#we can deal with the fear of being observed later it's not a priority

[asterdeer]

psychologist was like "do you have any symptoms of paranoia" and i was like "idk, not really, i'm afraid of being observed and i've always had a fear that bathrooms had cameras in them including the bathrooms in my house and that i was being observed and judged or laughed at" and she was like "well that doesn't not sound like symptoms of paranoia, what has your therapist said about it" and i was like "it hasn't really come up" and she was like "IT HASN'T REALLY COME UP???"

[bscully]

Why Zagreus is such a good character

*Obligatory Hades spoiler ahead* Zagreus is so so so interesting from a meta perspective. While his design certainly went into the "attractive bad boy" direction, he is not your usual hyper-masculine protagonist.

Definitely not!

It starts off with his physique, which is not that of a tall, beefy body builder, but more of an ancient greek athlete. He is also shorter than most other Gods, of average size by mortal standards, and doesn’t take kindly to people making fun of his height. I find that a fascinating character design choice to make. From there, let's continue with his character.

His temperament is sanguine; he is a ray of sunshine and loves to share all the warmth that rests in his heart. Which is a fascinating trait to have as Prince of the Underworld, who is veiled in Darkness by Mother Night, Nyx, herself. The following Berserk quote comes to mind: "He who bears light exists in the deepest shadow".

(There is a big conceptual overlap between Hades and Berserk, but I’ll just leave it at that for this post)

Zagreus is a sociable, extroverted type who values family and bonds over everything, is respectful, polite, charming. From someone like him, genuine kindness and honesty are a guarantee. Together with his capacity to empathize, it allows him to form meaningful relationships. His noble spirit and attitude are befitting of a prince. He does not mind stepping out of his comfort zone and challenge himself, either.

When you first beat Hades, he asks Zagreus to tell Persephone that Cerberus is doing well. Zagreus instead demanded an answer for a question in exchange of telling her. However, this question was left unanswered as Hades was taken by the Styx before he could reply. Later on, because Zagreus is a good-natured person and knows his priorities, picking his mother’s needs over the grudge he could hold against his father, he tells Persephone anyways.

There are moments in the game where he is sensitive, observant and catches up on social cues very quickly. He listens to others and apologizes to them when he feels like he may have overstepped a boundary, such was the case when Thanatos berated him for allowing Orpheus visiting his muse Eurodyce and meddled into their affairs without their consent.

Sometimes he appears to have troubles expressing what he feels, or is perhaps insecure or anxious to express it (particularly when interacting with Meg, who is rather intimidating). But despite his hesitations and fears I think he is still doing a good job at it.

Judging from a brief conversation with Alecto, he appears to know how to form healthy habits and deal with difficult situations in a productive, nurturing manner (the fact that 1. Alecto doesn’t take kindly to his attempts at getting along and 2. Zag doesn’t like her for it, is kinda funny to me). He is capable to mediate and settle conflicts between people, this is literally one of the game's primary goals.

Judging by what happened between him and Megaera, it appears he also wasn't always this mature and went a long way learning from his mistakes. His sometimes boastful confidence and his running mouth probably were one of them. Regardless, I'm deeply impressed with Zagreus' emotional intelligence and maturity.

Considering how so many other protagonists typically are characterized, this such an unusual way to write a male one, and as such he really stands out.

I believe it is absolutely necessary that protagonists like him exist and we honestly do need more like him: as these shine a different light on nurturing masculinity and what it can be.

Zagreus is not less of a man because of the radiant and kind person he is. Quite the opposite so, I personally find him extremely attractive (he’s doing things to me oml). He is just being himself: unfiltered, optimistic, with a good sense of humor. He is not even trying to fulfill any gender roles in any shape or form, simply embracing the bonds he has for what they are, living the moment. He does whatever it takes to make the world around him a better place and make the people around him happier. And he started doing that once he stopped running away from his problems.

This reassurance is something boys and men (including those who identify as such) urgently need nowadays.

PS: I’m still not over the fact he canonically likes plushies, the lil dork

[walhartonsclub]

2023 Update

My life is much different from the days of 2016 and 2017. Those days were pretty dark with my depressed mood along with being hurt and exploited by CC. But these past few years after 2021 were amazing, a far cry from the likes of Chapter 5 & 6 era and the Chapter 8 era even more for sure. I have received the support I desperately wanted in the mid 2010's and very grateful to have that. I also made some new good friends as well. I even had feelings for a few men and hang around with one particular one very much and loved being in his presence. Not only is he a good person unlike CC, but his looks outclass CC by at least 5 points.

As for CC. Wherever he appeared, I would not say a word to him, keep a large distance away from him, and observe him while I keep expanding the gap until we are not even readibly viewable. If he would spot me, he would he turn his head at me often with a negative expression at me that seems to be a mix of strong anger and for some reason apparent fear. One day I was at a bench and CC walked by, I didn't notice him until he was a few feet away from me. I immediately got up and started walking away until he started speaking me about how I "keep talking so much crap about him on the internet". I didn't respond and kept observing him. I took off as he was walking away.

He was not specific with what he was talking about. If he is not talking about this blog, then there no reason for him to saying anything like that to me. Last time, he claimed I was subscribed to his channel and I sent him threats, which is not true. He has demonstrated himself to be a liar and a consistent harasser who was vulgar to me, all because I was tired of his abuse and didn't let him force me to quit my job. Unless it is about the CC blog, he is just doing the harassment rounds because he is dealing some unknown problem and lashing out at me out of covenience. Typical lowlife behavior of him.

If he is talking about the CancerChaser blog: he reaps what he sow. His abuse was revolting. He cannot honestly believe that he can try to change someone else's life and priorities because he says so or say all kinds of nasty and hurtful messages in response while expecting no consequence. What he did in late September 2017 was very wrong objectively and what he did in response and more weeks later was even worse. Just because the police wouldn't bother with CC does not make his actions any right. On the internet there is controversy over anything slightly disagreeable. Does he honestly expect that he would actually get away with all the abuse he did to me, especially the claims that I was never good to him? His nastiness would naturally be returned back to him, as that is how he treated me. What goes around comes around. He is the one who instigated the situation with his attacks.

It is natural that there would be a response. CC is not powerful enough to properly quash me and what he did was justified for him to be exposed. Like in Chapter 3, e-begging is considered a massive crime and is often taken like a felony to the point that people have been canceled for asking for money on the internet. Back in the same time period of Chapter 4, there was a scandal that surrounded a Switch Launch Line involving a man who ran a GoFundMe campaign for flight money and was attacked viciously by a community over the lack of transparency along with several other factors. Said person who was targeted even has the same sexual orientation as CC. Much more recently a YouTuber known as iilluminaughtii has been exposed for her massive amounts of abuse that she inflicted at the people that worked under her as well as her ex boyfriend. CC deserved to be attacked on the internet for what he did. Given his horrible behavior, it is only natural he would recieve hateful negativity returned to him one way or another. Although, I do not codone the death threats at CC.

It is just that CC would be receiving blowback. Wether indirectly or directly. His heavily abusive bullying through phone and email makes him a wretched virulent person, especially in the context of his selfish desires he pushed on me. He doesn't like it? Too bad, he should've never been so nasty after he screwed up badly by interfering with my job schedule. It's called accountability. He needed to understand that in his formative years and yet nearly middle-aged he still has the mindset of a spoiled child; while acting like one at a younger adult.

This blog wouldn't happen if he just simply stopped talking to me instead breaking boundaries. If he feels he can just violate set personal boundaries, he has to accept the repercussions that would happen. The world does revolve around him. People his age are naturally expected to have accountability.

Hopefully I hope to never have to talk about CC ever again. I really want to move on.

[rainy-astrology]

ATEEZ Wooyoung Birth Chart analysis

Based on my opinion and observations. Not a professional astrologer. May change later.

November 26th, 1999

Ilsan, SK

3:20 AM

☀️♐️, 🌙♋️, ⬆️♎️

Sun in 2nd house indicates materialism and possessiveness, both object and people wise. Financial security is important to him

Sun, Mercury, Pluto, and Chiron in 2nd...

Mercury Scorpio is very observant and investigative. Wooyoung can be a little argumentative at times and straightforward with his words. He's also quite fierce when it comes to figuring out the truth (the murder ep of ATEEZ's office series Salary Lupin). In 2nd house, he knows how to handle money well and knows how to work for it

Pluto in 2nd makes him work very hard for money. Being financially stable seems like his top priority. A bit materialistic. He likes to assert control over his life, he does not want any restrictions.

Chiron in 2nd struggles with security and self worth...Financial insecurity, maybe feeling like his self worth comes from what he owns, how much money he has

Venus in 1st house explains a lot; very charming and friendly, we all know how outgoing Woo is. He can easily befriend anyone and loves talking about his new buddies. He is also quite gorgeous, very nice and angular features. This placement enhances his Libra placements more (rising and venus), so he's definitely got a smooth way with people. Very loving and affectionate as most Libra venus ppl are

Jupiter in 7th lets him have an easy time creating bonds with others. Venus, Rising, and Jupiter placements make him so social (esp with Venus opp Jupiter and Venus conjunct Rising)

Mars Capricorn in 4th is a hardworking and protective placement. Mars Capricorn is exalted, so Woo definitely takes his work and responsibilities seriously. He may have felt responsible for his family at a young age (as most Capricorn in 4th house ppl do...) and matured earlier than most people. Mars in 4th makes him very protective of those he considers family (if i recall correctly, he said he would bite whoever upset Seonghwa lol. And honestly I can see it happening. He is not hesitant to call out whoever hurts ATEEZ). Do not mess with his loved ones

However, Mars in 4th could also mean fighting with family/close ones a lot. He has high standards and demands that may annoy them even though he thinks he is being helpful...the addition of Uranus and Neptune in 4th does not help either

Uranus and Neptune Aquarius in 4th can indicate a weird family or possible family issues. He may not notice it though (can be idealized or avoided due to Neptune) or does and tries to control the environment. Personal life and home may feel chaotic; craves stability and comfort in home

Moon Cancer in 9th wants to travel and explore; wants new experiences and learn new things. Has a lot of energy, definitely can not stay still

Saturn in 8th could mean a fear of changes...irrational fears. Has or is learning how to efficiently deal with finances and materials.

North node Leo in 10th theme is to explore and express himself authentically, be creative and fun, show who he is. In 10th, he should learn to focus on himself. From what I see from his chart, he seems to do a lot for his family - which is great, but he should also think about himself too. He is hard working and responsible and likely feels he needs to be that way for his family, but he should know it's ok to just do things for himself. He can be dependent on others and may be a bit insecure, so he should learn to be more confident in himself and do what he want without worrying too much abt what others want/think

Seems like there's a lot of lessons about finances and possessions, family, and self worth...

___

Other analysis:

MBTI | Enneagram

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Masterlist

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[feralphoenix]

a thing that i really love about hollow knight is that part of its incredibly strict Show Don’t Tell policy means it works a lot in juxtapositions. comparisons and parallels.

like, rather than Telling us what makes for a good and responsible ruler, we get to know about various different heads of state in the various nations of the crater, and we can observe how they handled international relations, public policy, etc and the consequences/effects of their choices, and draw conclusions by ourselves.

there are lots of different parent-child relationships, and sibling relationships, so that we have many examples to compare ghost and their family to.

there are also a number of higher beings around and you can compare them to each other to understand their different approaches to godhood, how they handled being the center of a culture & the responsibilities that entails (radi, unn, tpk) or the ways they sidestepped those roles (white lady, grimm). in addition to forming our opinions of these characters this also contextualizes what ghost does when they attain godhood in the godseeker endings & after the delicate flower variant, in godseeker mode.

like you can use these points of reference for a lot of different analysis topics!!! but one of the things that always Gets Me In My Emotions is the direct juxtaposition between herrah, radiance, and tpk and how differently these three characters handle the cost of fighting Existential Crisis.

the pale king’s policy is officially No Cost Too Great, but just like the hunter says in hollow’s bestiary entry, for tpk “cost” was a thing for other people to pay, and he was not willing to risk any sort of harm to his own person. his plan to deal with the infection involved sacrificing the dreamers & the hollow knight, and his plan to create a hollow knight involved birthing hundreds of thousands of children who were designed to be expendable - they were there so he could experiment on them, select a candidate, cull the failures, and then sacrifice said candidate.

the worst tpk might have experienced through all this is emotional turmoil, and it’s left ambiguous in-game whether he was actually conflicted about the child sacrifice/felt attachment to hollow or whether his personal low point throughout all this was being butthurt about his wife walking out rather than birth a second batch of vessels for the slaughter. (he must’ve been pretty darn butthurt to have lied to the kingdom that the white lady was dead.)

as soon as his plan failed and he had no other recourse, tpk fled rather than expose himself to any potential harm. he was willing to - perhaps desperate enough to - expend any number of chess pieces if it would save hallownest, but his own life and safety was NEVER on the table.

just like tpk, radiance is trying to protect herself and her people. just like tpk and herrah, she too is willing to go to any lengths necessary to get the settlers to fucking step off, give her children back, and leave her alone.

for her this entails being willing to bend her own principles - i’ve talked about this in depth before so you can find all that in my essay tag if you’re interested, but in-game evidence points to radiance having been a pacifist like the rest of her tribe pre-hallownest. and the infection is a curse that’s only sometimes fatal, but it causes extreme amounts of harm and fear and chaos to inflicted parties. and this level of harm is something she’s willing to do just to threaten/pressure tpk into backing down.

her method also causes a large amount of collateral damage (including lateral harm to other indigenous bugs!), suggesting that she either doesn’t have the emotional wherewithal to worry about who might get hurt, or just plain doesn’t care. if you squint, it’s possible to make the argument that radiance might have warned unn before her counterattack against hallownest, but even then forewarning was the only mitigation she was able and willing to provide. if this is what it takes to protect herself and her tribe, then so be it.

so, compared to tpk, who chose to actively sacrifice the lives of individuals to protect the institution of hallownest, and radiance, who doesn’t care about splash damage to bystanders as long as she can save her tribe... what i find extraordinary about herrah is that when she determined that sacrifice was necessary to protect deepnest, she took all that sacrifice upon herself.

most obviously herrah accepts the role of dreamer in hopes of ending the plague, sacrificing her life. in order to keep tpk from taking advantage of that to conquer deepnest, she also negotiates that he has to provide her with an heir, thus ensuring deepnest’s sovereignty... but this means she has to have sex with the very creature who has been trying to commit genocide against the spiders for generations. she has to let her lifelong worst enemy who she’s been fighting alone since the death of her husband impregnate her. this decision had to have come with some form of emotional distress for her, and yet herrah shoulders it and soldiers through it.

and then even through this, it’s implied in the white lady and midwife’s dialogue (+ posed in the dev notes/style guide) that tpk snatched up hornet when she was a child to raise her in the white palace. it’s unclear whether he did this to keep hornet as a hostage to make sure herrah couldn’t renege on their treaty now she’d got what she wanted out of the bargain, to ensure his offspring would be raised in the culture he created rather than in deepnest, which he clearly believed to be barbaric and uncivilized, or both.

yet instead of calling bullshit and flouncing on the deal or trying to steal hornet back, thereby exposing deepnest to the threat of both the infection And aggression from hallownest once more, herrah stuck with it. midwife says that herrah paid dearly for her involvement with this plan, but herrah valued deepnest’s survival over her own individual life, and saw it through to the end no matter how tpk’s plan caused her to suffer or hurt her dignity.

there’s an incredible amount of nobility and integrity herrah shows here. she refuses to let any harm come to her country, and insists that any and all sacrifice required of her as a leader be her sole responsibility. her courage, her political intelligence, and her strength of character as a leader are all nothing short of awe-inspiring.

at the same time, there is still a downside to herrah’s spirit of self-sacrifice. as anyone who’s ever watched steven universe can tell you, self-sacrifice is actually kind of a shitty solution to one’s problems because self-destruction hurts the people who love you.

we get glimpses of hornet’s intense emotional torment over her mother’s fate and her understanding that it’s necessary to let ghost murder herrah to change the status quo; similarly we can understand the crushing amount of personal responsibility hornet feels towards the whole crater comes from knowing the cost of her own birth, and having front row seats to her parents’ political power struggle.

we hear from herrah herself that everything she does is done for hornet, so hornet’s pain is probably the last thing herrah would have wanted, but ironically what hornet goes through in hollow knight is a direct consequence of herrah choosing to martyr herself.

anyway all of this speaks SO much for herrah and radi and tpk’s individual priorities and problem-solving strategies and also their blind spots... plus, there’s a lot about herrah’s character that goes underappreciated and this is one of those unsung aspects. fandom... fandom blease be SAD about SPIDER MAMA with me

[jamestrmtx]

Fairytale Complex - [Undertale | Sans x Reader]

[Gender Neutral, Frisk's Parent Reader | Slow Burn]

Chapter Twenty One | It's Showtime! (Part 2 of 3 | His POV)

[First] | [Previous] | [Next]

Alternate Chapter Title(s):

Saint Behind the Glass** (Song Referenced)

or

The Extra Corny One With A Second Song Title Reference, Part 2½**

• • •

**This basically reveals Part 2 and 3 were meant to be Chapter Twenty-Two at one point (similar to how various chapters from the old version of FaiCom have been merged together here), buuut each chapter has essentially took place on different days in this version, so...

Let's keep that format, shall we?

• • •

Something's wrong.

That single sentence continues to repeat itself over and over as he makes it from Ruins to Hotland with the human, who remains quiet and distant during the entirety of the walk.

They're obligated to take off their jacket and reveal a sweaty tank top midway through, leaving their arms bare, these they try to hide from his line of sight by crossing them and glancing aside. He wonders why they do that at first, until he witnesses how hefty and soft-looking their arms are, a noticeable difference compared to the toned muscles he often saw from those who worked at the Royal Guard. Whether the human felt unconfident of their appearance or vulnerable as a cause of the nightmare he assumed to be related to, Sans wasn't completely sure of. Either way, he's aware it's best not to bring that up currently. The ups and downs to their health and body had shown greatly through these past few months, and though they were recovering little by little, they seemed to be facing some more frequent downs, as of late. Their call from a few days ago and the weak state they were in as they climbed into the back seat of Papyrus's car were just enough to make him fear there's something bigger going on.

"Shoulda worn shorts or somethin'," he comments, noticing they already seem to be affected by the heat. Frisk ventured through a variety of climates with no trouble at all, yet their parent was showing signs of fatigue in their body within a few minutes into their walk through Hotland. The place had grown about twice as hot since he last visited, though he doubts the human will believe him if he were to say that out of nowhere. They could likely take it as him trying to console them for their inability to be stronger than him; or their own child, for that matter -- someone meant to see them as a role model rather than a frail and dependent person. "Wanna borrow some of mine?"

The human stares at him like he's made the most absurd suggestion there is, similar to that of mixing water with cereal or cooking steak in a toaster. "I swear, you test your luck with me a little too hard sometimes."

"I mean it, though."

"...We're not even dating yet."

"Yet," he says, mirth in his tone. "As in, there's still a possibility for us to become official?"

"Oh, stop it." They frown and fumble with the keys hanging from their satchel; he notices their nails are stubby, and bits of dried blood can be seen at the corners of plenty. "I… I don't know when you're being serious with me or not anymore."

"I meant that, too," he states, chuckling. "Would it be late if I told you I got that punch at the bar, 'cuz I had my head way in the clouds -- thinkin' about you?"

Sans receives no comment or reaction other than (Y/N) looking elsewhere and moving aside to walk a bit further from where he's at.

As a consequence, he takes a step closer, catches them with a 'hey', and reaches for their cheek when they look down at him. "...What's the matter? Your face's burnin'."

"We're in Hotland," they retort, rolling their eyes and brushing his hand away. "Ice's frozen. Water's wet. The sun's scorching-"

"-Just like you."

They walk off again, albeit with some struggle now that the heat of Hotland has combined with their embarrassment.

"And I'm not gonna wear your shorts. It would be a waste of time for me to take a break just because of some heat -- I'm not weak."

"Not sayin' you are. Just sayin' I don't want you to die from a heatstroke."

"Either way, I overlooked my situation, and I failed to prepare for it." A solemn look falls on their face, coupled with a firm posture. "I should've kept in mind my health, so it wouldn't be right for you to try redeeming my lack of preparedness. I should've asked Frisk or you more about this." They take in a breath and sigh it out. "...even if you can adapt to it just fine, and even if Frisk didn't have as much trouble to adjust as me."

Hot-headed and fiery might just be the finest ways to describe the human's current attitude, yet he very well knows making another joke about their temper -- combined with their hotness and the place they're currently at -- would be far too much. It wouldn't surprise him if they decided to call off the tour halfway through. Patience wasn't quite their main trait, though they practiced a sufficient amount of tolerance when it came to confronting his constant coquetry for the duration of those two months one of their coworkers mentioned in the chat; he can hardly believe it's been that long, and even less how close he was to kiss them that one time on the couch. More than sixty days of dealing with his presence had to be considered an achievement of some sort, even if their feelings were mutual. The monster's completely aware of how tiring and exasperating he can be on the often occasion, so he finds it best to start rationing how much he can be at once; too much of something's rarely ever good or effective, after all.

"But... Alright. Risking it would only make it worse, either way." Their gaze turns soft and they concede with a quiet huff. "Wouldn't we have to go allll the way back, though?"

"Not exactly," he replies, winking.

Sans proceeds to unzip his jacket and reveal a folded bundle of clothing underneath it.

"I know you can be stubborn sometimes, so I came prepared." He turns it over and adds, "There's a full set of clothes there, in case ya wanna freshen up at Met's old hotel before we keep goin'." His hands brush with theirs as they take the clothing from him. "It's been abandoned for a short while now, but I'm pretty sure the water's still runnin' well, for the most part." His gaze falls on their belongings again, and he gives into a cheekier grin as he continues with, "I've noticed somethin' about you, by the way."

"And what would that be?" they ask, mouth straight and tone wary.

He observes the satchel again -- the more-heavy-than-it-looks bag they almost always seemed to carry along with them, be it for something as typical as their job to something as simple as going out for a walk. What made it odd was knowing what contents could be found inside, these he has a vague recollection from when he had no other choice but to organize their bag after having gone through it when they fainted at the bus. Sans can still remember having rummaged through layers of Frisk's clothing, school supplies, and even a few monster-aimed medicines before setting the first aid kit back to its rightful place. The only things he could recall to be truly theirs were their cellphone, wallet, keys, and eyeglasses case. Going back to that memory makes him wonder -- were their priorities in the format of a list -- what number they would label themself with.

"You usually carry stuff in that bag meant for other people -- not you." He eyes the pocket with a few contents poking out from it. "...Or am I Ied to believe that bright pink Husky hairpin's yours?"

The human looks confused for a moment, until their eyes cast down at their bag and assess the pocket his gaze is most focused on. Then, they come across one of the smaller ones, where the mentioned accessory stays clipped to. "It- It's not! That's just in case Frisk needs it." They take it and hide it away in one of the bigger, emptier pockets. "It's their favourite hairpin, and they use it more often now that their hair's getting longer."

"But they ain't here right now."

"Yes, but what if they need it later -- when I go pick them up?"

He can barely contain the joy their overly defensive expression brings upon his face.

Perhaps it's pure projection or coincidence, but they appear to resemble the same dog he mentioned with the stance they hold, not threatening in the slightest and charming at best, but still ready to attack -- figuratively, of course. Hearty laughter escapes him, though he covers it up with a harrumph. "I'm surprised you don't carry the whole house with you, at this point."

"It doesn't hurt to be prepared."

"If only you applied that thought for you, too."

They swat his skull with their hand and let out a chuckle. "Don't nag me, teddy bear." Nonetheless, a more serious look overcomes them as they sigh. "You're right, though." With how quiet it gets and how long that pause lasts, it appears as if they've become lost in their thoughts. "Not only did the social worker suggest it, but it's not fair for me to keep bothering you or anyone else because of my..." They scratch their throat and grin. "...consistently questionable life choices."

"Is that a promise I'm hearin'?"

"A big and definite one."

• • •

Half-open windows help bring some clear air into the stuffy room, as does the air conditioner set to the coldest temperature possible by lessening the dryness and heat of the wind. It's all paired up with the scents of the fresh cinnabunnies and iced coffee he carries in some paper bags, food he bought at Snowdin while the human showered. Sans sets the meal by the nightstand, covers it up with some aluminum foil, and -- finally -- wipes a layer of dirt away from the mirrored dresser before assembling some toiletries on it. Then, he sits down in bed, closes his eye sockets, and waits. The sounds of his soul beating, the breeze blowing the curtains, and the shower running are the only melodies to take over the quiet of the hotel. Turning on the radio by the nightstand further assists those noises and aids in transforming the room into a more welcoming and cozy spot, overall. The last thing on his mental to-do list is to wait some more by checking his phone and updating himself on any new messages, some few from (Y/N)'s coworkers wishing him luck. A grin's inevitable as he reads through these a second time.

The shower turning off and a door unlocking are the next changes he notices, along with the radio switching from music to news.

Sans feels his breath tremble when the human steps out. They're dressed to the nines despite their attire being composed of the simplest clothing possible: a new pair of his below-the-knee shorts, these fitting slightly above theirs as a result of their taller height; plus one of his baggiest shirts, now almost at belly button length for the same reason as the first piece. What makes such a common attire seem so complex and thought-out is how well they've adjusted it to their figure; it's either that, or he has his head in the clouds again. Regardless, they knew how to fix an outfit, and it wasn't that of much surprise if he compared it to the time they pulled the same trick when borrowing some sleepwear from Toriel's wardrobe.

Or, then again…

He was slowly becoming infatuated with them and couldn't avoid finding them attractive -- no matter the clothing worn.

At the sight of (Y/N) having their back turned to him while they perform their finishing touches by the dresser, he approaches them as quietly as he can, yet he lets himself be seen halfway with the reminder of the nightmare they had and how startled they could likely be if he tried anything extreme. He goes to hug them from behind when they catch him getting closer, though they say and do nothing in response. Still, his expectations of no retaliation are promptly shattered as they turn around, grab his hands, and twirl him once, preventing the hug.

"Nice try, teddy bear," they comment, smiling. "Do try again next time." They wink.

It's a knockout when the radio decides to switch back to music, inspiring in them what he assumes is an urge to take their current hold on him to lead him into an impromptu dance.

"So… You want to get flirty with me again?" they ask, grabbing his hands tight as they sway him left and right at a rhythmic but easy motion. "Then you've got to handle me flirting back." One hand holds his left one up while the other places his right one on their waist. Theirs then falls on his shoulder when he keeps his where they placed it at, this one he has trouble keeping still with how close he is to touch their skin, part of their waist now more exposed with their movements, showing the “love handles” he'd teased them about since he first flirted with them. A subtle but no less playful smile stretches their lips; their eyes soften, though mischief flares in their gaze. "I've made the decision to trust you," they comment, twirling him around once more. "So if you'd like us to be official, we can, but…" Their steps slow down as they trail off in their thoughts.

He treads in with, "You need to wait until the CPS thing's over with, right?"

They nod. "Unfortunately."

Their sorrow stays brief and their playfulness returns, replacing their momentary frown for yet another smile. "My memory might be a bit bad though, as I've never heard you say you like me before." To further increment the effects of their teasing, their lips fall close to his teeth but end up lower, kissing his jaw instead. "...In other words," they add, hands locking firm around his neck and bringing him closer to them. "Speak now, or forever hold your peace."

Sans feels his face turn about as warm as theirs felt, and he can tell they've noticed, based on the way their face lingers close to his -- waiting.

"...I like you," he says, far too quiet to be labeled anything but a murmur; even a thought could be considered louder than his words.

They land another kiss, much closer to his teeth. "Couldn't hear you."

"I like you, puddin'," he repeats, stronger this time. "Can you, uh… do that again, though? It felt nice."

They nod, lean in further, and press yet another kiss to his face. "Gladly."

With that, the human carries on with the dance. They sway him left and right and perform small circles across the hotel room, adding a twirl every few seconds -- sometimes with them taking the lead, and vice versa. "I like you, too, Serif." Despite the meaning and weight of their words, a frown arrives on their face. "But…" They hesitate. "I still have some doubts, and I think that dream I had confirmed that."

"Would you like to talk about it?"

A few seconds of silence remain and the song ends, dropping tension in the room.

"Not now, but… But maybe later?" They let him go. "If possible, I'd like to talk at the Judgment Hall -- where you last worked before leaving the Underground."

Despite his best efforts, the skeleton can't avoid commenting, "Want me to judge how good you look right now?"

The human sighs, loud and long. "...Babe?"

"Yeah?"

"Stop."

He lets out a resounding, jovial laugh at that.

Their tone's genuinely sad, as so's their expression.

They look a hundred and ten percent done with him, though they still push forward with a, "Be serious for a moment, please. I… I really mean it, and that dream I had…" Demurral returns to their words. "It involved one of my fears about Frisk's safety, and well…" They take a deep, shaky breath. "A- And my own safety when I'm around you."

The severity of their statement dawns on him, and his view distorts itself from an attractive human to a vulnerable one standing in front of him, weak and poorly prepared -- completely alone with him in a large, abandoned, and dilapidated hotel. They were easy prey from the viewpoint of an Underground Sentry. He could easily take them captive with their current state of health and their lack of knowledge in combat. Were he still assigned to that job, had (Y/N) fallen in Frisk's stead, and were finding that seventh soul still a priority, he could just as easily inform every other member of the Royal Guard to bring the human down to the Monster King's bidding. Unlike Frisk, they had little to no determination left in their soul; a quick and direct intervention meant danger for them.

And had he still that same mindset to this day, his agreement with Asgore to serve and protect (Y/N) would be something he could break -- something simple to deal with if he framed the blame on someone else. He could just as likely tolerate some jail time for failing to fulfill his part of that job with no protest. The only real obstacle would be (Y/N)'s child themself, knowing they were likely going to guard and care for their parent unconditionally. But even then, they were still alone with him presently; in other words, he could cover up any potential evidence of him being a culprit with time to spare. Perhaps Frisk was the hero of the story, but (Y/N) was still an NPC -- someone easy to get rid of with the right amount of caution and preparedness.

"You mentioned something about Karma before, and well…" They break the silence and snap him out of those thoughts. "I've made a lot of bad choices and awful mistakes, so that makes me wonder if, m- maybe…" Tears form in their eyes as they breathe in -- once, then twice. "If maybe I don't deserve any of this kindness or forgiveness that I've been getting recently, and… And that maybe I don't belong in this story, y'know? Frisk has done all the work here so far, and they've overcome plenty of obstacles, too. Meanwhile, I- I'm a weak, ill person with a dead-end job -- trying to keep a holey row boat afloat with napkins." They let out a shaky sigh and fail at a smile. "I get that you like me, and I can't deny or ignore my own feelings for you, but I'm… I'm an unworthy, ungrateful person. We've known each other for barely half a year. Th- There's stuff you don't know about me yet -- just as I don't know about you."

Their face shines with tears, these they can't bring themself to stop with how many pour down, and how fast these are. "I've already troubled and hurt Frisk enough as it is, and I've... I've troubled well-meaning family like Brenda just as much with my mistakes." They cover their face as they sit down in bed, trying to contain their sorrow. "...And then I have these awful, intrusive thoughts that seep in whenever I think I'm doing better. I don't want to bring trouble to you or any other monsters, either, but reminding myself of my past worsens these feelings, kn- knowing I might screw up again and again and again."

Feeling the situation's getting too rough not to establish some control over it, Sans sits down with them and grabs their wrists, tugging at these for them to look down at him.

Fear reaches their gaze as they stare at his irises, completely overcoming their bright and cheerful attitude from earlier.

"Breathe," he says, voice low as he loosens his grip on their wrists -- at the feeling of them shaking almost violently under his hold. "We'll go to the Hall in a few. But, first... I'm gonna need you to calm down a lil' more." He lets go.

They nod, close their eyes, and let a few more tears drift down before he dries the rest of these off with the sleeve of his jacket. "...Alright."

When they shudder, sniffle, and recover some sense of tranquility, they look at him again and smile. "And thank you for showing me patience."

He smiles back and brings them in for a hug -- long, tight, and strong. "That I've got plenty of, puddin'."

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[ace-oreos]

Alpha-17 back on Kamino, taking Anakins suggestion and helping the clones come up with names and describing what working with jedi will be like. Also i like the idea of the clones asking why he SO scarred and hes like now thats a good story and watch out for general kenobi he gets into stuff and only after they meet him and anakin are they like "Oh now i get it."

Anon! I got SO. EXCITED. when I got this! Alpha is such a great character and I really enjoy working with him. Thanks for the prompt! I hope it hits everything you asked for. :) 

Kamino is… even worse than he remembers, quite honestly. If not for the verd’ike, Alpha would be more than tempted to burn the place to the ground and be done with it. 

(It’s not the first time the thought has ever crossed his mind, and it’s certainly not the last.)

But at least he doesn’t have to deal with Kenobi or Skywalker anymore. 

Which is a plus, all things considered. Rattatak had been rough, to put it lightly - much more so than he’d let on, partly to ward off potential concern from Kenobi and partly because he refuses to admit it to himself.  

Of course, he’s traded the Jedi for a batch of cadets who are entirely too boisterous for their own good. Kenobi is still stuck with Skywalker as far as he knows, and sometimes he can’t help wondering who got the better deal.

(Then again, knowing Kenobi, he’d be all too happy to spread some osik about serenity and inner balance or something equally revolting.)

Alpha suspects it’s a product of Jango’s teaching that he’d initially headed into this assignment with high expectations for the command batch. In retrospect, he can’t for the life of him fathom where he’d acquired that notion - every single cadet under his command is the embodiment of chaos with a healthy disrespect for authority. 

He’s not one to talk, but as an officer - and a recently promoted officer at that - he feels that it’s his duty to try to uphold the command structure of the GAR. 

Still, he can’t help feeling a sense of grim satisfaction whenever one of the di’kute fires back a retort at the Kaminiise or one of the nat-born instructors. Normally any deviant behavior would be smothered for fear of reconditioning, but the Kaminiise know better than to cross him. He’s one of Jango’s, after all. 

Fett may have been a rotten father, but Alpha has a grudging respect for the man’s ability to keep them all in line for twelve years. Wrangling these cadets is exhausting; he can only be grateful that they’ll be rotated out in a few months. 

(Truthfully, he hasn’t been able to shake a sense of bone-deep fatigue since Rattatak, but that’s no one’s business but his own.) 

No one could ever accuse him of going easy on his cadets, but even he knows that every soldier needs a break sometimes. Taking a second to breathe does wonders for morale. 

Unfortunately, it also invites the possibility of conversation with the verd’ike. He’s never been as inclined to idle conversation like many of his brothers, but he’s pleasantly surprised when the rambunctious boys he’s slowly becoming accustomed to prove to be much more insightful than he’d previously imagined.

He indulges their curiosity some days. More often than not their interest lies with the Jedi they’ll be serving with soon enough, so he does his best to share an adequate depiction. They’re not omnipotent tactical masterminds like the clones had been raised to believe, Alpha warns, but they’re decent officers for the most part. 

“You served with General Kenobi, didn’t you, sir?” one of the cadets asks. 

Alpha barely suppresses the first sarcastic remark that comes to mind and instead settles for a nod and a noncommittal shrug. 

“And?” one of the other boys pipes up. 

“And what?” 

“What did you think of him?”

Well, for one thing, he’s a kriffing Jedi playing at being a politician while having at least one affair that’s strictly forbidden by his creed… 

“He’s a good officer,” Alpha says at last. “Gets a bit high-minded, and we rarely ever saw eye to eye, but he listens to his men.”

He’s been sure to drill that into them over and over, because if there’s one thing he wants them to retain it’s that soldiers will follow a commander into hell if he makes an effort to connect with them. 

“What really happened on Rattatak?” 

The question catches him off guard. For a second he has half a mind to deflect it - it’s a long story, for one thing, and an unpleasant one at that - but these cadets will be shipping out soon. He’ll have little say in things once they deploy, but he can certainly do his best to prepare them now. 

Besides, Alpha can’t fault them for wanting to explore the galaxy beyond Kamino through any outlet available. Being slated for a command slot can be isolating, and they’ve heard enough about the galaxy from older troopers to be ravingly curious about what awaits them once they step foot outside Tipoca. 

“It’s really not that interesting,” he sighs in a last-ditch effort to deter them. 

Sadly, they seem content to wait him out. 

Shabla cadets and their shabla games. 

Grumbling - they look far too smug for having secured such a minor victory - Alpha opts to give them a vague overview rather than a meticulous account of everything that had taken place after Ventress had seen fit to interfere on Jabiim. 

“The campaign on Jabiim was tipping in Separatist favor…” 

_____________________

Skywalker may be a pain in the shebs, but Alpha is coming to realize that the kid had a point about naming the cadets. It hadn’t been much of a priority among the Alpha batch, but it seems to be something extraordinary for the later generations. 

Most times, the kids don’t tell Alpha directly that they’ve chosen a name for themselves; rather, he learns to listen to the quiet discussions between squad mates, and makes a point of using those names rather than the designations they’d been assigned at birth.

Sometimes a cadet’s delight gets the better of him and he blurts it out during an exercise. Alpha rarely reacts in the moment, but he makes sure to give an acknowledgement when they’re off-duty. 

After a while, their names spring to mind before their numbers. Cody, Bacara, Gree… he still can’t determine what exactly the change signals, but he can see it in their eyes. It’s a source of pride, and who is he to deny them? 

Besides, he thinks wryly, it’s better than an unruly Padawan deciding to bestow a nickname upon them in the middle of a war zone.

______________________

The cadets seem to be under the impression that stories from the battlefield will become a regular fixture in their routine. Alpha doesn’t let that notion stand very long, but he occasionally allows their questions after a successful exercise or a particularly impressive sparring match. 

They’ve gotten even bolder since he first took command; apparently, no question is off limits. 

“You’ve got an awful lot of scars, sir,” one of the boys observes. From the tone, Alpha guesses it’s Bly. 

“Very astute, cadet,” Alpha huffs. “I’m glad my training isn’t wasted on you.” 

“Are they all from Rattatak?” 

“For one thing, I honestly don’t remember how I got every single scar, and for another, I’m not here to tell you stories,” Alpha says firmly like he hasn’t spent the past twenty minutes addressing their various questions about his experience with Jedi command. 

“It’s General Kenobi, isn’t it,” Cody pipes up sagely, and in that moment Alpha realizes he’s taught them a little too well. 

“He had something to do with most of them, yes,” Alpha admits. 

“Some officer,” Neyo mutters with his usual cynicism. 

Alpha cuffs him. “Put a lid on it, cadet. I didn’t say they were his fault - it’s just that he was usually involved in one way or another. Kenobi likes to poke his nose in where it isn’t necessarily wanted.”

Most of them look disbelieving. Alpha just shrugs. They’ll figure it out one way or another.

_____________________

Alpha jerks awake sometime around 0300 to the incessant beeping of his comlink. Grumbling to himself, he activates it and rumbles a greeting.

“Hope I didn’t wake you up, sir.” 

“You’re lucky I’m not in theater, or I would smoke your shebs for this one, Cody,” Alpha growls, because even though it’s been a while since the first batch rotated out he vividly remembers every cadet’s distinct inflection and tone. 

“We’ve heard that one before,” Cody says teasingly.

Alpha ignores the jibe. “Spit it out, di’kut.”

Cody hesitates, then bursts out, “How did you do it?”

“Do what?” Alpha asks, awake enough to be puzzled.

“Deal with Kenobi,” Cody whispers. Alpha can’t help being amused by the desperation in his voice. “He’s a disaster on legs, sir.”

“That’s nothing I didn’t know already, al’verde,” Alpha informs him.

“But sir…” 

“You’re the commander. He’s your problem now,” Alpha adds, thoroughly enjoying himself.

“Alpha…”

“Give the general my regards, Commander.” 

“Wait - ”

 “Sorry, al’verde. Duty calls.”

If Alpha is smirking when he sets aside his comlink and shuts his eyes in the hopes of getting a few more hours of sleep, no one is the wiser.

[bubonickitten]

TMA fic: Night Terrors

Summary: At first, Jon assumes his nightmares are just that: bad dreams. But it's only a matter of time before he is forced to acknowledge what it means to be the Archivist.

Cross-posted to AO3 here.

[Spoilers up to MAG 132. CW for canon-typical horror, unsettling dream/nightmare imagery (think MAG 120), some passive suicidal ideation, and some spider mentions here and there.]

Jonathan Sims has had the same nightmare since he was eight years old, with only slight variations.

Sometimes he is the fly in children’s overalls being offered up as a meal. He can feel the anxious buzz of the delicate wings on his back, a foreign and sickening vibration humming its way across his exoskeleton. Four feet rub together nervously in front of him in an uncanny, insectoid pantomime of hand-wringing. The looming form of Mr. Spider is made all the more horrifying by his hundredfold vision and his inability to blink.

Sometimes he is the larger fly, offering up a victim as sacrifice. He can feel his face contorting, features molded into the horror-stricken face of Mr. Horse that still haunts him on sleepless nights. He is forced to watch his offering devoured, slow and excruciating. After, the monster turns its eyes on him.

Most often, though, he is the spider. Or, rather, he watches from the spider’s perspective, a prisoner trapped behind the creature’s many hungry, glinting eyes, as helpless as a fly caught in a web. The dream sequence unravels in slow motion and he is forced to witness the weeping faces of his intended prey for what feels like hours. Enormous block letters bear down on him, announcing the spider’s insatiable hunger, its demand for more, more, more.

Finally, blessedly, he is allowed to close his eyes, but the relief is always fleeting, for when he opens them seconds later, he sees the aftermath of a massacre: smears of reddish-brown blood coating the walls, the floor, the wilting flowers in their vase.

Then, he hears a knock on the door. He sees many – too many – hairy black limbs reach out to open it. He catches a glimpse of a terrified, familiar, but still nameless face through the crack. He always awakens just as the victim opens his mouth and begins to scream.

Jon may have managed to wrench himself away from Mr. Spider, but the fear and the guilt still cling to him years later, like the wispy strands of a broken web. It’s only right that they follow him into his dreams.

~~~

Jon isn’t sleeping well lately.

Well, that isn’t new. But he’s sleeping even worse than usual.

It shouldn’t come as too much of a surprise, Jon tells himself. The new job is stressful.

The Archive is a monument to entropy. A tornado could have swept through and blown things into a more sensible order than the previous Head Archivist left them. The Archives contain nearly two centuries’ worth of case files, and they're scattered about with no discernible system of organization. Material isn’t sorted by format: cassette tapes are thrown haphazardly into the same boxes as loose leaf paper. It isn’t sorted chronologically: case material from the mid-1800s can be found mixed in with recent statements from the 2000s. As far as Jon can tell, it isn’t even sorted thematically; on a cursory perusal, the statements boxed together seem to vary wildly in content, comprehensiveness, and verifiability.

In fact, the conspiratorial part of Jon’s brain can’t shake the feeling that there’s an eerie sense of curation to the disorganization. The more rational part of him knows that Gertrude Robinson was simply elderly, set in her ways, and secure in a position that she had held for decades. Elias isn’t one for hands-on management in the best of cases; there was little to no risk of him actually making his way into the Institute’s basement to observe the way Gertrude ran her Archives, let alone to actually discipline her for lax work ethic.

Either way, though, the result is the same. 

The first thing Jon had noticed when he walked into his new office a week previous was a stack of unmarked boxes against the back wall behind the desk. They were partially covering what at first glance appeared to be fingernail scratches on the floorboards, but he told himself that he didn’t have time to dwell on that and deliberately pushed it to the back of his mind. He could deal with it later – or, with any luck, not at all. 

The first box he opened contained a handful of unlabeled cassette tapes, a stack of blank index cards in a plastic sandwich bag, an empty manila folder, a nonfunctioning USB thumb drive, and a mess of loose papers with no coherent theme: some fragments of personal correspondence (unsigned and handwritten on yellowed paper in nearly illegible cursive), the scattered typewritten pages of a statement (pages 2 and 7 of 10 missing, presumed lost), and a hand-drawn map of what looked like a labyrinth. The second and third boxes contained more of the same: scattered documents and a yawning void of context. The fourth box was completely empty. The fifth contained only a single matchbook with a faded spider printed on its surface, rattling around the bottom of an otherwise vacant box. 

Unmarked boxes, improperly-preserved documents, no rhyme or reason, a layer of dust, and an ignition source. It wasn’t a good start – and, unfortunately, it seemed representative of what the job was going to look like, at least for the first few months. 

But beyond that, Elias had been insistent that Jon begin creating audio recordings of statements as soon as possible. Jon had initially chosen to interpret “as soon as possible” to mean “as soon as everything is organized,” and after seeing how big of a task that was, he was careful not to promise a time frame. After the third email from Elias inquiring about Jon’s progress with digitizing the old statements, though, Jon was honest: every day, he found himself adjusting the project timeline as they found more and more statements misfiled or missing.

“I believe it would be best for you to begin recording the statements as you go along,” Elias said. It was obviously an order, but he masked it as a friendly suggestion. Jon hates when he does that; it feels manipulative and condescending, like a parent (or grandparent, in Jon’s case) presenting the illusion of choice to a child and daring them to call it out for what it is.

Jon never was good at keeping his mouth shut, though.

“My first priority is to ensure that everything is cataloged and stored properly. Digitization will go more smoothly if everything is in order before -”

“You have three perfectly competent assistants,” Elias interrupts. Jon bites his tongue before he can make a snide remark about competence. “I’m certain they can handle a bit of filing without your close supervision.”

“But we -”

“I want you to begin making audio recordings, Jon,” Elias interrupted, finally adopting a tone that brooked no argument. “It all has to be done eventually, and it doesn’t matter what order you go in, so you may as well pick a place and start.”

“Some of the documents are incomplete.” Jon couldn’t quite manage to keep his annoyance out of his tone. “I found pages of the same statement scattered across three different rooms -”

“Start with the statements that seem complete, then. If you find more related case material elsewhere later on, you can simply make supplemental recordings.”

And with that, Elias had walked away before Jon could protest further.

So, yes. He’s stressed. The Archives are an unmitigated disaster, Jon only has three assistants to help him put them back into some semblance of order, and Elias wants him to embark on a massive digitization project when they still haven’t even inventoried the contents of most of the unlabeled boxes piled around the place. It’s like standing in the immediate aftermath of an earthquake and being told to start construction on a new building before the damages are assessed or the rubble is cleared. Oh, and he isn’t given any blueprints for direction.

Sleep troubles are to be expected.

~~~

These nightmares are new.

It isn’t that all of Jon’s nightmares involve spiders. He does occasionally have standalone nightmares that are perfectly spider-free: finding himself back in uni and failing a class he’s never attended and doesn’t remember signing up for; being chased by something sinister and tripping over nothing, only to wake up just as its teeth puncture his throat; waking in an unfamiliar place surrounded by things just to the left of human, hiding behind names he knows well and faces he does not recognize.

But this is the first recurring dream he’s ever had where spiders do not feature prominently.

At first, all he can see is the fog, pressing in on all sides. If the dream lent itself more to cartoon logic, it’s the type of fog that could be molded like putty. He doesn’t make the conscious decision to move; the dream simply puppets him forward and he lets it take him. He doesn’t even notice the open grave until one foot is suspended over it, and when the dream loosens its grip on him, he throws his weight backward, swaying off-kilter and nearly stumbling into another pit that has appeared just behind him.

The fog recedes just enough for him to make out the dozens of empty graves now surrounding him.

Then it starts to move back in, tendrils reaching out to him like the myriad limbs of a living, breathing creature, coating his skin and filling his lungs, and all at once he is pummeled with the overwhelming revelation that he is alone. It’s not just that there isn’t anyone around for miles. It’s not even just that he will never again see another living person. No. It’s that he is, for all intents and purposes, an island. No one knows him. No one ever has, and no one ever will. And he has never known anyone else, either, only carefully constructed personas meant to mask the self – if there even is such a thing as the self.

He will die here, and nothing will remain of him, and no one will notice that he disappeared. And that’s… that’s okay. It’s right. It’s exactly as it should be.

Someone is screaming. Actually, he realizes belatedly, someone has been screaming for a while now, but only now does it manage to reach him through the haze.

Once again, the dream forces him to move. It maneuvers him around the vacant graves, drawing him ever closer to the voice. When he is finally brought to a stop, he is wrenched forward and his gaze is forced downward to behold a shivering figure sprawled six feet beneath him in the earth and mud. She looks familiar, but it takes a few moments before he can place her.

Naomi Herne.

She nearly weeps in relief when she sees him, another living, breathing person after so long lost in the mist. She reaches up to him, begs him to help her, but when he tries to kneel and extend a hand, he finds that he cannot move. He cannot speak. He cannot blink.

He can only watch, and so he does.

The seconds stretch into minutes stretch into hours, and the whole time she pleads with him to say something, to say anything. He watches as her fingers dig deep furrows into the walls of her prison and eventually her pleas dissolve into hopeless whimpers.

He wakes up in a cold sweat, feeling as if he never slept at all.

Untangling himself from the sheets, he stumbles into the bathroom, turns on the faucet, and splashes cold water on his face. As he stands and stares at his reflection in the mirror, he notices how pronounced the dark circles under his eyes have become. Naomi Herne’s statement had been unsettling, certainly, but apparently it’s affected him more deeply than he had initially thought.

It’s not all that surprising, he supposes. There have been a lot of changes in his life recently. The content of the statements he reads is… upsetting. He’s stressed. It would be strange if he didn’t have trouble sleeping.

It’s fine. It’s normal. He’s fine.

  ~~~

 The next night, he dreams of Naomi Herne again.

And the night after that. And the night after that.

Every time, she begs him to say something, to take her hand. She needs to hear another human voice; she needs to feel a human touch; she needs an anchor, anything to chase away the isolation.

At some point, though, she begins to curse him. He is her jailor, her tormenter. She would rather be completely alone, to be left to suffer in dignified privacy, than to have her loneliness amplified by that unwavering stare. Why is he doing this to her? Why won’t he just say something?

As usual, he cannot make a sound, and he cannot look away.

~~~

Jonathan Sims and Melanie King rubbed each other the wrong way from the moment they met eyes, and she is no more pleased to see the Archivist in her dream that night.

They both watch as Sarah Baldwin pleads with an unseen, unforgiving assailant. They look on in revulsion as she staples her skin back together. The scene plays over and over and over again, and eventually Melanie wrenches her gaze away from Sarah and hones in on the Archivist. All of her fear transmutes into anger and she unleashes a torrent of accusations, railing against him for his arrogance, his callousness, his foolish conviction that he knows better than everyone else, that he understands anything at all.

He can’t open his mouth to argue with her, but even if he could, he’s not sure that he could counter her allegations.

Melanie is still shouting at him when he is pulled from the hospital and finds himself in the graveyard again. Naomi Herne is huddled in the corner of her grave tonight, knees hugged tight to her chest. She is utterly silent. He wishes he could look away, but the dream has his head locked in place and his eyes plastered open and he watches her for the rest of the night.

Jon wakes up all too aware of his skin and what lies beneath it.

~~~

The tables in the dissection lab are piled high with pulsating hearts, quivering lungs, and writhing bones.

Hand trembling, scalpel in hand, Dr. Lionel Elliott slices into an apple as if demonstrating how to dissect a human heart. The Archivist catches the glimmer of tooth enamel, the glint of a silver crown on one of the molars, and a shared wave of nausea crashes over both of them. The professor begs the Archivist to take the apple from him, but as always, the Archivist is immobilized. He can feel every ounce of the Elliott’s helpless fear as if it is his own.

The Archivist knows what Elliott is thinking. He wants to run. He wants to curse. He wants to beg. He wants to bury the scalpel in the Archivist’s unblinking eyes. Instead, his blood curdles and his limbs contort and his joints dislocate and he writhes like a live butterfly pinned to a board in front of an uncaring, ceaseless watcher.

The Archivist feels all of it along with him, and neither of them can scream.

It’s only a dream, of course, but Elliott feels so alive that Jon wakes up with a sense of pity all the same.

~~~

 The Archivist wants to tell Helen Richardson not to open the door, but his jaw is wired shut with invisible thread.

The Archivist has lost count of how many times he has been forced to watch as the Distortion’s maze devours her, the scene playing recursively in its mirrored hallways.

Of course he dreams of her. She disappeared right in front of him and he could do nothing to stop it. In quiet moments, the scar that the Distortion gave him still twinges, and brings with it the deep ache of guilt. It’s to be expected that it would bleed over into his dreams.

  ~~~

 Letter by letter, Tessa Winters consumes the keyboard. An eerie, cold glow highlights every detail of her pained expression. Although the Archivist’s mouth will not open, he feels one of his molars crack under the crunch of plastic, and as Tessa moves on to the monitor, a shard of glass slices into the roof of his mouth. The blood pools on both of their tongues, trickles down their throats, and they both wish they could gag.

The Archivist's thoughts unravel into acute angles and sharp edges, shredding his consciousness to ribbons. He is a collection of garbled text and rogue characters, of noisy pixels and castoff artifacts, of corrupted extensions and crossed wires.

It’s cold, and it hurts.

       IT%’s/ côLd &&;t <<hurts>>.

                 I̴t̸'̴s̴ ̵c̸o̸l̶d̵, ̵a̵n̶d̴ ̸i̴t̴ ̸h̶u̸r̵t̸s̶.̸

                                                                                                                                                             Ï̵̡̻ͅț̴͘'̴̰̙͒̌͠ͅs̶̻̿̎ ̴̞c̵̮̒̾ơ̴̞͕̕͝ļ̴̱̅d̶̥̣͎̈ ̵̨͕̀̿̊a̵̗̪̽̆n̶͕̩̞͆d̵̦̮̳͐̏͗ ̵̢̻̑ȉ̷̪t̸͓̉͒ ̶̮͉̹̇͠h̵̳̻̞͝u̴̢̬̣̒ř̴̠́t̵͍̟͛ṡ̷̨̤͓͒̾.̸̦̭̓

                                                                                                                                                                          I̶̢͚͓̤̗̹̱̠̱͚̤̾t̶̛̳̏̑͐͗́̍̈̿̄͒͗́̔̈́̈́̈́̚̕͠'̵̡̧̦̖͚͓͙͙͕̜̻̣̙̲͓̑͂͋̾̊̄͌̀̑͒̚ͅͅṣ̶̛̻͚͓̫̜̀̂͌͌̈̈́̃̽̏̐̔̌ ̵̗̫̓̊̾̇͆c̷̨̑̀̈́̇̊̇̑͊́̂̊̇͘̚͘̚̚̚͝ǫ̵̈́̎̿͑̔̔̑͛̀͋̉̋̓̾l̷̙̯͙͍͇̟̭̳͉̹̳̖͎͇̲͖̝̖͈̺̍d̴̡̫̼̗̮̹̎̌̽̏̂̐̑̈̏̀̃͆͗͂̓̚͝ ̴̧̛͈̭̼̭̰͔̥͓̟̲́̒̊̍̉̌͆̇̆̑͗̑̿̉̅̑͒̽̈̿a̵̳̰̽̌͆͂̏͒̌̓̔̈͐̆̿̕͝n̸̨̢̧̧̲̺͙̗̪̻͎̥͉̥͔͇̠͙̫͒̌̅̃͒́̌̈́͐̀̈͘̚͘̕͝͝ͅḋ̵̢̡̧̜͇̜̤̠̺̜̦̲̳͓̼̩̣̼̭̱͐̿̿̍̿̀͌͊̃̿͊̕͠ ̶̭̩̥̲͈͚̟͇̱̹̼̩̪̙̱͒́͑̌͒͐̕͜ỉ̸̲͇̬͓̫̪̞̜̱̪̻̲̎̿́̃̽̕͘͠͝ţ̸̗͙͍͍̫̞͚̞͓̙̼̝͚͕̮̋͋̏̌͂͗̈ ̵̨̟̗͉̯̘̙̫̱̹̱̲̘̪͖̤̱̟̦̘̹̟̎̐̌͗̾̋̿̄͜͠h̴̢̡̨̢̛̫͓̠̤͉̠̩̮͙̞̪̏̇͊̈͂̿̅͋͌͘̚͠ư̵̰͙̯͖̈́̄̊͌͐̾͐̃̈̈͒̑͠ͅr̷̨̛̗͈̣̰̘̲̩̦̙̅̃̽͛͒̈͜͠ͅṯ̶̮͕̺͖̹̺̺̦͈̰̮͚͇̳̘̺̤̹̭͐͊̏̓̅̊̏͌́̒́̚̕͘͘͜͝͝͠͝s̶̺̻͔̹̙̟̭̜̏̆͗͂̔̄̔͋́͆̀̋̈́͌͂̚͝.̶̘͚͚͓͕̝͖̪͔̼̙̲̞͎͉̩̳͍̙̩̋̆̅͒̇̅͌̆͗̉̋͊͒͐̔̅̏̕͜͝͝ͅ

    ~~~

When Jon finally bolts upright into wakefulness, he knows.

These are not his nightmares.

They are shared dreamscapes.

No, not shared. Invaded.

Just recently he had noted how long it had been since last he was the spider in his nightmare, but maybe that was premature.

At least the others showed up at the Institute to give their statements on their own. Tessa Winters, though, was his fault. He wrote the forum post that drew her to him. She wouldn’t be in his dreams if he hadn’t cast that net. He spun a web and waited for the prey to wander in, all because he needed to know and was willing to lure someone in under false pretenses just to get the answers he craved. It doesn’t matter that he didn’t intend this – the consequences are the same.

And Tessa Winters knows it. She meets his gaze, equally unblinking, baleful and accusing. He is a thing with too many eyes, gorging himself on her suffering, devoid of empathy or humanity. When she looks into his eyes, she sees a ravenous, pitiless voyeur, and even if the Archivist was allowed to speak, he would not dispute her claim. After all, the Beholding is the feeling that something, somewhere, is letting you suffer, just so it can watch, and the Archivist is its pawn and its representative and its instrument. Tessa's eyes pin him in place just as effectively as the ever-present Eye in the sky.

He is becoming – has become? – that which he fears, and he cannot look away.

It really isn’t all that different from the spider dreams after all, except this time there are witnesses to his sins.

  ~~~

 The words on the paper are blurry and his head feels full of cobwebs. His eyes itch and sting in equal measure, making it ever more difficult to keep his heavy eyelids from drifting shut. He keeps nodding off, leaning forward and jerking upright as soon as the sensation of falling grips him.

“-n? Jon!”

“Wha-” Jon startles as Martin’s voice finally reaches him through the fog. “I – what?”

Martin has a concerned look on his face. That seems to be his default state these days, Jon thinks distantly.  

“I kept saying your name but you were just… you weren’t answering.”

“Oh.”

Martin worries his bottom lip between his teeth. Jon can tell that he wants to say something, but he just stands there waffling, and –

“What?” Jon snaps, and then he and Martin wince at the same time. “I’m… I’m sorry, Martin. I – I’m just tired.” He rubs his eyes furiously, trying to chase away the haze. “I’m sorry. Did you need something?” 

“I… Jon, when’s the last time you slept?”

Silence.

“Maybe you should have a lie down? I made up the cot in the storage room, and –”

“I’m fine,” Jon replies through gritted teeth.

“You’re falling asleep at your desk. Actually, um,” – a small, cautious grin crosses Martin’s face – “I don’t know what paperwork you used as a pillow, but you have ink on your face.”

Jon groans and scrubs at his face with both hands.

“You really do need to sleep, though,” Martin ventures again, gentle but firm.

“I… I don’t want to,” Jon says stiffly. As soon as the words leave his mouth, he curses himself for the honesty – Martin is going to want to talk about that now, and –

“Why?”

Jon is silent, steadfastly refusing to look Martin in the eye.

“Fine,” Martin sighs, exasperated. “But you can’t go forever without sleep, I don’t care how stubborn you are.”

He’s right, Jon knows.

Jon did manage a full 70 hours awake before he started nodding off in spite of himself. For the past few days, he’s been allowing himself short naps, setting his phone alarm at hour intervals to wake him long before he can enter REM sleep.

It isn’t sustainable, but the alternative is haunting people’s nightmares, looking into their eyes and Beholding what they see when they look at him: Cold, calculating predator. Unblinking voyeur. Too many hungry, prying eyes, feeding on their terror, stripping them of their dignity, soaking in their trauma with cruel fascination –

“Jon.”

“Fine,” Jon grumbles. “Sixty minutes.”

  ~~~

 Whenever he slips into the dreamscape, Daisy promises to hunt him down. Finish what she started. Bury him in a shallow grave and leave him to become yet another mystery.

The Archivist wonders if being killed in the dream would wake him up, spare the other dreamers from his scrutiny for just one night.

He wonders how Daisy would react if he was able to tell her that he resents the absence of her knife at his throat just as much as she does.

  ~~~

 Six months.

For six months, he wanders, an uninvited, hated guest in those familiar dreamscapes.

The Archivist wants nothing more than to throw himself into an empty grave, to turn the damp earth into a prison with six-foot-high walls, to break his legs in the fall so that even when his resolve crumbles and he tries to clamber out of the hole, he will be unable to do so. The other dreamers would be safe from him, then. There would be nothing for him to watch but unyielding soil and the chill, impenetrable fog above.

He Knows that the Eye is still there behind the veil of fog; he can feel its unceasing gaze, but at least in the lonely cemetery, he cannot see it.

There is an open grave in front of him, its waiting maw calling him forward, promising to shackle him, to hobble him with blindness and paralysis. He stands at the edge, knees locked and eyes peeled, staring down into a plot that he desperately wishes belonged to him, and him alone. The dream keeps him there for what seems like hours, taunting him, holding relief just out of reach.

Then, the dream turns him around and pulls him inexorably toward his true objective. Once again he is forced to watch as Naomi’s freezing, bloodied fingers scrabble uselessly on the walls of her prison. Her tears have left trails in the mud on her face, and when she looks up at him, she asks the same question she does every single time: Why are you doing this to me?

Eventually – after far too long standing statue-still, eyes locked on Naomi’s pained, desperate face – the Archivist is yanked onward toward the waiting carnage of the dissection lab, the mournful singing of the coffin, the undulating mass of ants.

When Jane Prentiss shambles toward him, he can feel the worms burrow into his skin all over again. He wants to scream, to scratch, to grab a corkscrew and start digging – Dig, comes the intrusive thought, blinking in his mind like a marquee: Dig. Dig. Dig. – but his mouth and his hands are not his own, and his eyes – so many eyes, so reminiscent of the spider – are fixed on Jane. Her otherworldly screams pierce the night as she burns, and the Archivist desperately wishes he could clamp his hands over his ears to block out her death knell.

Being brought before Georgie Barker is almost worse than confronting Jane Prentiss. If she could still feel fear, the Archivist is certain she would wear the same expression as the others. Instead, there is only a mix of pity and resignation. Over and over again, Jonathan Sims has walked into burning buildings for even the slightest chance of having a question answered. She wishes she was more surprised to see what he has become, but she is so intimately familiar with his pattern of self-destruction and stubborn curiosity, and she has long since recognized it for what it is: a fatal flaw, coaxing him toward tragedy like a moth to the flame.

The exterminator makes no distinction between the Archivist and the Flesh Hive, and Georgie Barker likely wouldn’t, either. As always, the Archivist cannot find it in himself to argue.

When at last he finally awakens, he is not surprised that she leaves with such finality, her parting words condemning him as a lost cause. He pushed on past the point of no return, just like she always feared he would, and she has no desire to watch him burn.

  ~~~

 Jon may not have been allowed to toss himself into a lonely grave, but the coffin welcomes him with an eager appetite, and imprisons him in much the same way. He may be unable to move, but at least his body is his own, unlike in his dreams; he may not be able to escape, but at least he can speak.

“After the mission. I was planning to kill you,” Daisy tells him, matter-of-fact. He knows why the moment she starts talking about her dreams. “Realized you weren’t human. Needed to die, as soon as it was safe. Never mind Elias and his… insurance.”

“And now?”

“Don’t know. I – I miss dreaming. You don’t sleep, down here.”

Jon finds the prospect of eternal wakefulness in this place downright horrifying – the endless boredom alone sounds like torture – but... no sleep means no nightmares. 

“Daisy, you should know, I – I’m… if I wasn’t human before, I’m, uh – I’m even less now.”

The distant rumbling of the shifting earth picks up in volume until he can feel it in his teeth.

“Yeah.” Daisy doesn’t sound surprised. “Well, at the moment, I don’t care.”

“And if we get out?”

“But we can’t get out.”

“No.”

The noise grows in volume, drowning out his voice.

I really should have known better, he thinks to himself. Of course his rib wasn’t a strong enough anchor. He’s so alienated from his own body at this point, so far from human that he couldn’t even die properly. How many times has he found himself thinking, What’s another scar? In a way, he feels just as detached from his body when he’s awake as he does in his nightmares. The idea that a part of his body would call to him from outside the coffin… it’s just as ridiculous as his rushed, irresponsible deductions about the NotThem’s table.

“I’m s – I’m sorry,” Daisy stammers, snapping Jon out of his reverie. “I’m sorry, Jon.”

“So am I,” Jon replies. For everything, he does not say.

The rumbling fades, and silence descends on them in a rush.

“You know,” Jon begins after a minute, choosing his words carefully, “I… I didn’t know, at first. That the nightmares were real.”

Daisy says nothing, and Jon interprets it as permission to go on.

“I – I thought that they were just my nightmares. That the first statements I took hit me harder than I’d expected. I was so dismissive to the first few people who came in to give their statements in person, and I assumed that my – my guilt over how I treated them was manifesting as nightmares, since I refused to process it in real life. That I was just…” He lets out a bitter laugh. “That I was just stressed about the new job.”

“When did you figure it out?” Daisy asks levelly.

“I… I think I suspected after a few months? But I just – I told myself that I was being ridiculous. I went through a bit of a – a paranoid phase, and I thought that I was just… overthinking things. I tend to do that, to just – obsess, and let my imagination run wild –”

Daisy snorts. “Yeah, I gathered that.”

“I – I've had a lot of practice with denial, I suppose,” Jon says, sheepish. “Or feigning denial, at least. Playing the skeptic was… safer. Admitting out loud that I believed in – in monsters felt like it would… draw unwanted attention, I suppose. That it would somehow provoke the thing watching me to strike. I convinced myself that pretending to be ignorant would keep the monsters at bay.”

“That’s…”

“Stupid, I know.”

Daisy gives a dry chuckle.

“I had to give up the act after – after Prentiss attacked the Archives,” Jon continues. “Even after that, though, I still wanted to believe that the nightmares weren’t real. But then one day I woke up and – and I just knew –”

The dirt around them begins to press in again, forcing the air from his lungs. Jon feels Daisy’s fingers brush his wrist and he takes her hand. Not alone. Not alone. Not alone.

Then the pressure lets up all at once and they are both left gasping in its wake. 

“Keep talking?” Daisy’s voice has that desperate, pleading edge to it again. It’s so at odds with the Hunter that Jon knows, more like prey than predator. “I – I need – I don’t want to be alone.”

“Not alone,” Jon murmurs, as much for himself as for Daisy. “The dream that made me realize – her name was Tessa Winters. I took her statement, and that night she was in my dreams. The way she looked at me, I just… I knew. She was really there. Her eyes were so – so accusing, like she knew that it was my fault that she was there. And – and it was. The other statement givers came to me on their own, but she likely would have never come to the Institute if it wasn’t for me.”

“Oh?”

“I – I posted on a message board, soliciting supernatural experiences related to technology.”

“You can use a computer, then,” Daisy teases, a smirk in her voice.

Jon smiles too, and for the briefest moment he forgets where they are. “I just turned 30 this year, Daisy,” he says, rolling his eyes, and she snorts.

“Still, I can’t picture you making forum posts.”

“I had an ulterior motive,” he admits, his smile fading as the old guilt bubbles up. “I had found Gertrude’s laptop, and I needed help breaking into it, so I – I figured maybe I could lure in someone who knew computers, take their statement, find a way to casually ask them to have a look at the laptop for me. It worked, but then she appeared in my nightmares, and – if I hadn’t drawn her to me, she wouldn’t be there.”

Daisy makes a noncommittal sound. Jon shuts his eyes tight and takes a deep, faltering breath.

“And then – after the Unknowing, I – I should have died. I was dead, technically. My brain was still firing – dreaming,” he says with distaste, “but I had no pulse, no respiration, no… no other signs of life.” He feels the pressure of tears in his eyes and he fights to keep his voice steady. “You should have seen the way the doctors and nurses looked at me as they were explaining it. A – a medical mystery – a marvel, really – the sort of thing that most professionals would kill for a chance to study – but they couldn’t wait to get away from me, to hurry me out the door.” He pauses to take a deep breath, but between the crushing earth and his own grief, he can’t fill his lungs. His exhale comes out shallow and shaky. “And – and Georgie, and Basira, and Melanie, and –”

Daisy tightens her grip on his hand. It’s so surreal that Jon almost laughs. This is Daisy. Daisy, who seized him by the throat, who tried to kill him, who enjoyed seeing him terrified and begging for his life, who took such pride in the scar she left him with – and now she’s comforting him. He isn’t sure how to process that turnaround, so instead gives her hand a squeeze in return, clears his throat, and continues.

“So – so for six months, I was in a coma. If you can call it that. But the whole time, I was dreaming. For six months, I walked through the same nightmares, over and over and over again. There was no waking up to escape it, and – and it meant that the other dreamers couldn’t escape me, either. Up until then, if I was awake while they were asleep, they could get away from me, but – but I was in the dream every hour of every day, so I was there every night they slept. And the way they look at me – like I’m a monster – it just… they’re not wrong, but I just wish – I wish I could tell them that I’m sorry, that I don’t want this either, that I don’t want to watch. The Eye doesn’t let me speak, though – or move, or – or blink. I am an observer, and an observer does not interfere.” He laughs then, a little hysterically. “It – honestly, it felt like longer than six months. I lived through the same scenes so many times that I started to feel so numb to it all.”

“What about my part of the dream?” Daisy asks quietly.  

“I – ever since the Unknowing, whenever I get to your segment, there's nothing but the coffin. I always enter it, but it never brings me to you. Until now, I suppose,” he says with a humorless chuckle. “Oddly enough, though, I always found myself wishing you were there.”

“Really.”

“Yes, I – it’s hard to explain.” He hesitates for a moment before settling on honesty. “You always looked at me like I was prey, instead of predator. Or – or maybe like I was a predator, but a – a weaker predator, something that could be killed. A monster that could be vanquished. I… I wanted you to catch me. I suppose I thought that maybe – maybe if I died in the dream, it would end the cycle, and release the other dreamers from the Eye.”

“Might have killed you in real life, though,” Daisy points out. “If the dreaming was the only part of you that was alive.” 

“It may have,” Jon agrees.

Daisy lets that linger for a minute, heavy and revealing.

“I… I don’t think I want to die,” Jon eventually continues, “but I can't stop thinking that maybe it would be… better, if I did? All that would happen is that the world would lose another monster, and – and that would be fine. It would be right. But I still…” He chokes on his words, something between a laugh and a sob. “God, when did not wanting to die start to feel selfish of me?” 

The dirt around them shifts, sibilant and imposing. They hold their breath, as if speaking might provoke it. Daisy waits for the rustling to settle again before she speaks.

“Why did you come here, Jon?”

“To – to find you, to get you out –”

“Yeah, but why? I nearly killed you. Would have tried again. Would have liked it.” She huffs. “I know you didn’t come here out of any loyalty to me. So, why?”

“I…”

“To get yourself killed?”

“No, I – I really did want to get you out of here.”

“Why did you come for me, then? Out of guilt? To justify not dying?”

“I…” Jon sighs heavily. “Yes, I – I suppose. And - and Tim was dead. Sasha is dead, and Martin is... gone, and when we found out you were still alive, I just - I didn't want to lose anyone else. I couldn't just leave you here, not if there was a chance I could bring you back.”

Daisy is silent. Jon knows that she wants him to say more, and he takes a deep breath.

“The others don’t trust me – not that I blame them, I don’t trust me, either. Martin is… he has his own plans. Georgie wants nothing to do with me. Melanie hates me for not having the decency to die, blames me for everything that’s happened. Doesn’t even think I’m me anymore, just – just some monster wearing a familiar skin, and – well,” he laughs uncomfortably, “I have a hard time arguing with her assessment.” He takes a deep breath. “And – and Basira, she… she doesn’t put much stock in my humanity, either. Sometimes she sees me as an asset to be used, but…”

He trails off, feeling faintly guilty for his mixed feelings on Basira. She encourages him to use his powers when it will help further their goals. She doesn’t go so far as to claim that the ends justify the means, but she does frequently remind him that they need to be pragmatic, like Gertrude. The rest of the time, though… she looks at Jon like he’s a dangerous animal, unpredictable and poised to strike. He knows that she’s fully prepared to put him down if it starts looking like he’s too dangerous to be allowed to live, and although that hurts, he’s also glad that there’s someone who he can trust to put an end to him if he loses himself.

Nonetheless, it’s frustrating to be hated and feared for what he can do – to hate and fear himself so thoroughly – while still being expected to embrace those powers whenever it’s deemed useful. He’s more of an instrument than a person now, a tool to be used and then locked safely away once he’s fulfilled his purpose. At the same time, though, it at least offers him some semblance of control. He may be a vehicle for the Eye’s machinations, but perhaps he can balance it by giving their side an advantage in whatever way he can, principles be damned.

And he did give Basira explicit permission to use him.

Sometimes he wishes he had Gertrude’s certainty, or Basira’s resolve, or any sort of confidence in his own convictions. Most of the time, though, he fears what he could become if he was more decisive. He doesn’t trust himself to live without doubt.

He doesn’t know how to explain all of that to Daisy, though.

“I don’t – I don’t expect them to trust me,” he says instead. “Or like me. It seems dangerous to be near me at all, and I’m not exactly” – he huffs out a short, bitter laugh – “I’m not good enough company to risk it. It hurts, and it’s lonely, but I – I do understand. But I can at least make myself useful –”

Without warning, the Buried constricts itself around them in a rush, strangling his words and stealing the air from his lungs. This time, it feels like hours pass before it finally relaxes its chokehold. The only conversation that passes between them for a long time is synchronized, frenzied gasping for what little chill, stagnant air the Buried deigns to permit them.

“We’re the same, you know,” Daisy says eventually, forcing the words out even as she struggles to catch her breath. “I'm afraid of what I am, or - or was, or could be again. I needed the Hunt. Liked it, even – I enjoyed the thrill of the chase, the kill. But now I – I look back and I’m disgusted. I hurt people who didn’t deserve it. Even the actual monsters were… I wasn’t killing them because I cared about justice, or protecting others, not really. I was feeding on the fear of the prey. It made me feel alive –”

An abrupt coughing fit interrupts her then, and several minutes pass before she’s able to continue speaking through the grit coating her tongue.

“All I’ve felt since I came down here is fear and pain and guilt. I accept that – I should feel guilty, and I – I probably deserve more punishment than this. But still, I… I want to see the sun again, to breathe fresh air, to –” Her breath hitches. “I – I want to see Basira again.”

Jon can just barely hear her sniffling, but knows better than to draw attention to it.

“But – but if I leave here, I – I know I’ll hear the blood again. I don’t know who I am without the Hunt, but I – I still don’t want to go back to it. I deserve to be here – but I also want to leave – and that feels selfish. But I suppose it really doesn’t matter, does it?” When she laughs, it almost sounds like a bark, hollow and brittle. “There’s no way out.”

“No way out,” Jon repeats. “But maybe… maybe the world is safer without me in it – without… without either of us, I suppose.”

“Yeah,” Daisy chokes out, her voice hovering between a laugh and a sob. “That’s – that’s pretty messed up, isn’t it?”

Jon lets out his own tearful chuckle. “Yeah. Yeah, it is.” He pauses. “You said that – that you don’t sleep down here, that you don’t dream?”

“Yeah.”

“That's probably for the best,” he sighs. “At least this way, the Eye can’t reach the dreamers anymore.”

“And at least we’re – we’re not alone?”

“No. Not alone.”

“I’m glad that you’re here, Jon,” Daisy blurts out in a rush. “I know that’s horrible of me, but – but it’s the truth.” She takes a shaky breath. “I don’t want to be alone. I’m… I’m glad I’m not alone.”

“I’m… I think I’m glad, too,” Jon admits.

He wasted so much time pushing people away, refusing to trust, rebuffing any offer of help. Georgie told him that he needed human connection to help him stay human, and she was right, but when he finally admitted that – by the time he finally resolved to trust the others, regardless of his doubts – it was too late. When he woke up in the hospital, there was no one left to offer their hand when he reached out for help. Even worse, he can’t exactly deny that it’s his own fault.

But now, trapped here in the cold and the damp and the cramped, suffocating dark, Daisy holds his hand. The firm pressure of her grip is comforting, despite the clamminess of their skin. He can’t remember the last time he was touched with anything less than malice.  

“I’ve been alone since I woke up,” he continues, “and – and afraid of what I’m becoming. It’s nice to have someone who – who understands what it’s like. I think this is the most companionship I’ve had in… in a long while. It’s nice to be the one seen for once – by something other than a monster.”

Daisy tightens her grip further, and Jon marvels at how such a simple gesture is so much louder than words.

A silence falls on them then – a bizarrely companionable one, so incongruous with their current predicament. They clutch each other in the dark, focusing on one another’s breathing to coax them through the irregular ebb and flow of the earth pressing down on them, peppering the gloom with quiet conversation whenever the Buried gives them an inch to breathe.

Daisy talks about her childhood dog, and The Archers, and how people are always surprised to learn that she has a sweet tooth. She tells Jon about the first time she and Basira went camping: They had stretched out beneath the night sky and Basira taught Daisy the constellations, the origins of their names and the legends they represented. Affection welled up in her as she listened to Basira muse about how even though the constellations vary across time and culture, humans have always shared this collective impulse to look up at the sky and make meaning out of randomness.

For the first time in a long time, Daisy had been truly present in the moment; for once, she wasn’t gnashing her teeth, impatiently anticipating the next hunt. Basira’s voice anchored her in the present, and the call of the blood was drowned out by a flood of warmth and devotion.  

Jon talks about the Admiral, and his brief foray into AmDram at uni, and how he's always hated poetry, but then he read some of Martin's, and, well... some of them were quite good, actually. Jon confesses that he too has an unexpected sweet tooth. Martin somehow guessed; whenever Jon was having a particularly rough day, Martin would make his tea sweeter than usual. Martin never drew attention to it, and Jon never commented on it, but it was... touching, if he's honest with himself. He wishes that he had told Martin then that he noticed, that he appreciated the gesture - that it made him feel seen in a good way for once.

Jon misses Martin desperately, worries for him fiercely. Worse, he knows with a certainty that Martin will never know just how much he is missed. He spent far too long underestimating Martin, taking him for granted. Sure, Martin had stumbled a lot in the early days, but when Jon learned that Martin had lied on his CV, he was actually impressed. It's remarkable how competent Martin managed to be with no prior experience or qualifications to speak of. Daisy listens as Jon rambles on about how Martin is so much braver and cleverer than Jon or anyone else ever gave him credit for, and how much he wishes he could tell him that now.  

They go back and forth like that, confiding in each other about their regrets, and the apologies they will never get to make, and all the things they miss. They talk about fears, and monsters, and what it means to be human. They talk about choices.

Jon does not dream. Daisy does not hear the blood. Together, they listen to the quiet.

[ificouldhelpyouforget]

You Saved Me (Spike Spiegel x OC)

MASTERLIST

A/N: We’re back with Spike and Vida, but we’ve gone back in time to see what happened at the end of the tv series with Vida involved (sorta). I’ve got one more written part to go up, too. :)

Summary: Vida comes back to the Bebop to find out Jet let Spike go on a suicide mission and Faye ditched again.

Warnings: A little blood, lots of flirting, some fear, and Faye being pissed

Words: 2k

Coming back from a visit to her grandmother to find out Spike left to confront his past was not what Vida expected. Finding out that Spike’s past involved a dangerous syndicate and a man he was intent to kill put her in a riot.

“He’s doing what?! And you’re just sitting here?! Jet! He’s your best friend!”

Jet scoffed. ‘Friends work together, stick together. He told me to stay here. You know Faye left, too.”

“Faye always leaves.”

The burly man clipped a few branches off one of his bonsai.

“Jet... we can’t let him go out there alone. He’ll... Spike will die out there if Vicious is as bad as everyone says. Someone has to die for this to end and it could be Spike.”

“Then go save him, Vida. I’m done dealing with his laziness and uncaring attitude.” “Fine,” she said. “Keep your comms open.”

Jet grunted.

Vida rolled her eyes and ran back to her ship. She’d have to refuel once she landed on Mars, but it could wait until she found Spike. He was priority.

As soon as she landed in Tharsis, Vida hauled ass toward the Red Dragon Syndicate building. Why wouldn’t it end where it all began?

Vida saw Spike limping up a long staircase toward police officers. She didn’t stop. He lifted his finger toward the officer as if it was a gun before collapsing.

“Spike!” she shouted, picking up speed. Before the cops could get any closer, Vida tripped up the stairs to reach the hunter. She touched his face, wincing at the blood coming from a head wound. “Don’t give up, Spike. I’m here. Don’t give up when you can finally live. Please.” Vida glared at the nearest police officer. “We need an ambulance here now!”

“Who are you to this man?”

“We work together. Please, get him some help. I can answer questions later, but he needs help first.”

The officer looked over his shoulder, signaling for a stretcher. “Is there anyone else in the building?”

“If anyone is still alive in there, I suggest they are put behind bars or killed on site.” Vida watched the medical team carefully lift Spike onto the stretcher. “If a man with silver hair is somehow still alive... make sure he’s not. The universe will be better off without him” She followed the stretcher to the ambulance, climbing in behind the paramedics.

Vida stayed in the hospital waiting room for days. She let Jet know she found Spike and continued to keep him updated. She only left to eat. That went on for a week before Jet showed up and forced her to get proper sleep back on the Bebop. Vida didn’t like it, but she took his suggestion to heart, too tired to fight back.

As the second week came to an end, Spike finally woke up, meaning that Vida could come into his room as soon as she had the okay.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he joked, voice strained. Most of his body was wrapped in gauze with a brace on one foot. It was the first time Vida ever saw him such a state.

A few tears sprang from her eyes that she swiped away. “I’m glad you’re awake, Spike.”

“Doc said you haven’t left.”

“I didn’t know when you’d wake up. Jet makes me leave to sleep. He’s out in the waiting room if you wanna see him, too.”

Spike studied Vida with heavy eyes. She still looked like she hadn’t slept for days, her skin lost of its usual glow. She cared too much.

Her hand on his broke him out of his observation.

“I’m glad you’re okay, Spike. I was worried about you.”

“Thanks for following me.”

“Someone needed to. Jet was being an ass and Faye disappeared again. I couldn’t let you die out there...”

“Even though I was ready to?”

Vida’s eyes met his. “I wasn’t ready though.”

There was a beat of silence.

“You’re not falling for me, are you?” he smirked.

“You wish, cowboy.”

•••••

The road to recovery was a long one for Spike, but eventually, he was released. Unfortunately, Jet had to leave to help Faye who decided to reappear with trouble chasing her. That left Vida to bring Spike back to the  Bebop.

He limped next to her, a little unsteady from his pain medication but too stubborn to accept Vida’s complete help.

“My ship is nearby. We can take it back to the Bebop and I’ll come out later to get yours back. Okay?”

Spike nodded, eyes falling on a flower stand. “Wait.”

Vida paused and watched Spike make his way to the stand to purchase a rose. He came back, his face serious and eyes dull.

“What do you need?”

“To go back.”

Vida blinked. “We, uh, can’t get very close. It’s blocked off. Crime scene and such.”

“I only need to see it.”

“Okay. Come on.”

Like she said, most of the block was warded off with yellow caution tape. Spike didn’t want to get close. He stood at the tape, staring up at the building.

Vida stood off to the side, far enough to give him his time alone. She had no need to invade his moment... whatever it was.

Eventually, Spike dug around inside his jacket pocket, pulling out something small. He stared at it for moment before dropping it and the rose on the pavement.

He turned to Vida. “Let’s go.”

Vida stared after him before going over to what he dropped. Squatting down, she picked up a small piece of cardboard-like paper with a photo of a beautiful blonde woman on it. She glanced back at Spike’s retreating figure. Who was that woman to him? Why leave her picture behind? Why forget her?

“Vida.”

“Coming!” she said, stuffing the photo in her coat and jogging to catch up with Spike.

•••••

Faye and Jet were back by the time Vida returned with Spike’s ship. Faye was hounding both men, Spike for trying to get himself killed and Jet for letting him.

“And you!” Faye turned on Vida.

“Leave her out of this, Faye,” Spike warned from the couch. His injured foot was propped on the table.

Faye ignored him. “You let these two idiots act like that?!”

“Of course not.”

Jet glared at Faye. “Vida isn’t our babysitter. She was the one who went after Spike unlike you who ditched the moment there was trouble.”

Vida sat next to Spike to check over him. “I’m not some here, Jet. What I did wouldn’t matter if the doctors hadn’t fixed him up.” She smiled warmly at Spike as she gingerly touched the wound on his head. “I just did what I hope you all would do if I was in trouble. You make it sound like I saved Spike.”

“No, she definitely saved me,” Spike smirked, making her roll her eyes.

“She wouldn’t have needed to if you weren’t a dumbass!”

“Faye, please,” Vida said. “I don’t think you get to have an opinion when you left at the time we needed you. Your actions were no better than his.”

Faye’s brows furrowed and she lifted her hand to slap Vida across the face. Vida braced for it, knowing she hurt the lady hunter’s pride. But the hit never came. Instead, Spike grabbed Faye’s wrist before her palm made contact. She froze, eyes fixed on Spike.

“Just because she’s right doesn’t mean you get to hit her because you’re pissed.”

“I think you need to leave for a while, Faye,” Jet said. “Cool off.”

“When did she become so important?”

Vida frowned. She didn’t understand why Faye was lashing out at her. They didn’t have any issues before.

“The day she showed she cared for us more than we ever have,” Jet answered.

Faye ripped her arm out of Spike’s grip. “Fine. Enjoy playing house.” The violet-haired woman stomped toward the hangar, the sound of her ship leaving following after.

“I’m sorry about her, Vida,” Jet said as he rubbed his face.

“Don’t apologize for her. I’m all right.”

“Still doesn’t mean she should’ve tried to hit you.”

“She’s mad and worried about the two of you. She just doesn’t know how to express that except through shouting.”

Spike slid down more in his seat, his good leg touching Vida’s when he spread his legs wider. “Always looking for the positive...”

“Someone has to.”

Jet started toward his quarters grumbling about Faye. “Don’t bother me unless it’s an emergency. Got it?”

“Whatever you want, Jet,” Spike said.

Vida watched Jet leave until she heard the television startup with a random Western.

Spike changed the channel to Hot Shots. “How does Jet watch that crap?”

“Probably the same way you watch this for hours.”

“Funny.”

“Only when the moment calls for it.”

The hosts of the show rambled on about a new bounty worth a few thousand woolongs out by Io. Nothing to jump up for - not that Spike could go on a hunt.

“Thanks for stopping Faye. I probably could have been a little nicer though...”

“She deserved to hear it that way.”

“All I did was piss her off.”

“You called her out on her bullshit. She’ll get over it. Don’t worry about it.” Spike pulled out a bent cigarette from his jacket and lit it.

“Do you really think I saved you?”

“You did a long time ago.”

“What? But I only... Huh?”

Spike’s gaze shifted to hers, confusion written in her features. “In a way, you started waking me from my dream.”

“Dream? You mean that whole thing where you believe life is a dream and death is waking up? I’m death to you?”

He chuckled. “No. You’re the reason why I don’t think I have to die to wake up anymore.”

“Then... then why did you confront Vicious?”

“To tie loose ends. To kill off what was keeping me in the past.”

“But you had to lose her, too... didn’t you?”

Spike looked at the monitor. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I think I knew it would have to end with her.”

“What was supposed to end?”

“The dream.”

Vida tilted her head, staring at Spike’s profile. He was a strange man. “Are you living a new one then?”

“Maybe?”

“You don’t know?”

“Or care.”

She looked at the screen again. “How intriguing.”

“Bored of me talking?”

“Never. You don’t talk enough.”

“You talk too much.”

“Still less than Faye and Jet.”

He hummed.

Vida leaned her head back and closed her eyes. She still needed to catch up on the sleep she missed staying in the hospital.

“You don’t have to babysit me. Go to bed.”

“I’m not babysitting. I’m keeping you company.”

“Jet can do that, too.”

“He doesn’t want company. Plus, a woman’s company is much nicer.” She opened one eye to smirk at Spike. Amusement settled on his face when he looked her way again.

“Sometimes.”

Her eye closed. “You didn’t like me much after Jet invited me to stay on the Bebop.”

“We already had Faye and the kid with the dog.”

“I’m not so bad, right?”

“Depends.”

She nudged him with her shoulder, eyes open and steady on his face. Vida smiled. “I’m glad to hear I’m not always a pest.” She patted his leg still on her side of the couch.

Spike yawned and stretched, twisting around in his seat to lie across the couch, head on Vida’s lap. “Well, if you won’t sleep, I will.”

“You’re too tall for this couch,” she laughed, placing one hand on his chest.

“I sleep here all the time.”

“Yeah, but I’m not usually here.”

He grunted.”

Absentmindedly, Vida started to play with Spike’s hair with her other hand, eyes going back to the television. If she didn’t look at him, her stomach would stop twisting, right? The hair on her arm stood on end when he covered her hand on his chest. She didn’t look, afraid he’d stare right through her façade. Had she looked, Vida would have found him already lost in sleep.

[camillemontespan]

the making of drake walker [interview]

@jovialyouthmusic @fromthedeskofpaisleybleakmore @sirbeepsalot @moonlightgem7 @pug-bitch @burnsoslow @ibldw-main @mskaneko @emceesynonymroll @katedrakeohd @emichelle @notoriouscs @of-course-i-went-to-hartfeld @star-spangled-eyes @drakesensworld @gardeningourmet @rainbowsinthestorm @stopforamoment @dcbbw @iplaydrake @drakewalkerisreal @nazariortega

DRAKE THE DILF!!!

    ********************************************************************************

The Duke of Valtoria gives a deep chuckle as he studies the screen that shows the photographs of him for this interview. He points at the photograph that will become our chosen cover and says with his face blushing, 'My wife will frame that one.'

I look at the photograph and avert my eyes. It's a good picture of the Duke of Valtoria. It's completely different to most stiff upper lipped Dukes who have been our interview subjects before - for one thing, he is standing in a swimming pool with a white t-shirt that has gone see through, showing off his broad chest and muscles. He is the complete opposite of what you imagine a Duke to look like and I have to say that the change is very much welcome.

He's wearing a denim shirt now and his hair has been dried. We sit down at the bar by the hotel pool and he orders two coffees for us.

Drake Walker has been the Duke of Valtoria for five years. In this time, he has married the woman of his dreams, become a father to two children and set up a mental health campaign which has exploded into something much bigger than he anticipated - more on this later. He has had a busy five years and I wonder how he feels.

'I feel really good,' he tells me with a warm smile. 'Genuinely really good. I finally feel comfortable in my own skin which has been a long time coming, believe me.’ 

I’m meeting him today to discuss the expansion of his mental health campaign, Mind over Matter. What started as a small campaign to raise awareness of mental health in men has now switched up a gear and is being made into a registered charity. 

In case you missed it (have you been living under a rock?) Mind over Matter is a mental health campaign which involved Drake, his friends and men in Cordonia going on outdoor activities. What was mocked as simply being a glorified 'boys weekend' was suddenly praised when Drake had the idea to Vlog their activities. As the men trekked up mountains, abseiled, kayaked etc, they opened up and started talking about their worries, fears and hopes. It became a safe space for men who felt like they couldn't share feelings. Maxwell Beaumont admitted that he still thought about his mother who passed away when he was ten years old, but he didn't want to burden his brother. Drake told him to be honest because 'you are brothers, you're blood. Share the load.' As they talked, a charity donation line was set up so viewers could donate money to various mental health charities. It became a huge deal and it was all the brainchild of Drake Walker. Did he see this coming?

'Never in a million years,' he answers honestly. 'But now it's happened? I want to go bigger. I want it to become one of the main charities in Cordonia. If there's a guy out there struggling with depression, anxiety, alcoholism, anything, I want him to know he can contact Mind over Matter so he can speak to a qualified health professional and get the help he needs. I don't want anyone else to feel as alone as I did.'

I ask him to elaborate. He smiles. 'Growing up in court, I felt like an outcast. I hated everyone and they acted like I was the shit on their shoe. I built up walls around myself - no, scratch that, I built a fucking fortress - and I didn't let anyone in. But it all changed when I met Camille.. She basically saved my life.'

I've met Camille a handful of times and she's always been warm and kind. She looks like the type of woman you can share a bottle of wine with and chat about men. Drake let's out a deep laugh. 'Oh my god, she is! If you ask her to do that, she would do it. She's always up to talk.'

I imagine she has played a part in making Drake more vocal about his emotions. He nods eagerly. 'Absolutely. When we first met, I was such a dick to her. Thing was, I always found myself watching her, wanting to be part of her conversations but I stopped myself.'

Why?

He looks at me seriously. 'Because I felt like I wasn't worthy. Trust me, when people treat you like you're the shit on their shoes, you start to believe it. Why would this amazing woman waste her time talking to me? So I tried to hate her but couldn't. She took the time to talk to me, joke around. She broke down those walls I built and I'm forever grateful to her.'

Drake is keen to stress that he forces himself to be open about his feelings now. 'If I don't, I'm a hypocrite. I am the figurehead of a mental health charity. If I can't discuss how I'm feeling, then how can I preach to everyone else?'

I ask if it takes work. He nods. 'Every day.'

I decide to move the conversation onto something lighter. I want to know about his kids. Are they different?

He grins, happy to be a father. 'Well, Luna is a baby so it's hard to tell, but she is certainly a different baby compared to how Lily was. Luna is so quiet. She observes everything with these big round eyes, like everything is a wonder to her, and I constantly catch myself thinking baby girl, if I could just be in your head for one minute.. '

He goes quiet with a dopey smile on his face. He then shakes his head. 'They both have my smirk though.'

I ask to see the smirk.

He smirks.

Oh my. The Smirk makes me melt (it deserves capital letters).

Drake leans forward and whispers conspiratorially, 'My wife loves my smirk.'

I ask what family life is like. What is a day in the life entail?

'Usually, Lily wake us up when the sun hasn't even risen yet and screams IT'S MORNING TIME! She will usually be carrying her sister. Somehow, Lily's managed to work out how to unhinge the crib which is actually terrifying..'

Secret genius?

Drake chuckles. 'I think she has plans for world domination. She's only five and already, she's got the mind maps and dastardly plots..'

I smile at his easy humour.

'Camille refuses to get a nanny so she will look after Luna while I do the school drop off. I come home, take Luna, Camille goes to her appointments, she comes homes, we switch and I start work.' He stops then looks at me steadily. 'Jesus, this is such a boring article. I'm sorry. I'm a dad now, my life is just nappies, lack of sleep and wondering if my daughter's poo is a natural colour.'

I will be honest here. I've met Drake a few times and he used to be.. Well, he was always friendly, but he was never this forthcoming. Now he opens up more, jokes around, smiles a lot. I ask if Mind over Matter has helped him.

'It has, yes. But also I'm just happy. I feel content, like I'm right where I'm supposed to be, you know? I have an amazing wife, two beautiful daughters and I have a purpose. I'm more sure of myself now.'

Now he seems to have matured, what kind of dad is he? I imagine he's quite serious and overprotective.

He laughs. 'Yes, I'm very overprotective. God, Lily came home the other day and showed me her collection of leaves. Yes, leaves. Apparently, in her class, if a boy has a crush on you, he gifts a girl a leaf and vice versa. Leaves have become a sort of declaration of love. And she has four! FROM THE SAME GUY!'

I tease that Lily has a boyfriend. Drake shudders. 'Don't push me.'

He then grins. 'Clearly, he's got good taste.'

Is he serious then?

'Hell no! I'm honestly a really fun dad. Am I embarrassing? Maybe.. I do Iove a dad joke. But I take part in Lily's tea parties, I wear a plastic crown and everything. Sometimes, if we're pushing the boat out, we pour chocolate milk into the teacups.' He smiles again.' Tea party days are the best days.'

I ask if he can see himself having a son. He bites his lip thoughtfully.

'No.. I used to. When I allowed myself to start dreaming about raising a family, sure I wanted a little Drake Jr. But nah, I like having girls. They're cute and they're miniature versions of their mom. How can I not want that?'

He clearly adores his wife. You see paparazzi pictures of them and they always look so close. Often, Drake would be shielding her from the cameras or taking her hand to help her out of cars. 'I'm a gent,' Drake shrugs. 'I'm also of the opinion happy wife, happy life. She's my priority. Always has been, always will be.'

I ask what's new for the Duchess. She is very engaged with her duties and seems to aways be visiting children's hospitals or promoting charities.

'She fits into her role brilliantly,' Drake tells me. 'Given she was a commoner before, and an American one at that, she's really settled into being a Duchess. I was in awe. She takes the time to get to know her public, she never complains, she cares. I'm so glad that we both got to learn our roles at the same time. She kept me feeling positive.'

Did he ever think negative?

'I always worried I was failing as a Duke,' he admits. 'I thought I wasn't doing anything. I felt like everyone could see right through me.'

Imposter syndrome?

'Yes!' he cries. 'Definitely. It took me a while to find my feet.'

The interview is beginning to wrap up. Since the past five years have been a whirlwind, is he expecting the same to happen for the next five? He is launching Mind Over Matter as a charity after all. He gives me a warm smile. 'Honestly? Once it's launched, I'm taking it easy. I'm taking my family camping for a weekend. I've got it all planned. I know I go camping a lot for Mind Over Matter so you'd think I'd be sick of it but honestly, I don't. I love being outside and if it means I get to have fun with my children, teach them new things and spend time with my wife, I'm happy. But the next five years? You can't plan it. Everything that's happened to me in my life so far, I never imagined ever happening to me. But I'm excited. So fucking excited.'

I can tell you this, reader. Drake has found himself on steady ground. Long may it continue.

[csxblu]

hello hello!! i’m kxn and i can drink seven cups of coffee without feeling too much of the effects. i’m probably at work right now (queues save my activity) but if you like this post i’ll dm you and we can plot! it’s long so there’s a tl;dr at the beginning.

DARREN CRISS, what are you doing here? oh, you’re CADEN SANTOS from SEATTLE, WA checking in for the extended stay. it says here that you are CISMALE and prefer HE/HIM pronouns. you’re 31 years old, have EMPATHIC ABILITIES, and have been referred to as THE MARTYR. it’s been reported that you’re KINDHEARTED & EASILY OVERWHELMED. you’ll be in apartment 2B. we hope you enjoy your stay. (KXN | 20 | PST | SHE/HER)

SHORT STORY

caden grew up largely ignored by well... everyone. he had a couple of episodes where he just. wasn’t functional as a human being because he was so overwhelmed with stress, but he was very good at pretending he was fine, and no one assumed otherwise. it wasn’t until he got a job as a teacher that he really felt like he was making an impact. but seven years later and his abilities kick in. emotions, sensations, all filtered into his system and released in an almost weaponized fashion. when a student of his revealed they were also affected by the compound, he claimed the blame, and had evidence of his danger to keep the fbi away from finding out anything else.

PERSONALITY

kindhearted, earnest, gentle, observant

introverted, emotional, quiet, stubborn

easily overwhelmed, timid, secretive, ungrounded

LONG STORY

caden may as well have disappeared when he was eight. a case of a bad stepmother, an apathetic father, and a mother who feared responsibility forced caden to spend much of his time hiding in his room or even outside of the estate. any place he could find that would keep him out of sight and out of mind.

despite his lack of appearance at home, he never seemed to slack on academics. while not the top of his class in any form, he also wasn’t struggling to keep up. average. the teachers had other problems to deal with. there were other students that needed more help, and caden was incredibly fine with that.

high school was a blur. it was an endless cycle of rinse and repeat and while caden inserted himself into many different social circles, he never quite made any impact on any of them. the only notable moment anyone would ever say about him was when they found him in the bathroom, staring glazed eyed at the opposite wall. they sent him to the hospital to see what was wrong, but after a month of therapy and no results, caden simply went on with his normal life.

so he graduated and moved to seattle, where nobody knew who he was (although that wasn’t too much of a change anyways).

he got a degree in english and applied to a nearby school to be a high school teacher. they took him because their previous teacher had come down with a nasty concussion and would be out for half of the school year. it was a temporary position, or it was supposed to be.

see, caden’s unfortunate experience with disappearing meant that he never ever wanted anyone else to feel that same way. so he paid attention to his students. in the span of two months, he became a favorite, and the temporary position turned into a seven year long job. he was happier. he was someone. he wouldn’t be forgotten.

it was in his seventh year that he’d started feeling... impressions. ghosts of sorrow or joy, echoes of pain and fear. at first, he could write it off as him going a little mad with stress. the panic peaked when he walked into the grocery store one day, and everything came rushing in at once. all the stress, all the rush and the anger and exhaustion, the scratching of clothes the weight of the boxes the feet moving through the aisle and caden ran home. what he didn’t see was the way the people around him dropped to the ground, shaking with panic that wasn’t their own.

he went to work the next day, and didn’t tell anyone what had happened. the news about the compound showed up, and caden swore that he would never let anyone know. but then the fbi showed up at the school the next day, claiming mandatory testing for both staff and students, and caden found one of his students hiding in the closet, terrified that they were there for them. they’d been altered. there was a spike in energy that was their fault about a week ago, and now the fbi was here to find out who it was. 

so caden turned himself in, claiming that it was he who had triggered the spike in energy, and he wasn’t exactly wrong. security footage at the grocery store showed him the consequences of his newfound powers, and he was horrified to find how much harm he could cause. the danger and uncontrollable nature of his abilities distracted the team of testers enough that they made his transport to nowhere their first priority.

he disappeared again, and the irony of this fact wasn’t lost on him. he’d signed away his rights without much fuss. fear was a persuading factor, and caden was brimming with it. not of the government and what they would do, but of himself.

[threadsketchier]

Glimpses - a time to mourn

Because of my delay the other week, I wound up unintentionally timing the final installment of this series for Memorial Day.  I think it’s pretty fitting, considering the subject matter.  But don’t worry, there’s still some positivity at the end.

@kaelinaloveslomaris @culturevulture73 @littlesparklight @azalea-scroggs @onwardintolight @klcthebookworm @celinamarniss - the usual suspects

Read it at AO3 instead

With the Empire’s head severed and its limbs in disarray, many turning against each other in the ensuing power vacuum, the Rebel Alliance – now the Alliance of Free Planets – was also experiencing a turmoil of disagreements, as conscience and principle wrestled with pragmatism.  The Battle of Endor had been costly on the fleet, and securing new allies and their supplies, as well as taking advantage of the Empire’s weakening influence, became the greater priorities over liberating oppressed worlds.  Patience was required, it was said, for gaining a foothold in the Core and taking strides toward legitimizing the Alliance into a true government would go much further in relieving the galaxy of the Empire’s grip.

That was a sensible goal – just not one that Lando felt particularly beholden to in this moment.

I was responsible to the people of Cloud City long before I was in command of your forces, he’d told the brass.  And I’d be happy to continue to do so.  But I had no intentions of leaving my facility in the Empire’s hands any longer than I had to.  You’d also stand to gain a safe haven and an intelligence source, but I’m sure not everyone was able to escape, and I’m not leaving them behind now that I’ve met my immediate obligations.

I’m aware I’m not calling the shots here.  But I’m calling them anyway.

And he’d walked out of the conference room, expecting nothing, already planning on calling in favors from old contacts who might be willing to pitch in if they could have some stake in the deal.  He’d had no intentions of asking them to help him, not after what they’d gone through.

Trouble was, Luke was a Jedi now, which meant even a sabacc face couldn’t hide much from him.

“I have some unfinished business,” Lando tried to leave it at.

Luke appraised him in that almost unnervingly compassionate way of his.  “You’re going back to Bespin.”

Immediately Lando held up a hand to stop him.  “Look, I can’t ask this of you – ”

“Yes you can,” he retorted firmly.  “Because it wasn’t you who hurt us.  You were faced with a no-win situation and you did what you thought was best at the time.  If you’d known, Lando…”  He trailed off, shaking his head.  “And even if you did, you had all those lives to weigh against ours.  People you didn’t even know, and a couple of old friends.”  He smiled sadly.  “All of us have lost our homes.  Alderaan is dust, and my homestead is ashes.  At least you can still go back.  You really think we wouldn’t want to help you?”

Pain and sadness were for suckers, he used to think.  Showing them gained you nothing; if you were cheated, outwit them back, and everything was better with a smile and a swig of fine liquor.  But Luke’s words left him feeling raw.  He hadn’t allowed himself to mourn Cloud City for many reasons – he hadn’t been the one tortured or sold or maimed, and grieving meant the Empire had won and he wasn’t going to fight back and reclaim it someday.  It wasn’t even grief that overtook him now in the strictest sense, since it wasn’t an end, but a chance at a new beginning.  But being confronted with this acceptance, this kind of unquestioning loyalty, from someone who’d suffered greatly because of his ignorance and ill-fated attempt at insulating himself from the war…

Luke put an arm around his shoulders and turned him back down the corridor to walk alongside him.  “C’mon, we’ll tell the others,” he said, his tone gently encouraging.

The halls were just as bright and vacant as Luke remembered them, and eerie in their silence after the battle, though thickened with far more smoke and blaster ozone than last time.  It was almost a relief – it rendered them less sterile.  Less deceptive of the darkness concealed behind and underneath its pristine white walls.

That darkness wasn’t intrinsic, he had to remind himself.  This was just a mining facility and pleasure resort.  It wasn’t Lando’s or anyone else’s fault the Empire had descended here and left their taint like a carbon score that couldn’t quite be scrubbed out.

The compulsion to retrace his steps gnawed at him, even as his most primal fears bade him to ignore the urge.  There was nothing left here but memories, ones he didn’t need to dredge up.  He’d forgiven his father, and his father was gone, and he had survived his own trial with the Dark Side.

Luke found himself walking the path anyway, sweat gathering on his left palm.

As dim and foreboding as it had been the first time, the carbonite freezing chamber hummed with the same deep vibrations of dormant machinery, the kind of heavy, ringing quiet that poured into his ears like molten metal and solidified.  The hose he’d cut was repaired, and the pit lay open to receive another payload of tibanna gas.

Another victim.

Leia had stood and watched here while Han was lowered into that pit, just before he’d entered and met Vader.  Luke’s legs felt unsteady as he came down the stairs.

So many things could have gone even worse here.  Han could have perished from the freezing process.  He could have succumbed to it rather than being able to jump clear with the Force, and been carted away to the Emperor even sooner.  Leia or Chewie or Lando could have been killed in the ensuing firefight during their escape.  He could have plummeted straight down the city’s core shaft right after being sucked out of the broken window, or not been caught by its vacuum currents on his second fall.  As nightmarish as this time and place turned out to be, it was a wonder they’d made it out alive and as fortunate as they could’ve been for the circumstances.

With his heart beating swiftly, Luke skirted around the edge of the pit and leapt down into the blackness, where he’d gone to pursue Vader and his own thirst for vengeance.

The only true sounds were the soft, echoing tread of his footsteps and the tremble of his breath, but he kept expecting to hear the snap-hiss of a lightsaber and the slow, harsh bellows of a respirator.  Despite the awareness of when he was, his hand rested on the pommel of his own weapon.

The observation window was also replaced, once again a barrier between him and the gantry he’d been forced out onto, and all the equipment that had been ripped from the walls put back in their places.  No trace remained of their duel.  It felt like a waking dream, or even a vision, a taunting artifice reestablished as if he had the chance to remake this encounter with new insight.  If only he’d known.  If only.

Luke approached the window and pressed his palms against its cold surface, a grief so sudden and violent constricting his chest that he struggled to breathe.  Tears had been shed over his father’s death, but he’d been almost too numb with shock and insulated by the reassurance that Anakin had finally found peace in the Force to let himself be overcome.  This, now – this was too much.  Dwelling on the terrible fact that they’d come to blows here, that a man was so desperately twisted he could fight and wound his own son, and in ignorance he’d fought back in hatred, wishing nothing more than to kill him in return, when instead he could’ve grown under his care and knowledge and love, when they could’ve shared their lives together…

But it was too late, and there was no going back for another chance.  “Father,” Luke whispered plaintively, gulping in air as tears spilled forth, leaning forward to rest his forehead against the pane.  Now he keenly felt the loss of his father, and of all the hostility and vast separation between them.

Father…

“Luke.”

The air spoke to him in the shape of his name, and at first Luke thought he imagined it over the wretched noise of his own crying.  Then a strange, prickling warmth spread across his back and upper arms, and encircled his right wrist, and the hair on his neck stood.

“Luke,” the voice said again, that of a young man wholly unfamiliar and yet known to him, roughened with emotion.  The edges of his vision were filled with a gentle blue light.

Luke crumpled against the window and slid down to the floor, sobbing.  The spirit – Anakin, his father – enveloped him in warmth, but offered no more words, because there were none.  Both of them mourned alike and together, reunited but still separated by the veil between life and death.

After some time Luke gasped out, “I wish…I wish you didn’t have to go.”

“I won’t, Luke,” Anakin promised.  “I never will.”  The warmth touched his chest, over his heart.  “I’ll always be with you.”

“It’s not the same.”

“I know.”  There was a regretful wryness in his tone.  “I know it’s not.  But it’s the truth.  You’ll never be alone.  Wherever the Force is, I’ll be there too.”  Anakin’s intangible fingers caressed his hair.  “And when it’s your time, I’ll be the first face you see.”

“Can I…will I see you again before that?”

Anakin smiled, a spark of some long-buried pain and love shining in his eyes.  “Of course.”

There were so many questions to ask, but now wasn’t the time for them.  Luke simply basked in the bittersweet comfort of his father’s presence and gave full vent to his sadness.

Later he wasn’t sure how much time passed, if it was only minutes or hours.  Tired and shaky, with his eyes swollen and throat aching, Luke wandered back until he re-emerged into the light, the daytime brilliance hurting his eyes at first.  Right outside the alcove surrounding the maintenance corridor that led to the freezing chamber stood the others, all looking worried and haunted.  Leia’s face was pale and drawn, and for a moment Luke felt apologetic that he had done this, leaving them again to go ponder his own losses.  He wondered if she’d felt all of his anguish.  She and Han already had enough of their own from this place.

Before he could say a word, though, they all gathered around him in a tangled embrace, except for Lando, who kept staring at the doorway.

“I’m sealing up this refinery,” he said, anger simmering beneath his quiet voice.  “Someday I might make it a memorial.  People need to know what the Empire did here.”

Long after they’d all departed the area, Lando’s hand kept a firm grip on Luke’s shoulder, conveying remorse and anchoring him in camaraderie.

None of them wanted to spend the night in any of Cloud City’s suites; besides the fact that Lando and Lobot would need to rework the city’s security codes, they all knew they wouldn’t get a lick of sleep otherwise.  Between checking on civilians and working with the Ugnaughts to dispose of bodies and sort materiel for collection or recycling and assessing property damage, it was easy to avoid sleep altogether.  But eventually Chewie was urging them to get at least a little rest before dawn, and they herded themselves into the Falcon for both mental and physical respite.

Luke and Leia both kept eyeing Han as they watched him go back and forth through the ship several times carrying bedding materials into the cargo hold, then an armful of beers.  When he finally acknowledged their stares he said, “We’re hanging out in here tonight.”

They didn’t question him.  It’d become obvious pretty quickly that Han intended for the four of them to bed down in one space, and Chewie wasn’t going to fit in a cabin with three others, and Luke supposed Han felt it was unfair for him and Leia to share a bunk together off the deck.

They didn’t talk much between quaffing the beer, too weary and shaken in confronting the horror of their first time here and just content in the moment with their closeness.  Eventually another pair of boots rang slowly through the ship and Lando’s silhouette filled the hatchway, and Han waved a hand to invite him in.

After his third bottle Han glanced up at Leia and said, “Hey.  We’re getting married,” in a calmly casual manner, as if he meant to remind her of something trivial, but there was a nervous hope and vulnerability in his eyes.  Leia regarded him for a minute with a soft wonder that shifted into amusement.  “I know,” she replied, deadpan.  Luke snorted, feeling like he was missing something but appreciating the humor nonetheless.  Over Leia’s shoulder he could see Lando studying the two of them, something profound in his otherwise neutral expression.

A short while later Lando broke the silence again with an idle mutter.  “Need to modify the sensors in the core shaft.  If anything else that isn’t refuse falls down there and winds up in the disposal chutes, I don’t want them hanging off the weather vanes.”

Luke craned his neck and half sat up to peer at him incredulously.  Was he being serious or sardonic?  He caught Lando meeting his curious gaze.  “Not that I anticipate that happening again,” Lando added.  There was a definite glint of exasperated humor in his eyes, but there was nothing trite about his tone.  Luke had to conclude he was sincere in his concern about how he’d nearly plummeted to his death.  It was a wonder anything had broken his fall down there, let alone an air current.

He hadn’t even been hoping for it the moment he’d decided to jump.

It had taken Luke some time to get used to the realization that Lando hadn’t only seen defeat and vulnerability in him when he’d pulled him to safety off the Falcon’s hull.  That admiration didn’t manifest in overt flattery or reverence, though, as it did with many others.  Lando had simply granted him a deep yet quiet respect from the day they’d met, just for having survived such a crucible.  There’d been an almost astonishing ease to their friendship, quite different from the bond he’d formed with Han.

With the beer settling into his weary frame like a warm weight, Luke reclined again and let his head rest against Lando’s knee, and his eyes grew heavy when he felt fingers gently play through his hair.

When Luke finally managed to nod off, he dreamed of a green paradise with wildflower-laden meadows and great waterfalls, and a young man and woman frolicking through them, carefree and joyful, their laughter ringing across the heavens.

[hisband]

   MURDOC & SYMPTOMS OF ADHD.

   ADHD is defined as a chronic condition marked by persistent inattention, hyperactivity, and sometimes impulsivity. ADHD begins in childhood and often goes unrecognized into adulthood. this is especially true in the past, and murdoc, being a child raised in the late 60s and early 70s, definitely got filed into the Unrecognized Neurodivergence category. already looked down upon by his teachers for belonging to a notorious, deeply disliked family, murdoc’s behaviour also earned him labels such as “slacker” and “troublemaker.” 

   in ri/se of the ogre, it’s mentioned he did things like cutting classes, distracting his classmates with “endless quacking noises” and making “pointless malicious jokes.” while i do think some of that behaviour may have A) been blown out of proportion by his teachers because they didn’t like him and B) was likely the result of his negligent household, i think he also acted out because... well, he couldn’t help himself, didn’t understand he was being disruptive and was never taught how to control those impulses. impulses that he still has, though they manifest in different ways, such as... 

becoming easily distracted by low-priority activities or external events that others tend to ignore. anyone who knows murdoc at all knows how difficult it is for him to keep his thoughts in a straight line unless he’s in a professional setting ( and even then, he has a tendency to go off on tangents from time to time ). though he’s excellent at setting goals for himself and taking the necessary steps to achieve them, other things tend to catch his eye along with the way. murdoc is very observant, which is both a blessing & a curse depending on the circumstances.

having so many simultaneous thoughts that it’s difficult to follow just one. see above. murdoc has a lot going on in his head at once, and because of that, he struggles to articulate himself when he’s speaking unless he’s had time to plan out his responses ( being a celebrity, he was likely coached how to do this properly ). this may give off the impression that he’s a bit of a ditz, which couldn’t be the furthest thing from the truth. talking out loud can just... be hard for him.

difficulty paying attention or focusing, such as when reading or listening to others. yes, he can be incredibly watchful... if the situation is of the utmost importance or if he feels like he has something to gain. but when he’s trying to focus on something he really doesn’t care about or that won’t benefit him in some way, you’ve lost him.

frequently daydreaming or “zoning out” without realizing it, even in the middle of a conversation. linked to the point above. also ties into point #2 in regards to murdoc thinking about too much at once.

struggling to complete tasks, even ones that seem simple. like i said before, murdoc often has a hard time motivating himself to do things he has minimal interest in. believe it or not, he isn’t trying to be a lazy asshole; his brain chemicals just don’t work the way they’re supposed to. the brain uses electrical impulses to carry messages from one neuron to the next - messages that help us notice things, pay attention and take action. in the brain of someone with adhd, the brain doesn’t always release Enough of those chemicals. when something interesting or exciting comes along for someone with ADHD, however, then our brains releases a larger amount, which helps us get started and stay glued to the task ( which is why murdoc is such an efficient musician / songwriter a decent chunk of the time ). people with ADHD don’t have voluntarily control of the release - we can’t tell ourselves to get started on a task and make it happen unless we’re really into it, or if we fear something bad will happen if we don’t deal with things right on the spot.

a tendency to overlook details, leading to errors or incomplete work. murdoc doesn’t Always exhibit this symptom because he’s such a perfectionist - at least when it comes to subjects he feels genuine passion for, like music and live performances - but when it comes to things he’s less sure about or can’t really bring himself to get invested in, he gets... sloppy.

poor listening skills; for example, having a hard time remembering conversations and following directions. pretty self-explanatory. his drug & alcohol abuse ( both past and present ) really don’t help with his lapses in memory. he’s a lot better at navigating around new locations than he is remembering something someone said to him earlier that day, however. all the travelling he does has helped him get better at figuring out where he needs to go and not panicking when he gets lost.

quickly getting bored and seeking out new, stimulating experiences. another self-explanatory one. this symptom occasionally overlaps with the risk-taking of murdoc’s BPD ( which i plan to discuss in more depth in future posts ). because of the overlap of his BPD & his ADHD, murdoc experiences a special form of inattention as part of dissociative states when he feels emotionally stressed, particularly in response to feelings of rejection, failure, and loneliness. his inattentive ADHD symptoms are particularly prominent in situations that lack external stimulation ( i.e. during boring, routine, or familiar tasks ). it should be noted that those with BPD have a tendency to resort to self-harm in order to alleviate tension; those with ADHD are more likely to regulate emotional symptoms through things like extreme sports, novelty seeking, sexual activity, and aggression. as someone who suffers from both disorders, murdoc’s got a lot on his plate.

poor organizational skills (home, office, desk, or car is extremely messy and cluttered). it depends on the situation and circumstances. when it comes to matters that are important to gor*llaz, murdoc watches over them like a hawk and ensures that everything is in the correct place & order... most of the time, so long as he’s somewhat sober. when it comes to his personal belongings, though? absolute disaster in the earlier phases. his organizational skills don’t start getting better until around phase 4, in which he copes with the loss of control over his life by becoming extremely anal about how everything around him is presented.

tendency to procrastinate. unless the goal in question is extremely time-sensitive & important, yeah - and even Then murdoc will still sometimes leave shit to the last minute. he frequently forgets the thing he means to do before he starts doing something else. when he’s so distracted by outside stimuli, as well as internal thoughts, it can be hard for him to even make it to the starting line. and once he finally does get started, he may become sidetracked by something else more interesting... and so his original task gets delayed even further. do you see where i’m going with this?

trouble starting and finishing projects. thanks to his ADHD-fuelled boredom, murdoc tends to have a lot going on for himself at once. the problem is, he sometimes has trouble finishing his side projects because new ones pop up and replace them. this is why it’s important for murdoc to have a a Primary Project or Goal to worry about - because without one, he’d be aimless.

time blindness. ties in with issues such as chronic lateness & forgetting appointments / deadlines. murdoc, like most people with ADHD, has a distorted sense of time. waiting in line can feel like hours and what feels like fifteen minutes of fun activity can really be forty-five.  if murdoc forgets the purpose of his task, he’ll be uninspired to finish it. those with ADHD have two times: “now and not now.” for example, if a work project is due next week, we figure we’ll have plenty of time to do it - and the next thing we know it’s monday. that sort of thing. this distortion of time leads us to believing we have more time to complete tasks than what we actually do.

constantly losing or misplacing things (keys, wallet, phone, documents, bills). this is why murdoc needs to watch closely where he sets things down. if he’s not paying enough attention, his brain won’t lay down a memory of the event - it’ll feel like it never happened. this can make him a real pain in the ass to live with at times, because more often than not the object he lost will be in plain sight and he’ll be tearing the place apart trying to find it.

   but murdoc’s most prominent ADHD symptom of all would be his impulsivity. said impulsivity makes it difficult for him to inhibit his behaviours, comments, and responses. he tends to act without thinking, or react without considering the consequences. he has a habit of interrupting others, blurting out the first thing that pops into his head ( no matter how tasteless or inappropriate ), and rushing through tasks without reading the figurative or literal instruction manual. murdoc’s lack of impulse control makes staying patient extremely difficult for him. for better or for worse - usually the latter - he tends to jump into risky situations that cause him more harm than good in the end. this poor self-control has led to addictive tendencies, as well as difficulty behaving in socially appropriate ways. said difficulties include:

being easily flustered and stressed out.

irritability or short, often explosive, temper.

low self-esteem and sense of insecurity or underachievement.

trouble staying motivated.

hypersensitivity to criticism.

talking excessively, usually about a million things at once.

trouble sitting still. constant fidgeting.

   there’s a million other things i Could say about murdoc as a character with ADHD and would Like to say but. i think this covered all of the bases. more later, yes.

[etadiscu-blog]

Fridays for Future

One day, it won’t be individuals, tribes or countries fighting for more power, more rights or more resources - it will be children fighting to be able to continue living a life within a stable nature, without the constant fear of new catastrophes to occur and parents, fighting for everything to stay the way it is to be able to continue a lifestyle they are accustomed to not dealing with problems that won’t affect them anymore. A lifestyle which they and their parents have significantly shaped and made possible with the achievements of their generations. A lifestyle which is truly worth fighting for, even with just a remotely dangerous threat of change appearing on the horizon - sometimes in the form of a wind turbine. What sounds as the plot of a third-class Hollywood-movie has actually become reality: people living now in their 30′s and above hardly will suffer severely from climate change and therefore have no incentive to change their behavior while people under 20 will almost surely suffer from the consequences of climate change and will be required to find solutions and implement them rather now than later. And the youngsters do not only see the horror coming - they have started to protest - and presumably won’t stop until the course has been set to change.

Picture: Markus Distelrath / pixabay.com

Some students have now realized that their future is in danger - and request a drastic reduction of CO₂ emissions, which are causal for the climate change according to prevailing scientific opinion. [1]

Critique towards the activist students reaches from trivial 

“Staying away from school is helping nobody - if the discussion was only about the climate change and not an excuse for not going to school they would have Saturdays for future!”

over practical 

“How do they expect us to change something?”

to more substantial

“Who says we as humans have an influence at all?”

But what to do about it? Are the current measures sufficient? What is there, we can do more? And should we do more at all?

We know, that CO₂ facilitates the greenhouse-effect in our atmosphere. We also know, that our climate is changing and that this change will affect how we live dramatically in a negative manner. Already now we can observe the consequences of changing climate: We are exposed to increasingly more and more natural catastrophes. We measure rising ocean levels. We see the shrinkage of permafrost. But given our lifestyle - how realistic is it, that we drastically change our behavior? What exactly would need to change and how practical or unpractical are the different possibilities we have at hand right now? What consequences would the changes impose?

The discussion to what degree mankind has an influence on world climate by emission of CO₂ is surely interesting. But not only that the scientific community has answered this question already quite clearly, it is not a discussion we as the civilization have the time to have in depth. The fact, that there is an effect is not negligible. So the question is rather what effective measures would be and not if we have to take measures at all. Whenever we see that something is degrading, whenever we see, that things are falling apart, whenever we see that something is not working as it should be - it is our obligation to act. Not just for society, not for our neighbor, not people on different continents but simply for ourselves. Our grandchildren will ask us: What did you do against climate change? I am sure, most of us will not leave the discussion satisfied is we have to answer “Nothing”. Only very little people have the courage to face the truth and sacrificing comfort in the present in favor of someone else’s future. It is a lot to ask for. Who would be willing to sacrifice the very tangible comfort of a car ride to work, the beauty of exploring different cultures on different continents by using an intercontinental flight or the pleasure consuming a juicy steak for an abstract thing such as the world climate? Not many people will be willing to do it no matter what the consequence might be - at least until the climate change also becomes less abstract and more tangible yet more impairing to our lifestyle. But then it probably is already too late, the die is cast. On the other hand side there are people reacting with negligence and doubt when confronted with the consequences of not changing behavior might have. Facing the truth and acting egoistically is equally simple as just hiding from the truth, acting as if it wouldn’t make a difference anyway or simply neglecting the problem entirely. It is a nihilistic approach, not contributing any good at all and leading to nothing but destruction and chaos. And even if you do not contribute any good actively through action - which I could not even blame you for - you might want to try to not contribute in any bad. Being informed, building an opinion and participating in discussions is probably the most important indirect contribution we as individuals can provide. At scale, it probably even will have a far larger effect, than giving up steak or using the bike (while I’m not saying that this wouldn’t contribute, too). But just sitting there, casting doubt without providing any answers or suggestions is not helping anyone. It is the bad contribution that sets us behind in discussion, wasting energy and time dealing with questions that might not even are important. It a nihilistic path, denying the truth while putting obstacles in the way of people looking for actual solutions. 

The psychological and sociological factor in this discussion around climate change is often underrated. Not only is it a conflict of generations - it is a conflict of societies, too. While in western civilizations one could argue with people of older generations that they probably do not want their children to suffer - the discussion is far more complicated looking towards emerging countries. People living there usually have other priorities than the world climate. Everyone who thinks that they just should stop burning so much fossil fuel should ask their self if they would be so interested in climate change if the question whether there is food on tomorrow’s table is not answered today. The higher a nation’s GDP - the more it’s population is interested in the effects of climate change. While western civilizations already began to release CO₂ in vast amounts more than 100 years ago, emerging countries only started 30-40 years ago to do so. They request their other 60 years - or at least they request the right to emit CO₂ until the living standard has adjusted to a western level. It is easy to discredit this request as narrow minded and short sighted. But without question we will have to deal with these opinions - and if we are proposing an effective solution, emerging countries need to be an integral part of it and a solution must not be to their disadvantage. 

In summary a solution is practicable, if it has little effect on our societies. It is practicable if no or only little contribution of each individual is required. People might find this view appalling and rather tend to try to force people to change - but force will not work for this matter. Applying force is already hard in one country. How are we supposed to apply force globally? Are we going to start a war for climate? What good would that be? It is not something we are wanting to engage in. Reasonable change comes through dialogue. We will have to accept the fact, that change happens slower than we would desire. We will have to accept the fact, that we will emit CO₂ many many more years and that this behavior is only changing very slowly. But we also will have a plan for the future. Changing things slowly with reasonable and little adjustments is not the same thing as having no plan and just accepting destiny. In the same way, flipping things over and starting from scratch not only often requires utilization of force in the very form of violence when it comes to geopolitical questions - it also leads to chaos. As bad as the status quo might seem - wanting it to change right now and without looking at the consequences will surely lead to an even less desirable state. Having said this - the main question remains - what can we do to emit less CO₂ while maintaining our lifestyle and allowing emerging countries to grow just as western civilizations were allowed to grow? Where do we actually produce the most CO₂ ?

The drivers of CO₂ level

Looking at the data, the largest part of man-made CO₂ emissions seems to be caused by transportation and energy production (56.9%) followed by agriculture, deforestation and land use (23.55%). [2]

While it is very unlikely that we will be able to convince the majority of people to switch to a vegetarian lifestyle in favor of less CO₂ emissions, it is worth looking at the technological possibilities we have in reduction of CO₂ in energy production and transportation.

Ways out of misery - A pragmatic approach 

Whenever we talk about climate change, the topic of renewable energy sources rapidly is brought forward. And how we could benefit if there only was a source of energy, which is easy to access, available anywhere in the right amount at the right time! Unfortunately, this is far from the truth. Obviously the sun only shines at day, in different regions of the world in different intensities and is heavily dependent on weather conditions. Wind on the other hand is dependent on weather conditions, too but not so much on the day/night cycle. But wind unfortunately is not available anywhere in the same intensity. Most renewable energy resources have one property in common, they are intermittent, meaning, they are simply not available all the time. But even if they can be regulated relatively precisely, for example in a dam, dams are usually located in comparably remote locations. Partially we are trying to solve the geographical component by using modern transportation methods such as high voltage direct current power lines, but for the timing issue, the answer is yet to find. 

But not only changing and often also not very predictable supply is an issue with renewable sources. In addition, there are high changes in demand during one day. While fossil power plants can be regulated very precisely depending on the very demand in a certain period and nuclear power plants do a good job in constantly providing the required energy to serve basic demand, the same is a lot harder with renewable energy sources, which are mainly regulated by nature and therefore often only can be throttled and not powered up. In consequence, providing solutions with renewable energy is often more costly and less economically efficient than just using fossil fuel because complex energy storage technology is required - or - as some scientists now suggest - heavy bricks [11].

Even if we would be able to solve the timing issue with storage systems - the geographical component not automatically is solved easily. It is not done by only installing a few more power lines or install distributed systems. Using the surroundings of our power consumption hot spots is also no real solution, mostly because there simply is not enough space or - like in many countries in Europe and the US - the land is needed farmland. Also solar power often simply is not as efficient as it would be under ideal circumstances with high radiation. The World Bank’s Global Solar Atlas (https://globalsolaratlas.info/) shows us, that most radiation is available in areas which are less densely populated. In Europe for example, we reach around 1,500 kWh/m² p.a. (southern Spain ~2,200 kWh/m² p.a., central Germany ~1,200 kWh/m² p.a. northern Scotland ~950 kWh/m² p.a.). This is significantly less than the reachable ~ 2,600 kWh/m² p.a. in southern Libya. Moreover Libya (4.42 inhabitants per km²) is far from being as densely populated as for example Germany (229.13 inhabitants per km²)  [3]. Meaning that Libya simply has a lot more unused land which could be used purely for solar production. 

Comparing the energy consumption of middle Europe to the energy consumption to north Africa, it becomes quite obvious, that Europe requires far more energy than Libya, Algeria, or Egypt. Looking at the energy the sun provides in this region per square meter in this region compared to Europe it becomes obvious, that using solar power would be far more effective in north Africa than it is in middle Europe. Moreover, north Africa is by far less densely populated than Europe and has a lot less farmland or even potential farmland which could be used for agriculture. So why not use this space? We easily could provide the technology and infrastructure for this. And surely the northern African countries would also have an economical interest in this: just like oil producing states heavily profit from their natural resources, northern African could benefit from their natural resource: the high intensity of solar radiation. This procedure could be repeated in many parts of the world. And who knows - maybe the solution for climate change is eventually also one for the many conflicts we have in our world.

Solar power plants need to be placed  where it is economically sensible while consuming power wherever it is needed needs to be possible. This requires a storage mechanism, which is reliable, safe and cheap. While batteries are reliable and comparably safe - they are far from being cheap. And energy transportation with batteries would be very costly it itself, since the energy density of batteries is around 100 times lower than the density of fossil fuel [4]. Moreover batteries take their time to get loaded. This might be no issue in large scale energy production but surely is an issue if you want to use batteries for transportation. It is the reason why electric cars can only serve a niche. They are only a solution for people who are driving short distances and are able to recharge their car over night. The latter will hardly become available for people living in the city rapidly. And even if - how is the energy wandering transferred into the car’s battery at night, when the owner is sleeping and the sun is not shining going to be produced? For a long time, the answer will probably be “from a nuclear power plant” or “from a coal power plant”. 

Economy and Moral

It is often assumed - and I did assume this as well several times in this article already - that a solution for our energy problem lies only in a economically sensible solution. This though, surely is not obvious or self-evident. I don’t even claim it to be the truth. But if a solution is possible that also is an economically preferable option - this makes things a lot easier. Because then we as society are not required to find consensus about what our values are. We don’t need to find compromises for all the different stakeholders. And we don’t loose a lot of time doing so. Having the discussion leads to the ultimate question of prioritization. What is more important for us - having relatively cheap and comfortable transportation? Or preventing the sea levels to rise? Is it more important to be able to afford at least the food you like - even if the times are tough - or is it more important that people in other regions of the world don’t die from starvation due to the horrible effects of climate change for their agriculture? Is it more important to lead a good life now or is it more important to make a good life four your children and grandchildren possible?

Tax systems are not only very complex in itself, they also have direct impact on people’s lives. Applying change by force, for example by increasing the tax for CO₂ emissions, comes always with the risk of not only decreasing comfort but changing society disruptively. A single action, such as raising CO₂ emission tax is no solution – and also not very popular due to increasing consumer prices. While it is no problem for people in well-paid jobs to spend 2% more on consumer goods, this is a very significant increase for a middle class family. Therefore, to keep the tax system in balance, it would be necessary, do adjust other taxes. 

An argument pro- CO₂ taxes often raised by activists is, that Sweden is raising a CO₂ emission tax since 1991 and their economy grew since then. In this discussion it is often overseen, that Sweden introduced a large-scale tax reform at the same time, reducing or terminating property taxes, capital taxes and income taxes [12]. Since then, the tax structure in Sweden changed significantly: people with lower incomes were taxed inadequately high and people and corporations with high incomes inadequately low. As consequence, despite Sweden being still one of the most equal OECD countries, the surge of income inequality since the early 1990′s was the largest among all OECD countries [14]. It could be concluded, that the reform was just a camouflage for neo-liberalist ideas. Whether this is true or not, seeing the result of the reform, the conclusion cannot be, that a general GDP increase always leads to a proportional increase in wealth of the majority of the population. This leads to the question, whether GDP is actually a proper indicator of wealth for a country. But this question I want to reserve for another article. Countries are very different in their economies so that only because a CO₂ worked for Sweden, this doesn’t mean, that this model is applicable for any other country - especially since countries such as Germany already have implemented the neo-liberal ideas in the early 2000’s [16] and there is not so much room for creating even more inequality without raising social problems. 

Speaking about Germany: another thing they tried were subsidies. If you would build a wind turbine, you’d get a guaranteed energy price, high above the market level. But there is one caveat: The subsidy expires for many facility in 2021. But the great subsidies lead to not only enormous costs for network operators, who are forced to connect every plant as fast as possible, also customers have to pay an additional price in form of an energy tax. Plants were built in places, where it is economically complete nonsense: the maintenance cost is often higher than the regular (non-subsidized) market price could cover. This leads to the situation that fully functioning turbines are facing their end in 2021 - torn down only after a few years of operation. This is a perfect example of how such a thing as subsidies can go sideways if nobody properly things through it - or people who think through it only think about themselves. Subsides are no bad thing per se - but they require a lot of foresight and precaution to be established in a way they do any good at all. If established without precaution, they in fact do a lot more harm than good.

Societies are complex things you don’t want to change disruptively without completely understanding what implications it might have. Pulling one string and hoping the best, watching what happens seems to be not the cleverest idea given, that the system that is played with holds people who try to live within it. Changes must be applied with caution and slowly enough for society to adopt to them and also to watch for side-effects and possibly required course-corrections. Lowering the living standard drastically can only be the last-resort option since it would destabilize society and probably do more harm than good. However, if no economically sensible solution can be found and technological options turn out to be exhausted something like a significant CO₂ emission tax, which exceeds the positive effect of lowered other taxes, is on the table - but not without thoroughly looking at the side-effects this might have.

LOHC, Cyanobacteria and solar-thermal plants - The Future?

A few years ago one technology seemed to make the race: Hydrogen. Hydrogen has an enormous energy density of 120 MJ/Kg, which is around 2.5 times as much as gasoline [4][5], is easy to produce and burning it just emits vaporized water. What a solution! Unfortunately Hydrogen is also terribly hard to store. It can only be stored under very high pressure or under very low temperature, while tank insulation needs to be as good as possible and permanent cooling is required, consuming energy constantly just for storage. While the effect of vaporization of liquid Hydrogen can be used in Hydrogen transportation, for example in vessels carrying the Hydrogen while using the vaporizing Hydrogen as fuel, this behavior is rather undesirable in semi-permanent or buffer storage.  Also storing compressed Hydrogen comes with its own flaws: producing the high pressure required for storage requires a lot of energy in itself. Compressed Hydrogen requires around 2.1% of the energy content [6]. In addition, the energy of Hydrogen density by volume is a lot lower than the density of gasoline.

Another argument against Hydrogen is often its explosiveness. And indeed, Hydrogen and Oxygen are a very explosive mixture. But assuming, that a Hydrogen tank leaks (for whatever reason) or is ruptured, for example in an accident, and the leaking gas ignites, a hydrogen flame would burn out relatively quickly and also, very contrary from ignition of fossil fuel, relatively far from the tank itself. Car manufacturers as Toyota have exercised several tests and extensive studies, coming to the conclusion, that Hydrogen is not more or less dangerous than any other power source (this also includes Lithium batteries, which impose a risk, too, since they are highly flammable and ignite in contact with Oxygen). In addition, the U.S. National Highway and Traffic Safety Administration have performed their own studies and find: 

Hydrogen-fueled vehicles (HFVs) offer the promise of providing safe, clean, and efficient transportation in a setting of rising fuel prices and tightening environmental regulations. 

Analysis of Published Hydrogen Vehicle Safety Research, U.S. Department of Transportation, National Highway and Traffic Safety Administration,  DOT HS 811 267,  February 2010

But despite the fact, that Hydrogen in itself and with traditional technology is already a promising solution, scientists were able to improve it significantly. Not only did they solve the storage issue, they also managed to make Hydrogen hardly inflammable. This is done by storing the Hydrogen in some kind of chemical “carrier” liquid. Among other solutions, this technique, called Liquid Organic Hydrogen Carriers (LOHC), seems to be one of the most promising currently researched solutions. Another solution, which is in very early development state and rather costly could be a nano material. This is especially interesting for aviation, because airplanes rely on being a lot lighter at landing than at departure - where LOHC would be a problem, since it would not change it’s weight significantly while Hydrogen is extracted and consumed.

Not only is solar cell technology advancing rapidly, with increasingly higher efficiency and lower production cost [7], there also are other promising other approaches on the rise, which include using bacteria [8] or thermo-solar power plants [9] to produce Hydrogen directly.

There is just one little caveat, that needs to be resolved: Hydrogen cannot be simply produced by the Sun’s radiation. Water is required to extract the Hydrogen molecules from it. And while aforementioned countries are well-known for their nice weather, they surely are not blessed with easily-accessible, limitless amounts of water. This is why a reasonable solution can only include the usage of Ocean-Water - while the facility needs to be designed in a way it can deal with the salt within Ocean Water without the need of desalination. Ideally, engineers would find a way derive Hydrogen directly from salt water. And indeed, researchers of Stanford University seem to have found a way, at least for the traditional way of producing Hydrogen indirectly via electrolysis, tackling the problem of corrosion via  for tackling corrosion [10].

This however does not mean, that LOHC, the Perowskit cell, Cyanobacteria or solar-thermal power plants are the ONLY solutions for the challenges we’re facing. It rather are possible fits for the missing pieces in the puzzle of future energy solutions. While we know pretty well, how we can serve the base level of power demand with renewable sources, the question always was how to deal with peak demand, demand in remote regions or demand in transportation. For all these questions, Hydrogen, possibly in combination with storage technology such as LOHC, is a very promising answer.

Summary & Conclusion

Thinking about the next steps required, the topic becomes a little bit more complex, since it is not only about CO₂ and climate, but rather about which ways we go as societies. But unfortunately, just pulling one string and hoping for the best is not going to work, so significant change (though implemented step-wise and thoroughly thought-through) is necessary to go with sufficient pace in the climate issue. I’m touching very complex topics, where each probably is worth its own article and I might will write some in the future. But I want to end with an overview of the challenges we face – and the opportunity we have.

Countries should...

 Create a sensible (and simple!) system of taxation of CO₂ while lowering other taxes (or rather bringing them back to their original pre-neo-liberalism-level). Preferably this would be consumption taxes such as VAT for consumers and power taxes for companies and ideally this would be done on an international level. In addition, increasing property and capital taxes (or implement the much discussed and always prevented financial transaction tax, which would have even other positive effects) would be necessary to close the tax gap

Invest in

Power grid infrastructure (privatized grid infrastructure should in this step be taken back by the government, since there is simply no way private companies could do this fast enough or without abusing gaps and mistakes in laws intending to incentive them)

Research of future technology

Negotiate with countries with enough natural resources (such as solar radiation) and start working globally together with companies and universities to create a working model of energy production and transportation

Prohibit construction of fossil or nuclear power plants in the future

References

[1] “CO2 as a primary driver of Phanerozoic climate" -- D. Royer et. al., GSA Today, March 2004 - https://www.geosociety.org/gsatoday/archive/14/3/pdf/i1052-5173-14-3-4.pdf

[2] "CO₂ and other Greenhouse Gas Emissions" -- Hannah Ritchie and Max Roser, 2019 - https://ourworldindata.org/co2-and-other-greenhouse-gas-emissions

[3] "World Population Growth" -- Max Roser and Esteban Ortiz-Ospina, 2019 - https://ourworldindata.org/grapher/population-density-3?time=1500..2100&country=DEU+LBY

[4] “Has the Battery Bubble Burst?” --  Fred Schlachter, September 2012 - https://www.aps.org/publications/apsnews/201208/backpage.cfm

[5] http://brucelin.ca/scooters/thumb.html

[6] “Prospects for Hydrogen and Fuel Cells” --  International Energy Agency, 2005 -- https://doi.org/10.1787/9789264109582-en

[7] “Water photolysis at 12.3% efficiency via perovskite photovoltaics and Earth-abundant catalysts” -- Luo et. al. Science, 26 Sep 2014 - Vol. 345, Issue 6204, pp. 1593-1596 DOI: 10.1126/science.1258307

[8] “Recombinant cyanobacteria as tools for asymmetric C=C bond reduction fueled by biocatalytic water oxidation“ -- K. Köninger et. al., Angewandte Chemie, 2016 - DOI: 10.1002/anie.201601200R201601201

[9] “ HYDROSOL-PLANT” -- https://www.dlr.de/sf/en/desktopdefault.aspx/tabid-9315/22259_read-51105/

[10] “Researchers create hydrogen fuel from seawater“ -- Stanford University, ScienceDaily, 18 March 2019 - www.sciencedaily.com/releases/2019/03/190318151726.htm

[11] https://energyvault.ch/

[14] "OECD Income inequality data update: Sweden” -- OECD, January 2015 - https://www.oecd.org/sweden/OECD-Income-Inequality-Sweden.pdf

[16] “Explaining Rising Income Inequality in Germany” --  Kai Schmid and Ulrike Stein, September 2013 - SOEPpaper No. 592. Available at SSRN: https://ssrn.com/abstract=2339128 or http://dx.doi.org/10.2139/ssrn.2339128 

[starryeyes-oneshots]

whiskey on ice : part four

[this is the second last part guys!!! I hope you enjoy this part ! If you need to catch up or are looking for the previous parts, you can find part one here ; part two here ; and part three here ]

***

The season of Christmas couldn't come fast enough for both Taylor and Joe. Everything was decorated to the nines in Taylor's apartment: the tree was up in the living room, twinkle-light filled garland surrounded every inch that was available - even in her bedroom. While they absolutely loved spending their days together in New York, time spent at home with family was extremely high on the priority list for both of them. The rest of November carried along smoothly, with many Saturday coffee dates, burning toast for breakfast on Sunday mornings, hanging around at home with Taylor's cats. Something as so simple as grocery shopping felt fun and exciting when they did it together. Everything felt intoxicatingly exciting: due to the pure fact that they were together and everything felt right.

The musical production at Taylor's elementary school was the real kick off to Christmas. The show went much smoother than Taylor had originally thought; she was especially thankful that all of the children were on time, dressed up and ready to go. From what she could tell, the audience filled with parents were thoroughly impressed that all of those small children could be lead to sing songs and perform little dances - even to the exact beat. While Taylor was up at the front conducting the students, Joe sat back in the sea of spectators, recording little clips of Taylor doing what she loved to do best: being with children and teaching music. Her love for music radiated from her, every inch so saturated in passion for what made her heart extremely happy.

An inordinate feeling of complete and utter joy for his girl came over Joe as he intently observed her behaviour and movements throughout the show and as it eventually drew to a close. That was his girl, his Taylor. Despite only being an official couple for a month and a half now, his admiration for her was unimaginable. The way he felt when she looked at him with her sparkling blue eyes was something he had never thought he could ever feel with anyone. Her laugh was infectious, her smile lit up any room she walked into: no matter how big or how small. The way she carried herself with such grace and affection for everyone around her had always been something Joe felt like he couldn't get enough of. She was an ocean of endless elegance, beauty and resiliency to anything life decided to throw at her.

He knew this was where she wanted to be: teaching music to children, filing through piles of potential songs to use in the winter and spring productions each year, spending hours marking note identification quizzes and coming up with new lesson plans each day to keep her kids engaged and having fun. She absolutely loved nothing more than being with those children.

After the show had ended, he patiently waited for her in her classroom, pacing around and looking at everything on the walls and bulletin boards that Taylor had put up. Posters of several instruments, fun ways to remember how many beats were assigned to each type of note and rest, not to mention a picture on her desk that he couldn't ignore. In the white frame was a photo of the two of them sitting together outside in one of the parks he had shown her on her birthday a few days ago. The snow was falling around them, Taylor's head rested on his shoulder and Joe's arm was around her. The two were overlooking one of the ponds that had froze over with a thin layer of ice, the bright moonlight shining above them. He couldn't help but crack a smile at the very fond but lovely night they shared. The British man looked up from the photo and realized it had been nearly an hour and Taylor was no where to be found. He figured that she had a lot to do and many places to be, however it wasn't before long until she arrived in the room: pleasantly surprised that he had waited for her.

"I'm your ride home, remember?" He chuckled, handing her the bouquet of flowers before shoving his hands into the pockets of his dark jeans. Joe had dropped her off a few hours before the show, taking that time to buy the flowers and roam around the small neighbourhood corrugated around the elementary school.

Taylor blushes, bringing the bouquet near her face to smell the beautiful flowers, "You really didn't have to get me these, you know? You should be congratulating the kids, Joe." She spoke seriously, grabbing her coat before slipping it on and picking up her bag from the desk chair.

"Oh Tay, if all of those parents could've seen all of the work you put into this show....they would be beyond amazed. You need to give yourself more credit, love." Joe reassured her, resting his hand on the small of her back as he lead her out of the classroom and out to the car.

Taylor nodded slowly, looking down at her feet as they walked, "Now it's officially Christmas!" She squeals, thrilled that the local school districts were now off until the new year.

"That it is, babe." Joe laughs, opening the passenger door of his car up for her, waiting for her to get in before shutting it and walking around to the other side to climb in himself.

The following afternoon, both Taylor and Joe had flown home to spend time with their families just before Christmas. Even though they would be back in New York the night of the twenty-fifth, the couples' parents were beyond ecstatic to have their children home for the holidays. No amount of text messages, FaceTime calls or sending each other silly gifs and drawings could come even close to being in the same room. There was no denying that the couple missed each other more than anything while they were home, and couldn't wait to be back in New York.

Taylor sighed as she dropped her bags down on the floor in the entrance of her apartment, exhausted from being around her overprotective and overbearing parents. As much as she loved seeing everyone again after months of being away, her time alone in New York was much appreciated. She could be her own person here without fearing the feel of being judged by her parents or snoopy family relatives. It was refreshing to be back.

The young woman took her luggage to the bedroom and shut the door, too unmotivated to deal with it now. She was itching to see her man. The second the call connected and showed up on Joe's phone, he picked up.

"You're home, love!" He smiles, his voice beaming into the phone.

Taylor giggled, flopping down on the couch and staring proudly at her Christmas tree, "I only have one bottle of wine in the fridge, so can you pick some up?"

"Of course. Anything else we need for our little Christmas?" He asked, grabbing his coat to throw on and Taylor's gift that sat on the table by the door. He couldn't wait for her to open it and see the look on her face. It was something simple, but something special: the perfect kind of present for his girl.

"No, I don't think so." She says softly, looking around the main living area of her apartment, "Just you."

Joe nods, "I'm on my way." He smiles, heading down to his car in the underground parking garage, "I'll see you in a bit."

Taylor smiled and hung up the phone, tossing it beside her on the couch before getting up to take the Chinese food out of the paper takeout bag and spreading it out on the counter. She didn't have enough time or energy to cook a proper Christmas dinner, leading to both of them settling happily for takeout after a week of big home cooked meals.

Nearly twenty minutes later a knock on the door echoed through the apartment, startling Taylor slightly during her speed clean of the living room and kitchen. It was a bit of a mess to say the least.

"Come in!" She called, wiping down the coffee table with a piece of paper towel and some cleaner, standing up straight once she wasn't the only person in the room, "Hi!" Taylor giggled, dropping the paper towel and coming over to Joe, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing several soft kisses to his lips: all of which he gladly reciprocated.

"'m missed you." Joe whispers near her ear, his face buried in her golden hair that cascaded down her back. He gently set down the bag of liquor and her gift before giving her a proper hug, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her hips close to his body: missing her physical proximity the most.

Taylor nods slowly, deeply breathing in the familiar scent of his cologne, "I missed you too." She mumbled softly, her fingers gently clenching onto the cotton shirt he was wearing.

Their embrace lasted longer than one usually would, both of them pulling away from one another after a few minutes. Taylor pushed her hair out of her face, a smile engulfing it, "I'm so happy you're here." She grins, adjusting her shirt that had ridden up her abdomen during their hug: exposing a band of bare skin between the shirt and the leggings she was wearing.

Joe smiles, kissing her softly once more before picking up his bags to bring them into the kitchen and removing his coat, "That was the longest week of my life. I forgot how naggy my parents are." He laughs, setting the two bottles of wine in the fridge and throwing away the plastic bag.

Taylor smiles softly, crossing her arms loosely and resting them against her flat abdomen, following him into the kitchen, "Did you tell them about me?" She asked curiously, her voice soft and extremely gentle: something he loved most about her. She had several moments of pure innocency that he never took for granted.

He turned his head to look directly into her bright blue eyes, "Of course I did." Joe nods, dishing up plates filled with Chinese food for the both of them, "Did you think I wouldn't have?"

"No, no." Taylor shakes her head, taking her plate from him once it was ready and pouring herself a glass of the wine she had in the fridge, "I just thought...that maybe you would've kept it a secret for a bit longer. I told my parents about you." She explains, "They are now dying to meet this mysterious man I've found myself needing to be around."

Joe smirks at his girl, grabbing a beer from the fridge for himself and carrying his plate into the living room to sit down on the couch, "I'm pretty sure my parents have already fallen in love with you ten times over." He laughs, digging into his meal.

"What did you say?" Taylor asked, sitting down beside him with her plate in her lap and her glass of wine on the table beside her.

Joe shrugs, "I just told them the truth...and they're ready to meet you so I mean.. I guess we're taking a trip to London, hm?"

"I've always wanted to go to London!" Taylor comments, clearly very excited at the idea of travelling across the Atlantic Ocean to meet his family.

"I'll take you to London...if you take me to your Christmas tree farm in Pennsylvania." He takes a swig of his cold beer, downing more of the Chinese food.

Taylor laughs, shaking her head softly, "It's just a bunch of trees-"

"With bugs on them!" Joe adds, remembering what she had told him about her childhood job the night they met.

She nods, setting down her plate of food and picking up the wine glass, "Yes with the bugs on them. I'm not sure who's doing it now....definitely not me."

After dinner was finished and both Joe and Taylor had finished their first drink of the night, Joe got up from the couch and went over to the tree to pick up his gift for Taylor, "It wouldn't be Christmas without presents." He smiles, sitting back down beside her and handing her the delicate box.

Taylor covered her mouth with her hands, a surprised face hidden underneath and a gasp escaping her lips, "I didn't think we were doing this today?"

The British man laughs, "After all, it is Christmas, baby. Please open your gift."

Taylor nods, carefully unwrapping the box and setting the paper onto the coffee table before opening the box to reveal a silver pendant necklace with the letter 'j' engraved on the front, "Joe!" She squeals softly, "It's beautiful! Oh my goodness...I love it!"

"Here, I'll help you put it on." He smiles, watching her take the necklace out of the box before handing it to him. He undid the clasp, waiting for her to hold her hair up so he could wrap it around her neck and secure it.

"Joe... I..I absolutely love this." She says softly, holding the pendant around her neck and staring at it in utter awe.

He presses a soft kiss to her lips and smiles brightly, "I'm glad you love it. I couldn't wait to see the look on your face."

"Now it's time for your present!" Taylor beams, practically jumping up from the couch to grab his wrapped gift. She set it in his lap, taking her place back on the couch and watching his face change once the wrapping paper had been discarded onto the floor.

"Tay..this...this is amazing." He grins, nearly at a loss for words as he stared at the CD disc in front of him.

"It's all of the songs that make me think of you and us when I listen them," She explains, "I know it's cheesy, but you love cheesy and you're always listening to my favourite songs with me. So I figured I could give you a set of your own."

Joe stares at his gift for a few moments, a huge smile on his face, "I love it so much, thank you, lovely."

As the night progressed, the Christmas movies kept playing and the wine glasses kept refilling. Joe had stopped just after a couple beers, but Taylor kept wanting to drink her wine: clearly stressed from the last several weeks with work and the holidays. It wasn't a secret to Joe that she was clearly a light-weight and was already pretty piss-ass drunk. He knew that neither of them had places to be tomorrow or people to see, so letting her sleep in to try and combat her hangover wouldn't be an issue.

"Taylor, love." Joe says softly, moving to help her to sit up from leaning against his chest, "I think it's time to get you to bed."

She stirs with a groan before reluctantly sitting up on the couch: her hair tussled and cheeks bright red from the lack of water she had consumed, "I don't wanna." Taylor mumbles, a slight whine at the end of her sentence.

Joe sighs, standing in front of the couch before reaching out to take Taylor's hands and attempting to help her up, "Come on, baby."

"Can...you..carry me....." She slips up on her words, slurring them on the warm air in the room.

He smiles softly, wrapping one arm around her back and the other under her legs before lifting her up bridal style, listening to Taylor's rambling.

"Joe?" Taylor slurs, her eyes half closed as she felt Joe carrying her into the bedroom at the end of the hallway in her apartment.

He yawns, pushing open Taylor's bedroom door and gently laying her down on the white duvet of her bed, "Yes, sunshine?"

"I love you so much. I love you I love you I love you." Taylor says quite clearly, surprising for how intoxicated she was.

A part of him wanted to believe every word that she was saying, because he too felt the exact same way about her. He had fallen in love with her and was undeniably in love with her. Every time he looked at her, it was like the first time all over again: in that dive bar on the east side, Taylor in a little black dress where he introduced her to his favourite drink - whiskey on ice. The other part of him knew all too well that she was no where near sober, enjoying her wine a bit too much in the last few hours to allow her head to think or speak clearly.

Before Joe could respond, his girl had dozed off on top of her blankets and sheets, curled up in a ball with her hair covering her face. He carefully got her in between the white sheets, before pulling up the duvet over her small body: clothed in just a pair of black leggings and a deep blue knitted sweater. Joe didn't want to run the risk of waking her up, figuring she would be comfortable enough in the clothes she had on.

Once he went back into the main room to shut the lights off and clean up a little, Joe tiptoed quietly into Taylor's room, climbing into the other side of her bed before quickly falling asleep.

The next morning, Taylor stirred in her bed as she slowly began to wake up from her deep sleep. She scrunched her nose and screwed her eyes shut, stretching her arms and coming to realize how big of a pulsating headache she had made for herself.

She turned her head to the other side of the bed, where it was made up and Taylor had no idea if Joe had slept with her or left her apartment all together. Sitting up in the bed, Taylor blinked several times to get used to the light that was coming in through the window. The young woman emerged from the dark hallway in the same clothes she had on yesterday, her hair all over the place and her makeup smudged from sleeping.

"Good morning, beautiful!" Joe smiles gently, standing at the stove as he watched over the pan with scrambled eggs cooking in it, "Did you sleep well?"

Taylor furrowed her eyebrows, pleasantly surprised that he was still here after her night of too many glasses of wine, "What happened last night? Did we...oh god..please don't tell me we did it and I don't remember. I want to remember that." She mumbles, her eyes wide as she touched her cheeks with her hands and looked at Joe with a terrified look on her face.

Joe chuckles, turning off the burner and moving the pan to a cool area on the stove, "No, we didn't do that." He assured her with a shake of his head, "But you were pretty talkative last night before you passed out in your bed."

She comes closer to the where Joe was in the kitchen, sitting down on one of the bar stools across the island from him, "Oh lord what did I say?"

Joe blushed softly, looking down at the pan before moving the eggs onto a plate for Taylor, "You might have said once or twice...or four times that you love me."

Her eyes stayed as wide as they could be, red filling in on her cheeks, "Well that's slightly...um...did you say anything after?"

He shook his head, sliding the plate of eggs towards Taylor, "You passed out before I could say anything."

Taylor nods, "Well um...I wasn't lying."

Joe beams, grinning from ear to ear as he heard her words echo through the room, "You weren't?"

"I love you Joe." She nods, evidently dead serious about what she was saying, "That's one thing that I'm sure of."

"I'm sure that I love you too, Taylor." Joe smiles at her brightly, wondering how it could get better than this.

[emma-nation]

For You - Bloodbound AU (Chapter 3)

Summary: Takes place after Book 1. Before Gaius’ return the gang must face a dangerous new enemy, a powerful vampire hunter who is thirsty for their blood.

Pairings: KamilahxMC

Genre: Angst/Adventure/Romance

Rating: T - Warning for violence and language

Author’s Notes:

- English is my second language, please forgive me for any mistakes. - Hope you enjoy it, your reviews and likes are always appreciated.

- Updated 04/11/2020: Fixed some spelling mistakes

Amy

It was a nightmare. Only a stupid, scary nightmare. When she opened her eyes, Kamilah would be lying right next to her in bed, Amy thought. And the first thing she would see was her smile, like most of the mornings. Seeing that silly, gorgeous smile was her favorite part of the day. However, it wasn't true. When Amy opened her eyes, her girlfriend was still in her arms, unconscious, with a stake stuck in her chest. "Kamilah..." she muttered. "Please, talk to me!" She had stopped breathing. Her skin had acquired a pale tone and she was cold. Very cold. Her blood was soaking Amy's dress. "Adrian!" Amy screamed as loud as she could. "Please! Help!" She wasn't sure if he could listen from outside, even with his advanced hearing. But she still insisted once more. "Don't let her die..." She looked to the other side of the bar, the female Vampire Hunter typed something on her cell phone while pacing impatiently around the room. "You've killed her!" Amy yelled. "Your monster..." The Hunter glared at Amy, as she had just remembered she was there. "Don't worry, sweetheart," she smirked. "You'll be joining her in a blink of an eye." She lunged forward in Amy's direction, grabbing another stake from her waist. Before her hand could even touch Amy, a figure appeared behind her snapping her neck. It was Adrian, followed by Lily. "Amy!" He shouted. "Are you alright?" She hugged him and sobbed inconsolable against his chest. "I... Please Adrian, do something. Don't let Kamilah die..." When he looked down to the floor his eyes went wide and fearful. He kneeled down, pressing his ear against Kamilah's chest. "It didn't hit her in the heart," he concluded. "But..." "But?" "It's very close. I don't know if I can get it removed without killing her." "Oh my God..." Amy kneeled down and kissed Kamilah's forehead. She always shared her concerns about their future and how someday she'd have to deal with Amy's eventual death. But Amy never even considered Kamilah's death. It sounded unlikely, maybe impossible. Until now. "Lily, get her out of here," Adrian ordered. "Adrian, please..." "Let's go, Amy," Lily wrapped an arm around her shoulder. "Wait for me outside. I..." he looked at Kamilah, "we will be there in a minute." Before Amy could protest, Lily had already dragged her outside The Crimson Veil. The next few minutes felt like an eternity. She couldn't imagine going back to their penthouse without Kamilah. She kept trying to remember things like last words she told her, or how was the last time they kissed... What if she could never kiss those lips again? Tears streamed down her face. "I-I can't lose her, Lil... I can't..." Lily smiled and hugged her. "Calm down, Amy. It's Kamilah we're talking about. In a few hours she'll be rolling her eyes at us again." "I hope you're right." The black door opened and Adrian walked outside, holding Kamilah unconscious in his arms. "Thank god," Amy sighed relieved. Adrian placed Kamilah on the backseat of his car. "She's going to be okay now, right?" Amy asked, stroking Kamilah's soft hair. "Just give her a few hours," Adrian said. "The wound is too deep, it'll take a while to heal." Three hours had passed. Amy sat right next to Kamilah on their bed, monitoring every possible sign of improvement. But there wasn't any, she still looked so lifeless as in The Crimson Veil. "I'm so sorry," Amy whispered in her ear. "You never wanted to go to this stupid show and I insisted. This is all my fault..." She grabbed her girlfriend's hand, squeezing it tight. "Please, stay with me. It has been only a few hours but I already miss you so much! I miss your voice, your smile..." She walked to the living room where Adrian and Lily waited in silence. "Adrian, she isn't getting any better." Adrian let out a distressed sigh. "I-I... don't know what's going on," he looked concerned and anxious. "She was supposed to be awake right now." "T-there must be something we can do, right?" Amy started crying again. "W-what if we take her to a hospital? Maybe..." "Amy, we can't." "Then we're just going to let her die?!" Amy returned to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Adrian's cell phone was ringing, she could hear him talking to Priya. Something about the Hunter being trapped inside her backstage and how it was the perfectly opportunity to get him. Adrian refused to go, Kamilah was his priority now, he said. A couple of minutes later, he appeared inside the room. "Amy, the stake!" He announced. "The Hunter must've used a similar spell to the one that prevented Priya's neck from healing." "And how do we break it?" "I asked Lily to pick up this book I've been studying. I've left it somewhere in my office." Less than 20 minutes later, Lily was back. Adrian read carefully the pages of the book. "Here... there isn't much we can do but waiting. If in contact with the bloodstream for extended periods, the spell can be lethal. But as we removed the stake immediately then we shouldn't worry." "Are you sure?" "Yes," Adrian nodded. "It also says that feeding her a large quantity of human blood should accelerate the healing process." Without thinking, Amy grabbed one of Kamilah's daggers and opened a long gash on her wrist. "Kamilah, drink it..." she let the blood drip inside Kamilah's mouth. "Please..." At first she remained unresponsive. Then, after a while, Amy noticed her fangs descending. "Good," Amy smiled. "Drink as much as you need..." "Amy," Adrian tried to pull her away, "that's enough for now..." She resisted. "Amy! Stop!" He demanded, grabbing her arm and healing the gash with his own blood. "You're losing too much blood. Let's wait and see how she reacts." "Not longer than one hour," Amy argued. "If she doesn't show signs of improvement in one hour..." "We'll find volunteers to feed her." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Kamilah During her long 2063 years of life, Kamilah heard many different views and beliefs about death. She never chose to believe one specifically. But she liked to think that when she finally died her family would be waiting for her somewhere, especially her brother Lysimachus. Yet, she was unsure about her fate, as she was a vampire. Her people believed vampires were soulless demons. In that case, she'd stay in that dark and cold place forever. Some kind of limbo, she assumed. "Kamilah," she heard a childish voice calling her name and little hands touching her body. "Wake up, sister." She opened her eyes to see her twin brother, except he didn't look like she expected. He looked like a 9 or 10 years old child. "Why are you in a child form?" "I don't know," he shrugged. "Because you wanted to see me this way?" She was thoughtful for a moment. He had a point. Her worst and most painful memories were linked to adult Lysimachus and the moment of her death was supposed to be peaceful and happy. He'd probably change with time, when she was more... adapted to her new reality. "No offense, brother. But you're the last person I wanted to see right now." She sat, observing her surroundings. She was home. Her childhood home in Egypt. It looked exactly like it was over 2000 years ago. "You wanted to be with Amy," Lysimachus teased her. "You're in love with her." "Hey, how do you know this things?!" She frowned, crossing her arms. "Right, you're dead. You must know everything." "You should go back to Amy," Lysimachus told her with a sad expression. "You need her." "But what about you? And... I don't know how to go back. I'm dead." He started running away from her. "While you figure out," he grinned, "come find me!" He opened the bedroom's door and disappeared. Kamilah wandered around her old house, looking for him in every spot they used to hide as children. Although he wasn't anywhere, she still could hear his voice... "Find me." She was alone again. It was definitely the limbo, she thought. She sat down feeling empty and sad. She started thinking about Amy and the short time they had together. Why did she have to die right now? Now she had finally found some happiness. Another voiced started echoing around the room. "Where are you, my queen? I've been looking for you." "No!" Her eyes widened in fear. "Here, Kamilah," Lysimachus reappeared, pointing to the front door that was slowly closing. She streaked to the door but it was too late. It was locked and she as much as she forced she couldn't open it. "Don't hide, my queen... I know where you are..." "Help!" She tried to knock the door. Suddenly she saw herself at The Crimson Veil again, trying to open Priya's backstage door. If she had opened that door she wouldn't have met the hunters. She wouldn't be dead right now. "Don't you dare to go inside, Kamilah!" Gaius was standing right behind her. "Priya, open the door," she shouted. "No one can hear you, my queen," he laughed, approaching her. "You're dead." She fell on her knees. All the pain she was feeling before had returned. Her chest was burning in an acute pain that irradiated to the rest of her body. She was losing too much blood... She was getting weak, unable to move... "Amy! Help me!" "Shhh... calm down," she heard Amy's voice distantly. "I'm here." She opened her eyes again, noticing she was in her bedroom. Lying on her own bed. For a second she felt some relief, until she realized her agony was real. She attempted to take a breath but she couldn't, the pain was extreme. "It... it hurts..." she moaned. "I know, but...it's healing," Amy tried to calm her down. "You're going to be okay." "I'm... not... dead?" "No." Amy started sobbing again in a mix of sadness and joy. She smiled and kissed Kamilah's forehead. "Adrian..." Kamilah muttered. "He's fine, and so is Lily." Kamilah forced a smile in response. "You should rest," Amy suggested. "Talking is only making it worse." "I know but..." Kamilah grabbed her hand, "I love you, Amy and I... I thought I wouldn't be able to say it." She started coughing, what intensified her pain. "Hey, I love you too but now please, be quiet." "It's too... much... end this... please..." "There's something that may help," Amy grabbed a syringe from the nightstand. "Adrian said I should use it in case you woke up." She injected the medication in Kamilah's arm. "Meanwhile, you should feed a little bit more," she offered Kamilah her wrist. She was hungry. Starving. She needed to be careful to control hunger. Without thinking, she sank her fangs deeply into Amy's wrist. Amy gave her a soft and loving look, trying to assure her she was fine. As she swallowed some blood, the pain started to increase again and she stopped. "I... I can't..." she pushed Amy's wrist away. "Please," Amy offered again. "Only a little bit more. It accelerates the healing process." She ingested a little more blood, until the pain become too strong to handle. "Now sleep," Amy stroked her hair, "you'll feel a lot better when you wake up." She was right. When she woke up again, hours later, most of her pain was gone. And for the first time in a long time, she had a really good sleep. There were no nightmares this time. Her eyes searched for Amy, she was sleeping peacefully by her side. "Amy," she called, touching her arm gently. She didn't respond. Kamilah remembered she fed her too much blood. She was probably tired and weak from the blood loss. She decided to let Amy rest. Now all she needed was a good shower and some answers. In the living room, Adrian was sitting on the couch, tense. "That was really close, huh?" She joked. "Kamilah," he stood up, wrapping her in a tight hug. "Ouch! It's not completely healed yet!" "Sorry!" He gently pulled away, snuffling. "Are you crying?" "No! It's just..." She rolled her eyes at him. "So, what did I miss?" She settled on the couch next to him. "Not much, only a boring Council meeting." He filled her on the latest news. A total of 12 vampires were killed. Most of them from clan Lacroix, but several of their own clans too. Priya managed to stake The Hunter and lock him inside her backstage but by they time they got there it was too late, he had escaped. Adrian suggested they should install security cameras in strategic locations, Lily would be responsible for monitoring them. Lester and Priya initially complained but agreed after some argumentation. The Baron voted against it. With four votes against one, the cameras would be installed as soon as possible. Priya also told him, in private, that The Hunter also couldn't find Gaius inside the Sarcophagus. "He kinda fascinates me, you know?" Adrian commented. "The Hunter?" Kamilah asked, surprised. "I mean, these spells he does. He mostly uses substances that modify our blood composition, affecting our natural abilities. His knowledge would be such a great addition in Raines Corporation, we could..." "I can't believe you're saying that," Kamilah rolled her eyes again. "Adrian, he hates his own kind. He's probably working on something to destroy us." "Like Gaius wanted to destroy the human kind," Adrian said thoughtful. "Yes, they're not so different from each other." "Kamilah, that's it. He's seeking for revenge against Gaius." "This is why he was never introduced to us," Kamilah added. "The mysterious trips, the sudden need to flee from places..." "Gaius feared him" "Great, he made a troubled child and now we pay the price." "We need to find this guy immediately." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Liam Alone somewhere inside the warehouse, he woke up sweaty and sore. For a brief period of time, he was convinced he'd finally die. He'd be finally reunited with her. The hallucinations caused by the spell caused him to see her by his side. Taking care of him, patching up his wound, like she used to do when she was alive. "Sir?" One of his partners entered the room. "Finally, we were getting worried about you." "We'll be using regular stakes next time," he complained. "Where are Zoe and Henrik?" "Dead, sir. By the time we rescued you from the studio, they were already dead." "Shit," he punched the wall next to him. His partner took him to examine the bodies of his two deceased allies. He caressed Zoe's hair. She was the only person he considered a friend. At least she died quickly, without any pain. But her death would not be in vain, soon he'd exterminate whoever did this to her. "Interesting," he said observing Henrik's body. "What, sir?" "Henrik was murdered by a different vampire. He was stabbed with a dagger and whoever killed him is very skilled, I must admit." "Do we need more backup?" "No," Liam left the room. "I'll take care of this vampire myself. I've been longing to find a valuable opponent and it seems like I finally did." He headed to his office. Cutting the palm of his hand with a dagger, he pressed his blood on the special device, unlocking the door. He poured some whiskey on a glass, planning his next move. He grabbed his cell phone, Zoe had sent him one last message before she died: “Sir, I think I made a mistake.” He hoped she hadn't killed a human, or worse, a member of The Council. Each one of the six members were precious. They had information about Gaius. He could waste no more time, he got dressed and went back to the Shadow Den. Meeting his new friend, he interrogated him about the incident at The Crimson Veil. He didn't know much, but apparently no members of The Council were killed. "And what is that?" He pointed to a device being installed on the roof. "Security cameras. The Council is looking for signs of this Vampire Hunter." "Hmmm, let's give them the show they're expecting." ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Amy "Amy, darling..." Kamilah pulled away from Amy's mouth. "Not that I'm complaining but... we've been kissing for hours." "I'm sorry, I thought I'd never get to do this again..." her lips grazed Kamilah's again. "Last one, I promise." "Hmmm... last one?" She looked at Amy with a mischievous smile on her face. Kamilah laid on top of her on the couch, her mouth met Amy's burning in desire. She slipped her tongue inside Amy's mouth, gentle but challenging, while her fangs softly nipped her bottom lip. Amy's hands ran through her back, pulling her even closer. "I can't", Kamilah stopped. "Still hurts." "That's okay," Amy assured her, smiling. "We can save some for tomorrow." After returning to the sitting position, Amy rested her head on Kamilah's shoulder. "Were you scared?" She asked. "A little," Kamilah admitted after some hesitation. "Actually I..." "What?" "I kinda met my brother." "Was it a good dream this time?" "It wasn't just a dream. It felt... real." "I'm glad for you. You must miss him a lot." "Yeah, but..." she paused. "Gaius appeared." "Oh." "He was chasing after me, then I suddenly saw myself at The Crimson Veil again, trying to open Priya's backstage door. It was kinda weird." Amy chuckled. "Now I understand why you were calling for Priya in your sleep." "If you ever tell anyone..." Kamilah tried to muffle a laugh. A ringing cell phone interrupted them. "Mine or yours?" Amy asked. "Mine." Kamilah reached for her phone on the coffee table. When she saw the number she went to the bedroom to answer, Amy knew it certainly meant trouble. When she came back she had a shocked expression on her face. "What happened?" "There was another attack tonight and... The Baron is dead."