lead out of thin air, a feat made even more impressive by the fact that the white horse had no saddle on. The rider must have had legs like steel clamps. When they finally managed to halt both horses and slide off, May realized with a thrill that it was a woman with a long dark braid that couldn't half contain her hair, with wisps and curls flying out left and right. The woman, rather than trying to punish the runaway, was soothing it, one gentle on its velvety gray muzzle.

"Who was that?" said May, once she'd got her breath back.

"What?" Even at playing dumb, Bran was a terrible actor. May didn't have time for it.

"Who was that?"

on ao3 • next chapter (unwritten)

[thedarkenedkeeper]

Glitched: Part 12 - Soon

Author's Note: Firstly, Happy Halloween everyone! :D I hope you're all having a fantastic day/night. I know I am. It's my favorite holiday and as such, I figured I'd try and get a chapter or two done in time for today, so here you go!

Surprisingly, I'm not going to add any warnings for this one (and yes, you should be worried if there's nothing bad happening in this chapter). Of all of the chapters in the story, this one has to be the most tame. There isn't any gore, and while there is some angst, it's nothing compared to what has already happened in the story. Not a lot happens in this chapter - it's more dialogue based than anything - but it is crucial to what'll end up happening next. Consider this chapter like a break for you guys - it's giving you guys a chance to breathe and get yourselves mentally prepared for what's to come in the last couple of chapters. Because believe me, when I release Part 13...ha...haha.....hahaha...hahahahahaHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!!! >:D

Consider this your warning!

Listen to this playlist while reading.

Enjoy!

 Useless – that’s exactly how he felt. Completely and utterly useless.

He hadn’t a clue where he was right now, not when he was currently swimming in a never-ending sea of darkness. Everything was black in his wake; how was he to know where he was or what was going on if the shadows were blinding him? All he had to go off of were the horrid noises that were causing his blood to run ice cold.

These sounds – they were haunting. He felt as though there was significance to each and every one, like he had heard them before somewhere at some point. Gun shots were blaring, sounding as though a mass shooting was taking place. The horrific screams of innocent people echoed throughout this darkened hell he was encased in – every single one of them begging and pleading for their lives.  And it wasn’t just adults who were getting harmed, children were as well. He could tell from the pitch of the cries for help, as well as the terrified whimpers and sobs that accompanied them.

What was going on? Why couldn’t he see anything? Why was he hearing these nightmare-inducing things? He felt so helpless – so weak and scared. He may not have been able to see what was going on, but he had an idea and it was sending tremors of fear down his spine. He wanted to do something, he wanted to save these people and try and stop whoever was responsible for the massacre. But he couldn’t do anything, not when the dark had a hold on his mind and soul. He longed to yell out into the endless abyss and put an end to this hell. However, he couldn’t. All that expelled from his lips were his own laboured shaky breaths of panic, increasing in speed as his heart followed suit. The poor organ was beating away at his ribcage so brutally his chest was beginning to ache. The rush of blood in his ears pumped so loudly to the point of blocking out the screams of the murderer’s victims.

All he could hear now was the rush of blood.

And all he could feel was something moving…

Something was moving inside of him.  

He could feel something squirming and slithering around, resonating inside his head and slowly making its way down his spine, weaving throughout his entire body. An overwhelming sensation surged through him, bringing new life to his being. He gasped as his vision pulsed, a very brief glimpse of figures illuminating before his eyes. With each released breath, a flash of his surroundings would occur, but not for long. Everything was still very much blacker than black, but the figures around him – they were all glowing. It was almost as if he had some kind of sonar or sensory overload all of a sudden. However, there was something incredibly disturbing about this newly acquired “gift of sight”.

Everything that was highlighted – the victims, anything in the background such as trees and parked cars, the shooter, who for some strange reason was a completely blurred out manifestation – was blood red. With each pulse of his vision, thin lines of red produced from them all; branching out in every which direction, slowly but surely fogging up his brain with nothing but bloodshed. He could hear his laboured breaths dying down into demented, inhuman laughter. He could feel his body tensing up, his hands balling up into fists. He is holding something in his right hand. There’s a faint clicking sound. His index finger – it’s resting on a trigger, hesitating to add pressure. His hand is shaking – from fear, anger, sadness, who knows? But he can feel it in his gut. There’s a horrendous sense of dread manifesting deep inside of him, growing in size at an alarming rate and constricting his lungs tightly. And yet…And yet he needs to do this.

He WANTS to.

All he sees is red as he raises the gun, another jolt of adrenaline striking him like a bolt of lightning. His vision throbs black for a second – a set of sickly green eyes and a deathly white grin piercing through the eternal darkness – but it appears so quickly, he barely has the time to process the image.

His fingertip is starting to apply pressure to the trigger, tempted to put an end to this. 

He makes out faint laughter in the back of his mind, taunting him and hissing insidious truths to him repeatedly to the point of driving him insane. He growls and yells out in distress, bashing the gun against his head violently in a desperate attempt to block out this evil that’s pestering him. But there’s no point. He’s going to give in and he knows it. He KNOWS it. 

His heart stutters, skipping over a couple of beats. He pulls the trigger as he hears the terrified cries of his children. 

All he sees is red. Blood red. 

He’s covered in it. 

There’s so much of it – so much red.  

And this thing inside of him, whatever it is that’s swimming through his veins – it’s pleased. It’s grinning with delight, knowing he’s made a right. 

And the worst part is he believes this. 

Body jolting with a start, Chase’s eyes flew open and he gasped in alarm, getting forced out of the horrifying nightmare he’d just had. Almost immediately a searing pain channeled through his head and he groaned, shutting his eyes tightly for a second. He hesitantly reopened them, staring up at a cream-colored ceiling. He felt incredibly tired and out of it, and he could very vaguely make out the soft beeping of a heart monitor coming from somewhere off to his right. Brows furrowing out of puzzlement, the American slowly turned his head in the direction of where the sound was coming from and spotted a heart monitor a foot away from the bed he was settled in. He blinked in confusion and glanced down at himself, finally taking notice of where he was. He was tucked under blankets in what looked like a hospital bed, and he was wearing a gown, having been stripped of his grey T-shirt and black skinny jeans. He was hooked up to an IV, as well as the heart monitor, and there was a nasal cannula wrapped over his head, supplying oxygen for him.  

His right temple throbbed sharply and he winced, clenching his teeth and letting out a hiss of agony. What had happened? Why was he in the hospital? Had the doctor brought him here? And if he had, why? Chase shut his eyes and tried to recall the events that had taken place before he had woken up, but everything was a blur. All he could remember was how he had been given permission from Jack to have some screen time on the channel, and thus, he and his cameraman immediately set out to record a video of him doing some sick shots. Everything after that had gone black – he hadn’t the slightest idea what would’ve led him into getting admitted to the hospital. And as if he didn’t already have enough questions on his mind, he couldn’t help but get haunted by visions of what he’d seen and heard in his nightmare. What had that all been about? 

He released a groan of frustration as he blinked tiredly. He was far too drained of energy to be putting up with thoughts like these right now.  

Sharp pain panged against his skull horribly once more, worse than before, and he whimpered, reflexively lifting a hand up to gently touch the side of his head. Bandages were wrapped tightly around his head, blood staining the right side of them. The fabric was slightly warm and damp and question fell upon him. What –  

“Ah, look who decided to vake up.” 

The green-haired American nearly had a heart attack at hearing the German voice. He jolted and his eyes darted to the door to see Dr. Henrik von Schneeplestein standing there, clipboard in hand and a petite hopeful smile upon his face. Chase let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been keeping in. He hadn’t heard the door open; he’d been too caught up in his own questions.

“Doc?” He questioned, his voice soft and giving proof of just how tired he was. How long had he been out for? 

The doctor only smiled and nodded in response, turning to close the door behind him. A dull ache came from Chase’s right temple and he gasped, moving his hand to touch the bandages once again. He went to move, going to give a try at sitting up, but his vision instantly began to swim and the ache he felt in his head only grew worse. He winced and groaned in agony as he heard Schneeple approach the bed. 

“Ah, ah, ah, don’t do zhat.” He saw the doctor out of the corner of his eye, feeling his hand gently push on his shoulder and insist he lay back down. “You’re in very bad condition. Ve vouldn’t vant it getting any vorse.” 

Chase let out a defeated sigh as he settled back down onto the bed, taking his hand away from his head. 

“It’s best zhat you take it easy. No need to strain yourself.” 

Chase blinked groggily before turning his attention up onto the doctor. His brows furrowed in confusion, tearing his eyes away as he struggled to conjure up the memories of what had happened. 

“What…What happened? Where am I?” 

The smile from Schneeple’s face fell away immediately.

“You know vhere you are, Chase.”

 “Yeah, but…but what happened?” The American asked. His eyes shifted back to the German. “Why am I here?”

  Now it was Henrik’s turn to be overcome by question. He frowned, staring at his patient with perplexity.

 “Vait, you…you don’t remember vhat happened?” He inquired.

 Chase shook his head, eyes locked with the good doctor’s. Henrik knew Chase quite well – they were really close friends, actually. They got along and were always there for each other. Henrik KNEW Chase. He knew the man was a child at heart and would never keep any secrets from him. So when he looked deep into his friend’s eyes, he could only see innocence gleaming in them, accompanied with a hybrid of fear and confusion. Chase wasn’t lying to him – the doctor knew this for a fact. Chase would never lie to him, especially if it involved something as serious as this. The German’s eyes narrowed before he glanced down at his clipboard, flipping over the top page and scanning through his notes quickly. His expression only became more puzzled. He peered over the edge of his glasses back at his recovering patient. He shook his head slightly.

  “You don’t remember anyzhing – anyzhing at all?”

 Chase took a moment to really think and try his hardest to bring about the memories that were seemingly long-lost, staring off into space, but nothing was coming to him. No matter how hard he tried, everything was remaining a blurry mess. He couldn’t even recall anything that he had heard or felt. He most certainly didn’t remember getting a head wound either. He shook his head again, returning his tired gaze to the doctor.

  “No…No, I don’t remember anything.” He blinked, his brows weaving out of worry now. “What happened, Doc?”

 Henrik stood there for a long minute, alternating between taking looks at his clipboard and his dear friend. He didn’t know if telling him the truth right at this very moment was the best idea. After all, Chase had just woken up. The man was dazed and drained – he had little to no energy at all. The news may have been incredibly important, but the American needed rest more than anything. If Schneeple told him, there’d be no telling how he’d react. The last thing he needed was for Chase to be stressed out…and yet…

  The German doctor turned and set his clipboard down on a nearby table, avoiding having to make eye contact with his patient.

  “You shot yourself, Chase.” He wasn’t going to sugar-coat it – how could he with something as serious as that? “You…You shot yourself, zhat’s vhat happened.”

  A wave of heart-wrenching silence flooded into the room and it remained lingering there for what felt like hours. He could make out the shaky uneven breaths of his patient, only proving to him that the man honestly didn’t know what he’d done.

 “What?” Chase’s voice cracked, evidently letting some of his fear slip through.

 Henrik whirled around to face him, staring at him sternly. He was breathing rather deeply now and his jaw was locked tight. It seemed as though he was struggling to keep his emotions at bay. He didn’t want to get angry at his friend, especially with just how weak and disoriented he was, but Schneeple couldn’t bear it. He was hurt and pissed off and he couldn’t hide that from Chase.

 “You heard me. You tried to blow your brains out, Chase. Vhy? Vhy zee fuck vould you do zhat? Vhy zee FUCK vould you do somezhing like zhat?!” The mad man slammed a fist down violently on the nearby table, the loud bang causing Chase to jump and widen his eyes in surprise.

  “I…I don’t – .”

  “Your cameraman, vhatever zee fuck his name is, said you had been on zee phone vith Stacy before zee incident. Somezhing about you two getting a divorce and her getting custody over zee kids?”

 Chase could only stare at the doctor with confusion. Everything he was saying wasn’t making any sense to him. Had that all really happened? Had he been on the phone with Stacy? Had Stacy said those things to him? His heart clenched tightly in his chest and he suddenly found himself having a difficult time breathing properly, as though there was a weight pressing down on his chest and crushing his lungs. He heard Henrik scoff.

  “I should’ve known Stacy vould’ve been your undoing, but Chase, vhy? VHY?! Vhy zee FUCK vould you resort to somezhing so drastic – so horrible and selfish?” The doctor continued on with his rant. “I mean, I get it. I knew – VE all knew zhings veren’t going so vell between you and Stacy. Ve knew you vere going zhrough a hard time and you never vanted to talk about it vith any of us. You like to zhink everyzhing is happy and vonderful and perfect. Everyzhing in your mind is perfect, even vhen everyzhing goes to shit. So vhy?” He glared daggers at the perplexed man. “Vhy vould you resort to suicide, Chase? Vhat zee fuck could’ve possibly made you zhink zhat vas zee only reasonable solution?!”

  The American’s heart constricted again and he tore his gaze away from the doctor, shutting his eyes tightly as he struggled to take out the wall that was keeping his memories from him. Slowly but surely, fragments were coming to him. Nothing major, but the things his friend was saying were most certainly triggering him.

 “You know me, Chase. You know me and I know you. Ve have been friends for some time now, ve never keep secrets from each other. If you vere hurting, if zee pain was getting to you zhat badly, vhy didn’t you say anyzhing? Vhy didn’t you come to any of us – vhy didn’t you come to me?!” Henrik shouted. And although the German was furious and lashing out at him, when Chase turned to look up at him, he could see pain as clear as day swirling within the doctor’s eyes. It was leaking into his words as well.

  “You KNOW me, Chase. Vhat, did you zhink you vere zee only one going zhrough hell?” Henrik leaned forward a bit, never taking his eyes off of his friend. “My vife and kids left me months ago for someone else. Zhey don’t vant anyzhing to do vith me. Zhey zhink I’m a failure. I haven’t seen zeem in vhat has seemed like ages.” He shook his head and bit his bottom lip, turning his gaze away and trying to stave off any tears from coming to his eyes. After a brief moment to collect himself, his eyes fell back onto Chase and this time, the American could see the tears welling up. “You zhink you’re zee only one in pain? Bullshit.” He spat.

 Chase searched his eyes, his mouth hanging open agape. He had never seen Henrik this angry and this hurt before. Yes, he knew things hadn’t been well for the German and his family, but Henrik rarely spoke about just how much it had all been tearing him up inside. Chase licked his lips and went to speak, but he didn’t get a chance – Henrik carried on with his spiel.

  “Did you not zhink about anyone else vhen you put zhat gun to your head? Did you not once zhink about zee consequences of vhat the effects vould’ve been on any one of us? Did you not zhink about Marvin, Jackieboy Man, or Jack? Did you not zhink about vhat your death vould’ve done to any of zhem? For fuck sake, vhat about your children? Zhey still love you, Chase, and you had no problem putting a gun to your head and pulling zhe trigger – during a recording, no less?! Jesus fucking Christ, Chase – vhat zee fuck vas going zhrough your head?!”

  Chase didn’t know what to say. He was at a loss for words. He could very vaguely remember parts of what had happened – like how he had been on the phone with Stacy, how he’d been filming a video with his cameraman and his friend, Chad – but everything else was still all indecipherable. He couldn’t recall having ever shot himself, let alone come up with a good enough reason as to why he would’ve been driven to such an over-exaggerated reaction to his wife’s words. None of this made any sense to the poor man. He could feel tears welling up in his own eyes. He was so horribly confused and he wished he could remember exactly why he had done what he’d done. He watched his friend look away from him and stand up straight, struggling to calm himself down and keep himself from crying.

  “Vhy?” He asked in such a soft voice, Chase barely even heard it over the beeping of the heart monitor. The doctor glanced back at him, nothing but hurt and sadness shining in his eyes. The anger was long gone now. “Vhy didn’t you say anyzhing?” He said in a pleading tone, desperately wanting an answer.

  Chase shook his head and struggled to speak up. “I-I don’t know. I don’t remember shooting myself, I don’t, I - .” He felt a tear run down his cheek and he tore his gaze away from Henrik. He shook his head again and gave a very nervous chuckle before eyeing the doctor. “I don’t know why I would’ve done such a thing, man, I don’t. I really don’t.” He sniffled. “I mean, I vaguely remember speaking with Stacy, and yeah, things have been absolute shit between us. But…” His brows furrowed. “But trying to kill myself?” He scoffed and shook his head in disbelief, eyes roaming the room. “Fucking Christ, man…” Another lone tear raced down his face as he closed his eyes. He reopened them, staring up at Henrik with sadness. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

 Henrik huffed and pulled his glasses away to wipe at his teary eyes. “As you should be.” He let out a breath as he put his glasses back on. “You should consider yourself lucky. If I hadn’t found you in time, you probably vouldn’t have made it.”

 Chase sighed deeply in an attempt to relax his nerves. He sniffed and wiped his eyes clear of tears. He went to open his mouth and question the doctor on how bad the gunshot had been, when suddenly the door burst open and rushing in came a familiar green-haired man with a look of panic clear across his face.

 “Alright, what happened?! Where’s - ?!” Immediately, Jack’s attention shifted to the American lying in the bed, and his eyes widened in surprise. “Chase! Jesus Christ, you’re alive!” And without another word, he bolted to the man’s side and pulled him into a tight hug.

  Chase winced at feeling his head throb when the Irishman went to hug him, the pain sharp and excruciating to the point he wanted to yelp. He let out a whimper and that was Schneeplestein’s cue to step in. He set a hand on Jack’s shoulder.

 “Take it easy zhere. He’s just starting to recover; ve don’t need him getting any broken bones.”

 The Irishman made out another pained whimper leave the ego he had his arms around and instantly pulled away. 

“Oh jeez, sorry.” He gave an apologetic smile. “Didn’t mean to hurt you.” 

Chase coughed and waved a hand at him, brushing it off as nothing. “Nah, bro, it’s cool.”

“It’s not ‘cool’, Chase. You call zhat ‘cool’?” Henrik pointed at the bloodied bandages around the American’s head.

  Jack turned to look at the German doctor, a look of shame coming upon his face.

  “I’m sorry for showing up so late. I came as fast as I could.”

  “It’s quite alright, don’t vorry about it.”

  Jack’s eyes widened with bewilderment. “Don’t worry about – ? Are you fuckin’ kidding me?” He took a brief glance at Chase. “What happened? I mean, I had felt something was wrong with one of you guys, but fuck, I didn’t think it was this bad.” He let his eyes fall back onto Chase, more specifically his right temple.

“You vant to know vhat happened?” Henrik motioned at Chase with an expression of annoyance. “Zhis idiot tried to blow his brains out, ZHAT’S vhat happened.” He then went on to grumble a few obscenities under his breath about his friend’s stupidity.

 The Irishman’s face went white as a sheet as he cocked his head in Chase’s direction. His eyes were as wide as saucers.

 “You did what?” He didn’t sound angry, like Henrik had been. He was more so stunned and horrified. “Chase…”

Chase wasn’t looking at either of the men; he had his attention elsewhere, his facial expression reading nothing but shame. Jack shook his head, refusing to believe such a ludicrous thing. Chase was a lively lovable man, it was VERY rare for him to ever feel down or get upset. The Irishman couldn’t even imagine him attempting suicide. 

“No…No, that can’t be true.” He turned back to the doctor. “Surely you must be joking.”

But the look upon Schneeplestein’s face was cold and solemn, no hint of a smile or glee in sight. Jack swallowed the lump in his throat, hesitant to ask.

  “Why?” He honestly didn’t want to know what could’ve driven his friend over the edge.

  “Stacy” is all that Henrik had to say for the YouTuber to understand. Jack returned his attention back to the man in the hospital bed, who was still pretending like both of the men weren’t there in the room talking about him. Jack neared the bed, his expression softening; knowing Chase was probably already going through his own personal mental hell at the moment.

 “Chase, why would – ?”

  “Save it, dude.” Chase held up a hand to cut off his words. “I don’t want to hear it. The doc here already chewed me out; I don’t need you giving me hell too.” He sounded a tad bit agitated.

  Jack took a glance at Henrik to verify and the German doctor gave a nod. “It’s true; I gave him shit for it before you showed up.”

  The YouTuber looked back at Chase with worry and stepped forward to take a seat on the edge of the bed. “Chase, what’s going on?”

 Chase finally turned his head to look at his friend, his expression morphing into one of uncertainty and sorrow. He stared at Jack for a long moment, took a glance at Henrik – who was standing right behind Jack with his arms crossed – and then looked back at the Irishman. His eyes wandered as he expelled a breath, slowly shaking his head.

  “Look, I’ll admit it. Things between Stacy and I haven’t been so great for the last month or so. She wanted some space and I gave her that. I was a good husband and father; I gave her and the kids exactly what they needed.” He returned his gaze to his friend – his creator. “And what does she do? She phones me up while I’m working and decides to drop a bomb on me right there and then.” He said with hurt apparent in his voice. “She goes on about how I’m too careless and immature, that I’m a child and am a danger to the kids. She wants to get a divorce and plans to take the kids away from me, and she doesn’t want me around them ever again.” He scoffed, a light chuckle coming from him as though it was all a joke to him. “Who does that?”

 Henrik sighed with exasperation, running a hand over his face, while Jack seemed to be more sympathetic.

 “Chase, listen. I’m sorry for the way things have worked out, I really am.”

  “I love her, bro.” The poor man, he truly sounded heartbroken. His baby blue eyes were filled with anguish; he gave off the appearance of a kicked puppy. “I mean, I really love her – her and the kids. I can’t lose them, Jack. They mean too much to me.”

  “And that just might be your undoing there, Chase.” The Irishman admitted sourly. He released a sigh at seeing the American’s horrified expression. “Listen, I know you love her, Chase – we all do. You’ve always had a big heart, but while that is your greatest strength, it might also be your greatest weakness. You get a bit,” He stopped himself, taking a moment to choose the proper wording, “clingy at times. That’s not necessarily a bad thing!” He quickly reassured, not wanting to bring Chase down even more. “But sometimes, people need space, and maybe…maybe that’s all Stacy needs. She just needs space.”

 Chase still looked doubtful and like he was in pain – both physical and mental. Jack leaned forward, keeping his eyes fixed onto his friend. He was hoping he’d look at him and believe his words.

 “Look, Chase, you need to face the cold-hard truth: Stacy has been taking a toll on you for quite some time and you need to let her go.”

At hearing this, the American immediately went to object, shaking his head slowly. “No, no, I can’t, I – .” 

“I know you love her, but Chase, really think about this. Everything you two have been going through for the past month has led up to where you are now.” Jack pointed out. “You’re developing an unhealthy obsession for her and it needs to stop – for your sake, as well as your children’s.”

“N-No, no, you’re wrong, you’re – .” 

“Oh for fuck sake, Chase, enough of zhis cowardice crap already!” Schneeple unexpectedly lashed out, throwing both his creator and his friend completely off-guard and making them both jump.

Jack frowned, having not expected the doctor to snap and be so harsh.

  “Henrik – .”

 “No, he needs to hear zhis, Jack. He needs to face facts and zhere’s no better time to do zhat zhan right now. I mean, look at him!” The mad doctor shot an arm out, motioning at his patient. “Look at vhat all of zhis did to him! He nearly died, Jack!”

  Before the Irishman could even begin to get a response out, the German locked eyes with the emotionally abused man lying in bed.

 “She’s all you’ve been moaning and groaning about over and over again. You’ve been sounding like a broken record! Stacy zhis and Stacy zhat. Enough is enough, Chase! You keep complaining about how zee relationship is going and yet you’re not doing anyzhing to fix it; you’re standing off to the sidelines, hoping a miracle vill happen.” Henrik spat, the truth coming out rather harsh. He knew it was all getting to the man and hurting him further, but he had had enough of seeing his friend in such a wounded mental state. He was doing this for his own good.

  “You’ve been avoiding her like zee plague, Chase. You’ll speak to her over zee phone, but God forbid you von’t actually go and see her in person.” 

“But I can’t.” Chase said. “She doesn’t want to see me anymore.” 

“Fuck zhat! Zhat’s not an excuse!” The doctor snapped. “She may not vant to see you, but you clearly do, and zee only vay you two are going to be able to vork zhings out is if you go to her and speak to each ozher, face to face, like normal adults.”

Chase stared at him for an agonizingly long minute, a feeling of melancholy swelling deep within his already broken heart. He couldn’t deny the truth. Henrik was right; he had been avoiding the main problem for a long time now. He would only ever talk to Stacy over the phone, never in person. He was fearful of what consequences he’d face if he were to ever see her again – what she would say and how she’d say it. She had already torn holes into him every time they spoke to each other. He didn’t know how much more he’d be able to take, let alone just how much worse it’d get.

 Jack took a brief glance at Henrik, biting his lip before proceeding to look at Chase.

  “He’s right, Chase. You’ve been avoiding Stacy for some time now and it needs to stop. You two need to get together and work things out face to face – that’s the only way all of this pain you’re feeling will go away. And if things don’t work out,” He sighed softly and shrugged, “then you’re just going to have to accept that. Sometimes, things aren’t always the way you’d hoped they’d be, Chase. Believe me on this.” He said with as much sincerity as he possibly could, hoping like hell he’d gotten his point across.

 Chase kept his attention fully on the Irishman, taking in his words of advice and running it all through his head. He really didn’t want to lose Stacy or the kids, but the guys had a point – he did have a problem and the only way it’d get solved is if he went and faced his wife. Henrik stepped forward, searching Chase’s eyes for any sign of understanding.

  “Chase, please. Promise me you vill go and see Stacy and vork zhings out.”

 “Doc, I don’t – .” 

“Chase…I haven’t seen my vife and kids in over six months.” There was a tremor of heartache and what almost sounded like regret in his voice. “I made many mistakes in zee past, so many of vhich I regret. I’m still trying to make up for zhem and make zhings vork, but no matter vhat I do, my family doesn’t trust me anymore. I’m nozhing to zhem.” He leaned forward, shaking his head. “Don’t make zee same mistakes I did.” His tone of voice was firm, and although it was that way, it came out sounding desperate, like he was pleading the man to make things right.

The American could feel the pain radiating off of the doctor and it was suffocating. His brows weaved together out of sorrow, pitying his friend and wishing there was something he could say to cheer him up. He could feel Jack’s eyes boring into him and it made the man give him his undivided attention.

 “Chase, please, promise me – promise us – that when you have fully recovered, when you leave this hospital, you will go and see Stacy.” The Irishman was staring intently at the ego, wanting him to make a promise here and now that’d he do exactly what was expected of him. He couldn’t afford to have one of the egos become damaged beyond repair.

 Chase sighed deeply and looked anywhere but at Jack, doubt and anxiety corrupting his mind.

 “I don’t know. I don’t know if I – .” His voice trembled ever so slightly, coming off like a nervous child afraid to confront their worst fear.

  “Chase…”

 After letting his eyes wander around the room once, the American locked eyes with the YouTuber.

 “Promise you will see her.” 

He could feel both Jack and Henrik’s eyes boring into him, waiting impatiently for his answer. And although he wanted to say no, he knew there was only truly one right answer. He looked away, feeling defeated and giving a pitiful nod in agreement.

“Alright, I’ll…I’ll at least consider it. I’ll give it some thought – some REAL thought, okay?” 

That was better than nothing; no point in pushing him any further, especially with just how tired the American was beginning to look. His eyes were struggling to stay open now, sleep threatening to take him under once again. Dull pain throbbed in his right temple and he winced, a soft hiss slipping through his teeth. Henrik patted him on the shoulder.

“Alright, vell, don’t zhink about it too much right now. Right now, you need to rest. Vith an injury as bad as yours, you’re going to need as much as possible. Now go to sleep.” He turned his attention to the Irishman. “Jack, could I have a vord vith you outside please?”

 “Of course.” The YouTuber stood up from the bed and went to head for the door before taking a glance back at Chase. He gave a playful scowl. “Don’t ever scare me like that again. I don’t need any of you guys dying on me anytime soon.” 

Chase’s eyes had already fluttered closed, but a small smile played at his lips at hearing what his close friend had to say. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Henrik gently nudged his shoulder. “I’ll be right outside if you need anyzhing.” He reassured before heading over to Jack, both of them exiting the room. He closed the door behind them as they left.

 From out in the hall, the German doctor stood in front of a window, looking into the room he’d just left and watching Chase fall asleep. Jack was by his side, but his attention wasn’t on Chase, it was on Henrik.  

“Alright, what is it? What do you need to talk to me about?” He asked, crossing his arms and taking glances back into the recovery room. “It’s about Chase, isn’t it?”

Schneeple didn’t respond. He kept his eyes locked on Chase with a look made up of concern and confusion on his face. Jack’s eyes narrowed, not liking the odd silence or the focused expression Henrik was wearing. That look on his face was the very same one reminiscent of a doctor about to tell a set of parents that their child had just died. The Irishman shifted uncomfortably where he stood.

“Henrik?"

  The German dropped his head and sighed deeply, moving a hand up to pull away his glasses while his other hand passed over his face, evidently stressed out from whatever it was that was on his mind.

  “I don’t know vhat to tell you, Jack.” 

Jack blinked, more confused than anything. 

“What? Tell me what?”

The silence returned with a vengeance as the doctor lifted his head, slipping his glasses back on. He wasn’t making eye contact with the Irishman. Jack released an exasperated breath, uncrossing his arms and getting a tad put off by his friend’s behavior.

  “Damn it, Henrik, come on. What’s going on?” Jack demanded, having enough of the long dreadful wait. 

The German doctor kept his eyes fixed back out on Chase one more, seeming to be in a state of thought, like he was fighting with himself on whether or not it’d be a good idea to tell the man. He shook his head slowly.

“I don’t know how he survived, Jack.” 

A wave of perplexity came over the YouTuber, not taking his eyes off of the doctor.

“What?” He scoffed. “What do you mean you ‘don’t know’?”

  “I mean, I don’t know.” Finally, he turned his head to look at the Irishman. “He shot himself, Jack. Zee gun he used, zee velocity, zee range – none of it adds up. He put a gun to his head – he shot himself point-blank. The bullet should’ve gone in and out of his head or at zee very least should’ve gotten stuck somevhere in his brain.”  Bewilderment was shining bright in his eyes. “But it didn’t.” 

“So…So what? The bullet didn’t go as deep as it should’ve?”

“No, it didn’t.”

 “How deep did it go?”

 Henrik blinked and gave his friend an odd look. Why would Jack want to know about a crucial detail like that? Well then again, Chase had just survived a gunshot to the head. Jack had nearly lost an ego who had tried to commit suicide. The man deserved to know how bad the injury had been.

  “It didn’t go all zhat deep. It only got lodged between his scalp and skull.”

 “And you managed to take it out? There wasn’t any damage to his skull, was there?”

 Okay, that was an oddly specific question to ask. Henrik’s eyes narrowed.

  “No…” He answered slowly. “No, zhere vasn’t too much damage. I mean, zhere vas a bit of fracturing, but nozhing incredibly fatal or threatening. Believe me, if he starts to show signs of brain damage, I’ll operate on him immediately and be forced to put a metal plate in his head.” He tore his gaze away and shook his head slowly. “I honestly don’t know how he survived, Jack. None of zhis should’ve happened, and quite frankly, I haven’t zee slightest idea vhat to make of it.”

 Jack gave him an inquisitive look. “But isn’t that a good thing? He survived, didn’t he?”

 Henrik huffed. “Vell, yes, but – .”

  “But what?”

 “I’m just…” The doctor sighed deeply, taking a glance back into the recovering room. “I’m just vorried about him, zhat’s all.” 

This only raised more questions for the Irishman.

“Worried? Why?” He too looked into the room, eyeing Chase. “He’s going to be okay, isn’t he?” 

Henrik didn’t say anything and it immediately made the YouTuber jerk his head in his direction, stunned that the man wasn’t replying. His heart stuttered with trepidation, his mind conjuring up dreadful conclusions.

“Oh no…Oh no, no, no, how bad is it?” He demanded, his eyes blown wide with horror. “How much time does he have left?” 

That got the doctor’s attention. His face scrunched up with confusion as he turned to face Jack. Where had that question come from?

“Vhat?”

 “How long does he have?”

 “Who said anyzhing about him dying?” The German retorted back, having no idea as to why the Irishman would jump to such a ridiculous conclusion.

 “So he’ll be alright then?”

 Henrik released an exasperated sigh and shrugged his shoulders. “Hypothetically, yes, he’ll be okay. Zhere vasn’t nearly as much damage as vhat I vould’ve expected zhere to be, and I honestly don’t know vhy zhat is. It’s a miracle really, as far as I’m concerned.” He paused, finding himself slowly drifting off into a state of memory. “But…But zhere vas somezhing…” 

Jack’s brows furrowed out of question, noticing how his friend’s behavior was off.

“What? What was there?” He asked, searching the ego’s eyes for the answer. 

Henrik barely heard him given just how far gone he’d become. Flashes of when he had operated on Chase flickered spastically before his eyes, remembering all too well of what hell he had endured. There was one part in particular that was standing out to him: when he had extracted the bullet from his head. He had been interrupted by countless hallucinations each and every time he had gone to try and remove the bullet, and one of those times was rather haunting. When he had gone to pull the bullet out, inky sludge had bubbled out of the wound and a long thick string of it had been attached to the bullet, getting stretched the more he pulled. At one point, it had almost looked like the black ooze had come from inside the bullet and was leaking, but he had just thought his eyes were playing games with him. That stuff, whatever it had been, wasn’t normal. He’d never seen such a substance before and he couldn’t even begin to put together a logical explanation as to what it was and why it had been in Chase’s head. He felt a shiver go up his spine at the reminder.

Should he tell Jack? He deserved to know the truth – he was their creator after all. If something was wrong with one of them, he had every right to know. But then again, that sludge Henrik had seen – how could he tell if it had been real or not? Those hallucinations he had had were so incredibly vivid, he couldn’t differentiate reality from illusion. When the nightmare had come to an end and he finally took the bullet out of Chase’s head, there hadn’t been any black ooze. Maybe it had all just been his own mind playing a horrible prank on him. And if that was the case, there wasn’t any point in telling Jack. There was no reason to make him even more worried than he already was. The good doctor scoffed and shook his head, locking his eyes back onto Jack.

  “Nozhing. It’s nozhing. Sorry, I zoned out zhere for a moment.” He sighed and gave the Irishman a reassuring smile. “He’ll be alright, Jack. I know he vill.”

 “So you aren’t worried about him.”

 Henrik frowned. What the hell was that? The way he said those words – he made them sound like he had just proven a point. His voice had fallen cold and flat and he didn’t sound like himself. Schneeple felt as though he was getting cornered and accused of something. He blinked and gave him an incredulous look.

  “Jack, he’s my patient – my dear friend. He just tried to blow his brains out a few hours ago. Vhy vouldn’t I be vorried about him?”

 The Irishman shrugged and shook his head. “I don’t know, I just…” He trailed off, taking a glance back at Chase, “He’s not like himself, Henrik. He’s not nearly as chipper and happy-go-lucky as he used to be.”

  “You don’t zhink I’ve realized zhat?”

 “He hasn’t…” He licked his lips, hesitating to ask, “He hasn’t shown any…out of the ordinary symptoms, has he?” He took a side-glance at the doctor.

 “Symptoms?” Now Henrik was getting agitated. “Of vhat? Jack, I’m zee doctor here. Don’t you zhink if zhere vere anyzhing wrong vith him, I’d let you know?”

 Jack nodded. “Yes, yes, I know.” He sighed. “I know you would tell me. I just…I’m just really concerned about him is all. I mean, I know that technically none of you guys can get sick because come on, why the hell would I want to do that to any of you? But who knows?” He stared out at Chase, a look of worry upon his pale face. “Maybe something got inside him.”

 Henrik expelled a breath and patted his creator’s shoulder gently. “I know you’re vorried, Jack. Ve all are. Zee other two came by earlier vhen he was still out, and oh boy, vere zhey ever distraught. For Christ’s sake, Marvin vouldn’t stop crying. I had to talk him into showing me one of his absurd magic tricks to get him to cheer up.” 

Jack couldn’t help but chuckle lightly at that, especially what with the noticeable annoyance in the German’s words. He returned his gaze to the good doctor, searching his eyes for reassurance that the American in the other room would truly be okay.

“Jack, please, believe me…Chase is going to make it zhrough zhis.” He too was searching his friend’s eyes for any sign of him understanding what he was saying. He could only hope the man would believe him.

  After an uncomfortable amount of prolonged eye contact, Jack finally exhaled softly and nodded in understanding. “Alright…Alright, I believe you.”  

Henrik gave a small smile at hearing this. “Good. Now I hate to cut zhis short, but I have to go and deal vith some important papervork and I need to contact his cameraman about zee whole incident. But,” He took a look back at his slumbering patient, “I don’t vant to leave him alone.”

“I could watch over him for a little while.” Jack volunteered, standing up straight and looking eager to take some stress off of the German’s shoulders.

  Schneeple glanced at him with uncertainty. “Really? I don’t vant to be a bozher or anyzhing. If you need to go and deal vith somezhing important, I – .”

“Henrik, stop.” The YouTuber put an end to his babbling. “What’s important is what’s happening right now. I honestly have no problem with staying here and keeping an eye on him.” He beamed happily. “What’re friends for?”

 The doctor still seemed a bit unsure, but he knew how Jack was – there was no way of reasoning with him once he had his mind set on something. He let out a defeated breath. 

“Alright, if you insist.” He smiled in return as he began to walk backward, about to head off for his office. “Zhank you. And I svear, I’ll try to be as quick as possible.” 

Jack chuckled and waved a hand off at him. “Take your time. I don’t have anywhere else to be right at the moment.” He tore his gaze away and looked back into Chase’s room, his smile faltering. Henrik noticed. 

“Jack, relax. He vill be alright.” His words bounced off of the walls of the hallway as he turned and sprinted for his office. 

The Irishman watched him race down the hall in a hurry to go and complete his work. He scoffed and glanced back into the recovery room. He locked his eyes onto Chase, watching the man sleep soundly. For a fleeting moment, the lights in the room flickered, and as soon as that happened, the American jerked under the covers. His face twisted up into one of pain, his body slowly twisting and turning in the blankets, trying to both stop the agony and get himself comfortable. A faint whimper could be heard slipping from his lips, but it didn’t just carry pain – fear was lingering there as well. 

A deeply unsettling chuckle bubbled out from deep within the Irishman’s throat, finding amusement in seeing his friend in agony. The corner of his lips tugged up into an awfully devilish smirk, the light above him flickering before burning out completely. Two sickeningly pale green eyes glowed brightly from out there in the dark patch of the hallway. He cocked his head slightly, staring at Chase with a look that read nothing but malicious intent. And when he spoke, his voice – it came out scratchy and distorted. 

It sounded like someone who had gotten their windpipe cut open. 

“He won’t be for long.”

 Part 11 - In Your Head

Part 13 - Home

 @gridhorizon @jse-fandom-protection-squad @septic-obsessed @darkcurious @butterlover328 @steffid101 @sketchy-scribs-n-doods @no-strings-puppet @haveaverynicetime @golden-eyed-guardians @fear-is-nameless @nightmarewolf133 @maybekatie @jack-a-yote @lil-gib @aeoix @lemonofweirdness @randomcrystals @vity-dream

[introsquirrel]

Much Ado About Monkey Island

so i’ve been playing a lot of Monkey Island recently, because the BEST GAME EVER (Curse of Monkey Island, the 3rd in the series) is FINALLY ON STEAM and i strongly suggest anyone who likes witty puzzle games play it, even if you haven’t played the others because it can stand on its own and it’s all around a really great game with one of my favorite protagonists of all time.

anyway, i replayed Tales of Monkey Island after finishing Curse... in a...day.... any there’s a cut scene after the credits of the last chapter that inspired this mess. THIS IS NOT SPOILER FREE. IT HAS SO MANY SPOILERS. ALL OF THE SPOILERS.

Also this is not a rag on Morgan LeFlay. I love morgan. what a great character!

if you are unfamiliar with this series but still want to read this for some reason, here’s what you need to know: guybrush is stupid and clever and he picks up random things and keeps them in his pants (and coat pockets in the 5th game), lechuck is the series villain and is in love with elaine and has been a ghost and a zombie and a voodoo zombie who kidnaps elaine like all the time, the crossroads is like pirate greek underworld, the voodoo lady does not have a name that we know of

fic can be read here if you don’t like tumblr, and the rest is under the cut

Fic name: Much Ado About Monkey Island Rating: G Fandom: Monkey Island Relationships: Guybrush Threepwood/Elaine Marley, Guybrush Threepwood & Morgan LeFlay Characters: Elaine Marley, Morgan LeFlay, Guybrush Threepwood Warnings: Kind of a love triangle situation, but not really, this is unedited

Elaine Marley Threepwood, Governor of Melee Island, Booty Island, and Plunder Island, part-time pirate, accomplished ambassador, and wife of the legendary (if exasperating) pirate Guybrush Threepwood, took a moment to fully bask in the novelty that was being on the other side of this whole kidnapping business.

Not that it made her any happier about it, but at least she wasn’t the one caged in a weird voodoo trap while some variation of undead suitor proclaimed his love for her. Thank the pirate gods for that. She would probably run herself through if she had to fend off LeChuck again and then her husband might do something stupid like bring her back from the dead, or bind their spirits together, or dig up her grave and cry over her corpse until some bizzaro unlikely miracle happened and she spontaneously came back to life with a list of conditions to her newfound reincarnation.

“Is this how you feel all of the time?” Guybrush asks her, sounding incredulous. “Man, this is annoying and frustrating. I didn’t think it was possible, but my respect for you just raised to a whole new level of awe.”

“Thank you sweetie,” Elaine calls, mostly to shut her dumbass (but endearing!) husband.

“No, seriously!”

“Shut up Guybrush,” Morgan LeFlay says, not taking her eyes off Elaine.

This is probably the most surprising turn of events. Morgan LeFlay is very much dead, according to Guybrush. She is also a “really great person!” according to Guybrush. She is also a competent swordfighter, which Elaine vaguely remembers from issuing her a pox-induced challenge to a fight to the death for Guybrush. And also she helped kill LeChuck once and for all, according to Guybrush. And Morgan LeFlay is known for mostly killing pirates, not kidnapping them and forcing them to marry her. It was distinctly out of character for her (according to Guybrush).

Elaine isn’t certain how it figures in, but she’s 100% sure the Voodoo Lady is involved somehow.

Currently Morgan LeFlay is a ghost pirate hunter, in the corporeal world, with a very much not ghostly ship, holding very much not ghostly objects.

Definitely VooDoo Lady sea scumm happening.

Morgan takes this opportunity monologue, like a true villain. (She must have been taking lessons.) “Look, I know that you’re stupidly gaga over Elaine for some reason-”

“There’s lots of reasons! I have an itemized list!”

He doesn’t, but she’s sure that when they get home he’ll make one and frame it in a public area because he’s that much of an embarrassing romantic. (The thought of it makes her swoon a little bit, but she’ll never admit it in public.)

“-when we had a moment! A really romantic moment! I kind of compared myself to a giant ugly manatee for you so you could understand me better.”

“What? I thought you were just helping me figure out how to seduce a manatee to I could get La Esponja Grande.”

“Well, I mean, that too. It was a metaphor.”

“I think you mean double entendre,” Elaine pipes in.

Morgan growls. “I didn’t ask you!”

“I’m almost positive Elaine made that word up, but i’m also mostly positive that she’s right. She’s right most of the time. All of the time.”

“Shut up about Elaine for five seconds! Geez!”

Elaine unfolds herself from her fighting crouch. “Look, Morgan. I’m sure we can come to some sort of compromise.”

Guybrush squeaks. “I’m not agreeing to be cut in half!”

“Smuggle bunny,” Elaine sings through her teeth, “please zip your trap while the ladies talk, okay?”

“Fine, but I stand by my statement.”

“There is no compromise,” Morgan says. “To get a human form, I need Guybrush. To be happy, I’m pretty sure I’ll need Guybrush. Have you met other pirates around here? Or even other men? They’re disgusting and are either terrified of me or want to tame me. I just want to be me. And human. That’s important too.”

“Of course I’ve met other pirates, why do you think I married Guybrush?”

“Aww,” Guybrush says. “That’s so sweet… I think.”

“And we can work together to get you a human form back. Guybrush talked a lot about you, and you sound like a decent person. I would have let him help you if you asked.”

Morgan stares at her blankly. “He… talked about me?”

“Yes. How you’re a lifelong fan and how you cut off his hand. How he got you to pretend to be his wife. All the things you helped him with in at the Crossroads. I’d be jealous except he seemed completely oblivious to the fact that you had a crush on him.”

Guybrush yells, “Wait, you what?”

“See?”

Morgan looks devastated. To Guybrush she says, “Didn’t I tell you? You are stupidly loyal to Elaine, and I respected that about you, but I also hated it. It’s so unfair!”

“Oh, Morgan.”

Elaine considers for a moment. “We’ll both help you get your human form back. On two conditions.”

“Is one of them not cutting me in half?”

“What are the conditions,” Morgan asks, studiously ignoring Guybrush like a pro.

“One,” Elaine holds up a finger, “whatever the Voodoo Lady is setting you up to do here with marrying Guybrush, it has to stop. We’re married and neither of us wants that to change. I’m not going to apologize for that.”

Morgan does not look happy, but she doesn’t protest outright so Elaine decides to take that as a good sign. And also pretty much confirmation the VooDoo Lady is involved. Figures.

“Two, when doing whatever weird side quests you will inevitably get yourself into, you take me along.”

“What?!” Morgan yells.

“Oh, this can’t be good,” Guybrush says.

“I’m saying this because Guybrush runs off all the time and he works best by himself most of those times. But with all his stories about you, you seem like an accomplished woman and Davey Jones knows that we need more of those around here. I’d like us to be allies.”

Guybrush does a little dance. “Yeah! You’d both make a super intelligent and an utterly terrifyingly competent team! Okay, actually, hm. That is a little too terrifying. Especially for me.”

Morgan, on the other hand, looks a little dumbfounded. “Allies?”

“Yes. As a bonus you can hang around my stupidly clever husband to your heart’s content, but just know that he’s just as crude and idiotic as any other given pirate, just with far more charm attached.”

Guybrush is muttering to himself (or some unknown audience, he does that sometimes) while Morgan frowns and thinks about the deal.

“... Okay,” she finally says. “Okay, I’ll team up with you and try to become your ally. I heard you’re a governess right?”

“Governor, technically. Guybrush is the governess.”

“I am?”

“Governor, then. Can you teach me how to lead people without terrifying them beyond belief?”

“She might still be figuring that one out,” Guybrush says.

“Oh absolutely,” Elaine smiles, and purposely makes it ambiguous who she was answering. She sheathes her sword. “Now that that’s out of the way, release Guybrush and we can talk business.”

“Oh, um, about that.”

Elaine blinks at Morgan, in suspicion. “What.”

“He wasn’t meant to be captured there. That cage wasn’t finished yet and I didn’t add a way to open it yet. So he’s… kind of trapped in there.”

“Oh no,” Guybrush yells. “I can’t pillage and plunder while trapped in a box! I can’t scavenge the seven seas while caged like a wild animal! I can’t even use the bathroom without the rest of the ship bearing witness! This is the worst.”

“Well,” Elaine smiles. “Let’s take a look at that voodoo spell and see if we can’t Guybrush some solution together.”

“Ha!” Morgan says, also smiling, and digs out the spell from her boot. (How…?) “I guess this is our first quest together, Governor Threepwood.”

“I suppose it is, Pirate Huntress LeFlay.” They share a smile, before Elaine turns to her husband. “Honeylumps, I’m going to need you to empty your pockets and your pants.”

“In public?”

Morgan shrieks, “You need him to what?!”

[newseveryhourly]

In late April, as new coronavirus cases in Florida were steadily decreasing, Gov. Ron DeSantis began crowing how his state had tamed the pandemic.He credited his decision to impose a state-specific quarantine on New York, then the epicenter of the nation's outbreak. The move earned him praise in the White House and the ire of Gov. Andrew Cuomo of New York.Months later, Cuomo has clearly not forgotten."You played politics with this virus and you lost," Cuomo said Thursday when asked in an interview about DeSantis' earlier boasts.With infections now rapidly spreading in Florida while they retreat in New York, the two states have come to reflect the rapidly shifting course of the coronavirus pandemic.New York still has the country's highest number of coronavirus cases and deaths, but the day-to-day numbers have been steadily falling: At its peak, the virus claimed 1,000 deaths a day in the state; on Thursday, the state recorded 17 deaths. Florida, among the states not mandating masks, rushed to reopen and on Friday reported its highest number of new cases in one day, with close to 9,000.And in their divergent political responses to the outbreak, Cuomo, a Democrat, and DeSantis, a Republican, also mirror the divide over the virus among states and regions around the country.The two brash, telegenic governors both embraced the increased visibility that the virus provided. Cuomo delivered daily sober updates on the virus, the state's aggressive lockdown strategy and its cautious approach to reopening. DeSantis eagerly advanced a narrative pushed by President Donald Trump, seeing the economic damage as a greater risk than a virus that had, for months, largely spared his state.The strain of the pandemic has frayed the ties between New York and Florida, two states that normally enjoy a more symbiotic relationship, even allowing for the occasional hints of schadenfreude.On Wednesday, Cuomo ordered his own quarantine on travelers from states with high-infection rates -- a group of eight that included Florida -- to protect New Yorkers who now have low infection rates. The reversal of fortune was too much to pass up."Your hospital beds are filling up," Cuomo said Thursday. "It means more people are getting sick. That's what's happening. And it's now undeniable."Despite the virus' spread, DeSantis has given no indication that he would order the shutdown of any of the businesses already opened. But on Friday, in an unexpected move, the state's Department of Business and Professional Regulation abruptly announced that on-premises alcohol consumption would be suspended at bars, effective immediately.DeSantis acknowledged that the trend in infections had shifted. "Our peak before was much lower than a lot of the other states -- in the Northeast, for example," he said on Thursday during a news conference in Tampa. "Really, the whole Sun Belt is seeing this."DeSantis said the state, which has lost 3,327 lives to the virus, was prepared for the rise in cases. He did not address Cuomo's remarks or the quarantine of Floridians traveling to New York. A spokeswoman for DeSantis, Helen Aguirre Ferre, said Cuomo was "sadly mistaken if he thinks this pandemic is a political contest."Even before the pandemic, New York and Florida engaged in some interstate rivalry, competing for residents and businesses. Florida has overtaken New York in population in recent years, a trend driven in part by the migration to the state of New Yorkers, census figures show.But in their responses to the coronavirus, the differences between the two states have never been clearer.Cuomo in April mandated all New Yorkers to wear masks when they could not stay 6 feet apart. DeSantis has declined to do the same, even after his own state surgeon general issued an advisory recommending masks in any setting where social distancing is not possible.New York leaders, after a halting early response to the pandemic in March, mostly followed the recommendations of state public health officials, including requirements for widespread testing and contact tracing before reopening. Florida has moved to open its businesses faster, and without the same infrastructure for tracking down the close contacts of the infected.In large part, the different approaches reflect the different experiences with the virus. New York state saw more than 18,000 hospitalizations a day during the worst period of the outbreak, back in April.The state's nursing homes were particularly hard-hit: 6,200 residents have died, and Cuomo has been criticized by DeSantis and others for an executive order that forbade nursing homes from turning away patients arriving from hospitals solely because they had the coronavirus. A Cuomo spokesman recently responded by saying DeSantis does not know how to wear a mask properly.DeSantis received praise for the state's more limited response to the pandemic, including from Trump, who urged the quarantine of New Yorkers going to Florida. DeSantis believed harsh restrictions would result in citizens refusing to follow the rules.He has also attacked the news media, which he said has been overly concerned about contagion in Florida's reopened beaches and not worried enough about virus spread in the New York subway.In early May, Florida began reopening business, and quickly: The state's first phase of reopening included restaurants, gyms, barbershops and large spectator sporting events, with restricted occupancy. In New York, reopening began more haltingly, with manufacturing and construction businesses.And when the White House called, DeSantis traveled to Washington to highlight the state's progress next to Trump."When you look at some of the most draconian orders that have been issued in some of these states and compare Florida," DeSantis said from the Oval Office in late April, including New York in a litany of several states, "Florida has done better."And so the National Basketball Association said it would hold the rest of its season at Walt Disney World. The Republican National Convention relocated its big speeches to Jacksonville, Florida. NASCAR raced at the Homestead-Miami Speedway earlier this month, with DeSantis as its honorary starter.Cuomo has made his own bid for sports, coaxing the Mets and the Yankees to return to New York from their spring training camps by suggesting Florida was no longer safe. (He exempted the teams from the new quarantine, saying they had their own health protocols.)While Cuomo did not explicitly target his quarantine order to apply to Florida, he signaled in the days before making the announcement that the state's recent treatment of New Yorkers was very much on his mind."Well, wouldn't that be karma?" Cuomo said when asked about a quarantine in New York on MSNBC.Florida's quarantine affecting New Yorkers is still in effect: As of Tuesday, New Yorkers arriving at Miami International Airport were still being met by the National Guard and state health officials, told to head straight for their lodgings and ordered to quarantine there for two weeks.But as the course of the coronavirus outbreak has turned in recent weeks, the flow of travelers has reversed: People are now jetting out of Florida and back to the relative safety of New York. Such an exodus would have been unimaginable three months earlier.Epidemiologists said Florida's quarantine of New Yorkers made sense at the time, just as New York's for Floridians does now. "There is more virus in that environment," said Dr. Amanda D. Castel, a professor of epidemiology at George Washington University.Right now, New York was looking like a safer bet to Evan Friedman, a White Plains, New York, resident who had been staying in his second home in Boca Raton, Florida, since March.In recent weeks, Friedman, 58, had begun to worry that Florida residents were not taking the virus seriously enough. A barber not wearing a mask rattled him. So did the man in the bagel shop who prepared a platter without a mask or gloves.Many New Yorkers he knew in Florida had gone back north, and he planned to go early next month.But when Cuomo announced that the new quarantine would take effect at midnight Wednesday, Friedman rushed to pack his bags. He found the flights to New York were all booked, so he got a ticket to Connecticut and rented a car to get back to New York."I have the luxury of being able to be up North or in the South," he said. "I want to be where there are the smallest amount of cases."This article originally appeared in The New York Times.(C) 2020 The New York Times Company

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[weopenviews]

In late April, as new coronavirus cases in Florida were steadily decreasing, Gov. Ron DeSantis began crowing how his state had tamed the pandemic.He credited his decision to impose a state-specific quarantine on New York, then the epicenter of the nation's outbreak. The move earned him praise in the White House and the ire of Gov. Andrew Cuomo of New York.Months later, Cuomo has clearly not forgotten."You played politics with this virus and you lost," Cuomo said Thursday when asked in an interview about DeSantis' earlier boasts.With infections now rapidly spreading in Florida while they retreat in New York, the two states have come to reflect the rapidly shifting course of the coronavirus pandemic.New York still has the country's highest number of coronavirus cases and deaths, but the day-to-day numbers have been steadily falling: At its peak, the virus claimed 1,000 deaths a day in the state; on Thursday, the state recorded 17 deaths. Florida, among the states not mandating masks, rushed to reopen and on Friday reported its highest number of new cases in one day, with close to 9,000.And in their divergent political responses to the outbreak, Cuomo, a Democrat, and DeSantis, a Republican, also mirror the divide over the virus among states and regions around the country.The two brash, telegenic governors both embraced the increased visibility that the virus provided. Cuomo delivered daily sober updates on the virus, the state's aggressive lockdown strategy and its cautious approach to reopening. DeSantis eagerly advanced a narrative pushed by President Donald Trump, seeing the economic damage as a greater risk than a virus that had, for months, largely spared his state.The strain of the pandemic has frayed the ties between New York and Florida, two states that normally enjoy a more symbiotic relationship, even allowing for the occasional hints of schadenfreude.On Wednesday, Cuomo ordered his own quarantine on travelers from states with high-infection rates -- a group of eight that included Florida -- to protect New Yorkers who now have low infection rates. The reversal of fortune was too much to pass up."Your hospital beds are filling up," Cuomo said Thursday. "It means more people are getting sick. That's what's happening. And it's now undeniable."Despite the virus' spread, DeSantis has given no indication that he would order the shutdown of any of the businesses already opened. But on Friday, in an unexpected move, the state's Department of Business and Professional Regulation abruptly announced that on-premises alcohol consumption would be suspended at bars, effective immediately.DeSantis acknowledged that the trend in infections had shifted. "Our peak before was much lower than a lot of the other states -- in the Northeast, for example," he said on Thursday during a news conference in Tampa. "Really, the whole Sun Belt is seeing this."DeSantis said the state, which has lost 3,327 lives to the virus, was prepared for the rise in cases. He did not address Cuomo's remarks or the quarantine of Floridians traveling to New York. A spokeswoman for DeSantis, Helen Aguirre Ferre, said Cuomo was "sadly mistaken if he thinks this pandemic is a political contest."Even before the pandemic, New York and Florida engaged in some interstate rivalry, competing for residents and businesses. Florida has overtaken New York in population in recent years, a trend driven in part by the migration to the state of New Yorkers, census figures show.But in their responses to the coronavirus, the differences between the two states have never been clearer.Cuomo in April mandated all New Yorkers to wear masks when they could not stay 6 feet apart. DeSantis has declined to do the same, even after his own state surgeon general issued an advisory recommending masks in any setting where social distancing is not possible.New York leaders, after a halting early response to the pandemic in March, mostly followed the recommendations of state public health officials, including requirements for widespread testing and contact tracing before reopening. Florida has moved to open its businesses faster, and without the same infrastructure for tracking down the close contacts of the infected.In large part, the different approaches reflect the different experiences with the virus. New York state saw more than 18,000 hospitalizations a day during the worst period of the outbreak, back in April.The state's nursing homes were particularly hard-hit: 6,200 residents have died, and Cuomo has been criticized by DeSantis and others for an executive order that forbade nursing homes from turning away patients arriving from hospitals solely because they had the coronavirus. A Cuomo spokesman recently responded by saying DeSantis does not know how to wear a mask properly.DeSantis received praise for the state's more limited response to the pandemic, including from Trump, who urged the quarantine of New Yorkers going to Florida. DeSantis believed harsh restrictions would result in citizens refusing to follow the rules.He has also attacked the news media, which he said has been overly concerned about contagion in Florida's reopened beaches and not worried enough about virus spread in the New York subway.In early May, Florida began reopening business, and quickly: The state's first phase of reopening included restaurants, gyms, barbershops and large spectator sporting events, with restricted occupancy. In New York, reopening began more haltingly, with manufacturing and construction businesses.And when the White House called, DeSantis traveled to Washington to highlight the state's progress next to Trump."When you look at some of the most draconian orders that have been issued in some of these states and compare Florida," DeSantis said from the Oval Office in late April, including New York in a litany of several states, "Florida has done better."And so the National Basketball Association said it would hold the rest of its season at Walt Disney World. The Republican National Convention relocated its big speeches to Jacksonville, Florida. NASCAR raced at the Homestead-Miami Speedway earlier this month, with DeSantis as its honorary starter.Cuomo has made his own bid for sports, coaxing the Mets and the Yankees to return to New York from their spring training camps by suggesting Florida was no longer safe. (He exempted the teams from the new quarantine, saying they had their own health protocols.)While Cuomo did not explicitly target his quarantine order to apply to Florida, he signaled in the days before making the announcement that the state's recent treatment of New Yorkers was very much on his mind."Well, wouldn't that be karma?" Cuomo said when asked about a quarantine in New York on MSNBC.Florida's quarantine affecting New Yorkers is still in effect: As of Tuesday, New Yorkers arriving at Miami International Airport were still being met by the National Guard and state health officials, told to head straight for their lodgings and ordered to quarantine there for two weeks.But as the course of the coronavirus outbreak has turned in recent weeks, the flow of travelers has reversed: People are now jetting out of Florida and back to the relative safety of New York. Such an exodus would have been unimaginable three months earlier.Epidemiologists said Florida's quarantine of New Yorkers made sense at the time, just as New York's for Floridians does now. "There is more virus in that environment," said Dr. Amanda D. Castel, a professor of epidemiology at George Washington University.Right now, New York was looking like a safer bet to Evan Friedman, a White Plains, New York, resident who had been staying in his second home in Boca Raton, Florida, since March.In recent weeks, Friedman, 58, had begun to worry that Florida residents were not taking the virus seriously enough. A barber not wearing a mask rattled him. So did the man in the bagel shop who prepared a platter without a mask or gloves.Many New Yorkers he knew in Florida had gone back north, and he planned to go early next month.But when Cuomo announced that the new quarantine would take effect at midnight Wednesday, Friedman rushed to pack his bags. He found the flights to New York were all booked, so he got a ticket to Connecticut and rented a car to get back to New York."I have the luxury of being able to be up North or in the South," he said. "I want to be where there are the smallest amount of cases."This article originally appeared in The New York Times.(C) 2020 The New York Times Company

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[beautytipsfor]

Florida Smirked at New York's Virus Crisis. Now It Has Its Own.

In late April, as new coronavirus cases in Florida were steadily decreasing, Gov. Ron DeSantis began crowing how his state had tamed the pandemic.He credited his decision to impose a state-specific quarantine on New York, then the epicenter of the nation's outbreak. The move earned him praise in the White House and the ire of Gov. Andrew Cuomo of New York.Months later, Cuomo has clearly not forgotten."You played politics with this virus and you lost," Cuomo said Thursday when asked in an interview about DeSantis' earlier boasts.With infections now rapidly spreading in Florida while they retreat in New York, the two states have come to reflect the rapidly shifting course of the coronavirus pandemic.New York still has the country's highest number of coronavirus cases and deaths, but the day-to-day numbers have been steadily falling: At its peak, the virus claimed 1,000 deaths a day in the state; on Thursday, the state recorded 17 deaths. Florida, among the states not mandating masks, rushed to reopen and on Friday reported its highest number of new cases in one day, with close to 9,000.And in their divergent political responses to the outbreak, Cuomo, a Democrat, and DeSantis, a Republican, also mirror the divide over the virus among states and regions around the country.The two brash, telegenic governors both embraced the increased visibility that the virus provided. Cuomo delivered daily sober updates on the virus, the state's aggressive lockdown strategy and its cautious approach to reopening. DeSantis eagerly advanced a narrative pushed by President Donald Trump, seeing the economic damage as a greater risk than a virus that had, for months, largely spared his state.The strain of the pandemic has frayed the ties between New York and Florida, two states that normally enjoy a more symbiotic relationship, even allowing for the occasional hints of schadenfreude.On Wednesday, Cuomo ordered his own quarantine on travelers from states with high-infection rates -- a group of eight that included Florida -- to protect New Yorkers who now have low infection rates. The reversal of fortune was too much to pass up."Your hospital beds are filling up," Cuomo said Thursday. "It means more people are getting sick. That's what's happening. And it's now undeniable."Despite the virus' spread, DeSantis has given no indication that he would order the shutdown of any of the businesses already opened. But on Friday, in an unexpected move, the state's Department of Business and Professional Regulation abruptly announced that on-premises alcohol consumption would be suspended at bars, effective immediately.DeSantis acknowledged that the trend in infections had shifted. "Our peak before was much lower than a lot of the other states -- in the Northeast, for example," he said on Thursday during a news conference in Tampa. "Really, the whole Sun Belt is seeing this."DeSantis said the state, which has lost 3,327 lives to the virus, was prepared for the rise in cases. He did not address Cuomo's remarks or the quarantine of Floridians traveling to New York. A spokeswoman for DeSantis, Helen Aguirre Ferre, said Cuomo was "sadly mistaken if he thinks this pandemic is a political contest."Even before the pandemic, New York and Florida engaged in some interstate rivalry, competing for residents and businesses. Florida has overtaken New York in population in recent years, a trend driven in part by the migration to the state of New Yorkers, census figures show.But in their responses to the coronavirus, the differences between the two states have never been clearer.Cuomo in April mandated all New Yorkers to wear masks when they could not stay 6 feet apart. DeSantis has declined to do the same, even after his own state surgeon general issued an advisory recommending masks in any setting where social distancing is not possible.New York leaders, after a halting early response to the pandemic in March, mostly followed the recommendations of state public health officials, including requirements for widespread testing and contact tracing before reopening. Florida has moved to open its businesses faster, and without the same infrastructure for tracking down the close contacts of the infected.In large part, the different approaches reflect the different experiences with the virus. New York state saw more than 18,000 hospitalizations a day during the worst period of the outbreak, back in April.The state's nursing homes were particularly hard-hit: 6,200 residents have died, and Cuomo has been criticized by DeSantis and others for an executive order that forbade nursing homes from turning away patients arriving from hospitals solely because they had the coronavirus. A Cuomo spokesman recently responded by saying DeSantis does not know how to wear a mask properly.DeSantis received praise for the state's more limited response to the pandemic, including from Trump, who urged the quarantine of New Yorkers going to Florida. DeSantis believed harsh restrictions would result in citizens refusing to follow the rules.He has also attacked the news media, which he said has been overly concerned about contagion in Florida's reopened beaches and not worried enough about virus spread in the New York subway.In early May, Florida began reopening business, and quickly: The state's first phase of reopening included restaurants, gyms, barbershops and large spectator sporting events, with restricted occupancy. In New York, reopening began more haltingly, with manufacturing and construction businesses.And when the White House called, DeSantis traveled to Washington to highlight the state's progress next to Trump."When you look at some of the most draconian orders that have been issued in some of these states and compare Florida," DeSantis said from the Oval Office in late April, including New York in a litany of several states, "Florida has done better."And so the National Basketball Association said it would hold the rest of its season at Walt Disney World. The Republican National Convention relocated its big speeches to Jacksonville, Florida. NASCAR raced at the Homestead-Miami Speedway earlier this month, with DeSantis as its honorary starter.Cuomo has made his own bid for sports, coaxing the Mets and the Yankees to return to New York from their spring training camps by suggesting Florida was no longer safe. (He exempted the teams from the new quarantine, saying they had their own health protocols.)While Cuomo did not explicitly target his quarantine order to apply to Florida, he signaled in the days before making the announcement that the state's recent treatment of New Yorkers was very much on his mind."Well, wouldn't that be karma?" Cuomo said when asked about a quarantine in New York on MSNBC.Florida's quarantine affecting New Yorkers is still in effect: As of Tuesday, New Yorkers arriving at Miami International Airport were still being met by the National Guard and state health officials, told to head straight for their lodgings and ordered to quarantine there for two weeks.But as the course of the coronavirus outbreak has turned in recent weeks, the flow of travelers has reversed: People are now jetting out of Florida and back to the relative safety of New York. Such an exodus would have been unimaginable three months earlier.Epidemiologists said Florida's quarantine of New Yorkers made sense at the time, just as New York's for Floridians does now. "There is more virus in that environment," said Dr. Amanda D. Castel, a professor of epidemiology at George Washington University.Right now, New York was looking like a safer bet to Evan Friedman, a White Plains, New York, resident who had been staying in his second home in Boca Raton, Florida, since March.In recent weeks, Friedman, 58, had begun to worry that Florida residents were not taking the virus seriously enough. A barber not wearing a mask rattled him. So did the man in the bagel shop who prepared a platter without a mask or gloves.Many New Yorkers he knew in Florida had gone back north, and he planned to go early next month.But when Cuomo announced that the new quarantine would take effect at midnight Wednesday, Friedman rushed to pack his bags. He found the flights to New York were all booked, so he got a ticket to Connecticut and rented a car to get back to New York."I have the luxury of being able to be up North or in the South," he said. "I want to be where there are the smallest amount of cases."This article originally appeared in The New York Times.(C) 2020 The New York Times Company

from Yahoo News - Latest News & Headlines https://ift.tt/3g84uQL via Beauty Tips

from Blogger https://ift.tt/2ZdEPzf

[attredd]

In late April, as new coronavirus cases in Florida were steadily decreasing, Gov. Ron DeSantis began crowing how his state had tamed the pandemic.He credited his decision to impose a state-specific quarantine on New York, then the epicenter of the nation's outbreak. The move earned him praise in the White House and the ire of Gov. Andrew Cuomo of New York.Months later, Cuomo has clearly not forgotten."You played politics with this virus and you lost," Cuomo said Thursday when asked in an interview about DeSantis' earlier boasts.With infections now rapidly spreading in Florida while they retreat in New York, the two states have come to reflect the rapidly shifting course of the coronavirus pandemic.New York still has the country's highest number of coronavirus cases and deaths, but the day-to-day numbers have been steadily falling: At its peak, the virus claimed 1,000 deaths a day in the state; on Thursday, the state recorded 17 deaths. Florida, among the states not mandating masks, rushed to reopen and on Friday reported its highest number of new cases in one day, with close to 9,000.And in their divergent political responses to the outbreak, Cuomo, a Democrat, and DeSantis, a Republican, also mirror the divide over the virus among states and regions around the country.The two brash, telegenic governors both embraced the increased visibility that the virus provided. Cuomo delivered daily sober updates on the virus, the state's aggressive lockdown strategy and its cautious approach to reopening. DeSantis eagerly advanced a narrative pushed by President Donald Trump, seeing the economic damage as a greater risk than a virus that had, for months, largely spared his state.The strain of the pandemic has frayed the ties between New York and Florida, two states that normally enjoy a more symbiotic relationship, even allowing for the occasional hints of schadenfreude.On Wednesday, Cuomo ordered his own quarantine on travelers from states with high-infection rates -- a group of eight that included Florida -- to protect New Yorkers who now have low infection rates. The reversal of fortune was too much to pass up."Your hospital beds are filling up," Cuomo said Thursday. "It means more people are getting sick. That's what's happening. And it's now undeniable."Despite the virus' spread, DeSantis has given no indication that he would order the shutdown of any of the businesses already opened. But on Friday, in an unexpected move, the state's Department of Business and Professional Regulation abruptly announced that on-premises alcohol consumption would be suspended at bars, effective immediately.DeSantis acknowledged that the trend in infections had shifted. "Our peak before was much lower than a lot of the other states -- in the Northeast, for example," he said on Thursday during a news conference in Tampa. "Really, the whole Sun Belt is seeing this."DeSantis said the state, which has lost 3,327 lives to the virus, was prepared for the rise in cases. He did not address Cuomo's remarks or the quarantine of Floridians traveling to New York. A spokeswoman for DeSantis, Helen Aguirre Ferre, said Cuomo was "sadly mistaken if he thinks this pandemic is a political contest."Even before the pandemic, New York and Florida engaged in some interstate rivalry, competing for residents and businesses. Florida has overtaken New York in population in recent years, a trend driven in part by the migration to the state of New Yorkers, census figures show.But in their responses to the coronavirus, the differences between the two states have never been clearer.Cuomo in April mandated all New Yorkers to wear masks when they could not stay 6 feet apart. DeSantis has declined to do the same, even after his own state surgeon general issued an advisory recommending masks in any setting where social distancing is not possible.New York leaders, after a halting early response to the pandemic in March, mostly followed the recommendations of state public health officials, including requirements for widespread testing and contact tracing before reopening. Florida has moved to open its businesses faster, and without the same infrastructure for tracking down the close contacts of the infected.In large part, the different approaches reflect the different experiences with the virus. New York state saw more than 18,000 hospitalizations a day during the worst period of the outbreak, back in April.The state's nursing homes were particularly hard-hit: 6,200 residents have died, and Cuomo has been criticized by DeSantis and others for an executive order that forbade nursing homes from turning away patients arriving from hospitals solely because they had the coronavirus. A Cuomo spokesman recently responded by saying DeSantis does not know how to wear a mask properly.DeSantis received praise for the state's more limited response to the pandemic, including from Trump, who urged the quarantine of New Yorkers going to Florida. DeSantis believed harsh restrictions would result in citizens refusing to follow the rules.He has also attacked the news media, which he said has been overly concerned about contagion in Florida's reopened beaches and not worried enough about virus spread in the New York subway.In early May, Florida began reopening business, and quickly: The state's first phase of reopening included restaurants, gyms, barbershops and large spectator sporting events, with restricted occupancy. In New York, reopening began more haltingly, with manufacturing and construction businesses.And when the White House called, DeSantis traveled to Washington to highlight the state's progress next to Trump."When you look at some of the most draconian orders that have been issued in some of these states and compare Florida," DeSantis said from the Oval Office in late April, including New York in a litany of several states, "Florida has done better."And so the National Basketball Association said it would hold the rest of its season at Walt Disney World. The Republican National Convention relocated its big speeches to Jacksonville, Florida. NASCAR raced at the Homestead-Miami Speedway earlier this month, with DeSantis as its honorary starter.Cuomo has made his own bid for sports, coaxing the Mets and the Yankees to return to New York from their spring training camps by suggesting Florida was no longer safe. (He exempted the teams from the new quarantine, saying they had their own health protocols.)While Cuomo did not explicitly target his quarantine order to apply to Florida, he signaled in the days before making the announcement that the state's recent treatment of New Yorkers was very much on his mind."Well, wouldn't that be karma?" Cuomo said when asked about a quarantine in New York on MSNBC.Florida's quarantine affecting New Yorkers is still in effect: As of Tuesday, New Yorkers arriving at Miami International Airport were still being met by the National Guard and state health officials, told to head straight for their lodgings and ordered to quarantine there for two weeks.But as the course of the coronavirus outbreak has turned in recent weeks, the flow of travelers has reversed: People are now jetting out of Florida and back to the relative safety of New York. Such an exodus would have been unimaginable three months earlier.Epidemiologists said Florida's quarantine of New Yorkers made sense at the time, just as New York's for Floridians does now. "There is more virus in that environment," said Dr. Amanda D. Castel, a professor of epidemiology at George Washington University.Right now, New York was looking like a safer bet to Evan Friedman, a White Plains, New York, resident who had been staying in his second home in Boca Raton, Florida, since March.In recent weeks, Friedman, 58, had begun to worry that Florida residents were not taking the virus seriously enough. A barber not wearing a mask rattled him. So did the man in the bagel shop who prepared a platter without a mask or gloves.Many New Yorkers he knew in Florida had gone back north, and he planned to go early next month.But when Cuomo announced that the new quarantine would take effect at midnight Wednesday, Friedman rushed to pack his bags. He found the flights to New York were all booked, so he got a ticket to Connecticut and rented a car to get back to New York."I have the luxury of being able to be up North or in the South," he said. "I want to be where there are the smallest amount of cases."This article originally appeared in The New York Times.(C) 2020 The New York Times Company

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