#they are siblings your honour they hate each other's guts

[xzyumi]

SKYPIEA!!!!

[wherewindysurgeswend]

deep heart’s core: chapter eight

chapter 1

chapter 2  

chapter 3

chapter 4

chapter 5

chapter 6

chapter 7

taglist (please dm, send an ask or leave a comment if you’d like to be added or removed):  @rememberedkisses @veiliza 

The crossing of the channel was short, and for most of it, Kathleen could see the French coast. Her parents and siblings were below deck, but she hadn’t been able to keep herself away from the sea air. Larry and Margaret, whose family had happened to book passage on the same boat across the channel, were bickering as usual, but Kathleen couldn’t make out what it was about. Something stupid, now doubt. Kathleen could understand that. You didn’t grow up as the eldest of seven children without picking up the habit of arguing because you were bored. 

The boat docked and the passengers began to disembark. Kathleen noticed a blonde woman waving frantically at whoever was to Kathleen’s right. Kathleen turned to see who that was and saw Larry, his face buried in his hands, looking supremely uncomfortable while Margaret laughed. These clues, along with Kathleen’s intuition, told her this must be the notorious Phyllis. 

Kathleen edged closer to her friends to hear what they were saying. “— come on this trip in the first place?” Larry lamented. His voice was slightly muffled, as his face was still buried in his hands. Margaret just kept laughing.

“Peggy?” said Larry, suddenly lifting his head and turning to face his cousin.

“What?” she replied, trying to control her laughter.

“Will you throw me overboard now? I don’t think I can handle the rest of this trip.”

“What, and spend the rest of the trip babysitting Phyllis by myself? Nothing doing.” Larry groaned. “Kath? You’ll do it, won’t you?”

“Rather not have your blood on my hands, thanks.”

“It would be a mercy-killing! No jury would convict you!”

“Your logic is dubious at best.”

“Fine. Can you at least hand me my cigarette case, then? It’s in my coat pocket.” Kathleen rifled through the pockets of the grey wool overcoat Larry had draped haphazardly over his suitcase. She found the cigarette case and tossed it to Larry. “Don’t throw that,” exclaimed an indignant Larry, “it’s a family heirloom!” 

“How can it be an heirloom? It’s monogrammed. Got your initials on it.”

“They’re my father’s initials too, genius.”

“I don’t think something that belonged to your father counts as an heirloom.”

“What are you, the heirloom police? Just hand it to me like a normal person, won’t you?” He opened the case, extracted a cigarette, and lit it. Margaret made a big show of waving her hand in front of her face to waft away the smoke. “You know, doing that doesn’t make me want to quit smoking any more, Peggy. If anything it makes me want to keep doing it if only because it clearly annoys you so much.”

“So you’d ruin your lungs just to get a rise out of me?” “Peggy, the twenty-one years we’ve known each other should have taught you that I would do anything to get a rise out of you.” Margaret muttered something under her breath. Larry opened his mouth as if to say something, but the crowd of passengers started moving toward the exit and he had no choice but to pick up his suitcase and move with them. Kathleen hung back to wait for her family, waving goodbye to Larry and Margaret. 

“All right, Kath?” Florence asked when she caught up to her daughter, “sorry to be leaving your friends?”

“Not so much. They’ll be in Paris, too, after all. I’ve got the address of their hotel.” Florence nodded. “Well, at least one person will be having a good time on this stupid trip,” Kathleen’s brother Joseph muttered. Florence gave him a disapproving look. “Nobody forced you to come,” she pointed out. “You kind of did,” said Kathleen, “he’s twelve. Were you really going to let him stay at home alone?” Florence chose not to continue the conversation, opting instead to ask Kathleen if she had put any more thought into continuing her studies. Kathleen gave her usual answer, mumbling a few sentences about how she had looked into it but she hadn’t been able to find a course of study that really appealed to her. She was saved from having to say anything else by the arrival of her father and the rest of her siblings. 

As soon as they were off the boat, Margaret was engulfed in a fur-coated, heavily perfumed hug. The whole affair was so disorienting that it took Margaret longer than it should have to realize that this was Phyllis and not some stranger. It took her even longer to realize that Phyllis was talking to her. “... just bored out of my skull,” Phyllis was saying, “there’s absolutely no-one of interest here! You would think Paris would be fascinating but it’s dull as dishwater. I’m so glad you’re here, Peggy. Maybe now we can have some fun instead of just sitting around at the hotel bar every night.” Margaret couldn’t think of anything intelligent to say, so she just smiled weakly. “Hello, Phyllis,” Larry said drily. 

“Larry! It’s been ages since I’ve seen you,” said Phyllis. The words were friendly, but the tone with which Phyllis said them was decidedly not. Margaret had never been able to extract from Larry why their engagement had ended, but she could tell it hadn’t been on good terms. Phyllis threw her arms around Larry’s neck, and Margaret could see her lips moving as she whispered something in his ear, but she was too far away to hear. 

The train to Paris was just like Phyllis had described her time in France: dull as dishwater. Phyllis tried to make conversation, and Margaret really did try to keep up, but everything Phyllis said, through no fault of her own, seemed so pointless. Larry nudged her with his elbow. “Five-letter word for ‘strained’?” he asked.

“Tense.” 

“Thanks.”

“Doing crosswords?” Phyllis asked, a little coldly (or so Margaret thought). Larry nodded.

“Yes. Say, Phyllis, have you got a seven-letter word for ‘hide’?”

“Conceal. So, what have you two been up to since we’ve seen each other? I know Peggy is getting married, when is that happening?”

“Next spring.”

“Am I invited to the wedding?”

“Of course.” Margaret couldn’t see Larry’s face, but she could tell he was rolling his eyes. 

“And who are your bridesmaids?”

“Mother chose them,” Margaret mumbled, “I wanted Amanda Habersham for my matron of honour but grandmother doesn’t like her, so my cousin Bernice – I don’t know if you know her, she’s my mother’s brother’s daughter – is going to be maid of honour. She’s only seventeen so it’s all very exciting for her.” Phyllis nodded.

“Shame I didn’t know about the wedding sooner, I could have done it.” 

“I don’t think mother would have –” Phyllis laughed, somewhat humorlessly. She took a cigarette case out of her purse, extracted a cigarette, and raised it to her lips. “Got a light?” she asked Larry. He tossed her a matchbook without looking up from his crossword puzzle. “Thanks,” said Phyllis, lighting the cigarette. She turned back to Margaret. “That’s true. Your mother doesn’t like me, does she?” Margaret didn’t know what to say to that. 

“Why do you say that?” was all she could manage. Phyllis took a drag from her cigarette and looked straight at Margaret. “No use being polite. She doesn’t like me. Mothers usually don’t, though, so I’m sure it’s nothing personal.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” Margaret said quietly. Larry scoffed.

“Cut the shit, Peggy, you know it’s true. You’ve heard aunt Doreen talk about Phyllis.”

“Same old Larry,” said Phyllis, “still about as subtle as a battle-axe. You haven’t changed at all.”

“Same old Phyllis,” said Larry, refusing to look up from his crossword, “all the kindness and understanding of a tarantula.”

“You know what, Larry? I’m glad you never change. Gives me a sense of stability in life. You’re like a dime-novel plot: cheap, vulgar, and above all, predictable.”

“Now, now, there’s no need to be cruel,” said Larry absently, “I draw the line at being called cheap and vulgar. I may be predictable, but I have class. Peggy, have you got an eight-letter word for ‘double-dealing’?”

“Deceitful.”

“Interesting word for you to be using, Larry,” said Phyllis innocently.

“I don’t know what you’re referring to,” said Larry without looking at her. 

“Oh, you know,” Phyllis continued sweetly, “just that you’re no stranger to that kind of thing.”

“Nor are you, Phyllis,” Larry shot back, finally meeting her gaze, “or have you forgotten what happened in London the summer we were engaged? Because if I remember correctly, you –”

“Oh for heaven’s sake,” Margaret interrupted, “can’t you two keep it together? It’s been less than an hour since we arrived! I know you can’t stand each other, and believe me, I don’t like this any better than you do. But can you at least pretend you don’t hate each other’s guts?” Larry and Phyllis glared at each other and said nothing. Margaret put one hand on Larry’s shoulder and leaned over to rest the other on Phyllis’s forearm. “Come on, let’s try to make this bearable, shall we?” Neither Larry nor Phyllis said anything. 

“Oh, come on,” said an exasperated Margaret, “can’t you just be civil for once? You’re acting like children.” Larry and Phyllis both muttered something that sounded like acquiescence, and Margaret decided not to press the issue. At this point, just stopping them from ripping each other’s heads off was an incredible feat.

[frombeginingtoend]

You’re Back

Summary: You, Klaus, and Ben were always a little different from the rest of The Umbrella Academy because of your powers. When Ben passes, and everyone leaves the house, you and Klaus lose touch, but soon, unforeseen consequences bring you back together.

Notes/Warnings: major character death, drug abuse

Word Count: 2.2k

---

When the alarms went off, my head flooded with a tsunami of existential dread. The shouts of my father trying to round us all up, save for Vanya, never failed to put a pit at the base of my stomach.

I hope this time you send me into someone, hissed one of the many sprites I could conjure. I like to mess with your squishy little heads.

"What if I don't want to do that anymore?" I croaked, staring into the floorboards as if they had murdered my parents.

Do you think what you want actually matters? Let me out (y/n).

"You can't do anything unless I tell you to. You're powerless without my say," I muttered. I repeated the phrase under my breath as I changed into the Academy's uniform, finishing with the mask. How I longed for an ability like Luther's strength or Allison's rumors. Hell, I would prefer to be like Vanya, no true powers but a passion and a drive to be better.

Nevertheless, I was brought on today's mission to stop a break in/hostage situation at a bank... yet again.

"What the fuck is that thing?" screamed one of the armed robbers.

An imp, covered in ashen grey fur and sporting a long, red, scaly tail, slithered it's way to the tall man. This one was decent enough to obey commands in exchange for food rather than making a home in the mortal world. Food, of course, ended up being the tall man robbing a bank. The moment his tail wrapped around the man's neck I knew to look away.

He liked to eat the skin first.

We were only thirteen, yet we were the ones who saved the day and took out the bad guys. I remember I used to think the police would appreciate having heroes like us to do some of the dirty work for them. As I got older, I realized that what we were doing was technically illegal. As I got older, I realized that most detectives and police officers hated how much work we took from them. In some cases, we made even more work for them.

Years passed, and it seemed like no one understood how much I hated living in The Academy. I never wanted to be a hero. I never wanted to be the line between two dimensions, two states of living. I didn't want to be torn from one world to the next. It was a life of constant agony that no one else could dream of comprehending.

The only people who seemed to give any semblance of understanding were the boys who's abilities were closest to my own. Klaus: Number Four, The Séance, Ben: Number Six, The Horror, and me: Number Eight, The Omen. God, all three of us hated ourselves so much. We were all forced to keep using the abilities we despised, no matter how hard we opposed. We had to get dad's approval, we had to make him proud, had to live up to his expectations. Well, after Ben died... after Ben died we all gave up. One after another we left the house, The Academy. We went on our merry ways to flourish or fuck up. Klaus and I? Oh, boy did we become fuck-ups.

Drug addiction, alcoholism, desperate attempts to forget and to numb yourself to all the bullshit around you.

I hadn’t seen any of them in years. I hadn’t even talked to them. I ran into Klaus at rehab once though.

“(y/n)? Is that you?”

“Klaus? Hey, hey, man it’s good to see you again. How are... how are you doing?”

“One week clean,” he bragged with jazz hands for effect. I tilted my head at the sight of his palms. Without asking, I snatched both of his arms by the wrists to inspect the ink. I smiled at the words permanently marked into his skin.

Hello - Good Bye 

“I like these. When did you get them?” Klaus just shrugged.

“I don’t remember, honestly. A while ago. Hey, why, uh, why are you here? What have you gotten into?”

“Oh, right.” I rubbed the back of my neck, wishing I didn’t have to explain myself, but knowing full well that I should. “It got to be too much, I’m sure that’s why you’re here too, right? It started out as just drinking, but then, y’know... I was drunk all the time... and my- my tolerance was too high, so I thought I'd try weed. That worked out for a while, but... it didn’t always get them to stop, so... I got into harder stuff.”

“What kind of harder stuff?” Klaus looked almost disappointed in me. The look in his eyes broke my heart. I gulped in a hard breath, then two, then I started crying.

“I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to be such a fuck-up. I let all of you down. Just like I always did.” Klaus pulled me into his embrace. He was hesitant, but still firm. One hand rested on the back of my head, the other in the center of my back.

...Let me out, (y/n)...

“How do you make them stop, Klaus?”

“...I don’t know.”

We spent the rest of our time together. Klaus no-doubt relapsed within an hour of his release. He was more dependent on that release than I was. It's probable that he didn’t think I knew that the only reason he was in rehab was to lower his tolerance. I was in my apartment for less than an hour when it came to me again.

...Let me out, (y/n)...

“Get out of my head.”

You can’t control me.

“Yes I can. Now get out of my head.”

I don’t want to. If you want me gone, you’ll have to come and end me yourself.

“Fine, you think you can win? Why don't you try to fucking stop me?”

It was surprising how peaceful the end was. That piece of shit that wanted to take over my body died with me because it was a prideful moron. I woke up on the ground. Everything around me was in shades of grey, and in the distance, a little girl with a basket of daisies made her way down the path. Despite her innocent appearance, I knew exactly who she was, and it calmed me.

“What are you doing here? I didn’t expect you so soon,” she spoke, still a few yards away.

“I- I don’t know. Honestly, I didn’t think I would end up here.” I looked around at what should have been a stunning, colourful forest, downplayed like an overcast summer sky.

“You shouldn’t be here. At least, not yet.”

I looked at the girl more closely, fear building in my chest. “Are you casting me out?”

“For now,” she noted solemnly. “It will be hard, based on how you dealt with it in life, but I’ve always liked you for your tenacity.”

Her words shocked me. I didn't think anyone would like me, especially the one who made me. What had I done more that ruin what she created? “You... really liked me?”

She nodded. “I wish this would turn out differently, but you have to figure it out on your own.”

“Please don’t,” I pleaded, “don’t send me there. They’ll tear me apart.”

“It will make you strong. You’ll figure out how to come back.” She slipped a daisy behind my ear and gave me a soft smile when I fell to my knees.

“No. No, please, no! Please!” 

The end was much less pleasant the second time around.

Everything smelt of nickle and ash. Time wasn't real. It could have been two hours or sixty years and I would be none the wiser. Pain started to fade away with each new incision to my skin. Each poisonous bite was weaker and less painful than the last. The more torture I endured, the more they broke me, the less I felt it. Until the day I snapped.

The demons and spirits who tried to attack me on my way out  stood no chance to my newfound strength. I shoved into the scorched earth, or slapped them across the face as I marched my way out of hell.

"Where's (y/n)? I figured they would want to be here to spit on dad's ashes," Diego muttered. He laid on a couch and tossed an orange into the air for entertainment.

"I don't think they wanna honour him in any way. They hated his guts," Allison offered.

"You guys don't know?" Klaus asked, genuinely shocked and confused.

"We don't know what?" Luther piped in.

"(y/n) died last month. Their neighbor found them in their bathtub."

"They killed themself?" Vanya spoke with a brittle voice. Klaus nodded.

A hush fell over the six who were present in the living room. Diego sat up off the couch to stare at Klaus with a deadly gaze. "Have you talked to them?"

"No. God as my witness I tried, but I can't get to them. I have a feeling they were the only person who would have been able to."

"Why didn't you tell any of us?" Luther growled from his seat at the bar. Klaus rolled his eyes.

"Okay, big guy, you were on the moon. I couldn't have told you if I wanted to."

"If you wanted to? Why didn't you want to?"

"Would you want to call each of us up and break that kind of news? Oh, I've been having a fine and dandy time on the moon, by the way your favourite sibling just killed themself," Klaus mocked.

"Oh, shut your fucking mouth, Klaus. You know how much they meant to each of us. You should have known we would react like this after a month."

"How do you think it made me feel, Luther? I was the last of us to see them! Don't you think that maybe I feel a little responsible for their death?" Klaus was losing it, he could see Ben's worried face from across the room, like he was signaling Klaus to stop talking. He didn't care about that, though. He cared that he couldn't stop his best friend from killing themself. He cared that while they were suffering, he was finding his next high.

"When did you see them?" Allison asked, voice barely above a whisper.

"We were in the same rehab center. They got sober, coached me through it for a month, then we went on our separate ways." Klaus couldn't help the dreamy, sing-song tone of his voice. He found that that was how he spoke when he was sad or disappointed, but that didn't help his case with Luther.

"They were an addict?" he interrogated, tone aggressive and angry.

"Yeah. What of it Spaceboy? They had a power none of us could dream of dealing with. Do you know what it's like to have a demon breathing down your neck? Have you ever looked into the void to ask a tiny little monster to eat someone's face? I haven't, but (y/n) did. They needed something to make those thoughts go away, to push back those memories. I don't blame them for what they did, and neither should you." Klaus was fuming at this point. Who were they to judge them? Who were they to think they knew what (y/n) went through or how they should have dealt with it?

The floorboards by the living room entrance creaked, drawing everyone's attention. 

"Thanks, Klaus. I'm glad you defended me." I smiled at my favourite living brother. "But I'm back now, and I don't plan on leaving again any time soon."

"Holy shit. Is-is that really you, (y/n)?" Vanya jumped to her feet. It was nice to see her again, especially after having crawled through the surface of the earth.

"Yeah, yeah it is, Vanya. Oh, before anyone gets any snarky ideas, Klaus was telling the truth the whole time. I was an addict, we got clean together, and then I... killed myself. I-" I faltered for a moment, "I'm sorry... that I left, but I found out things about myself that I never would have if I had stayed alive. I think, in the long run, dying is the best thing that ever happened to me."

"What the fuck is going on?" Diego asked. "What happened to you?"

"Huh? Oh, the scars." I looked over my exposed arms and ran my fingers over some of the lighter, raised, and pinkish skin. I forgot about the gallons of blood that soaked my body and lack of clothes and matted my hair. "I was in Hell for a while. There was this hole penitence thing, it's a long story. I'd rather not relive it."

"Looks like Hell gave you a better attitude," Diego joked.

"I yelled at a demon and it exploded, Diego. Can you yell at things and make them explode?"

His eyebrows rose in shock. "No I cannot."

At this point, Klaus was on his feet, and I pulled him into a hug. "I'm sorry," I whispered into his ear. "I didn't want it to happen like that. I didn't mean to leave you alone."

"You came back," he whispered back. "That's all that matters right now. You're back." 

We stood in a warm embrace for what seemed like minutes, and I didn't want to let go of the only comfort I had received in what felt like years.

"You need to take a shower. You're getting blood and ash on Allison's skirt."

[sir-severance]

connective tissue - mlandersen0

this is my piece for the fantastic Slenderverse Zine (2019). this was a pleasure to write, and i am honoured to have been a part of such a wonderful project. you can check out the zine here, and read this fic on AO3 here. 

a quick disclaimer - i hope it's quite clear that i do not support the views which the character Shaun Andersen expresses in this fic. this is an exploration into mental health stigma, the entitlement of neurotypicality and the damage which can come about from both sides of any relationship within which someone is suffering because of mental illness. i am not interested in any discourse. please take this fic for what it is, and if you disagree, feel free to write your own. likewise, please heed the content warnings.

thanks, and i hope you enjoy <3

cws: mental health, mental illness, ableism, sickness, anxiety, depression, blood, twins, abuse, therapy, gore, terror, horror

Shaun’s parents often address him in the same breath as talking about Michael, as if the two are immutably connected, their meaning solely defined by virtue of each not being the other. But the parental Andersens could not always retain this facade of equality in front of their youngest child. No, Shaun found the documents when he was ten, long after Michael’s departure.

At the time, the words he found staggered him with polysyllabic ambiguity:

Monochorionic.

Parasitic.

Anemic.

But one phrase unfurled its roots and lodged itself into the squishy whorls of his brain.

The night of the discovery, little Shaun Andersen ran screaming into his parents’ bedroom, tears and terror marring his face the way fresh understanding of horror always does. When his mother hushed Shaun, held him close and begged him to explain what was wrong, the boy’s answer made the colour flood from her face.

All too soon, Shaun found himself confronted with yet more walls: walls so staggeringly bleached that, to Shaun, the paint served not as a reminder of cleanliness, but of spores and fungi and bacteria, swelling into turgid contaminants ready to burrow through his skin and pick his bones clean.

“Twin-to-twin transfusion syndrome,” the therapist reads from her notes. She smiles at Shaun, with too many teeth. “Where did we hear such big words, hm?”

Shaun keeps quiet. In the time since Michael left, the value of silence impressed its qualities upon him. The art of disquiet is something everyone knows about, but few possess the gall to produce. Shaun maintains fixed eye contact with the therapist, while revelling in the security offered by his glasses. There’s a plastic quality to her dimples: an artificial construction of pleasantry that only a child could see through.

She doesn’t care about you.

Shaun believes there’s relief for both of them when the light goes out of her eyes.

“It’s okay, Shaun,” the therapist says. Her voice quavers noticeably. “I think you’re a very smart boy. You’d like me to tell you the truth, wouldn’t you?”

I think you want to tell me the truth and not have to deal with me, Shaun thinks. The therapist continues on regardless:

“Sometimes, when people have babies, things can go wrong. The baby might come out sick, or a bit different.”

The therapist watches him for a response. Shaun tries his best not to blink. Her mouth twitches.

“When a mom has a baby inside, the baby gets their food from an organ called the placenta. It’s kind of like a phone charger — it gets plugged in to the wall of the mommy’s tummy, and when she eats, nutrients from the food are transferred to the baby. These nutrients are transferred by blood. Do you understand?”

You’re talking to me like I’m an idiot. This doesn’t feel professional at all, is what Shaun  Andersen understands. How old does she think I am?

“With twins, sometimes they share one placenta, instead of having one each. And sometimes, blood gets passed between the twins.” Her face creases, like she’s recalling something unpleasant. “This can mean that one twin doesn’t get enough blood — they’re called the ‘donor’ twin — and the other gets too much blood, making them the ‘recipient’ twin.”

The therapist actually looks away before going on, and Shaun is sure it has more to do with practiced decency than genuine upset.

“Michael received the blood your other brother didn’t get.”

It sounds like she’s reading from a script. Maybe she prepared this. Wanted to scare me and  take me off guard so she can get into my head. I’m not going to say a damn thing. Fuck her.

“I’m sorry you had to find out the way you did, Shaun.” The therapist’s mouth twists in a grim approximation of sympathy. “But it’s just a fact of life.”

A fact of life that Michael devoured his twin in the womb.

It’s only now that he’s in some lightless attic, face-down on the floor with his skin prickled against the cold, that this wash of memories coats Shaun with their accusatory foam. There’s a peculiar, pickling scent prodding at his gag reflex; this room reeks of mold and misery. It’s as if the air itself is frothing from an unseen mouth. For Shaun, this triggers a memory encased in nausea. A taste identical to the sour pills the therapist gave him that day spills onto his palate: anti-anxiety medication.

Shaun vomited the first batch he took, so he ceased taking them all together. Instead, he replaced each pill in his medication box with chalky, pastel candy, and made a big show of swallowing one in the morning and one in the evening.

He’s just like Michael, really. As long as there are witnesses, he’ll put on a show.

Splinters impale the meat of Shaun’s mouth, and sawdust cakes his tongue. He hacks and coughs, and writhes on the floor. His knees manage to find purchase in the gloom, but his muscles tremble and quiver with the effort of kneeling. He’s been bashed and bruised, dragged carelessly and tossed aside like a used rag. Tenderised meat before the slaughter.

And Michael’s going to be the same.

Shaun’s breath pulses out in panicked bursts. He can just about see his exhalations curling away in the freezing cold. No, he can’t be this weak — he must shove it back, quash the feeling. He’s worth more than this. If he goes back on the things he said to Michael now — horrible, hateful things — then he’ll never be able to live with himself.

So Shaun breathes steadily, working his way around the anxiety attack the way his therapist never showed him. As his heart rate steadies and adrenaline drops, all that energy and fear circumvents his guts, and heads a frontal assault on his brain. This leads to a conclusion burning through his mind with perfect clarity

This is all Michael’s fault.

Shaun never knew the name for whatever disease ravaged his brother’s mind. Not that he ever asked. The less he knew about Michael’s... abnormalities, the better. He remembers phrasing it that way to his parents, when he finally said no to another trip to see the remains of their estranged son.

Each week flowed the same way: stilted conversation between siblings, and pained platitudes from their parents. All meaningless little words of encouragement deliberately skipping over the elephant in the room — or, rather, the room containing the elephant, with its queasy walls and claustrophobic bars on the windows. No one in there ever used words like crazy or sick — in fact, they gave you a sheet of words to refrain from using when in the presence of the patients. All the relatives and guests of the inmates were expected to behave in this fashion.

This nauseated Shaun. He knew his brother was still in there. And he knew better than anyone how Michael liked to play his little games.

Regardless, Shaun tried his best to make Michael talk, and find something recognisable in the muddy depths of his eyes. But every visit, the dark deepened. No matter how many toys he tried to share, no matter how many stories he’d try to tell, and no matter how many times he affirmed to Michael that they were best friends and one day he’d get out of the hospital so they could play again... he stayed the same.

The final straw comes one dismal, rainy Friday afternoon. Shaun and his dad sit next to each other, opposite Michael with a table acting as barrier between them, saying nothing.

An aide took them both aside before they entered the main facility, and explained that Michael is being trialed on another type of medication. The visit is going as miserably as the weather foretold.

Michael looks barely human. Something is altered in the familiar shape of his body, like a bent coat hanger hastily reformed into an approximation of its original structure. The older Andersen brother slumps back in his chair, his skin several shades whiter than the wall behind him. His mouth is cracked with dehydration, and his hair is tangled with sleeplessness and grease. But worst of all are his eyes. They sit listless and devoid of comprehension, with blank pupils gazing aimlessly at his family, through them, and beyond them. A candle snuffed out before shrinkage of the wick.

Shaun remembers the emptiness of his therapist’s eyes. The glee in outwitting her. The pleasure of looking into those sad, brown depths.

There is no joy in peering into Michael’s skull.

Without warning, Shaun’s temper seizes him with all the ferocity a young boy’s hormones could. He slams his clenched fist down on the table, rattling metal. All conversation in the room ceases, a veil of corpselike silence.

Michael, however, doesn’t react. He doesn’t even acknowledge the sound.

The words jump from Shaun’s mouth like oil from a sizzling pan, murderous in their venom.

“You’re such a freak.”

Before the aides can reach him, Shaun’s dad grabs him by the shoulder and yanks him out of the room, into the hallway. Shaun can tell he’s furious, but there’s so much anger pumping through his blood that he just doesn’t care. He needs to do something, anything, to puncture the film over Michael’s eyes. Anything to make him so much as flinch.

But Michael remains unaffected.

As expected, the facility removes them both immediately, and Shaun is given a one-month visitation ban. This doesn’t bother Shaun in the slightest — in fact, he feels victorious, and righteous in his fury. There’s no way he’s coming back. Not this time. Michael squandered his last chance.

Even so, he’ll never forget his last view of that room, before his father pulls him away.

Tears spilling freely down Michael’s stony face.

From then on, the pre-trip talk with his parents is a minefield to navigate. They try so hard to make everything light and cheery, to speak about Michael like he’s still a part of their family, but Shaun overhears them speaking about their visits when they think he’s not listening. Now, more often than not, Michael’s arms are bound throughout their visits. Other times, they’re only able to converse with their son from behind a pane of tough glass.

Sometimes, they came home early.

‘Oh, Mikey’s feeling a touch under the weather today,’ their mother chirps. ‘But he says he misses you lots and lots!’

Her happy tone belies the true quality of their visit. It doesn’t matter. Shaun never asks for further details. Eventually, Shaun is old enough that his moods are ascribed to the terrors of puberty, and he is left to his own devices.

In retrospect, the seven years between Shaun’s Michael-detox and their first meeting as adults seems superfluous. The difference the years wrought upon Michael shocked Shaun.

Where once there existed a timid, chubby little kid with the brightest of smiles, now stood a gangly, hollow-looking man, with eyes like pits of coal. Though the corners of Michael’s mouth upturn upon seeing him, Shaun doesn’t register any warmth.

Somehow, this infuriates Shaun more than his brother’s tears ever could. He’d always assumed that even though his brother is older, Michael would remain the same size — adulthood somehow being barred for the mentally ill. Resentment boils away in Shaun’s stomach seeing how much taller his brother is, how clean-cut his features are. But this isn’t the thing which incenses Shaun the most.

It’s that, in those eyes, those chasmic clefts gouged out in his pale flesh, Shaun saw quiet patience.

Intelligence.

Forgiveness.

Just the mere hint of any kind of pity from his brother makes Shaun’s thoughts curdle with rage. How dare he be okay? He’s supposed to be sick! Isn’t that the whole reason why he got  locked up in the first place?

Shaun knows these are irrational and angry thoughts, but would rather cut out his own tongue than internalise them as ‘unfair’. He slaved away the better part of his life playing second fiddle to his parents’ worry and concern, always visiting Michael, paying more attention to Michael... all while their favourite son plays the part of a theatre dummy.

So Shaun makes the decision there and then. He is under no obligation to take care of this man forced upon him by blood — but he will. He will be the most selfless, compassionate human being his brother has ever seen.

Then they’ll see who has the right to forgive.

The walls of the attic Shaun can’t see feel like they’re closing in on his aching body, dragging themselves closer with hidden, noiseless claws. If you hadn’t lied about seeing the  Tall Man, he wouldn’t be as sick as he is, his thoughts hiss, and he thinks that the walls are growing mouths and speaking to him, indicting him, readying to pluck his head from his shoulders and smack it on a pike.

Yet, as his fear increases, tiny increments of light make themselves known in Shaun’s vision. Eventually, he’s able to zero in on a shape just out of each — something large and mostly crimson, with a long curved blade extending from its middle. Sickly, distended panic courses through Shaun like a white-hot fever when he recognises the shape.

It’s a fucking chainsaw.

The enormity of the situation crashes into his nervous system. He’s being laid out, prepped and ready for consumption. Oh God, he drugged me to tie me down and cut me open, and then he’s gonna go find Michael and do the same thing-

Keep it together! Express some reticence, for fuck’s sake. You’re not going to break down. You’re not going to give in. Michael’s the one who hurt you, kept hurting you, all this time. Without him, you would have a real family. A home. A future. Not biting the dust spilled on some dank  basement.

The attic betrays nothing but the acrid stench of death. People have died here. People have been tied up and carved open like autopsy specimens, all for the gain of their sadistic owner. Shaun, despite his terror, continues to squint at the weapon.

You’re about to bite the dust anyway...

When Shaun sees the blood staining the steel, he screams.

Another flashbulb memory comes searing into his head: his brother’s wafer-thin form keeling over in the snow. That chokehold of panic throws Shaun into immediate action, forcing him to run and cradle the body of his brother. He’s so desperate and terrified, not knowing if this is really Michael, what this body could be capable of...

And yet Shaun grabs hold anyway, all grudges suddenly forgotten, and oh fuck it must be Patrick, because his nose is bleeding and his limbs are as heavy and wet as the white beneath their boots. Shaun hauls him the best he can, inwardly cursing his lack of strength, and as he drags Patrick over to the frozen table he can only pray his mental fortitude is made of stronger stuff.

“I came here to apologise.”

“Really.”

The sarcasm pours out of Shaun without a second thought, so heated it almost scorches the icy air. But there’s no way he could ever dam this wave of fury.

‘There’s still a lot you don’t know...’

It takes everything Shaun has to not to let his poker face flicker, but the rage beneath makes him want to seize Patrick by his lapels and bash him against a wall. How dare he. This freakshow of a bodysnatcher can’t even keep his brother’s body alive and well long enough to stand up while having a conversation, and yet has the nerve to patronise him?

Shaun hears, ‘I’m sorry for Stormy,’ as if from the other end of a tunnel. All that’s brewing in his head is the conundrum sitting in front of him. Two personalities, one body. They’re interchangeable now, one and the same. Twice the twin, half the skeleton. Michael, playing patient zero to a contagion which wrecks and wrings until bloodied flesh is all that’s left behind. Patrick, a disease forged in the womb and soaked into the being of a boy who could have been something different.

Should have been.

Never will be.

No one could reconcile the two but Shaun.

So it must be a sickness, an illness, a disease. And everything bad that ever comes from sweet Michael’s mouth is a result of his condition.

If that’s the case, is it so awful to want to be as far away from them — from him — as possible,  whoever — and whatever — he is?

Patrick is only sharing the broken-down condo which remains of his brother’s body.

Taking back his stolen property.

And where does that leave Shaun?

As the unspoken martyr, of course.

There’s only so much room in my head for bullshit, Shaun seethes. I’m not going to live my  life cleaning up after him — not for Michael or Patrick.

And that’s it - that’s the one thing that people never let him have. The realisation which hits upon their return to the motel, where Michael cowers beneath the words spat from Shaun’s molten mouth. He always possessed a thought process blessed by rapidity, but a tongue cursed to be silver. Shaun is nothing but a host to a panoply of pain as essential to him as his own veins.

As essential as the blood flowing between Michael, and the brother he never met.

When Shaun storms out into the cold, determined to be somewhere, anywhere that puts great distance between him and the entity Michael/Patrick Andersen, he feels the full force of the Virus, nesting, breeding, multiplying beneath his skin. There’s no room for guilt and worry and pain — just the cure.

To never be near his brother again.

When Shaun saw Patrick’s nose bleeding, he had to swallow back bile. He knew in an instant that their brother never left, not really. Once, connective tissue held the bonds of their brotherhood fast. The transfusion continues. The real question is — who is the donor, and who is the recipient?

Even his own family emphasised the importance of their blood-bond, unable to comprehend Shaun’s behaviour.

“He’s your brother, Shaun, and he needs your help,” his mom tells him one night, barely holding back the tears. “I know he can be difficult to deal with, but this isn’t his fault. He didn’t ask to be sick.”

And Patrick didn’t ask to die, Shaun wants to scream. No one blames Michael for  cannibalism, do they?

Now he’s facedown in the wood, sawdust clinging to the hot streaks his tears leave behind, and that mortifying image which plagues his nightmares comes looming large from the recesses of his mind; two twin boys, floating without care in a shared amniotic sac, their umbilical cords respectively attached to the same fleshy hunk in lieu of a beating heart.

Shaun feels like his foetal never-brother. Severed. Shrink-wrapped in his own sac, the very thing keeping him alive. And then eventually swallowed whole.

It’s time for Shaun to cut the cord for good.

Why couldn’t you just be normal? The tears start for real now, fat and salty and rolling down Shaun’s face in a tempest. His internal monologue is louder now, drowning out the background noise of his softer (yet much more insidious) conscience.

Stormy would still be here if you weren’t so fucked up... I could have had a normal life if it  weren’t for you...

There’s no time left for forgiveness. Because of Michael... Patrick... because Shaun willingly exposed himself to this pathogen again and again, he is going to die here, in this glacial attic, with no one around to know or care.

But, as the lights are turned off, and a dark, unfamiliar laughter fills his every sense, a set of horrid thoughts riot in the screeching crowd of his brain; the thoughts that could never quite be buried.

Michael didn’t know what he was doing... Michael didn’t know what he consumed…

Shaun once made the mistake of asking his mom what his other brother was going to be called.

No-one ever asks to be infected.

Shaun’s eyes shut against the darkness for the last time.

“I always liked the name Patrick.”

[a-writing-bear]

[PruCan] Chapter 10: Soft-Spoken Calling, They Want Their Shyness Back

Ao3 Link:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/11159997/chapters/48518471

This Has been cross-posted onto FF & Ao3 under Aliases: BearBooper

You can read this Fic on Tumblr under ‘Keep Reading’ - Ao3 version is formatted, tumblr version is not. Ao3 is recommended.

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Fandom: Hetalia Axis Powers

Main Pairing: Gilbert Beilschmidt & Matthew Williams (Prussia & Canada)

AU:  College AU - Art Student Matthew and Media/Film Student Gilbert

Age Rating/Mature:  Teen And Up Audiences (12+ due to mentions of mature themes as well as swearing)

Trigger Warnings: Recreational Drugs & minor connotations of anxiety (Future addiction to mention themes such as addiction, rape etc.) WITHIN THIS CHAPTER - Mentions of Anxiety, Therapy, Counseling, and anti-depressants. (please note I am NOT anti-meds.) Family Issues are implied, Distance and abandonment suggested.

“Well. Let’s chat then schatje.”

Matthew shivered, not from the cold but the recall of his appointment. Tim had always been there for him, and was sort of desensitized, if not amused by Matthew’s squabbling and frustrated ramblings.

“Is it green or-”

“Nah left the baggie at home.”

His cigarette hung limp in between his fingers, twirling as he watched the hooded man wave his arms- half exhausted and only vibrant due to his stress. The Dutchman had taken out a box of marls, mainly cus he knew any kush would be noticed immediately- the last thing the two of them needed was the waiter ratting them out and the police on both their asses- and offered the sickly stick to his friend. Matthew grimaced, yet his hands grasped for the box searching for one as if he was desperate. He barely smoked. He justified himself that it was a social occasion that called for one and he could just down a coffee and hope his brother wouldn’t smell the tobacco on his worn-out hoodie. A flick of light from Tim’s Zippo was quick to latch onto the piece and the two silently dragged.

“I just don’t understand what she wants from me. She’s a great therapist but…. I’ve done the work... I’ve done the talking. I don’t- she wants me to call my dad.” the words fell out bitterly and ended so sour and abrupt, even Tim himself knew that the mere mention of Matthew’s father must have meant something was drastically serious. Oliver was not exactly an understanding of man.

“She wants YOU...to talk to your dad?!” Matthew’s throat aches with a slight comfort, his gut relaxed knowing at least it was as incredulous as he thought it was. The Canadian had a shaky relationship with his father (who wouldn’t when your father was an inconsolable dickhead?) and had always been a troublesome mess.

“Alfred said he hasn’t even called him. He’s still pissed. And I don't think my mum needs to know that life is still as shit as ever over here.” They both tutted, Matthew had ditched his smoke, stomping it out prematurely as he went to lean his back on the dusty wall of the diner, huddling next to his childhood friend. Tim had been fidgeting trying to find a comfortable leaning position on the wall and the two slowed down, next to each other in contemplative silence. “Alfred talked with Doc and I’m just kinda not feeling all of it ya know?” his voice drowned in exhaustion.

“...need a hug?” Tim’s voice came out lowly and quiet as if a secret offer, he never really was an affectionate person physically, and hugs from him were reserved for his sibling, his mother and Matthew. Always Matthew.

“Is the cold-professional businessman Tim Lars Van-de-Berg offering me a hug? I’m honoured~” Matthew joked as he stared off into the distance, not noticing the slight tinge of red that graced his friend’s cheeks. Tim scoffed and pushed his shoulder almost flinging him off the support of the brick wall, but caught him with a strong and solid grasp, wrapping an arm around the shorter boy’s shoulder and pulling him in some clumsy semblance of a side hug. Matthew was pressed amongst the warmth of his large jacket and hummed thanking his friend for the attempt at comfort. Matthew blushed once he remembered the question and insinuations his doctor had provided earlier pertaining to Tim.

“Hah. Paisley asked if I had a crush on you. Probably the only laughable thing I heard from her all month.” Matthew was too wrapped up in his amusement to notice the stiffness and the heavier hand that held him, nor did he sense the intake of bated breath of the Dutchman who just ruffled Matt’s hair then moved away. Tim was a lone figure, Always has been and the very idea that he had a remote interest in people like Matt was already so impossible to Mattie’s fragile self-esteem.

“Why do I feel like your brother is unlawfully attempting to woo Laura as of right now?” The conversation was being diverted.

“Doubt it. Al’s preoccupied with his long-distance crush- besides Luca would have prevented any comments.” The two snorted before resigning to go back in and face their siblings; one was hesitant due to his unresolved anxiety while the other was hesitant due to the warmth he had by his side.

“You’re going to Lukas and Matthias’ thing tonight right? Could you drive me? I got another prescription and I’m not sure I want to drive home high or drugged...defo not both.” Tim was not surprised- but he was indeed concerned.

“Are you sure you want to come tonight? I can always tell Mathias you aren’t up-”

“I’m fine. I want to go- It’s not often Lukas and Matthias host, I’ve been meeting to pass Lukas something anyway. I...I need the cooldown ya know?” his voice had pitched higher with defensiveness practically dripping off the vowels. Tim just nodded, ditched and smothered his bud and motioned for the two to go back in- lest they keep his sister waiting. There was gonna be a party tonight- the party being a very broad way of describing it.

The Canadian liked to keep to himself, he may be often alone but it was very rare he was truly feeling lonely; however, there was a group of people he’d mingle with on the weekends. To call them small would be an understatement. There were tons of people who would flock to these quieter house parties but the characters were the types to rather smoke and drink quietly rather than knock the walls down with blaring tunes. He’d know the Norwegian and Danish pair since orientation week and while Matthias bright-eyed smile reminded too much of his brother’s puppy eyes, and Lukas was just as cold towards conversations as an icicle he had enjoyed the company when they were together; they’re bickering felt endearing.

“Laura and Luca are probably hungry, Let's not keep em waiting, schatje.” the dutchman watched as the boy faltered, threw down the finished cig and fiddled with his hoodie. The two of them huffed and Tim had grasped onto Matthew’s palms to pull him in slight haste to get into the diner. Just as they were illuminated by the neon sidelights Matthew had found himself bumping into the back of Tim as the Older boy suddenly came to a harsh stop-

“Gilbert. What are you doing here?” Matthew perked up at the mention of his new crush friend. What was gilbert doing here? Oh...the Diner- he must have meant this dinner earlier. Wow. How convenient. Gilbert’s pale face had frozen as if he was a deer caught in the headlights- wide-eyed and surprised even though he had chosen to sneak behind here.

“Oh, I was...I thought I saw you so I just- heh... Nothing.” Gilbert stood awkwardly, the tall dutchman had been looking down at him and he directed his gaze solely on Matthew. The German knew vague amounts of Tim- he’d seen him around campus at the student bazaars- the man was always somewhere bargaining like some stone-cold dealer. “Right well- would..is it rude if I join you guys as I’m kinda alone tonight?” eyebrows raised from the two as they looked at each other in consideration. Simultaneously they answered: Mattie with a quick yelp of yes, whereas Tim had mumbled something along the lines of “my siblings…?

Fuck Tim, he hated himself cus the moment he saw the endearing smile that graced Matthew’s lips as he started trudging back to the front of the diner, he broke and motioned for Gilbert to join their already crowded dinner plan.

The door had jingled and the 3 men stumbled in, Matthew first as he navigated his way through the considerably empty diner back to the bench where Alfred and the Van-de-bergs were parked. The Van de Berg family was a curious bunch; their parents were living in Amsterdam on a big ranch while the 2 younger siblings had moved out to stay with their extremely capable brother as he went to Uni. Laura, ever the beautiful young lady, had just finished her high schooling but was taking a gap year to take care of her younger brother- Matthew always noted how cheerful she seemed, despite her teasing brothers. The youngest of the 3, Luca, had been dressed in a smart-casual getup, a blue and white striped shirt and a tie that had one of the local private school emblems bedazzled on it; They were certain Luca was just as smart and resourceful as his older brother yet what he lacked in Tim’s brawns, he just evoked a certain sense of charisma and had enough extravagance to scholarship his way into a private academic high school on a full ride-it was the reason the siblings came to live with their older brother.

Laura was the first to give Gilbert a dazzling smile- one that seemed to show some familiarity-

“You two always seem to come back with someone new!” Her voice sounded more amused than bothered by the new company. “We might need a bigger table at this rate!” unlike her warmth, Alfred seemed more off-put at the fact his brotherly bonding had become more of an extended gathering- and Gilbert’s newfound presence was less than wanted.

“Since when do you come here, Gil? And what are you doing with my baby brother huh?”

Matthew merely snorted as he pushed his brother to scoot over, “Alfred you’re the younger one. By 10 seconds.”

“Excuse you! It was 7 seconds-” Tim had coughed awkwardly, now pushed against the side of his brother, Luca cramped between his older siblings but still distracted by something on his phone.

“I was just passing by and caught these two on the way in, awesome right?” Gilbert seemed unperturbed by Alfred’s subtle aggressiveness- he had known the American through some other dodgy gatherings in the past and it was strange to know that quiet Matthew is associated to the blond- let alone related to him. The 3 latecomers ordered quickly, while the others had already received their meals; A bright pink milkshake had already been pushed into Alfred’s vicinity and a large number of fries scattered the tray across the group’s table,

“Mattie bro what do you-”

“Vanilla.” Tim had thoughtlessly interrupted, moving restlessly to lean forward towards Matthew opposite him, and attempted to light a cigarette before being chastised by his sister who was already tutting him and muttered something about being a bad influence on Luca. Alfred was about to say something before Matthie politely smiled at his sibling with a reserved ‘he’s right though- I do want vanilla’ grin that seemed more patient than cooperative. Gilbert had settled for a soda and made idle conversation with Laura who somehow mentioned she had seen him before:

“I’m quite sure I’ve seen you at that cafe on Acre Street?”

“Ah that was a while back but yeah- awesome..” it was only when Matthew's arms had jutted into his side that he noticed Matthew struggling to pour his drink into another empty glass- a glass that had been carelessly pushed towards him by Tim, who was more engrossed in talking to the youngest of the table about his homework-

Gilbert was confused and interested in the lavender eyed boy’s calculating movement, “Are you sharing your drink?” Matthew hummed, and tilted his head in thought, still carefully measuring out the white goop as if they were hazardous chemicals.

“Yeah I can’t have a lot of sugar, Tim and I usually share,” Matthew replied as if it was nothing- perhaps this was what he always did? Gilbert watched as Matthew seemed to be entranced in stirring his newly divided drink more than actually sipping it.

“Mattie used to puke all over..” The other twin seemed to indulge in embarrassing Matthew, and Gilbert only stopped from changing conversation due to the beautiful blush that had graced the Canadian's face, too pretty to prevent. Tim, on the other hand, seemed to nod in tandem with Alfred’s loud stories, as if confirming every cringe moment they recalled. I wonder how long they’ve known each other...

“...and then we had gotten up this huge ass slope and BOOM Matthew just-”

“Al. It’s near 9 pm.” Alfred's excitement halted for a second, before breaking out into a wide grin, and before a flash of over-eagerness came out in front of the van-de-bergs and the Beilschmidt Alfred faked an awfully obvious fake cough, quickly getting up and scrambling out the booth- hand pattingMatthew’s hair (why did people always touch his hair??)-

“S H I T. The car...I can't go... unless you’re ready to go Matt?” He can hear the whining tone ready to come out in Alfred’s quick downturn, Matthew was about to get up before Laura offered to take Al home, “Luca needs to get to bed too, he’s got an exam tomorrow- we can drop Alfie off on the way, the campus is really close! Besides, I know Tim and Matthew have plans tonight.” Tim choked up, his turn to awkwardly cough at the unintended insinuation his sister had thrown out (he says unintended but her eyes glistened with mischief- fuck laura sometimes) Alfred had only looked puzzled whereas Gilbert's eyes were darting back and forth between Matt and Tim.

“Perfect dudes, Mattie please stay safe and Tim.. watch Beilschmidt too..” he squinted and Gil just huffed and stuck his tongue out in playful annoyance at the American. Matthew sunk further into the booth, trying to ignore his brother's weird attempts at being a caring brother.

“Tell Kiku I said hi then and don’t forget to call-”

“Yeah yeah call dad or he’ll kill us- I got it I’ll see you later bro!” one last brotherly pat and Alfred had hightailed it out, two-thirds of the van de berg siblings following him behind, thus leaving the unlikely trio alone. Gilbert couldn’t make sense of it, but it seemed as if Matthew and Tim were telepathically communicating as it had been 3 minutes since the others had left and yet no one spoke a word.

“Soo….uh- you two dating or-”

“Nope.” Matthew blurted out, “we aren’t dating. At all.” clearly a question they get asked often huh? Gilbert’s eyes wandered ad his hands cradled his very watery soda in distraction. Tim’s smoke had finished before a word was uttered. Matthew hoped inside that this was a chance to hint towards his very open singleness-

“Look, I’d like to uh..invite you to our thing later but it’s a closed event.” Tim had jutted forward and was staring Gilbert’s red jewel eyes directly. Had it not been for Matthew sitting next to him fiddling with his straw and humming to himself he would have asked Tim what his problem was. Totally Un-Awesome.

“Rigggght. No, totally get it- I’ve got work anyway tomorrow.” He paused before turning to Matthew. “Just make sure we get time to work on our project alright? I think I should go home too.” Gilbert sighed, feeling a little left out but understood that perhaps he was overstepping into Matthew’s life too much- they barely  knew each other.  Gilbert got up and stalked out of the dingy diner and towards his bike(God, its perfect time for a drive right now)

He left. Left without noticing Matthew’s soft smile melt into a bothered frown as the hoodied boy watched him leave as if someone had kicked him the gut.

“You didn’t have to sound so harsh.”

“Well, you know we can’t just bring an outsider.”

“I know but- ...Gil is alright. He’s nice.”

“You think everyone is nice Matthew.”

Another cigarette was lit as Matthew watched those silver strands of hair disappear disappointingly on what looked to be a motorbike through the window. It doesn’t hurt to be nice all the time, Matthew thought to himself, his milkshake unpleasantly lukewarm in his grip.

[askamaravox]

90 Question’s for Your OC

What is your purpose or your biggest goal in life?

Power and revenge. 

Of all your belongings, which are most important to you? If there is a story about them, please share.

All and any belongings that I once loved are probably now locked up in some police facility as evidence. So, I try not to get attached to anything physical. However, I do like my revolver. I keep it on me at all times.

I got it engraved a few years ago, you know, before it was a murder weapon.

Who is your best friend, or the person you are closest to?

That’s a difficult question to answer. I feel as if Ralsei and I have a relationship that runs deep without words, but it’s so much easier to talk to Julian.

Who are a few other people you know, and how do you feel about each of them specifically?

I would defend Amanda with my life. Even if that meant putting my reputation on the line. I think she’s a lot like Ralsei and needs to be protected and safe. They both don’t deserve this life. 

Blix. Ah, very similar boat to Amanda, but she can handle herself. Or at the very least, I think she can. I care for her deeply, and want her to be safe.

Now that friends are out of the way it’s time to discuss enemies!

Sophia is a bitch and I can’t wait to bring her down. To tear at her reputation, and take her down to rock bottom. Let’s see how she likes it.

Fuck Xavier. Fuck the Butcher. Fuck The Prince. They don’t even get explained, they’re merely honourable mentions.

Do you have any romantic interests, or have you in the past?

Romantic? Not necessarily. Past nor present - as much as I hate to talk about it... Ryan and I had a fling a few years back but it was hardly serious.

What is your general outlook on life? Are you optimistic, pessimistic, or maybe just very neutral?

I like to think of myself a realist. It helps me keep a level head and not to overestimate or underestimate things. However, a touch of optimism never hurts.

Describe your relationship with your parents. If they're no longer alive, how did that happen? How do you feel about it?

Well. Prior to all this, my relationship with my mother was sturdy. We talked occasionally, I went to her for advice on business meetings and cases. We met every Christmas at the holiday home with Camilla to have a warm home cooked dinner.

My relationship with my father was and always has been estranged. We weren’t close when I was a kid. He was distant, rude and enforced sexist ideals in the family. Something my mother always argued against in quiet.

The day she divorced him and took everything he will always be a momentous day in my childhood. I wont say it was the best day, because it certainly was difficult. But it was a good introduction to law... and well, fucking over those who treat you wrong.

Mother was always much better at the subtle long game than me.

Do you have any siblings? If so, talk about them. If not, do you wish that you did?

Camilla. My twin sister. We used to get confused a lot in school, but she tended to be the nicer sibling. A little less boy focused and more concerned about her close friends.

We were both very competitive though. Always fighting to get the best grades. Some years she won, some years I took the title. In our final year I took the cake by getting the highest ATAR score between us. 1.7 points higher than her.

Regardless, we both got into our respected fields. She entered the police force, and I got into law. We split off after that, but were still close. There was still that sibling rivalry sometimes. But we got along.

I still wonder what she thinks of me now. 

What is your favorite childhood memory? Make it a happy one!

Perhaps... When I was young and my father went away on business trips in the holidays. Camilla, Lillian and I used to go down and stay at the holiday home for a few days. We’d go down to the beach and walk along the esplanade, get ice cream and just enjoy the sun. Camilla and I would sometimes make sandcastles on the beach while mother would read on a towel.

I miss days like that. Even before I became kindred, I missed those days.

What are your favorite things to eat and drink?

I used to like red velvet cake a lot. That and caesar salad.

And red wine, of course. Something expensive, the older the better, usually.

Who is somebody that you look up to?

My mother, most likely.

When you're alone, how do you like to spend your time? Hobbies and Interests?

I love reading, reading and learning. I used to practice at the gun range, but I’m getting the feeling that it’s not exactly safe to go there anymore. 

What is something you're really good at?

Persuading, manipulating, knowing the law, being a general nuisance to the Camarilla... I’m generally pretty good at a lot of things.

What is something you're really bad at?

Uhg... understanding others, I suppose? Having good morals? Computers... 

What is something that you're constantly working on improving?

Having better morals.

Share a memory that involves the person you are closest to.

I - well... There’s a lot. I watched Ralsei murder Christina and did nothing about it, that’s a pretty prominent memory. I prefer the ones between the violence though, those feel like the real Ralsei. You know, when he’s not riddled with guilt. It wasn’t necessarily a big moment, but after the court session with the Prince wrapped up, we went home and Ralsei thanked me. I turned back to him and told him that I wasn’t going to let them kill him. That was a nice moment. Something very personal.

What is a custom of your family or culture that you participate in?

My family were very big into Christmas, and we always put the tree up together in the holiday home wearing the ugliest Christmas sweaters we could find on the internet. Whoever wore the ugliest sweater and brought the worst Christmas ornament got an extra present from everyone.

There were some heated arguments about the worst ornament and sweaters sometimes. I once didn’t talk to Camilla for three days because her poop emoji ornament won over my drunk Santa one.

Still annoyed.

But, not sure what I’m going to do this year... it’s going to be rough, that’s for sure. First Christmas away from them.

How well educated are you? Do you speak more than one language? Are you well studied in a specific subject?

I have a Bachelors of Law, and consider myself well educated. I speak fluent French and am highly versed in aspects of American History.

What was your childhood like in general? Sad? Happy? All over the place? Describe it.

As mentioned prior, my childhood was... varied. Very school focused. But there were some good family moments too. Had father issues, but they were dealt with.

Are you at all religious? What do you believe happens when you die?

I’m not religious. When we die, we die. That’s it. The end.

Describe your clothing and your usual style.

Sharp. Stylish. Business. Red and black.

Do you have a job or attend school? If so, what is your job or what are you learning in school?

Not anymore! Well, I suppose I help Satya from behind the scenes, but I try to remain as hands off as possible.

Do you have any tattoos, markings, or scars on your body? What are they like?

Nothing notable

Is there anything about your appearance that you would like to change?

Well, a couple of months ago I honestly would’ve said nothing and that question would’ve been over and done with. But now? Fuck, I wish I wasn’t so goddamned pale!

Aside from your closest friend, who would you like to enjoy a relaxing afternoon with?

Satya, definitely. If I could, that was.

But if you want something more realistic - then perhaps Amanda or Blix. Perhaps we could go to a spa or something. That’d be nice. 

Do you listen to or create music? Do you enjoy it?

I listen to music occasionally. It’s nice, I suppose. 

What is something about the world you live in that is constantly on your mind? (War, Political Unrest, etc)

Discrimination, sexism - segregation. You know, the usual things.

If you were to pass a homeless person in the streets, what would you do?

Ignore them.

Where were you born, and where do you live now?

Adelaide... and I still live here. Unfortunately.

Do you prefer Spring, Summer, Autumn, or Winter? Why?

Summer, pump some warmth into this cold, lifeless body.

What is something you dream of accomplishing, but don't think you ever will?

Well, I like to think all my dreams are obtainable. Although ultimate power seems so far away, I still think it’s obtainable.

What's something that would make you really angry?

Someone touching literally anyone in my friends circle. I know that threat you made Sophia, I will hold you to that. Lay a single finger on them, I dare you.

What's something that calms you down when you're angry?

Cats, I suppose. Breathing, reading, being alone. All of the above.

Do you struggle with any physical or mental disabilities?

None that I’m aware of.

What are your three best and three worst personality traits?

As much as I hate to admit I have... flaws. I am aware of their existence.

My three best personality traits would probably be:

Resourceful Charismatic Determined

and my worst traits would be:

Bashful Blunt Complacent

Did you have any friends as a child that you are no longer in contact with?

Well, Satya I suppose. But everyone else I really didn’t keep close contact with. I didn’t necessarily care for them after high school ended.

If you fight with weapons, what are they? If not, what weapons do you think are cool?

My revolver, I use that a good chunk of the time.

Do you identify as the gender you were born with?

Yes.

What is your sexuality? Are you treated any differently for it?

I’m bisexual. I’ve never necessarily been treated too differently for it, I believe my father had some scorn when I brought a girl home one night, but that never really bothered me. I hated his guts.

What is an accomplishment that you are proud of?

Starting my own law firm with Satya.

How did you meet your closest friend?

Well. We were both brought to the Prince after being illegally turned into Kindred. It was interesting circumstances, but I know if we weren’t forced together then... well we would most certainly not be friends now.

How did you meet your second closest friend?

He walked down a staircase to the song Applause by Lady Gaga played on a portable speaker. He raised his arms and exclaimed “Darlings!” He went to shake my hand but ended up kissing knuckle.

It was one hell of an entrance. But, we’re close now.

Do you have any enemies? Who are they, and why are you enemies?

Oh, a good handful actually. Let me list them:

Xavier - I failed a ‘simple job’. Pretty sure he hates my guts.

Ryan - Brought me unwillingly into this life, assaulted me in doing so.

The Butcher - Assaulted Amanda, that made me mad so I shot his dick off after I met him.

The Prince - Things I’m an annoying nuisance fledgling. He holds the title I want. He’s also a dick.

Sophia - The bitch herself, genuinely hate her. Treats Amanda and Julian like shit, and shit talks Ralsei.

Facey - Some strange shapeshifter we met. Not sure if he’s dead, probably not knowing the Prince. But, he mistreated dogs then tried to manipulate Ralsei and I by shifting his face into those we care about.

Joe - I don’t know who you are. But believe me, you’re a dead man.

The Werewolves - I never want to see another one for as long as I live.

What is something that annoys you?

Disrespect, sexism.

What is a mistake that you've made in your past? Do you regret it?

Snowtown.

I regret every decision made there.

Have you travelled a lot? What was your favorite part of it? If not, where do you want to travel to?

I travelled a bit. I’ve been to Paris, Rome and New York. I loved learning new things and seeing different cultures in action, meeting other important people. Now... I think I’d actually like to go back to France again. With Julian, particularly. I’d like to see what he has to say about the place. I think that’d be very interesting.

Are you comfortable around people? Could you befriend a stranger, if given the opportunity?

No, not at all. I’m at my friend limit.

Have you ever been in a life or death situation? If so, what was it?

Every day of my fucking undeath.

Do you want to get married one day? What are your thoughts on children?

Well. I can’t conceive a child anymore. So that’s off the table. I also never really believed in marriage. It’s merely a legal binding, which makes death of a loved one a hell of a lot easier. So, maybe back when I was human, Marriage would’ve been a consideration, for law reasons alone. But, children? I’m a very work orientated person, I understand that having a child takes you away from you own life until you can set them up with their own. That’s a big commitment.

In terms of social status, where do you stand?

Well, I used to be pretty high up on the social ladder. Then some prick bit me, so, I’m not anymore. I’m pretty close to the bottom. And I’m sure i’ll be here for a bit longer, despite my best efforts.

Does anybody rely on you for something?

I suppose Ralsei. It’s always ‘Amara and Ralsei’, so we seem to rely on each other.

Also Jack. He relies on me for regular supplements of my blood source

Do you rely on anybody for something?

Julian, for literally fucking anything and everything.

What is a cause that you fight for?

Rights, fairness - any of my friends.

Have you ever been drunk or otherwise intoxicated? If so, what is something that happened while you were?

Quite regularly.

I vaguely remember one night when Satya and I went out a few years back... we drunk way too much. It was a fantastic night, I can tell you that much. But, the next morning - waking up in a bed with two unknown guys to the sounds of Satya retching in the bathroom was certainly an experience I’ll never forget.

Is there anybody you would die for?

Ralsei, Julian, Amanda probably. Blix too, I suppose.

Think of a friend or acquaintance you haven't yet spoken of. How do you feel about them?

I only keep a tight circle of friends. Everyone else either hates me or has a neutral disposition towards me currently.

Jacob interests me. But I don’t have enough information on him to back up any initial thoughts.

Are you competitive? Do you engage in any sports or competitions?

Quite. I like to win and come out on top.

I used to be on the debate team in high school and in Uni, but since then my competitiveness has shifted over to my work-life.

I’ve never really been a sport person. Camilla played netball, I did.. yoga. Well, she also did yoga, but I was better at it than her so she doesn’t matter.

Are you creative? If so, what do you like to create? Are you good at it?

Not necessarily. I have to come up with plans on the fly, so if that makes me creative, then, sure. I’m creative.

What are you the most afraid of in the entire world?

Well. The idea of Ralsei dying is pretty terrifying.

There’s also this... ambition that I have - and I don’t know how far it’s going to go to get what I want. I want Ryan dead. I don’t want to be Generation 13. Things line up, and it’s chilling.

Describe, start to finish, an average day in your life.

I wake up. Probably about 7 or 8pm. If I’m lucky, I wont get called to go on some incredibly dangerous and usually borderline suicidal mission.

Then, I would start researching, learning everything I can about kindred and the Camarilla - anything. When that all get’s too heavy, I take a break, check on Ralsei and ask if he’d like to go out and get anything to eat.

He’s a bagger so it’s hard. I’m trying to track down somewhere secure for him to get a supply source from.

Depending on his answer, we might head out. Mingle a little, get a drink. If I’m in the mood, I might drop by and see Julian.

Otherwise I’ll just head home and go back to reading, researching. Maybe I’ll watch a movie. Maybe I’ll watch a movie with Ralsei.

Then I’ll go back to sleep.

Do you celebrate any holidays? If so, which is your favorite? What is your favorite memory from that holiday?

All the usual holidays, Easter, Halloween (faintly) and Christmas. As mentioned above Christmas is my favourite.

My favourite memory from Christmas... well, there’s no specific memory, but the taste of mum’s food, air conditioner on full to justify us wearing our stupid sweaters... Camilla and I arguing over something, probably. Mother telling us to shut up...

Good times.

Would you prefer a peaceful nature walk or a trip to a busy city?

Busy city.

Growing up, did you have any important teachers or mentors? What's the most important thing they taught you?

My mother, really. She taught me to hold my own, to play the long con even if every second otherwise is painful.

If your parents or mentor knew everything about you today, would they be proud of you?

I don’t know. I really don’t.

Mother... might be proud.

What is something that excites you or makes you really happy?

Cats. Just, cats.

Do you have any really important secrets, or are you generally secret free?

Well, what Ryan did to me was one of my most well guarded secrets, but I apparently announced that in front of the whole court so not anymore. I try to keep my motives secret, but everything else about me open. It’s easier to mislead that way. 

If you were walking on the streets and you were attacked, do you think you could fight and win?

More than likely. Depends on who and what though. My hand-to-hand combat is... less than desirable. But if I had my gun, then perhaps.

Have you ever killed somebody? If so, why and how? If not, do you think you ever would?

Too many times to keep track. I’ve shot people, burnt them alive... And I’ll likely do it again. This life requires it.

What is your strongest physical trait? (Fast runner, very strong, super flexible, etc)

I can walk and run really well in heels. Otherwise I’m relatively flexible and balanced.

Have you ever been in love? If not, do you want to be? If so, with who, and are you still? If you aren't, how did it end?

I have never been in love. No one has proven themselves to me.

When you're alone and relaxing, what are you usually thinking about?

Revenge, plans... how to achieve my goals.

Do you have a lot of responsibilities? If so, what do they include?

A handful. I make an effort to take care of Ralsei, and others... even if it’s behind the scenes. I’m working on trying to find us a house, and finding a food source.

Among a variety of other things, I have a few.

Have you ever felt really guilty about something? If so, what was it?

I didn’t feel guilty at the time, but when I first met Julian and we were ambushed by hunters - I left him out in the open to die.

I think about that a lot.

Killing that 16 year old boy.

Not to mention, trying to drink Ralsei’s blood.

Do you have any habits, ticks, quirks, or anything like that?

Not off the top of my head. 

What complaints do you have about your best friend?

Ralsei is... well, he’s too soft. I understand he doesn’t want to kill - that’s okay. But a lot of our problems can be solved with just a little bit of killing.

What complaints do you have about your next closest friend?

Answer your fucking phone. I don’t care if you’re in the club, when Ralsei, Blix and I are facing people-dogs, I expect you to respond immediately.

Do you have any special abilities or talents?

I have my disciplines. Dominate and presence are very helpful.

Do you have any addictions or obsessions?

I’m sometimes obsessed with power. I’m sometimes obsessed with finding Ryan.

What drives you? (Your motivation or inspiration)

Keeping Ralsei and Amanda alive and safe.

What do you find attractive in a person, both physically and in terms of personality?

Confidence. Suave. I’m a sucker for brunettes. Both literally and figuratively. Brown eyes are nice too.

What do you think a stranger's first impression of you would be?

Intimidated, most likely. Impressed, perhaps.

Are you ashamed or embarrassed about anything?

Snowtown, messily failing to kill Detective Dickface.

Would you consider yourself to be trustworthy and honest? Would you lie if it benefited you?

I’m trustworthy and honest when it benefits me. I lie when it benefits me. 

Has anything huge happened in your life that you feel shaped or changed the person you are today?

Snowtown. Definitely.

What are some of your short term (less than 1 yr) goals?

Helping Amanda shrug herself free of Sophia.

Getting revenge for what that gang did to Julian.

Just... fucking Sophia up in some way.

Building my reputation back up.

How do you deal with stress? How do you respond to stressful situations?

Just keep going. Don’t stop.

What is something that most people don't know about you?

That I have an undying dedication to the Christmas Holidays.

Blank questions here!

[resbang-bookclub]

AMA TRANSCRIPT: Fake News!

In our first AMA of the season, @trueeasiann answered questions about her Resbang, Fake News! Read all the insider info below!

Q: First of all, because I’m always curious about what inspired stuff, what gave you the idea to write this resbang and put it in an office setting?

Whinnie: Hmm that's a good question lmao. I know there are quite a few soma office AUs out there but they seemed very 'corporate' and I wanted to explore an office environment that's a little more different? Also, I’m very biased but I work in tech LMAO... and I wanted to share some of the fun(ny) experiences I’ve had with my coworkers!

Q: By any chance... was a real experience playing ping pong with a coworker? I was very amused at Patty whooping Blackstar ahaha

Whinnie: Lmao yes I love working in tech! I've had the honour of getting the chance to work in both a smaller startup environment and a larger corporation, and the startup experience is just so much better because it's more flexible, less redundant, and I find you have more freedom to get things done. The dialogue during the ping pong isn't exact but yes, my friends at work do play a lot of ping pong and there is a lot of smack talking and I have one friend who randomly yells out from time to time while playing (or talking in general lmao) and he really reminds me of Blackstar HAHA.

Q: Did you have a favorite scene or scenes to write?

Whinnie: I really enjoyed writing the ramen scene, where Soul and Maka first get to really know each other outside of work. The dialogue came really easy to me for that, but I also enjoyed writing the coffee shop conversation between Black Star and Maka. Re-reading that scene now gives me a laugh at all the ridiculous stuff I made BS say lmao.

Q: I really enjoyed the sorta sibling vibes that Maka and Star convos had. He is always so extra.

Whinnie: I know it's kind of an overdone trope, to make Maka and BlackStar childhood friends or friends that know each other from way back (in this case, from college), but I feel like that's the only reason Maka puts up with him HAHA.

Q: You mentioned in your footnote at the end that this was your first fandom event. did the event schedule affect your usual writing habits at all, or your process for how you put it all together?

Whinnie: Well, before this, I hadn't written for like 4 or 5 years LOL. So I didn't really have any writing habits that were affected? But this was my first time writing on a deadline, and my first time writing a full multi-chapter story (as I like to stick to one-shots) so this was the first time where I started way "ahead" of time (I say ahead in quotations because my time of perception is really off lmao and I always end up starting stuff late anyway) this was also the first time where I was writing while juggling other things. I had my full-time job and also some other extracurriculars that I had to maintain. It's not as easy as writing in high school where you can just write all day LOL and not worry about putting dinner on the table or waking yourself on time the next morning for work. So I would do like work until 6 pm, come back and eat dinner, maybe catch up on some other things like messages, and then write until 3 or 4 or 5 in the morning lol because that was the only free time I had.

Question: When I read that footnote about writing in a car during your friend's wedding to make a deadline, I was floored!

Whinnie: LMFAOOOO yeah that was a wild time. so the wedding was actually one of my old coworker's and I got a ride with my other coworker and his GF. And when we arrived I was like "Ummmm I'm still not done so I'm gonna have to ask you something weird. Can you just lock me in the car and I'll come in like 10 mins?" LOOOL… But also part of it was my fault with, again, not budgeting enough time for myself. Like, I didn't start regularly working on my resbang until December. So for that whole month leading up to my posting date, I just didn't have a social life LMAO. And I also ended up taking the day before my posting date and my posting date itself off work because I knew I would stay up all night finishing it LOOOL. I also hope I never have to do that again LOOOL. It was really rough And I have a really bad habit from high school of staying up late and not getting enough sleep and so I kind of reverted back to that schedule… even now that resbang is done.

Q: Yeah, this sounds like it was a good learning experience at least! About your limits, how quickly you work, etc… And oh no, sounds like the habit tracker Soul and Maka did might be something to use!

Whinnie: YES, absolutely haha. I saw that while I was browsing Reddit and thought it was really cool, and I thought that if people are going to read my fic, I might as well offer them something useful as well haha.

Q: Did you know where you wanted the fic to go or did you kind of let it all happen as it went?

Whinnie: Hmmmm, well obviously Soul and Maka getting together was the end goal and I knew that I wanted to write it from Maka's POV (since I find that a lot of fics are written from Soul's or a mix of both), and that I wanted it to be relatable. So I thought it was plausible that both of them would bond over their shared imposter syndrome. And I did have an outline but it was very high level and vague, so I ended up adding more stuff. I also didn't want there to be any awkward jumps, like "wow one second she hated his guts and now she likes him?" so the granola bar scene, that wasn't what I originally intended on adding but it made more sense to have it before the ramen scene. I did want to add more to the ending like a scene of Soul and Maka just living life together after confessing to each other. But alas I didn't have enough time.

Q: I also really liked how you wrote Maka as bi! there seems to be a large chunk of fandom that writes her as Ace, so it was neat to see her thru another LGBTQ lens. did you always want to write her as bi, or did that come along after you'd started?

Whinnie: Thank you! Yes, I did notice that as well, and I can definitely see her as Ace and not interested in anything sexual at all -- or heck, even Demi (which I did write her as in my other recent fic.) But I was surprised that no one has written her as bi, or even in any serious yuri relationships let alone in a relationship with Tsugumi (especially since Tsugumi seems to really like and look up to Maka LOL) so I thought that would be interesting to explore. Especially since I also identify as bi.

Q: Do you have any other Soul Eater writing in the works?

Whinnie: Well I have some vague ideas, but not right now -- after resbang came the "resbangover" (resbang hangover) LMAO and I wanted to delve back into some of my other hobbies like music, so I've been taking a break from writing fic. But who knows, maybe I will write again soon... I do want to participate in Soul/Maka week!

Q: Congrats on completing your first resbang!

Whinnie: Thanks to everyone who's read the fic and left sweet words of encouragement!

[coldalbion]

Part 1: I was Odin and Loki devotee for 3 years and I considered having quite a strong connection with both of them despite of being a noob so to say. At one point I tried to become part of a certain small pagan community, because I felt I needed a pack; I didn't know much about anything and wanted to learn. Couple of months went well. Then I found out admin was a manipulative closet nazi and gay/transphobe.

Part 2: The rest of the ppl there didn't mind it at all in the name of "tolerating different opinions" and just laughed it off. I was so outraged, and I left. However, they too were norse pagans or inclined in one way or another towards the practice. They were talking like the gods had their back, helped them to get forward and agreed with what they were doing. Tried to talk me to "open my mind" to it as well.Part 3: When I was younger, I used to loathe everything monoteism related because of people like that. Now the same fury I thought had already been dead and buried, emerged stronger than ever, and this time it wasn't aimed at monoteism, but norse gods. I felt betrayed and used. I thought I'll rather be alone than have anything to do with deities who hang out with nazis or other human scum, while crying my eyes out and getting rid of my altar.Part 4: A friend tried to tell me to be reasonable, reminded me they're just people and people can talk shit or be deluded, and asked do I trust more the gods or people. I answered "I don't trust anybody anymore. Everyone can just fuck off." Now it feels like I've chopped off my own arm and run into space, far away from Earth, and just drifting there with nowhere to go. Like I would've lost one of my senses. It's dead silent.Still, just a thought of putting the altar back pisses me off, as everything norse related reminds me of those people. And I hate it as well how big of an infuence they have over me. I'm not even sure why am I writing this. I was thinking have you or someone of your followers perhaps had similar experiences and how did they overcome it?

That’s a horrible thing to have happen anon, and it’s never easy to experience betrayal - particularly when it’s in an arena where you feel that you were an individual who knew less, and in a sense looked up to those others as worthy of respect. I can only imagine what it felt like to have folks you used to consider pack, people you thought worthy and trusted to watch your back and look out for your spiritual well being, embrace or give time to such vile ideas which should never be tolerated.It’s bad enough when authors or authorities you respected turn out to not be what you thought they were, or espouse sentiments that are anathema to our own sense of justice and right living, let alone when those ideas have been proven to lead to atrocity after atrocity, violations of body and soul for thousands, nay, millions of people.So I understand you anger, and your sense of loss, because while the circumstances were different, I too have felt the gutting horror, the rising bile, and the brutal bruising of the soul under such an abuse. Because make no mistake, abuse of trust is abuse. When we make ourselves vulnerable to another, when we open our hearts enough to allow others to draw us along on a journey, we take a risk, allowing them to come into contact with pieces of ourselves we do not often expose in ordinary life. When we extend them that privilege - and make no mistake, it is a privilege - in a very real sense we give them access to the private laws, those intimate paths of thought and action we lay down which govern our inner lives, and we expect people to abide by them when in those spaces. True friends acknowledge those laws, and abide by them in interactions with us - even if they don’t always agree completely, in toto, because they respect us, and wish us to prosper. The recognise that these laws are the root-channels our life-force has forged throughout our existence, and they respect that which animates us - that which brings us Life and More Life. That which allows us to become More ourselves.This doesn’t mean that they should kowtow to us, but that they should act with respect towards us, and when in our orbit behave in a manner which is regarded by all parties as respectful within the context of relationship. Thus, I can have a respectful relationship with a friend even if our interactions seem naught but insulting to each other, because, contrary to what might appear to outsiders, we both know the insights arise out of love and respect.I mention respect, because many people have an inorganic ossified notion of respect, and honour and the like. They do not understand that they are both properties of betweenness - bonds between groups and individuals, gods and human, friends, siblings, parents and children etc. When those bonds, those shared agreements, implicit, or explicit, are broken ? Life, sense, meaning? They are disrupted - the flow of the world, its rhythms, its pulses, are thrown into disarray.Anger, rage - these are primal emotions, primal forces. Raw powers unleashed in some manner to grasp, to shape the world into new meanings, either by defending our integrity, or allowing us to gain a foothold in the world by overpowering things enough for us to make sense of them. In the service of Life, in the service of hope and kindness? They are holy things, but like many things, perhaps all things, they can be debased, can be twisted or turn harmful. When combined with fear, they can lead to atrocities, as we mentioned earlier.Make no mistake then, anon, but believe me when I say: You have been wronged. You have been wronged, and have every right to be angry. You have been wronged by people, not gods. But your anger at the gods is understandable. After all, it was for, and through them, that you encountered the people who abused your trust.So when you friend asked you whether you trusted the gods, I understand what they were trying to do. But the truth is, it has very little to do with the gods at all, except in a manner which I’ll come to into a moment.It is not surprising that your rage is also spilling over towards the gods, despite that sense of loss that you mention. Not surprising at all, not only for reasons you yourself mention, but also because you do not wish to be like those people who broke your trust, and what bound you to them was, seemingly, the gods. Was altars and shrines and hailing the names of Odin and Loki. To honour those gods is do as they did.So. Do not do as they did. Forgo the altars. Forgo the blots. Forgo the poisoned practice. Forgo “Anything Norse” as you put it. Those bonds are shattered. Let the anger rage, righteously.Let the fury have its head. Let it roar, let it surge, let it pulse. Let the pain of the wound sing. And know this, as you drift above the earth, senseless..The gods are. They are not their names (How can they be, when Odin has hundreds?) They are not their shrines. They are not their so-called worshippers.The gods were.A thousand years before your birth, they interacted with humans.

The gods will be.With you, or without. Long after you die, they remain. After this generation, and the next, and the next. No one raised up their names or gave them cultus, or erected altars or shrines for centuries.Yet still, they impacted upon you.Think about that, for a moment. Across all of space and time, down the centuries, down the generations, they made contact, and you forged a bond. 

Independently.Before your betrayers ever came into your life, it was You And Them.Before Nazi scumfucks were even a glimmer in Hitler’s grandparents eye, there they were.Before your betrayal, your relationship with them was good, was prosperous, yes? It served the purpose of Life, enhanced your existence, and in doing so, enhanced the existences of those around you, yes?And those arseholes took that from you. Made the forms and functions of your spiritual life into things of hate and apologism for hate.How fucking dare they?!How dare they break something holy, how dare they violate frith like that?So. Consider this: If I feel your rage, who else does? If I regard such violation as a crime, who else might?Suppose, just for a second, for a moment, that the anger, the disgust you feel at anything resembling ‘Norse’ as presented by our society right now? Suppose it’s not just yours. Suppose it’s theirs too.Suppose for a moment that those signs and symbols by which you previously navigated your relationship with The Master of Fury and the Mother of Sleipnir, are indeed poisoned for you.Suppose therefore that your anger may (or may not) be a sign from them, a desire to develop a more intimate relationship with them, beyond name and form, beyond ‘Norse’ into pure Life, existence itself. To form new bonds which cannot be contaminated by society, and in fact might lead to the destruction of poisonous ideas, via a more organic betweeness -  a vitalistic, enthusing, Life-affirming relationship of frith between all things, which by definition opposes hate?My advice anon: Allow your fury to guide you to the place where you feel whole. I suspect you’ll meet some strangely familiar folks, though their faces may be different.Be well, and know that I understand.