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m-o-o-n-thatspellsblog · 1 year

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The Drawing of the Fool- Part 2/2

Summary: Years after renouncing the Dark Tower, the ka-tet of the 19, now living as a true family, comes across another door. Fearing a resurgence of Tower business, the group grows apprehensive. Roland Deschain, their Dinh--their father--grows excited. It seems renouncing the Tower in favor of love is not without reward, after all.

Word Count: 8,811

Relationships: Roland/Cuthbert, Eddie/Susannah, Jake/Benny

AO3 LINK

It was still mostly dark when Cuthbert decided to get up. He had lay awake for most of the night, unable to quiet his mind long enough to fully rest. He considered waking Roland, but only for a moment. He appeared to be deeply asleep and Cuthbert didn’t want to disturb him. After all, he wasn’t the only one who’d had trouble sleeping. He heard Roland groaning a while ago, almost as if he was in great pain. However, whatever nightmare he’d been having seemed to have passed, and Cuthbert would not be the one to deprive Roland of repose.

On his way over, he heard some light scratching sounds. He turned and saw Eddie sitting on a log with his back to him. He was crouched over something and seemed to be in deep concentration. Cuthbert made his way over, intentionally stepping on some twigs to alert Eddie to his presence. He didn’t want to scare the shit out of him; he really wanted to be on good terms with these people.

“If you cut a finger off, at least you’d be in fellowship with Roland and me,” Cuthbert said, holding up his right hand. “In fact, you should cut off two so you’ll be even with us.”

Instead, he decided to walk down to where the others were camped and see if any of them were awake. Although he didn’t know them very well, it was his nature to prefer company over solitude. And they seemed like nice company. Much nicer than he perhaps deserved.

“You’re going to strain your eyes doing that in the dark.”

“Maybe I should go for three. That way I can hold it over your heads: ‘You think you guys got it hard losing a mere two fingers? Try losing three!’”

“I should think I’d still have you beat, having lost an eye and all,” Cuthbert said with a laugh and then gestured at the log Eddie was sitting on. “Do you mind if I sit with you?”

“Go for it,” Eddie said with a shrug. He went back to his whittling and it was quiet for a moment. Of course, that couldn’t last long because a distaste for silence was in both of their natures. Once the quiet got to be too loud, Eddie spoke. “So,” he started, “have you decided what you’re going to do? Like, do you think you might stay with us for a while? Or are you still going after the Tower?”

Eddie looked up from his whittling and smiled. “Eh, it’s light enough.”

Cuthbert thought for a moment. In truth, he hadn’t given it much consideration. He’d spent most of the night reflecting on the stories they told and trying to ignore the quandary over his own future. “Well, I can say I’ve lost my taste for the Tower. I don’t suppose I could persist knowing that anything I do would be pointless. Though, it’s just as difficult to imagine myself conceding.”

“Why so difficult?” Eddie kept his voice only mildly curious; he didn’t want Cuthbert to think he was prying. It was easy enough to understand why it might be difficult for Cuthbert to fathom giving up the Tower, but he wanted to keep him talking. A few thoughts had occurred to him since their palaver yesterday.

“I’ve lost so much on this journey, say delah. Not only that, but I’ve changed. I’ve become cold, heartless, and I’ve crossed moral boundaries that I never thought I would. Boundaries that I never thought I’d even be capable of crossing.” He looked skyward and sighed. That sigh, paired with his look of anguish, told Eddie everything he needed to know about Cuthbert’s current perception of himself. He thought himself abhorrent for the things he’d done. Roland certainly hadn’t been proud of his own unethical actions, but Eddie didn’t think he’d ever seen a look quite like this on his face. Cuthbert continued, “It was one thing knowing that there was a purpose, that the outcome was well worth the sacrifices, but for it to all have been for nothing…” He trailed off, putting his face in his hands. “I sold my own soul. And what a bargain it was--I sold it for nothing.”

“That’s the thing, I don’t think it was for nothing. I might have a theory about that. Can I ask you a question?” Eddie asked, thinking of chickens, spiders, and a barn. For it was Cuthbert that Stephen King remembered from his childhood. He’d also recognized his savior as Eddie because of their twin-like similarities (mirrored souls--dig the concept), but it was Cuthbert he thought of first.

“Aye, as you will.” Cuthbert sounded resigned, as if he truly didn’t believe that any theory Eddie may have could justify what he’d done. Eddie hoped he could prove Cuthbert wrong.

“In your wanderings, did you ever come across a little boy in a barn?” Eddie asked, placing his current whittling project to the side. “Or perhaps, did you save this boy from a flood of red spiders? He would’ve been…ah, I want to say 7 years old, if my memory serves. Black hair, blue eyes, thick glasses. Any of this ring a bell?”

Cuthbert lifted his face from his hands, astonished. “That sounds exactly like a dream I once had. Just before finding Jake at the Way Station, that was.”

“That was no dream,” Eddie said. He had to stop himself from jumping up and down with excitement. If that happened right before he met Jake, then it was this specific version of Cuthbert who had saved Stephen King’s life when he was a boy. This meant that he’d had a part to play in their quest, and he had played it well. He was truly ka-tet, one from many. They had already unknowingly been bound together by the purpose of their quest. “That was todash, baby! You really saved that kid’s life. Didn’t you hear the chimes?”

“At the time, I thought I heard something… but nay, it couldn’t have been the kammen. I was in possession of nary a Bend o’ the Bow. Nor did I have a door or any intention of going todash.”

“You may not have had the glass, but the man you were following had the Black Thirteen. It must have reached out to you while you slept, like it did for Jake and me, and it sent you to Keystone Earth.”

“Alright, so I went todash and saved a little boy,” Cuthbert said indulgently. “What is the significance? I mean, I understand that saving a child is a good deed, but it certainly doesn’t make up for all of the atrocities I’ve committed in the name of the Tower.”

“That little boy was Stephen King, the writer whose life we saved in the year of 1999. If you hadn’t saved him, he would’ve become an agent of the Red King--his pet writer. Our quest would’ve been over before it even had a fair chance to begin. You helped save the Tower, that’s what it was all for.”

“Do you really say so?” Could it be true that he helped save the Tower without being aware of it? That all of his actions had led him to where he needed to be, that it wasn’t without purpose after all?

“I do and I say true. You’re one of us. And I don’t want to hear one word about how you don’t deserve it; ka wouldn’t have placed you here if it wasn’t where you belonged. Every single one of us has done things we’re not proud of. If you feel unworthy now, then this is your chance at redemption. Your chance to choose love over obsession.”

“I’d like to join up with ye, in fact, I’d like nothing more. I’d do well not to let Roland out of my sight again. But how can I look Jake in the eye knowing that the last time I saw him, I let him fall to his death?”

Eddie shrugged. “Yeah, that’s not exactly Jake’s favorite memory. But he forgave Roland, and in this world, Roland is the one who let him drop. Water under the bridge, I’d say. If you want to talk about it with him, he’d probably be willing. But it might be best to let sleeping dogs lie. He really doesn’t like to talk about it.”

"Doesn't like to talk about what?" Jake called as he emerged from the trees with Oy at his heels.

"Oh, hey Jake! I was just telling Cuthbert here how much you hate it when I mention your annoying habit of butting into my conversations."

Jake made his way over to where they were seated and showed Eddie his middle finger. Cuthbert had never seen this gesture before, but he guessed from Eddie's exaggerated offended gasp that it wasn't a gesture of good will. Good humor though, as it seemed they were both stifling laughter. "Johnathan Jake Chambers, I'm surprised at you!" Eddie exclaimed.

"That's not even my name, dumbass. My first name is just John. And if you call me that, I'll have no choice but to disown you," Jake said, pointing firmly at Eddie. "Anyway, I just came to see if you guys wanted to eat with us. We've still got some of the pokeberry muffins I brought back from the Calla."

"Hell yeah," Eddie said, jumping up from his seat. “You heard 'em, Bert. Looks like it's just about gobble o'clock!" He exclaimed, squinting down at an imaginary watch on his wrist.

Although Cuthbert had never seen a wristwatch in his life, he kenned a joke when he saw one. He pulled Eddie's wrist toward him and squinted down at it, just as Eddie had done. "Why, I believe you're right!

-----------------

There was some light talk while they ate, but nothing of importance. Eddie and Cuthbert were amusing themselves, feeding off of each other’s energy while the rest were quietly trying to come fully awake.

Once all meals were finished and sleepiness was shaken off, it was time to discuss what was next.

“So,” Eddie said conversationally, “Any idea where to go from here?” Everyone looked to Roland, as they often did when guidance was needed.

“We’ll go to the Calla,” Roland said decisively. “Jake was already going back there, so we’ll go with him. There, Cuthbert, you’ll be able to acquire anything you need, a new bedroll, clothing, what have you. We can stay there until you’ve decided what you want to do. I think we could all use a period of reprieve.”

“That sounds just fine to me,” Cuthbert said after a moment of contemplation. “I have to ask though--we talked a great deal about what led you to renounce the Tower, but we didn’t speak much of the present. What exactly is it that ye do now?”

“Most of our time is spent traveling. When we pass through a town in need of help, we provide it. There hasn't been much in the last few years, but more than you might think. Ever since the Beams started rebuilding, civilization has been coming back.”

“Roaming gunslingers,” Cuthbert mused. “Just like the gunslingers of old. Before our time, even. Before the wars.”

“Sure,” Jake said, “Because that’s all that’s needed nowadays. No more wars, just restoration and rebuilding.”

Cuthbert turned to Jake, reminded of his other question. “Roland said you were already going back to the Calla on your own. May I ask why? Do you often split up or do you generally travel together?” Jake, unsure of how much he should say, looked at Roland, willing him to answer for him.

“We generally stay together, although sometimes we may split up if it serves,” Roland said. “However, Jake has his own purpose for going back and I will leave that up to him to decide if he’d like to share that with you.” He turned to Jake, grasping his shoulder and lowered his voice a little, “You don’t have to share anything with which you are uncomfortable.”

“No, that’s okay, I can tell him,” Jake said. He’d never tried to hide who he was since crossing over into this strange world, and he didn’t want to start now. If Cuthbert wasn’t okay with it, well, then that’s just too bad. Besides, he didn’t want this to be treated like some big deal; it wouldn’t be like that if Benny was a girl. “I’m going back to settle down with my partner. I guess you could say I’m retiring from being a gunslinger,” Jake looked down as he said this last part, for this was the part he was most regretful of speaking out loud. Even though the others have been supportive of his choice, part of him still feels as though he’s abandoning his family.

“You should feel no shame in that, Jake,” Roland said, gently rubbing Jake’s shoulder. “You’ve done more than enough. It’s time for you to enjoy your youth.”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Eddie said. “I mean, jeez Jake, at your age I was… well, we don’t need to talk about what I was like back then.” Susannah smiled and wrapped her arm around her love.

Cuthbert, still a turn behind them, asked, “Partner? Do you mean a marriage partner?”

“Well, we’re not exactly married--yet, anyway--but yeah, like a romantic partner. You remember Benny Slightman from our story yesterday? The one who I stayed with during our time there?” When Cuthbert nodded, he went on. “He’s my boyfriend. We came back around to the Callas so that I could reconnect with him and maybe tell him my feelings. I spent about a month there, while Roland, Susannah, and Eddie waited behind. And, well, he returned my feelings. So yeah, we’re together now.” Jake was blushing faintly, but there was a wide smile on his face. It was clear that this boy made him very happy.

“Oh, that’s wonderful, Jake. While you were speaking of saving the Calla, I got an idea that you cared greatly for him.”

“He does,” Roland said, clearly proud of his boy. “So it’s decided, we’ll go to Calla Bryn Sturgis to recompose. Any objections?”

There weren’t any.

-----------------

Two days later, the group of gunslingers made it to Calla Bryn Sturgis. Jake immediately took off for Vaughn Eisenhart's homestead, where Benny was now living. On their walk in, they passed several folken and it didn't take long for word to get around that the gunslingers were back. All of them this time, not just Jake, who they’d already welcomed enthusiastically.

They wandered into town, looking for someone they recognized. Roland, Eddie, and Susannah were hit with waves of nostalgia. When they first left this place, they never thought they’d be back. Places to go and Towers to see, ya ken. Much has changed since then. As they made their way in, someone called out to them, Roland specifically.

"Roland? Is it you?"

They all turned to see a woman walking over to where they stood. Most recognized her as Rosalita Munoz, Cuthbert however had no idea who she was. He only knew that she was an attractive woman who was excited to see Roland. Perhaps an old lover. He felt the old familiar flare of jealousy rise up and tried to shove it back down. He didn't want this to be like Mejis, when he had first allowed jealousy to get in the way of their friendship. That was kiddie stuff. He would just have to get used to seeing Roland be romantic with someone who wasn't him. All over again.

Roland smiled brightly and waved her over. "Rosalita!" He called. "Lovely as ever, so you are."

She blushed and Roland pulled her in for a brief hug. "It's wonderful to see you all back," She said as she pulled away. She regarded the rest of the group. Eddie and Susannah waved and gave greetings of their own. "Ye all look well, tell the Gods thankee.” She gestured to where Cuthbert stood, and added: “Ye even gained one it seems."

"So we have," Roland said and motioned for Cuthbert to come over. Cuthbert braced himself and walked over, trying not to show his uneasiness. Of course, he had a reliable way of masking his emotions that he could always fall back on.

“Cuthbert, this is Rosalita Munoz,” Roland said. “One who fought valiantly against the Wolves.”

“Hile, dear lady!” Cuthbert exclaimed, falling to one knee in front of Rosalita and taking her hand. “Excuse me if I seem a bit taken aback. I wasn’t apprised of such beauty in the Calla. I may need a moment to catch my breath, for you’ve taken it away.”

Rosalita couldn’t help but laugh at this unexpected display of dramatics. It seemed this man was the exact opposite of Roland, who was always so stoic.

“You’ll have to excuse him,” Roland said. “It seems he never developed the ability to be serious.” Although he clearly wanted to sound annoyed, Rosalita didn’t miss the tiny twitch on the left side of Roland’s mouth. Nay, she didn’t think he was annoyed at all.

“It’s true, and unfortunately Roland never developed a sense of humor,” Cuthbert said with a laugh. He stood up to greet her properly, putting his fist to his forehead. “Cuthbert Allgood of Gilead comes to you, sai.”

“Gilead,” she repeated questioningly and looked at Roland for confirmation. “Do ya truly say so?”

“Aye, he speaks true. He’s an old friend of mine.”

“Well,” she said, surprised. Another gunslinger out of Gilead? She didn’t see how it could be, but she let it go. There were many things she didn’t understand about Roland and his ka-tet. “We are well-met, Sai Allgood.”

“Let me be Cuthbert please, if it does ya,” Cuthbert said, flawlessly picking up the dialect of the Calla.

"Rosalita," Susannah broke in. "Do you know where I might find Zalia Jaffords? Or Tian?"

"Yar, Zalia's right over in the town square, having lunch with her kiddies.”

"Thankee-sai," Susannah said with a curtsy then took off in that direction. They'd already discussed that they would need to make sleeping arrangements, and the Jaffords' place seemed likely enough for her and Eddie. They had already been welcomed into their home once, and that was before they saved the town's children.

"Eddie, why don't you take Cuthbert over to Took's while I catch up with Rosalita here," Roland said.

"Sure thing." He turned to Cuthbert and clapped him on the shoulder. "I believe we've been dismissed, old pal."

----------------

“I see that the Pere isn't with you,” Rosalita said as she and Roland started walking together. The Pere’s church, Our Lady of Serenity, would eventually be in sight if they kept going in this direction.

“No,” Roland said solemnly. “The Pere was brave and he stood true, but no, he didn’t make it, say sorry.”

“It's alright, I'm not surprised. The Manni, they told us he had gone to the clearing. But I guess I still held out a little hope. I suppose I could’ve asked yer boy when he came back on his own, but…” she trailed off, but Roland kenned what she was trying to say. She hadn’t asked because she wanted to hold onto her hope for just a bit longer.

“If it's any consolation, he died a hero. He was an honorable man. We all say thankee.”

“So, what are ye doing back here? Do you need a place to stay? I have the Pere's old place now. You could stay with me, just like old times.”

“We just needed a place to rest awhile. As for your gracious offer, I think I should stay somewhere else this time. You're a goodly woman, Rosa, but things between us can't be like last time.” He sounded as though he expected her to be upset, but in truth, she didn’t mind. She hadn’t expected anything from him. ‘Twas only an idea.

“Well that's just fine, Roland. Yer not breaking my heart any. No need to look so guilty.”

“That's good to hear. For I'd like to be your friend if it would please ya.”

“Yar, of course. Might this have anything to do with the new man ye have brought along?” She hadn’t missed the man’s watchful glare thrown her way just before Roland called him over to be introduced.

“It might,” he allowed, keeping his face blank.

Rosalita decided to push her luck with another question. “Are you two together, like how Jake is with the Slightman boy?” This was currently the talk of the town. Young Benny Slightman and the boy gunslinger seemed to be in some kind of relationship, and were quite open about it. As puzzling as it was--them being two boys and all--none seemed bothered by it. They were mostly just curious.

“Nay, not together.”

“Ah, but you want to be, is that it?”

Roland said nothing but the way his face immediately flushed said enough. He had been doing his best to keep his emotions off of his face (something he was normally quite good at), but he hadn’t been expecting her to ask straight out like that.

“I won’t push the matter any further but know that I don't judge ye, Roland,” Rosalita said. “He seems like a fine man.” Then, changing the subject before Roland could get too embarrassed: “Did ye reach yer Tower? There hasn’t been another Beamquake, so ya must have done something, I beg.”

“We saved it, and that’s all that matters. The Tower and the Beams are no longer in imminent danger. I say thankee to my ka-tet, Father Callahan included. For without him, we never would have gotten as far as we did.

-----------------

About a week later, Cuthbert found himself standing once again in Took’s General Store. The last time he had been here was when Eddie had initially walked him over. While on their way, Cuthbert inquired about Rosalita, keeping his voice only mildly curious; he didn’t need anybody finding out about his feelings. Eddie had not so delicately informed him that yes, when they were here the first time, she had been Roland’s lover. Cuthbert tried not to let that disappoint him.

He and Roland were currently staying in the guest house on Wayne Overholser’s homestead. Although he was the wealthiest landowner in the Calla, the guest house was quite small. It didn’t matter to either one of them, though, as they were used to sleeping on the ground. It was nice to sleep in a soft bed for a change. Well, for Cuthbert anyway; Roland had elected to sleep on the settee claiming that the bed would be too comfortable for him, having been long accustomed to sleeping on the ground.

The guesthouse was shaped like a T. The long end contained only the settee and a small wooden table. The cross arm housed a closet on one end and a decent sized bed. The bed was plenty big enough for them to share--Gods knew they’d shared smaller sleeping spaces in the past--but Roland said the settee would do him just fine.

Now, Roland had gone out to have lunch with Rosalita, leaving Cuthbert without much to do. He wanted to distract himself instead of just sitting around waiting for Roland to come back, and that was how he found himself back at Took’s.

The distraction worked because he wasn’t thinking of Roland at all at that moment. No, he was staring at a hanging rack of blankets and thinking of his mother. Much like he had done in another store on a forgotten day, long ago. With all the years and all the losses, it seemed they shouldn’t hurt anymore but this wasn’t the case. They seemed to hit at the most unexpected moments. And they hit hard.

His mother, seeing the way things were going in Gilead had once tried to convince him to come away with her. To give up fighting and go somewhere they could find peace. He had been horrified at the time, taking it almost as blasphemy. But later, when she lay in her deathbed, he knew it was only because she loved him and wanted to protect her boy. Suddenly a cheerful voice spoke from his side, breaking him from his thoughts. He quickly blinked back the tears that had risen to his eyes.

“Hey, Cuthbert!” He looked to see Jake had snuck up next to him.

“Is that Jake Chambers? Why, I hardly recognize you without your other half next to you,” Cuthbert joked. Jake and Benny were quite inseparable. Cuthbert didn’t think he had seen one without the other since they arrived in town. Of course, he hadn’t seen much of Jake at all.

Jake laughed gleefully. “Benny’s busy helping Eisenhart repair the trail fences today. Hey, Took’s got some pre-made popkins that aren’t too bad--as long as you grab the fresh ones, that is. You wanna have lunch with me? There’s a bench behind the building we could sit at.”

“Aye, why not? But if these popkins poison me, I’m holding you personally responsible.” Cuthbert was actually pleasantly surprised by the idea. He had bonded with Roland’s family on their walk to the Calla and they had all gotten fairly close. At least Cuthbert thought so, but ever since they arrived it seemed the boy was avoiding him. Roland assured him that this wasn't the case, Jake was just attached to his boyfriend and wanted to spend all his time with him. But Cuthbert was sure there was something more to it and his guilty conscience attributed it to the fact that he let Jake drop in the mountains.

As it happens, Jake had been avoiding him but not for the reason he thinks. Jake had his own guilty conscience to deal with, for he had accidentally learned something about Cuthbert through the touch that he hadn't been meant to know.

-----------------

It had happened during their walk to the Calla, not too long before they had actually arrived. Cuthbert had inquired about how Jake had confessed his feelings for Benny, and Jake, always happy to have a chance to talk about Benny, told him. Cuthbert listened quietly while Jake cheerfully told him the story, which the others had already heard. As he spoke, he was a bit curious about what Cuthbert thought of all of this, but he didn’t pry.

All of the sudden, the knowledge was just there in Jake’s head.

Okay, so maybe that wasn’t entirely true. He had looked, but only a little. He only did it because he was still kind of worried that Cuthbert was homophobic. He certainly didn’t mean to find out that Cuthbert was in love with Roland. But it must have been on the very forefront of the man’s mind, because it was the first thing Jake touched. Upon discovering this, he felt tremendously guilty. He invaded Cuthbert's privacy within just days of meeting him.

The shame he felt over this was why he had been avoiding him. But he realized now that that had been selfish. It wasn’t Cuthbert’s fault that Jake had dishonored his trust. But still, he didn’t know how to handle it. Does he owe it to Cuthbert to come clean with his knowledge? Or would it be better to just pretend like he never found out? He tried to think of what he would prefer if the situation were flipped, but it was just so complicated.

Now, sitting across from Cuthbert, sharing lunch on a nice, sunny day, he felt guiltier than ever.

The look on Jake’s face once they sat down confirmed Cuthbert’s suspicions. Jake was trying his best to move past it, but there was something bothering him. “So,” Cuthbert said conversationally, “Will you tell me what I did to offend thee? For I have caught on to the fact that you’ve been avoiding me. As old as my brain is,” he gave his forehead a knock, “it does still work.”

Jake looked stunned for a moment. There was a look of surprise on his face that would’ve been comic, if Cuthbert wasn’t so worried about what it meant. Whatever had been bothering Jake, he hadn’t been expecting to address it. Cuthbert was about to tell him that he didn’t have to talk about it when Jake spoke again.

“No, you didn’t do anything. It’s me.” Jake took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he had to say next. “I cry your pardon, Cuthbert. I have betrayed your trust.”

This was not at all what Cuthbert was expecting. “No, Jake, you haven’t done anything--”

“I did, though,” Jake broke in, rushing to get it out before he lost his nerve. Now that he started, he supposed he no longer had a choice. He just hoped Cuthbert wouldn’t be too upset with him. “I used the touch and found something in your mind--on accident ya ken--but it was something you wouldn’t have wanted me to know and I’m sorry. It was when I was talking about Benny and I was just trying to see if you were homophobic or something. I didn’t mean to invade your privacy like that.”

Once Jake had gotten all of that out, Cuthbert felt pretty confident that he knew what Jake was referring to. When Jake had been talking about Benny, he couldn’t help but think of his feelings for Roland. Although he hadn’t been planning on telling anyone, it didn’t bother him too much that Jake knew. After all, he knew Jake wouldn’t judge him. There was no need for the boy to torture himself with shame.

“Alright Jake, it’s okay. I think I ken you. I don’t mind that you know. Although, if it’s okay with you, I’m not sure I’m ready to discuss it. It’s just hard for me, what with how I was raised. Perhaps you could just tell me some more about you and Benny? Might help me feel a little more comfortable, do it please ya.”

“I can do that,” Jake said and Cuthbert was happy to see a bright smile had returned to Jake’s face.

----------------

Another week had gone by when Susannah decided to walk over to the little guest house on Overholser’s homestead where Roland and Cuthbert were currently dwelling. She was glad to find Roland by himself, Cuthbert having gone out into town. She had a couple of things she wanted to discuss with Roland alone.

Roland let her in and offered her some tea. Susannah took it gratefully and then they both sat down on the couch. Roland turned to face her. “So, what is it you would like to talk to me about, Susannah? For I sense that you came to me with something on your mind.”

“Do you remember our talk by the stream a while back?”

“I remember it very well, and I think I may know where you are going with this.” He had been waiting for this to come up. Ever since Cuthbert joined up with them, he knew Susannah would want to reopen that discussion.

“I’m sure you do. You opened up to me that night. First, you said that out of everyone in your life, Cuthbert was the one with whom you wished you could spend your life. You told me that you had been in love with him and that you regretted never having told him. And then a while after that, we found a door. One that led to the very man you longed for. Seems like a mighty coincidence to me, maybe even a little nineteen to tell you the truth. Perhaps ka is rewarding you for saving the Tower.”

“Ka gives no rewards, it is not a force of good or evil, it simply is what it is,” Roland said and although this was the undeniable truth, a part of him had thought the same as Susannah. Either way, reward or not, he was grateful to have Cuthbert back and felt no need to question it any further.

“Nevertheless, you said that Jake was given a chance at the life you gave up, and you wished it for him very much. Now you’re being given the same chance. Will you not take it?”

“I hear you very well Susannah and I say thankya, but this is not the same situation. I’m perfectly content just to have him back in my life. I need not try to push it beyond that. I wish not to scare him away.”

“Roland, how do you not see it? It is the exact same situation. Think about it: Jake developed feelings for Benny, the best friend he’d ever had, but he never got a chance to confess those feelings. He couldn’t because he was on a quest for the Tower and that took priority. Years later, having since renounced the Tower, he reunited with Benny, and even though a lot of time had gone by, Jake had an opportunity to confess his feelings.” She paused for a moment, letting Roland consider what she was saying. Roland said nothing so she continued. “If you replaced Jake and Benny with Roland and Cuthbert, it would describe your current situation to a T. You never got to tell Cuthbert your feelings because you were too focused on the Tower. Now, he’s back in your life, at a time where the Tower can’t stand in your way. Take a lesson from Jake, I’m sure he’d tell you how glad he is that he took his chance.”

“Aye, that would be because the Slightman boy returned his feelings. Had he not, Jake likely would have regretted it. I have no reason to believe Cuthbert would feel the same for me.”

“You told me before how much you’ve longed for a life with a loving partner, the romantic that you are. Now you may be able to have that, but you’re too scared to go for it. I’ve never known you to let fear stand in your way.”

“I am scared, Susannah. I don’t want to lose him again. He means too much to me.”

"What arrives with the wind of ka may blow away just as easily. And just like that, the opportunity will be taken from you. Take your chance, Roland, before the ever blowing wind of change takes it for you."

“Now you sound like me,” Roland said with a small smile. “But you’re right. May it ease your mind to know that I will heed your advice. When the right moment comes, I’ll tell him.”

"Okay, now that we've settled that", she said, taking Roland's hand and giving it a little squeeze, "Can I tell you something?"

"Aye, dear heart. I'd hear anything thee wants to share."

Susannah took a deep breath and prepared herself to tell Roland what she and Eddie had decided. She wasn't sure how he would take this news. It was one thing for Jake to retire, but for all of them to up and quit on him? That might be too much. "Eddie and I have decided we want to stay here,” she said gently. “We think maybe it's time to give up the guns and start a family. Tian and Zalia have assured us that the folken would be happy to help us build a home."

"Susannah, that pleases me to hear. I wish you and Eddie every joy of a home with kiddies. I can think of no one who'd make better parents than the two of you."

"You're not mad?"

Roland gave a small chuckle. “Do you truly think so low of me--That I would be angry at my kids for going after the lives they have longed for?” He squeezed her hand as she had done, and continued softly. “In any case, how could I be angry when the thought of staying here myself has more than crossed my mind?”

“Say true? You would retire from gunslinging?” This surprised Susannah, although mayhap she shouldn’t be so surprised. Roland had once told them that at fourteen years old, he already saw himself only a few years from retiring and settling down. This of course was before the Tower pervaded his mind.

“Why not? I think the world has progressed beyond the need for such as me. Our job is done. My ways are the old ways. I think it's about time to settle down somewhere, and this is a fine place. And now, with my children here, there is nowhere I'd rather be."

Susannah smiled and hugged Roland. She was suddenly overwhelmingly grateful that they had returned to Calla Bryn Sturgis. “Eddie and I can talk to Tian and Zalia about having the folken help you build a home as well, if you would like. You can't stay with Overholser forever.”

“Aye, do that if it pleases ya. But I think I should first take care of that other piece of business we discussed. Could be I'll need room for two.”

-----------------

That night, Roland had the dream again.

It always starts the same, with their group hug on the streets of Algul Siento. They were celebrating their success, for even though there were still things to do, it was clear they won this battle. Everything was exactly as he remembered it, up to a point. Instead of shouting his renunciation, Roland simply pulled away from the embrace and they all went back to their business. Moments later, Pimli Prentiss, the boss of the show, shot Eddie, mortally wounding him before anyone had a chance to stop it.

Flashes of Eddie slowly dying in a room in Corbett Hall. Roland and Jake finished their business as Eddie lay dying. With that taken care of, they waited around, overwhelmed with regret and grief, but determined to see Eddie through to the end. Once Eddie passed on to the clearing, where he had promised to wait for Susannah, Jake and Roland dejectedly set off to save the writer. Neither felt up for it, but it was their duty and they would not let Eddie’s death be in vain.

Except, with all the time spent on the other side, waiting around for Eddie to die, they were running late. Too late. The events of ka had already been set in motion; to stop them would require a sacrifice. Roland promised himself that he would provide the sacrifice this time. Too many had died in his place so that he may go on. Roland rolled out of the truck, but was betrayed by his bad hip. Jake never hesitated, he simply leaped over Roland and disappeared beneath the vehicle.

Later, Roland went deep into the woods and buried his boy. He sent him on to the clearing with a prayer for the dead, one that he had heard from Cuthbert Allgood. He thought about Jake in the Calla, strong, bright, and seemingly infinite. How could this boy, who vivaciously jumped into a haypile with Benny Slightman, lay in his grave? This boy who stood up against incomprehensible terrors, but was still only a boy, wise beyond his years.

It’s too much. My heart can’t handle it, Roland thought, but the horror of it was that he could handle it. He was able to persist, even after these detrimental losses.

He watched as Susannah grew to resent him, blaming him for Eddie and Jake’s deaths. In a way, this hurt the most, because she was right. Who else could be responsible? He saw Susannah walk through a door. One that looked suspiciously like the one from Doorway Cave near Calla Bryn Sturgis. He knew not where she would end up, only that she would no longer be with him. There was a possibility that she may end up todash space. Still she went.

The finale to this parade of losses was Oy of course, the last member of his strange and wonderful ka-tet. He sees a vile creature, creeping through the darkness: Mordred, somehow still alive. In this alternate reality, it was Mordred who killed Walter, not the other way around. As Mordred closed in, Roland slept. He didn’t wake until he heard the furious, savage barking as Oy made his attack. Oy had sacrificed himself to save Roland, not the first to do so. And here was an image that was heartbreakingly familiar: Oy impaled on a cottonwood branch. This he had seen long ago in the Wizard’s Glass.

It’s the end of his ka-tet, the end of his family, the end of everything. All for the wretched Tower.

--------------------

Roland suddenly sat up in the middle of night with tears streaming down his face. He tried to remind himself that those things didn’t happen, that it was just a dream. Only, he knew this was no dream. This was an insight to a future that he had narrowly avoided. Very narrowly. Had he not chosen to renounce, the events of his dream would've come to fruition. He mayn’t understand it all, but he knew that.

He wiped his face frustratedly and tried to regulate his breathing, wishing not to wake Cuthbert. The first time he’d had this dream was the night after they renounced the Tower, and for a period after that, it was a recurring nightmare. However, it eventually stopped. Why, after all this time, had it come back?

He thought hard. What was the key difference between this dream and the actual events? Eventually, it came to him. In the dream, he didn't have the Horn of Eld in his belt. It was the weight of the Horn which reminded Roland of Cuthbert Allgood, one of many killed on the way to the Tower. Reminded of all those he'd lost, he realized he decided that he wouldn’t stand to lose any more.

It all came back to Cuthbert lately. He thought of something Susannah said earlier, that it was all very nineteen.

But there was something else she said: "What arrives with the wind of ka may blow away just as easily."

He had an idea that this dream was trying to tell him the very same thing.

--------------------

The next day, Roland and Cuthbert had dinner over the Eisenhart ranch with Jake, Benny, and Vaughn. Jake wanted to do a sort of ‘meet the parents’ sort of thing with his boyfriend. Ever since Benny’s dad died at the battle against the wolves, Vaughn had taken him in. They both bonded over their mutual losses and Benny regarded him as father. Jake, for his part, insisted on having both Roland and Cuthbert there.

Afterwards, Roland sat down on the couch in their quarters with a heavy sigh. He started removing his boots, grunting with effort as he did so.

Cuthbert watched this from where he was sitting on the bed. He couldn’t help but laugh at the sound of Roland’s grunts and sighs. "We're getting old Ro'."

“I know that very well. Some people are surprised by their age. They don’t feel as old as they are. Not me. My bones feel the weight of every year I've been alive. I feel my age. If anything, I feel older.”

“Well, I must say, you don't look a day over 900 to me,” Cuthbert said with faux sweetness, batting his eyes wildly.

“Hm. Maybe you ought to guard your glass house, as Eddie would say” (this was not precisely the saying but it’s the spirit that counts, do it please ya). “You've been around as long as I have.”

“Nay, I'm younger. Ye had a few years after renouncing the Tower before you grabbed me, still young and spry at only a few hundred years old, on the Western Sea.”

“Younger by…” Roland paused in thought. How long had it been between losing his fingers and finding the door that led to Cuthbert? It was hard to know for sure, time had gotten strange for a while. “Perhaps 6 years, more likely 5.” He stood up and stretched, exaggerating his little grunts and delighting in Cuthbert's laughter. “I'm not sure that makes a difference when one has been alive for hundreds, maybe even a thousand years.”

A thousand years, Cuthbert mused. And so much can change in that kind of time. This world was certainly a much different place than it had been when he and Roland were children, running around with sticks and knocking stuffy-guys over. Nearly unrecognizable. The world as he had known it ended with the Battle of Jericho Hill and a completely new one grew in its place.

Everything is different, but that isn’t always a bad thing. There were some changes that Cuthbert thought he could get used to.

“Roland, can I tell you something?”

“Aye, do ya,” Roland said, crossing the room and taking a seat next to Cuthbert on the bed.

“Well, I never saw myself admitting this out loud, not with our background. But your family and this community have made me feel accepted. And safe.” Cuthbert paused for a moment, thinking of how to go on. “So, I just want to tell you that I'm... well, I guess the word is gay? That's what Jake tells me anyway. The point is, I dream of love with men, hear me I beg.”

“I hear you very well, Bert, and it pleases me to hear you speak so,” Roland said, and how true it was. It pleased him to hear that his children helped Cuthbert feel comfortable with who he is, and he was glad that the community was accepting as well. But that wasn’t all. He was also pleased because…well, because mayhap Cuthbert could return his feelings. Would that be so selfish to hope? In any case, he had promised Susannah that he would tell Cuthbert of his feelings, and now seemed like the right time to pursue the subject.

Roland reached over to hug Cuthbert, who gladly returned the gesture. He felt immensely relieved. Part of him, however illogical it was, had still felt certain that Roland would be revolted at this information.

“You never told anyone?” Roland asked softly as he pulled away from their embrace. He was a little surprised by this--Cuthbert had many strengths, but holding onto secrets long-term had never been one of them.

“No. Jake knows, but other than that, the only people who have ever known are the men that I've been with. And it's not like we had to tell each other really, it was more of a... mutual understanding,” Cuthbert said. “Certain little signals you pick up on over time. That sort of thing. Well, them and one other person. But I didn't tell him either, he just knew.”

“Who?”

“‘Twas Alain. He sort of confronted me with it,” Cuthbert responded. Alain, who had always been earnest and caring toward his friends, but didn't have the most delicate way of handling drama. When forced into a mediator role, Alain tended toward bluntness. “He told me he knew because of the touch, but I don't think that’s all it was. At that point, I think I was just being very obvious about some feelings that I’d had. He was nice about me being queer. In fact, he didn't seem to care about that part of it at all. He was just mad because... Well, because I was sort of letting certain feelings get in the way of our duties."

Roland was confused. When would Cuthbert’s feelings have interfered with their duties, and why hadn’t he noticed? Maybe this had happened when Cuthbert and Alain had set off for their own mission, while he was in Debaria with Jamie. While there, he supposed it was possible that Cuthbert could have had a love affair of his own and Roland had never known.

Part of him hoped this was the case. After everything Roland had put him through in Mejis, Cuthbert deserved a romance of his own. Another part of him, however, was somehow bitterly jealous at the thought. As if this wasn't hundreds of years ago they were speaking of.

“When was this?” Roland asked.

“Uhhh well,” Cuthbert started, realizing that to answer this question would reveal a little bit more than he had been planning to say. Oh well, he thought, may as well get it all out. “It was in Mejis”.

“Mejis?” Roland was quiet for a moment as he pondered this. Most of what went wrong in Mejis had been his own fault, distracted by love as he was. The only time Cuthbert’s feelings could have interfered with their duties were…oh. “The fight you and I had... When I accused you of being jealous of me for being with Susan, you weren't jealous of me were you?”

“No. I didn't want Susan, not at all. You were right about me being jealous, though. You just had it bass-ackwards” And now, he was nervous all over again. It was one thing to tell Roland that he was gay, but to imply that he had feelings for him, even if it was a long, long time ago, may be taking it too far. He didn’t try to take it back though. He wanted to see how he’d react because…well, because upon reconnecting with Roland, those feelings had come back.

“Aye, I think I ken ya,” Roland replied. Cuthbert was underwhelmed by the reaction. He didn’t exactly seem all that surprised.

"You already knew, didn't you?" Cuthbert asked. “Yar, I was a fool to think you would never have noticed, we were best friends, so we were.”

“I didn't know. How could I have known when you never told me? Much later, when we were adults, I thought it could be possible. Although maybe ‘hoped’ would be a more accurate word,” Roland said this almost offhandedly, but Cuthbert’s breath caught in his throat. “Aye, but it was a selfish hope. I realized my feelings for you, and naturally, I hoped you would return them. But I never would have done anything about it. For nothing in those days could have caused me to give up the Tower.” He paused for a moment and then went on: “Of course, a lot has changed since then.” As he spoke this last, he met Cuthbert’s eyes.

“You say true, I say thankya,” Cuthbert said. It ever-pleased Roland to hear Calla speak come out of Cuthbert's mouth. He couldn’t say exactly what it was, but something about it made him feel sentimental. It gave him an almost familiar sense of comfort. It was the feeling of being at home. Not the home he had grown up with, but a new, equally congenial home.

“Cuthbert, I would like to be perfectly clear with you,” Roland said carefully. “I realized that I was in love with you back then, during the latter part of our initial quest for the Tower. And to this day I feel the same. After all of this time, my love for you persists.”

Cuthbert was quiet for a moment. He was truly at a loss for words. Roland sounded as if he was just stating a casual fact, instead of dropping profound, life-altering information. Cuthbert had dreamed of a moment like this since he was little more than a child. Never once did he believe he would actually hear Roland utter words such as these. Not to him, anyway.

“Ah shit, Roland, you kind of stole my thunder just now,” Cuthbert said with a light, teasing laugh. “You always have to be first, don’t you? I was working my way up to telling you my feelings, but nay, I forgot it was Roland of Gilead I was talking to. First to become a gunslinger, first in love-making, and now first in confessing queer feelings of affection for their best friend.”

Roland only looked at him, waiting for a serious response. He knew the humor was Cuthbert’s way of dealing with things, and he didn’t mind waiting. Once the humor was out, Cuthbert would speak true.

“All of that, of course, is my long-winded way of saying that I’m also in love with you,” Cuthbert said. “Have been since Mejis. Mayhap even before that, I just wasn’t aware of it until Mejis.”

For the second time that day, Roland hugged Cuthbert. He was helpless not to. This embrace was closer to the one they shared when Roland had first come through the door. It had the same unrestrained energy, a pure expression of love. After a moment, Roland shifted a little, but didn’t pull away, staying in Cuthbert’s arms. Cuthbert saw his opportunity. He delicately placed a finger under Roland’s chin and lifted it so that they were making eye-contact. He took a second to appreciate the soft, lovestruck expression on Roland’s face, so unlike his normally guarded self. And then, with a glance toward Roland’s parted lips, he leaned in.

They shared a kiss that was hundreds of years in the making.

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ask-2p-hetaliaaa · 3 years

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What would the 2ps do as youtubers?

2ps as youtubers:

Allen: Would be one of those fake ghost hunters that makes it onto Nuke's Top 5s.

"GUYS, GUYS, OHHH MYYY GODDD GUYYSSS,..... I THINK THAT WAS THE GHOOOSSTTT?? *pans to matt in a white sheet*"

Matt: Would upload funny out-of-context 5 second clips of his friends every 7 months. Gained popularity as a "top ironic humor figure"

Francois: His whole gimmick is staring into the camera for minutes on end without talking. People use him in reaction memes.

Oliver: Makes cooking videos, but in the style of Ted Nivision and twomad thanks to Allen's help with editing. Sometimes he swears in his videos, and when he does, his loyal following goes INSANE in the comments

Viktor: Makes audiobooks that peoples use as asmr to sleep. People who like Russian accents often flock to his videos as well

Xiao: Makes weed and vape reviews and 'hot boxes'; he collabs with matty smokes.

"WE'RE ABOUT TO HIT A FUCKIN OVER 9000 UHHHH DECIMIBITEABLES PUFF *coughing and gagging in mandarin*"

Luciano: Makes reviews of movies and games that have mafias and gangs. Is absolutely brutal in these critiques.

Flavio: Does makeup tutorials, fashion showcases, shopping vlogs, etc. Would basically be like the Lunch Club if it were full of drag queens

Lutz: Makes really obnoxious yet entertaining vlogs doing stupid shit around his country. Says offensive shit in a joking way that everyone is fine with. Has probably held illegal meetups in a mcdonalds

Kuro: "extreme japanese apoligizing" - makes videos along the lines of that, basically clowning on his own culture. occasionally makes anime reviews.

Gillen: Makes gaming videos out of his twitch streams. Sometimes Roland will just be walking in the background and go "Hi!!" and the chat will not shut up about him for next 2 minutes

Roland: He's like Sam O Nella Academy but Austrian- He'll mainly make parody videos of ww1 and ww2 because we all know the funny ww1 and 2 austria jokes. Since he can play guitar, he adds bits inspired by bill wurtz that are just jingles, ends up being used in memes

Andres: Uploads pirated, obscure Spanish music with blank descriptions and no other context

Egil: twomad videos, basically. everything he posts feels like adhd personified, at random points the video will go 200x speed and back to normal its chaotic

Loki: Is a prank channel, but actually funny because his pranks are "lets set shit on fire until the police get involved"

Denmark: His gimmick is making fun of Francois and trying to beat him in subscribers, but Francois doesn't even know he has a channel. People meme in a bad way like "look at this dumbass"

Bernard: Makes commentary videos like Memeulous and James Marriott, has an ongoing joke of making fun of the 1ps (in a friendly way). at random points a picture of Berwald will pop up with the vine boom sound effect

Thurston: Screams into his camera about things that make him mad, a bunch of teenage girls stan him because they think he's hot and relatable. He then made a video screaming about how much he hates his fanbase, which didn't help at all. It only attracted Bernard's fans who clowned on him

Hermes: Makes videos explaining the lore of Greek Mythology, in a girl-talk sort of way. He tried making true crime videos but kept putting his opinions in which nearly got him canceled.

Caligula: Too old to use youtube. Only has an account to like Luciano's videos.

Germania: Also too old to use youtube. But he does comment on the germanic countries videos with things like "LETS FUCKING GOOO"; has become the Justin Y. of 2p comment sections

Leonas and Franciszek: Have a couples channel that people HATE because they act so fake that it's dreadfully annoying. Has had videos made about them by Bernard, Lutz and Flavio

Anastasia: Makes videos about self-care for both men and women, similar to channels like Sexplanations. Also makes videos teaching young adults to cook simple meals, how to do unique hairstyles using wigs of different lengths and textures, how to have a clean house (making beds, doing laundry, organizing cabinets and fridges), etc. Has a large following of people who genuinely appreciate her work and motivation

Katya: Uploads vertical phone videos of her at casinos drinking champagne, playing darts, winning slot machines, etc

Egor: Similar to SomeOrdinaryGamers. Browses the deep web on his AmogOS system he made.

Raimonds: Viktor doesn't allow him to have a youtube channel

Paul: Takes videos of him rolling down hills and making fun of people at his school. Luckily doesn't gain much traction because people would definitely cyber bully him. Most of the adult 2ps have an agreement to not mention him in their videos lest their followers go after him

Wy: Takes behind the scenes videos of Oliver's videos; Her following is basically just Oliver's following who think she's his daughter (she's not) (This rumor caused a huge scandal within the Ollie simping twitter community)

Romeo: Doesn't have youtube, has TikTok and makes shitty e-boy thirst traps and POVs. Bernard wears his merch as satire in his videos.

#2ptalia #2p hetalia #ask 2p hetalia #asks #all of them #textposts #headcanons

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ingek73 · 3 years

Text

Game, set, and twat: Whether it’s Meghan or Naomi Osaka, Piers Morgan’s MailOnline-enabled bullying has a pattern...

... the mediocre hack’s mediocre hack hates women who don’t dance to his tune.

Mic Wright

11 hr ago

If someone had a blog and Twitter account where they relentlessly attacked a series of high profile women — many of them women of colour — for perceived slights and their refusal to pay the writer attention, we’d usually call that person a bully and a troll, and if they persisted in that behaviour they might even find themselves facing legal consequences.

But Piers Morgan has a TV career and a MailOnline byline so he’s given impunity to mock, abuse, and denigrate women while claiming he’s just a ‘critical voice’. His latest target is Naomi Osaka, the 23-year-old tennis player who is currently ranked number 2 in the world, is the reigning champion of the US Open and Australian Open, and became the first woman to win back-to-back grand slams since Serena Williams in 2015.

By contrast, Piers Morgan is a mediocre hack who owes his controversy-baiting career to Simon Cowell who pulled him out of the dumper of history and plonked him on the America’s Got Talent panel after he was frog-marched out of Fleet Street for slapping faked photos on the front page of a national newspaper. That incident was the last in an ignominious run at The Daily Mirror and, before that, in the Murdoch press, which I have covered extensively in the past.

[image description] Twitter avatar for @Nabilu

Nabil Abdulrashid

@Nabilu

If time machines existed Piers Morgan would go backwards in time to chat shit about Rosa Parks

May 31st 2021

346 Retweets2,456 Likes]

Morgan’s latest creepy obsession was triggered — I use that word deliberately — by Osaka’s decision not to speak to the press during the French Open at Roland Garros because interviews were affecting her mental health. She subsequently withdrew from the tournament altogether after winning her first match, having been fined $15,000 for not speaking to the media and warned she was at risk of being expelled from the event.

In her statement yesterday, Osaka wrote that she had suffered “long bouts of depression” since she defeated Serena Williams in the 2018 US Open Final and received significant media attention. She continued:

I never wanted to be a distraction and I accept that my timing was not ideal and my message could have been clearer. More importantly, I would never trivialise mental health or use the term lightly.

Nothing in either of Osaka’s statements support Morgan’s sneering labelling of the player as “Narcissistic Naomi” or “world sport’s most petulant little madam”. Once again a 56-year-old man is using his vast and undeserved media platform to bully and harass a woman half his age. And — surprise, surprise — it’s actually just a new front in his obsessive one-sided war on the Duchess of Sussex.

Beneath the frankly unhinged headline, Narcissistic Naomi's cynical exploitation of mental health to silence the media is right from the Meghan and Harry playbook of wanting their press cake and eating it, Morgan writes:

Naomi Osaka is a brilliant tennis player…

… She is also the highest-paid female athlete in the world, raking in $55.2 million in the past 12 months, $5.2 million from tennis winnings and $50 million from endorsement deals with the likes of Nike, Beats by Dre, Mastercard and Nissin…

… Unfortunately, Ms Osaka is also an arrogant spoiled brat whose fame and fortune appears to have inflated her ego to gigantic proportions.

How else to explain her extraordinary decision to announce she will no longer participate in media press conferences, supposedly to protect her mental health?

Morgan is pretending that he doesn’t know that money is not an impregnable suit of armour to protect your mental health. Osaka could be the richest woman in the world and still face anxiety and depression. In fact, at just 23, the pressures of her performance-driven, endorsement-laden life are arguably more likely to lead to those feelings than a ‘normal’ one.

But rather than seeing Osaka as a young woman in an extraordinary position who is struggling with those demands and finding the hectoring, hostile, and entitled attitude of the press hard to handle at the moment, Morgan calls her “petulant” and continues:

[She] was fined $15,000 for refusing to appear in front of the media… Of course, given that she earns around $6,000 an hour, Osaka will recoup this fine while she sleeps tonight, rendering the fine utterly meaningless.

What's not meaningless is her frankly contemptible attempt to avoid legitimate media scrutiny by weaponizing mental health to justify her boycott.

Morgan departed Good Morning Britain after the row that followed his comment that he “didn’t believe a word” of the Duchess of Sussex’s statements about her mental health during the Oprah interview. Now, the mental health analyser has logged on again and he has determined that Naomi Osaka does not meet his standard of distress. Sadly, he secured his professional qualifications in this area by scrawling a certificate in crayon on the back of a Pizza Express kids menu.

[image description] Twitter avatar for @PaulbernalUK

Paul Bernal

@PaulbernalUK

What is it about Naomi Osaka and Meghan Markle that gets Piers Morgan so worked up, I wonder. Image

May 31st 2021

1,726 Retweets10,537 Likes

He claims that after reading Osaka’s Instagram post about press conferences, which he calls “an orgy of narcissistic twaddle”, “several times” he experienced “mounting fury”. Remember, this is a 56-year-old man contorting his melted waxwork face into an angry rictus over a 23-year-old woman he doesn’t know choosing not to appear at a press conference. I am not convinced that Osaka is the narcissistic one here.

Morgan continues:

One thing’s very clear: This has got nothing to do with mental health.

What Osaka really means is that she doesn’t want to face the media if she hasn’t played well, because the beastly journalists might actually dare to criticise her performance…

… This is straight out of the Meghan and Harry playbook of wanting to have the world’s largest cake and eating it, by exploiting the media for ruthless self-promotion but using mental health to silence any media criticism.

One thing’s very clear: This has got nothing to do with Naomi Osaka.

What Morgan really means is that he’s still beetroot red over a perceived slight by Meghan back in 2016, which he only started ranting about after he didn’t get an invite to her wedding and was “ghosted”. That came after two years of him tweeting about her as a “friend”.

Piers Morgan is simply using Naomi Osaka as another way to wage his sad fuck guerilla war against the Sussexes. And Osaka is just the latest in a long string of young women to fall short of his weirdo expectations.

He berated Lady Gaga on social media, attacking her after she spoke about dealing with PTSD after being raped, and goaded her so much that she agreed to an interview clearly in the hope of getting him to stop.

He attacked Arianna Grande after the Manchester Arena attack and kept up his bullying for six months until she agreed to have dinner with him after what he said was a “chance meeting”. After she had conceded to spending time in his fetid presence he shifted tack and started creepily calling her his “soulmate” — she was 26 at the time.

These obsessions with young women are often framed as “feuds” in the press, but they are, in fact, byline-enabled stalking. Morgan has a huge platform and he abuses it to get women to concede to him, to make mollifying noises, to pretend that they are his friends just to get him to stop.

The only difference between Piers Morgan and a street harasser screaming at a woman to smile is that MailOnline and ITV pay him handsomely for the privilege. Tonight, Morgan’s ‘Life Stories’ interview with Keir Starmer goes out on ITV and he’ll once again get a chance to dominate the headlines. His views are given credence by the political elite even as he continues to abuse women for attention and praise.

It’s a tactic he’s used for decades, stretching back to his time on The Sun’s Bizarre column, where he insisted on inserting pictures of himself cuddling up to celebrities. His ‘feud’/obsession with Madonna has run on for decades, beginning in his Fleet Street days when she didn’t give him the exclusive on her first pregnancy and continuing right up until now.

As with Lady Gaga, Morgan has repeatedly mocked and dismissed Madonna for saying she was raped in the past. However, unlike Gaga, Madonna has refused to pay homage to Morgan with an interview. He preemptively ‘banned’ her from his CNN show back in 2011 though she had shown not one scintilla of interest in appearing, and tried to reignite interest in his hatred for her in 2016 by saying he would end “the feud” if she apologised to him. He’s still waiting for that call.

Morgan’s attack on Osaka, which is simply another attempt to get at Meghan, came two days after a Daily Mail interview with Jan Moir in which he grumbled:

[Meghan] thinks she’s beaten me? She might be in for a surprise because I suspect I’ll be back soon. If Meghan thinks she has cancelled me or won the battle, she is in for a big shock. I’ve never been more popular.

It made me think of this moment in Mad Men:

Michael Ginsberg: What do I care? I got a million of them… a million…

Don Draper: Good. I guess I’m lucky you work for me.

Michael Ginsberg: I feel bad for you.

Don Draper: I don’t think about you at all.

Meghan is Draper. Morgan is a total Ginsberg — smug and self-satisfied, convinced that Meghan is as obsessed with him as he is with her, certain that they are having a feud between equals and not the same dynamic as every woman cursed with a sad but sinister stalker.

And while Morgan acts like he’s a brave truth-teller, he only dares pump his horseshit opinions into MailOnline’s open sewer once he’s fairly sure that there are enough other media bullies taking the same line. The Australian’s tennis correspondent Will Swanton filed his misogynist screed a full day before Morgan got round to his.

There’s a clue as to how Morgan expects young women to act around him in the latest instalment of his journals — The Diary of Samuel Creeps — which are published in The Mail on Sunday.

Recounting his visit to what sounds like a truly mind-numbing party (“…drinking cocktails, nibbling canapés and having actual ‘fun’ in the garden of the Notting Hill home of Gabriela Peacock, nutritionist to the stars.”) he describes an encounter with Princesses Beatrice and Eugenie:

Princess Beatrice arrived with her husband Eduardo. They announced her first pregnancy today, and both seemed ecstatically happy.

‘Please thank your mum for her supportive texts when I left GMB,’ I told her. ‘She’s always been very loyal to me, and I greatly appreciate it.’

‘Well, you’ve been very loyal to her,’ Beatrice replied, ‘and she appreciates that too.’

I’ve always had a soft spot for Fergie.

Princess Eugenie, who gave birth to her first child three months ago, joined her sister. ‘If you two need any parenting tips for your expanding Royal creche, I’ve had four kids so am something of an expert,’ I suggested.

Their regal eyebrows shot up in synchronised horror. ‘No, we’re good thanks, Piers,’ came the firm, unified response.

I’ve known both Princesses since they were very young, and they’ve been through a lot of tough times in the media spotlight, especially lately over their father Prince Andrew’s shameful friendship with billionaire paedophile Jeffrey Epstein.

But they never complain, or give whining interviews, or publicly trash their family, and they’re always incredibly nice, polite and good fun – which all makes such a refreshing change from their narcissistic, self-pitying, family-abusing, spoiled-brat cousins over in California.

Piers Morgan wants to be treated as famous rather than infamous, and likes women to indulge his antics and act as if they’re amused by his sweaty-handed attention. Fergie — a woman devoid of discernible talent beyond tolerating her ex-husband’s second career as the top Yelp! reviewer at Jeffrey Epstein’s houses — is a-ok with Piers because she sucks up to him. Similarly, her daughters are delightful because they’ll tolerate Morgan’s dad jokes and fetid familiarity.

Morgan is not a journalist, a truth-teller, a maverick, or a commentator in anything but bad faith. He’s nothing more than a misogynist with a MailOnline byline and some big money contracts. Don’t let him pretend to be anything else.

#piers morgan #naomi osaka #meghan markle #lady gaga #ariana grande

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captainfile · 3 years

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Baby, Don’t Tread

Words: 2225

Ao3 link

Andreil-centric. Warnings for Andrew being nonverbal for unspecified reasons and Neil practicing some negative self-talk! Title and summary from “Tread On Me” by Matt Maeson.

Summary: I could hardly sleep, so I don’t And I could hardly speak, so I won’t

Andrew hadn’t moved in a few hours. Neil had returned from class to find him on the couch, a heavy textbook propped up between his stomach and thighs, socked feet tucked between two cushions. One of his legs was wobbling every once in a while, as if burning off absent energy by habit instead of necessity. There was no answer to Neil’s greeting, but that was hardly surprising. He just couldn’t help but notice as the sun dipped lower and dinner came and went, but Andrew didn’t get up to join. Didn’t move a muscle, really, but for the one leg and an occasional page turn. He didn’t look up, not when anyone addressed him, not when Neil sat down at the far end of the couch with his own homework.

“Hey,” Neil tried, and earned a glance. He didn’t hold back his grin, but Andrew didn’t snarl at him for it. “There’s leftover chicken, if you want some.” Andrew didn’t look at him a second time; didn’t look anywhere but his textbook. Kevin shuffled around in the kitchen, complaining just loud enough for Neil to hear about the dishes and the freshmen.

“Andrew, you eating?” Nicky called out, and when Andrew didn’t respond, he leaned into view and held up a tupperware container half-full of oven-grilled chicken. “Are you hungry?” He pressed. Neil watched Andrew move his head slow, turning to face his cousin, eyes just this side of unfocused for a lingering moment before they caught on. Andrew blinked. His face didn’t show anything but his attention. Nicky gestured with the tupperware. “Dinner,” he said.

Andrew didn’t answer. He looked down at the couch, head turning just as slowly back to his textbook, and blinked a few more times. His lips thinned. He would eat, Neil concluded then, but he probably hadn’t so much as opened his mouth since breakfast. Andrew closed his textbook and tucked it against his hip as he stood and made his way to Nicky.

Secretly, Neil was a bit ashamed that he found Andrew’s actions strange, but Nicky seemed equally bewildered, so he vowed to take the afternoon in stride.

“I want to run the drill from last night again.”

“See, I don’t think it’s very useful,” Neil argued, thoroughly distracted for a moment by Kevin as he made his way to a dropped backpack in the corner. It seemed he was also inspired by Andrew’s studiousness. “They weren’t ready for it. Sub in Matt and Aaron so they can get comfortable with backliners who actually know what they’re doing.”

“Are you insulting me right now?”

“They won’t only learn by watching, Nicky.”

“They won’t learn by being carried, either-“

“-do you want them to learn the drill, or not-“

“Fuck you,” Kevin snapped, then sat with a too-loud thud next to his backpack and got out a notebook. Neil rolled his eyes and sank further into the couch. He looked over the back, though, to check on Andrew, who seemed entirely unaware of the room and chowed down on the cooling leftovers as Nicky hovered and spoke in cut-off half-questions. “When you’re-“

Neil heard the rest of the sentence and cut Kevin off. “Fight your homework, not me, asshole; I don’t give a shit.”

“You definitely give a shit,” Kevin grumbled, and Neil was about to gripe back at him when Nicky swooped in and leaned over the back of the couch.

“Has he been like this all day?”

Neil frowned. “Like what?”

“All… I don’t know. He seems fine, but it’s like he isn’t there.”

It was obvious who they were talking about, and Andrew appeared at Nicky’s side without a sound, looking at his cousin the same way as before. Attention, no tone to it. He didn’t speak. Nicky jumped only a little in surprise.

Neil asked, “Andrew, how was your day?”

Nicky looked at Andrew. Kevin, from the floor, looked at Andrew. Neil didn’t want to add any more pressure, so he looked at the textbook still in Andrew’s grip and watched his knuckles not change a shade in response to the situation. Andrew seemed entirely, genuinely, thoroughly, completely, absolutely disinterested. He stayed quiet.

“Andrew?” Kevin piped up, head tilted curiously. It was likely fueled by some complicated Exy-centered logic, but he asked, “you alright?”

How bizarre. Andrew didn’t react to that either, not for a long moment, and when Kevin sucked in a breath to continue it seemed like a mime had possessed Andrew’s body for a moment: his shoulder bumped up to his ear in an overly-exaggerated shrug and then he nodded once, head moving so forcefully that Neil could hear the bones in his jaw and collar thunk against each other. With no further explanation, Andrew returned to his previous pose on the couch. Neil was paralyzed. The sunset had made itself at home on the couch while Andrew ate, and cast a romantic glow to the ends of his blonde hair and the highlights of his face. Neil wasn’t close enough to appreciate how the light caught his eyes- he didn’t dare, even as his stomach dropped out at the relaxed slope of Andrew’s shoulders, at how he ducked his head a bit to hide from that light behind his textbook. Nicky’s hands curled over the back of the couch and squeezed until the fabric groaned. Andrew took a deep breath and- when the whole room leaned forward a bit to hear him- sighed.

Aaron and Nicky were arguing about something only tangentially related to Exy, so Kevin didn’t have much reason to start ranting. He tried striking up a conversation with Andrew, which was fruitless, as per usual, and Neil was excited enough about escaping campus that he answered noncommittally when Kevin’s interest turned to him. With the background chaos of quick words from such similar voices that Neil could tune them out and pretend it was one idiot talking to himself, Neil watched the road contentedly. He relaxed against the passenger seat and glanced down at the center console; he imagined setting his hand palm-up on it and having Andrew hold onto him for the rest of the drive. It was a nice image.

Andrew had been fairly quiet all day. They had chatted lazily over breakfast, and when everyone piled into the Maserati, he had grated out a confirmation for their activities. Neil had been confused at that more than the quiet- Andrew didn’t talk when he didn’t want to, didn’t say anything he didn’t mean, that was all well and good with Neil. But audibly, visibly struggling to speak? Holding onto his words like he’d been carved hollow and they were all he had left? Expression shuttering over some kind of pain? Neil was chilled by it.

“Hey!” Roland shouted when Andrew and Neil inevitably found their way to him. Other customers were outright ignored, but lucky Neil, no one was too upset. The night was still young. “What can I get you all tonight?”

A beat passed.

Several, really, between Neil’s earlier worry and the deafening music.

One too many. The moment lingered and still Andrew said nothing, attention very obviously divided between Roland and Neil and the people around them. The sooner they ordered, the sooner they could retreat to the booth, but Andrew did not order any drinks. Neil plastered on a smile as Roland’s began to waver.

“I’ve got it,” he blurted, and rattled off some requests that he didn’t remember clearly enough. Roland was sufficiently distracted, and soon enough, they were carrying two trays to the table. Neil grimaced when the three already seated began to complain. Surely they’d care a little less after a few unpleasant gulps. Andrew seemed to settle in for a long night in his spot at the same time as the other three nearly vibrated with a want to dance, gazes darting to each other and out into the crowd and down to the drinks.

When they were gone, Neil’s worry resurfaced. It wasn’t that something was explicitly wrong, not like Andrew had fought with his brother or heard from an old enemy, not like any of them were in danger at all. He seemed the opposite, really, except that one moment. Ice cream went down as quickly as it normally did, just as sickeningly sweet as Andrew liked it. His hands were at rest, armbands intact and untouched. For all Neil could tell, Andrew was having a normal day, but… Neil was still worried. He rambled to fill the space that was left in the absence of their nonsensical table conversation, gestured to iron out the curl building in his hands, kept Andrew in his sights but looked away as much as he could stand. Hadn’t Nicky said something, forever ago? It was like someone had hit mute on Andrew, but he simply didn’t care and lived on. Neil ignored the alcohol to keep himself from breaking and asking about it.

Worse, breaking and asking.

Fuck.

“It’s like you don’t even care about Exy, you guys always make fun of me,” Kevin whined as he was dragged inside. Neil took care of everyone’s shoes and, when it seemed like Aaron, Nicky, and Kevin would all live to the morning, he made for the couch.

Andrew’s supernatural ability to move faster and quieter than a ghost would probably never stop surprising Neil. He didn’t flinch, though, just turned when a light tug on his sleeve announced his presence. There was nothing to read in Andrew’s expression for a moment. The pair of them were left with the backdrop of a dark living room in Columbia, drunk stumbling audible from the bedrooms. Complaints, too, mostly Kevin’s, drifting through the walls and rattling hidden pipes. Neil waited and waited for something to happen; he could be patient, he could stand there for hours just looking at Andrew in the dark. He could wait for a car to drive by and light up Andrew’s jaw through the living room curtains, for both their eyes to burn until they passed out in the middle of the room, for the sun to rise and birds to sing and Andrew to speak. Neil knew stillness as a tool of life on the run, knew nonchalance and manners to cover panic and desperation.

It was only a moment, though, before Andrew invited the question. His shoulder drifted just slightly, his grip lingered on Neil’s sleeve. “Yes or no?” Andrew nodded. “I-“ Neil didn’t want to doubt him. “Can you… say it?” Andrew’s lips thinned, and even in the dark, even in a nanosecond, Neil knew the answer without understanding the reason behind it. “I’m alright with that,” he said quickly, or as quickly as the laws of physics would let him. “Upstairs?”

Andrew nodded again. They went upstairs.

Now, Neil was stupid. Unbelievably so, inconceivably so. Neil had never learned a thing in his life, in his own humble opinion, and the things he was good at involved just the bare bones of brain activity. Obviously. Through this unfortunate reality, Neil had started to notice a pattern. He decided to draw it out to better understand it. The sketch was yet another example of Neil being generally unremarkable, but it didn’t have to be beautiful.

He drew Andrew Minyard, dressed in all black for a night out at Eden’s Twilight. Shoulders sloped just so, hands relaxed and capable, mouth a single line.

He drew Andrew Minyard, standing in the corner of the girls’ dorm on some accursed movie night, elbows loose.

The day Nicky had commented on the silence, inhaling cooled-down chicken.

In the middle of a late-night practice; no one was communicating, and someone pinned it on Andrew, and then Nicky got mad and they all only stopped yelling at each other because Kevin was an easier and more universal target than Andrew.

Those moments felt different. It was like Andrew had something to say, but no words to use. He had powered through only the most necessary statements in those times. Usually when he was quiet it was because he meant to be. It was as surely a fact of life as Neil’s dumbfuckery that Andrew was a calculating sort of man. He never did anything he didn’t want to, never stayed put when he wanted to move. Always knew what he’d say before he said it. Andrew was powerful, really.

The air shifted over Neil’s shoulder, but he didn’t look. Neil leaned back in the desk chair in some wishful thinking that he could lean on Andrew, who moved fluidly to sit on the desk and shake out a cigarette.

A conversation passed between them in a glance. Andrew rolled his eyes. “What, I’m supposed to think you’re ugly?” Neil scoffed defensively, and cherished the brief push of calloused fingertips on his chin. It felt like… Neil didn’t have a word for what he’d never felt before Andrew. It didn’t matter. Neil was stupid. He just tossed his chin back in Andrew’s direction and blurted, “yes or no?” And grinned into the kiss Andrew gave him, leaning in slowly with a fine-tuned focus like Neil would never be in this spot again. He knew both their shoulders sagged from the way they shared breath more than any visual evidence or exploratory hands.

He knew and cared that Andrew was comfortable.

#aftg #captainfile #all for the game #andrew minyard #neil josten #andreil #nonverbal #this kinda blew up on ao3 so i thought i'd crack open my tumblr. hi.

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unordinaryquotes · 4 years

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UnOrdinary Chapter 193 Review

-Cecile seems to be well liked by her peers, now whether it’s because of her power or her qualities of a person is still up for debate. But I wouldn’t mind it if these actually really liked Cecile, it would make her a more concrete person in the school

-John is not a king, he’s a dictator. Also why the fuck do you care so badly? For someone who just wanted to get away from the Royals you seem to think about them a lot. There’s also the fact that he’s saying he’ll beat up anyone who hangs out there. Imagine if you went to A.A meetings and got beat up by some drunk person because they’re offended you would do such a thing

-Terrence has a look in his eye, and I’m liking it. Terrence has already fucked over Sera and Arlo, he’s not scared to do it to John. Unfortunately Cecile would probably take the fall for whatever Terrence decides to do

-Zeke is the biggest lapdog I’ve ever seen. And he’s not even the cool one where they’re like “I’ll stand by my master or I’ll die” he just flip flops. Of course John uses Zeke to his advantage to take down all the posters. Way to show them John, you got rid of flyers.

-I don’t know what John wants anymore. Anytime these people try something he instantly knocks it down. He can’t be happy when people try to do nice things because he always takes it as a personal offense. The reason he’s so offended is because he knows he’s shit, but instead of working to improve that he just complains

-I was right in my assessment that the two haven’t talked in a long time, but I wonder what the reason is?

-There’s nothing Arlo is better at than stalking and ambushing students. Besides not sharing his feelings, he’s great at that.

-Remi personally inviting Evie is adorable and I hope the two become close friends. But I’m scared of Evie getting the enemy marker on her. Now that John’s broke ties with Sera, he could go after her. If that does happen, we must send him to the gulag

-Roland is definitely holding a grudge on Terrence for abandoning them and letting Evie be knocked unconscious. We can’t have you ruin anything though dude, so just chill for a minute.

-I can see Meili and Ventus just standing in a corner with each other cause they’re uncomfortable. Holden will definitely be doing dumb shit, but good dumb shit. Also smart of Sera using the roster to her advantage, then again I don’t want anymore targets

-Terrence does have an ulterior motive, but I can’t tell if it’s because of that weird group or maybe he just likes spreading shit. If he is a rat bastard I hope he’s a fun one

Arlo planning Ambush #2, we got Kim John Un here, and it’s Terrence time.

#unordinary #unordinary john #unordinary arlo #unordinary seraphina #unordinary evie

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halequeenjas · 4 years

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A Lake of Sand and Glass || Zinnia, Winston, & Jasmine (POTW Finale)

TIMING: Current PARTIES: @zinniarhee @danetobelieve @halequeenjas SUMMARY: A plan has been formed to get rid of Bloody Mary and Sandman forever. Winston and Jasmine perform a ritual with Zinnia’s help after another group lures Bloody Mary and Sandman to the lake, but this does not come with out consequences.

Winston had seen some bizarre shit in their time being aware of the supernatural. It was what ten months now? They’d seen zombies, werewolves, ghosts, ghouls and a hundred other weird, wonderful and downright terrifying spectacles. Yet, as they stood on the edge of the lake with two others that they barely knew, they decided that this was perhaps the weirdest thing that they had ever been privy to. “Okay, I’m glad we’re all sure on the plan.” speaking out loud helped them communicate their thoughts and after everything that had happened with Roland, Winston wasn’t going to just let anyone get hurt by this. They were here to make sure no one else was hurt. “The bait team brings the Sandman and Bloody Mary to the lake, we then you know, we do the magic exorcising ritual and bing bang boom we’re all gucci…” Winston swallowed, it sounded so much more simple then it was going to be. They were sure of it. “Remember, water is our friend and try to have fun. Ha. Joking obviously. I hate White Crest.”

This whole thing with Bloody Mary and the Sandman was definitely a little more intense than anything spirit related Jasmine had dealt with in the past. From the books she was reading, she’d picked up on that most people just banished Bloody Mary, but that still left room for some idiot teens to summon her again. Some further group research indicated Mary and the Sandman were linked somehow. Clearly, no one had actually tried this ritual before and it took some coordinating between her and Winston to come up with it in the first place. “Yep. we’re yeeting both the Bloody Bitch and Sandy Asshole out of existence as the kids would say.” Her tone sounded more confident than she currently felt. Banishments were one thing, but this was entirely new and experimental. The other group was already luring them over so there was no room for hesitation. She laughed at Winston’s joke despite her own nerves. “Oh yeah, we’re having a real party over here.” Any moment now, they’d be ready to begin.

The only reason that Zinnia had agreed in assisting the group was because people she had grown to care about, against her own omission, were now in danger. She guessed she, too, was now in danger-- a reflection of a woman with a penchant for taking down those who had reckoned with death on their own terms. She and Bloody Mary were a lot alike, but apparently, she did not think so. She had little to offer aside from brute force and the ability to get away quickly, as well as assisting in healing any injuries that might’ve come from the excursion, but she needed to help, because if she didn’t, then when would it end? As they walked towards the lake, she tossed Winston a glance with a nod. “You both have interesting nicknames for these beings,” she commented with a low chuckle. She knew enough about magic, had seen it been done-- to others, she, herself was full of magic. She supposed she could get away with aiding the two of them in more ways than one. “Try not to look either of them in the eye, I bet that Bloody Mary figure really likes the eyes,” she said, a previous experience coming to mind.

“The kids say that?” Winston asked somewhat skeptically. They weren’t technically a kid anymore but still the way that slang was changing over the years was beyond Winston and they couldn’t help but feel somewhat older then they felt that they should. Unfortunately Winston was far too familiar with both of these things to feel entirely confident that they were going to be able to just stop this but they had to make an attempt. For the good of everyone else. It wasn’t something that you could just leave to hurt people. From Winston’s research however they had a pretty good idea of how they could bind and banish both these entities. “Fun nicknames and humour are defense mechanisms that stop me from going completely insane in the face of all of this death and destruction.” Winston wondered if Bloody Mary was like medusa. “If I look at her through a selfie camera on my phone do you think I can make eye contact then”? Laughing nervously, they quickly fell silent. Swallowing, Winston looked around for some sort of sign or signal that they were ready to go. “I’m sure we’ll be starting … any minute now….”

“At least that’s what I gather from the internet,” Jasmine said with a nonchalant shrug. She liked to think Nell kept her somewhat up to date on the new slang. Most of her clientele was older so she never necessarily went out of her way to keep up with it. She couldn’t help but laugh at Winston’s remark. “Hey, sometimes that’s all you can do.” At the mention of not looking them in the eye, she nodded quickly. “Yeah, definitely not planning on having a romantic heart-to-heart where we gaze into each other’s eyes with either of them. My taste is a little less dead and sandy.” She could see the other group towards the other side of the lake and saw both Sandman and Bloody Mary with them. She took in a deep breath and said, “Alright, here goes nothing.” She took Winston’s hand in her own and told Zinnia, “For now, we’ll draw in intention from you, too, but if things get dicey, we may need you to keep these bastards in the lake.”

Zinnia blinked at Winston, gaze curious. She wasn’t caught up on the lingo from those who were younger than her-- she had tried her best to stay “in the know” but it seemed as though those who were older having a difficult time in understanding what younger people were talking about wasn’t as uncommon as she had once thought. Still, she forced out a laugh at Winston’s words and gave them a firm nod, “I suppose that is a way to deal with it.” She hunkered lower to the ground, her palms digging into the mud. “I would hope that your taste is far better than dead and sandy-- you’re far too pretty to be involved with the likes of either of them.” So maybe she wasn’t stellar at knowing what not to say. Zinnia narrowed her eyes, then looked behind her to Jasmine. She gave a curt nod. “Do whatever it is you need to do, I’m here to help.” Here to keep my people safe, Zinnia thought quietly. To think she now had people, both Scout and Alcher coming to mind-- Kaden, to a degree-- for Abel, clearly. Though, she wouldn’t mind taking Abel if Kaden were no longer capable. “I think I see them--” Zinnia’s thoughts came to an abrupt stop at the sight of a ghostly figure.

The sound of laughter, as uneasy as it was - well it was at least a little bit gratifying and kept Winston from fully panicking. They were completely far from used to any of this. They wondered when the moment of clarity would come where fighting evil, beating bad guys and saving the day wouldn’t be the single most terrifying thing that Winston had ever had to do. Honestly, they weren’t entirely sure why they kept doing it but despite everything here they were still. “I guess flirting is also a defense mechanism for some,” Winston commented with a quirked eyebrow. Spotting Bloody Mary and the Sandman, Winston swallowed nervously and tried to center themselves as they had done thousands of times before now. They had everything ready, or as ready as it would be. “I definitely see them,” Winston said, their eyes immediately flashing to the floor so they didn’t catch Bloody Mary’s eyes. This was the part where they really had to help. This was the part where they really had to work their ass off to keep two completely figures who were enshrined in folklore from killing them. “Okay, here goes nothing,” Winston raised their hands and began to chant the words of the incantation that they had designed with Jasmine. A combination of exorcist practice and magic. It was probably sloppy, but they prayed it worked.

This was unlike anything Jasmine had ever tackled head on before and the feeling of doubt it brought was hard to ignore. If she messed this up, others would be the ones paying the price. She and Winston had been very careful when creating this ritual, but the fact still remained it had never been tested. How could it be? There was only one Bloody Mary and Sandman. If there had been a successful go of this in the past, neither of them would be here. The humor did help a little. “You’re not wrong,” she agreed with Zinnia as she took in a sharp breath. Here went nothing. She closed her eyes momentarily and let her words sync up with Winston’s. Precision was a must and she was careful with every single syllable and could feel the familiar buzzing that came with exorcisms. It was hard to explain, it was both familiar and unnerving in the same vein. Still, she chanted the Latin phrases over and over again and could feel something happening. Her eyes fluttered open as she peered across the lake. If there was any commotion going on with the other group, she’d be unable to see it in the dark. She could see Mary’s reflection in the water when she glanced at it and the water seemed to be almost vibrating. They were doing something.

Zinnia was careful to avert her eyes. One look at Bloody Mary and their plan could fall right from underneath of them. The sound of mumbling-- no, chanting, caught Zinnia’s attention and she twisted to watch as both Jasmine and Winston began to speak incantations, or so she believed them to be. It was palpable, the energy in the air, and she wondered if this was what it felt like, to be zapped of energy. It felt close to when she’d use her healing. Slow, moving like quicksand. With every move she tried to make, she felt it heavier in her limbs, the exhaustion. They needed her help, though, and this was how she would assist. She focused on the lake, the water rippling frantically with every word that either Jasmine or Winston spoke. Zinnia kept quiet, not wanting to break their concentration. She wondered how they would trap Bloody Mary, because the Sandman was clearly an easy target-- sand and water didn’t go quite well together. Zinnia watched, alert, despite the aching in her head.

Swallowing, Winston’s mind flashed back to the work that they had put into this with Jasmine. It hadn’t been easy. Creating spells never was. Actually magic in general was hardly something that Winston was adept with. Normally you would prepare for something like this with an actual drawn outline. The whole bit in horror movies with pentagrams wasn’t so far from the truth although in it’s own way it was pretty far fetched. But around the area that they had decided to carry this out in Winston had placed cylinders that they had built. They liked to call them beacons but the truth was that they were little more then extensions of Winston’s will. They would extend Winston and Jasmine’s incantation and hopefully truly prevent either of them from escaping. Without missing a beat, Winston kept chanting. They were glad they’d played all those rhythm games and Guitar Hero in college because it made keeping up with all of this a bit easier. A ripple spread out across the lake and Winston blinked and snapped their eyes to their feet as they spotted a ghostly outline.

As they kept with the rhythms of the chant, Jasmine could feel her necklace vibrating against her chest. It was the same one her aunt wore for years as her focal point and she found it gave her more control when performing rituals. While similar enough to an exorcism, the magical aspects of it were starting to show as the lake water began to swirl. Usually, she could feel the air swirling around her during a banishment, but this was different. Her eyes fluttered open though she never lost a beat with the incantations repetitive as they were. By all indications, the ritual they came up with seemed to be working. Mary was reflecting in the lake and the Sandman seemed to be being pulled toward it. They couldn’t stop now. Mary was unnerving, but she wouldn’t look in her eyes. The water seemed to be rising higher around the lake which only pushed her to keep going. Just a little bit longer and this would all be over with. There was no room to let the reflection of Mary that was approaching throw them off their game.

Zinnia watched, her gaze unmoving from the two figures who were drawn to the lake. The low rumblings from either Jasmine and Winston were low enough that she didn’t think either of the individuals could be heard, but something-- a distraction, the slightest sound, had the Sandman’s head swiveling towards them. The course he had been set on towards the lake was now broken, and he was headed towards the trio. Zinnia cursed under her breath before she gave a backwards glance towards the two. She pushed herself off of her perch on the ground and started towards him. What she was going to do, she wasn’t sure. She was quick-- quick enough to confuse something slow like him, but he was sand, and she hadn’t ever fought an individual made of sand before. Careful to not disturb Bloody Mary, Zinnia launched herself at the Sandman, her leg coming to swipe underneath of him. He crumpled to the ground, the sand building on top of each other to recreate the beast she had dismantled. This was going to be a lot harder than she thought.

It was like something out of a superhero movie or a comic was all that Winston could think as they watched Zinnia’s leg dart out, cleave clean through the Sandman’s leg and then just watch it reform as he collapsed for a partial moment. Winston swallowed nervously between words of the chant. They were shocked that they hadn’t made a mistake yet but the adrenaline that was buzzing in their head seemed to be keeping them on task. Fortunately, neither Bloody Mary nor the Sandman seemed to have noticed them, in fact, Winston was almost certain that they were after Jasmine, which was both comforting and … well not. Winston didn’t need to lose another friend to anything malevolent like these two creeps. However, Zinnia was doing a pretty good job of keeping this thing busy, but Winston knew that she wouldn’t be able to keep it up forever. This was something that they were going to need to end and quickly. They were nearly there, Winston knew that much, they just wished that there was more they could do to help. Just don’t look in her eyes, that was all they could do for now. The lake seemed to be responding to their magic and Winston knew that this was all only a matter of time.

By all indication, their weird hybrid of magic and exorcism was working which brought some relief to Jasmine. It felt like it had been forever since she’d gotten a decent night’s sleep with Mr. Sand Creep plaguing her. As if sensing her there, he was making his way toward them. Well, crap. Now wasn’t the time to cower though. Sure, physically speaking, she wasn’t the biggest and baddest to fight, but she was smart and they had a ritual here. He was trying to interrupt them for a reason so she steeled her resolve and stood a bit taller. Zinnia seemed to have chopping the Sandman handled even though he reformed entirely too quickly for her liking. Her free hand wrapped around the amber stone on her necklace to give her some additional focus. Now that the sand was back in shape, it seemed to be coming toward her, but she refused to be shaken. She just said the words even louder hoping it’d make this whole thing go quicker. It felt unnerving to not flinch in the face of danger, but she had to trust Zinnia was going to keep them safe while they finished this. She could feel the pull of their words keep Mary in the lake, soon Sandman would follow her, too.

“Oh, no you don’t--” Zinnia seethed as she twisted around, whisking a branch off of the ground. She cut it through Sandman’s chest, impaling it. It did very little, but the sand began to reform over the branch, now making it a part of him. That might work, it’d give her something to grab onto. Zinnia couldn’t let it get to either Jasmine or Winston-- if it did, their plan would be ruined. She grabbed another branch off of the ground and quickly thrust it adjacent to the first branch. Once the sand formed over it, she gave a swift, quick tug. They moved, but just barely. Zinnia tightened her grip and tugged on the branches, yanking him away from both Jasmine and Winston. The sandman twisted, falling onto the ground further away from the two. Good. Zinnia approached him again, ignoring the way sand began to crawl up her arm as she held onto the branch tightly, dragging him further away. The exhaustion she had begun to feel was weighing heavy on her now, but she had to make sure that the witches weren’t interrupted. At any cost. Zinnia yanked again, one of the branches coming clean through the sandman, making her falter backwards. Zinnia moved forward again, ripping at the second branch and tugged as hard as she could, sending the Sandman flying towards the lake, just a few feet from the shore.

Winston’s fingers twitched as they watched Zinnia take on the Sandman. Watching someone beat the ever loving shit out of something as cemented in folklore as the sandman, with nothing less than literal sticks was maybe one of the most impressive things that Winston had ever seen and they were almost certain that there was a good chunk of experience there. As Zinnia fought the Sandman back towards the lake, Winston could see the beacons hum and resonate with power, it was as if simple technological objects could feel the itch of the magic and were begging to get to work. Technomancy was a touchy thing and Winston had never tried combining it with magic that exorcists used, it was similar but very very different in so many ways. “Get him into the circle so we can banish him.” That was all Winston had time to say before the next round of chanting could begin.

With the Sandman not rapidly approaching her anymore, Jasmine was able to let out a breath she hadn’t realized was lodged in her throat. Her heart was still booming, but they had to move on to the next part of the ritual. The water around the lake seemed to be rising which had to mean this was working. All they needed was to get the Sandman in the circle so that he’d eventually get pulled into the lake with Mary. Thankfully, Winston already called out the directions. She could see the beacons they set up starting to do something. She didn’t understand them, but she trusted them when it came to the magic stuff. This part of the incantation was more familiar to her. Most of it was derived from the normal banishment ritual she used with a few adjustments to fit this situation. Experimenting wasn’t exactly her thing, but dire situations called for dire measures. She kept her focus steady and trusted Zinnia had the Sandman handled. She’d been doing one hell of a job so far.

Zinnia heard Winston’s voice and she flickered her gaze back towards them. She gave a curt nod before she approached the Sandman again, grabbing onto the stick that was beginning to slip out of his chest. She gave him one swift shove, careful to avoid his body, just in case he decided to close around her instead of the stick that was still protruding out of him. He hit the water with a resounding splash and Zinnia quickly backed up, unsure of what the magic would do to her if she were too close. She kept her eyes on the Sandman, and on the back of Bloody Mary’s head as she took careful, but quick steps back towards the other two.

Whoever this was… what was her name? Zinnia? Well whatever it was, she seemed to be very good at what she was doing and Winston was glad that she was on their side and not against them on this one. As the sandman splashed backwards into the water, Winston poured their will, energy and desire into the spell. It had been carefully crafted and carefully designed to lock the pair of them into a magical pocket that would prevent them from escaping again. Winston was frankly exhausted. A combination of late nights working on this and the energy it was taking. Sweat beaded on their forehead and Winston spotted the surface of the lake beginning to shimmer and harden, that wasn’t meant to be happening but Winston wasn’t about to stop now. They couldn’t stop now. They had to keep going. People in White Crest were depending on them to do something and if they didn’t then who knew how it would go?

All Jasmine could think as Zinnia threw the Sandman into the lake is how grateful she was for the internet. Her energy was fading quickly and she was sure they would have been actual toast if it hadn’t been for her keeping the Sandman away. The combination of lack of sleep and the effort that went into exorcisms made every limb in her body feel as if it was full of stones. She felt weighed down, but there was no giving up now. The town was depending on them to get rid of these malignant spirits even if they didn’t realize it. Though her throat felt like sand was still scratching it, she kept her chanting loud and consistent. From what she could see through blurred vision, it was working. The water was higher, but looked as if it was turning solid? Maybe that was just the exhaustion that kept pinching the edge of her eyes playing tricks with her vision. Even if it was solid, they had to keep going. Anything else would mean these two harmful beings would be free to plague the town once more. So she pushed forward, even though every muscle in her body felt as if it was on fire.

The closer Zinnia got to the two, the more she could see their exhaustion. She knew it all too well. Their expressions and hunched figures were similar to her own when she would have to pour healing into an individual or being that came to her while injured. Her lips twitched into a frown as she reached them. Silently, she extended her hand and placed it onto Winston’s shoulder. It was an attempt, and she wasn’t entirely familiar with the way magic really worked, at least, not the kind that Winston was pouring from their tongue. Hopefully the connection would help. She stared across at the water, watching as the water continued to vibrate. The mumble became a song about what was taking place, and Zinnia found it hard to focus on the Sandman as he began to stiffen.. She wondered if this was it, if the two were actually going to do it.

Bones feeling like led, Winston had to admit that usually they didn’t like being touched without warning. But when Zinnia did it in that moment, they were shocked by the energy that shot through them. Their back went stiff, their body reinvigorated with new life as an almost unbelievable well of energy was suddenly open to them. They had been previously concerned that they just didn’t have the energy that was required of them, but with whatever the hell was in Zinnia now available to Winston they felt that energy overflowing from them and expelling itself. It flowed into the spell like a river that was flooding past the barriers of a dam and Winston could see the Sandman dissolve into the water faster as the water began to solidify. Winston wasn’t sure if this was doing what it was meant to be doing. But what they were sure of in that moment was that without Zinnia this would’ve all certainly failed.

They were all together now and Zinnia’s presence seemed to be giving them the last bit of energy they needed to complete this ritual. They were so close and Jasmine pushed herself to keep saying the incantations strongly despite how weak her body felt. This was the last leg and they’d come too far to fail now. The energy was swirling through the air around them and she saw the Sandman disintegrate into the lake. There was the familiar feeling of relief, but they weren’t quite done yet. One more verse was all it’d take. She repeated the words that felt like sand on her tongue and watched as the lake seemed to glass over somehow. The final words left her lips and she found herself wanting to sink into the ground, but they needed to make sure this worked. “I think we did it,” she said with the edge of exhaustion prevalent in her tone. Her running shoes became covered in mud as she approached what was the lake. It didn’t look like water anymore, but rather glass. That wasn’t supposed to happen. She frowned, but it seemed both spirits were trapped beneath the surface. “It looks like they’re trapped, but the lake isn’t doing so hot.”

Zinnia’s skin felt alive, buzzing with electricity. The longer she stood there, her hand on Winston’s shoulder, the more she felt like she’d dissolve into the earth below her. She tried to focus, tried not to think about other things. If she kept her mind clear, maybe that would help. She had run into spellcasters, into witches, they all operated differently. If she hadn’t owed a favor, she rarely helped them, her own skin too important to protect at the risk of divulging what she was. The Sandman and Bloody Mary, however, they needed to be taken care of. If this were the way to do it, then Zinnia would comply. She had done her fair share of taking out those who needed to be dealt with, but Bloody Mary did not take kindly to reason, no matter the extent of how innocent the deceased had been. Zinnia blinked a few times, watching as the lake was shiny and reflecting. Jasmine’s words cut through her daze and she glanced over to her, removing her hand from Winston’s shoulder. Zinnia followed Jasmine slowly, her gaze fixated on the lake. “Is that not what you meant to do? What was supposed to happen?” She asked, unsure.

Swallowing, Winston sank to their knees by the edge of the lake and tapped it. A dull, hollow noise rang out as the glass echoed with the rapping of their fists. “Well, I mean, I’m sure that we trapped Bloody Mary and … and the Sandman,” Winston was out of breath and somewhat flustered, this whole thing had been draining and it felt like there were weights tied to their ankles, “but … I ... “ their brain was moving at a million and three miles per hour as they tried to work out how exactly this had gone so wrong. “I don’t know why it’s turned into glass, the amount of energy we transferred would be more then enough then to turn this into glass but the truth is that there’s nothing in the magic that we did that would lead to this and I’m not really sure that it makes any sense for it to have transmutated into glass. Like … obviously I’m not an expert on alchemy but this is beyond the scope of the magic that we just used.” Winston swallowed and frowned. “I just… I don’t get it.”

It seemed to Jasmine that all of them were equally as perplexed by the lake turning to glass. As far as the ritual went, Winston was right, nothing they’d written out seemed to add to this outcome. At the very least, Bloody Mary and Sandman would be gone forever now. That was what really mattered though this could certainly turn into an ecological disaster. There’d have to be some sort of fix that they’d work out later. As it was, Jasmine’s legs felt like jelly and she had the familiar sensations of fatigue that usually came post exorcisms. She let out a resigned sigh and took a few steps closer to the lake. She clicked her heel against the shore only to hear a slight clunk as it clicked against the glass. “Well,” she started with hands on her hips, “There’s not much we can do about the lake now. At least, Bloody Mary and Sandman are gone. Fixing the lake will be our next project I guess.”

The exhaustion began to bloom in the set of Zinnia’s shoulders. She hadn’t realized how much energy she would need to give Winston in order to make their spell work, but she had more than enough to supply. She reached up to rub the back of her neck as she looked onward towards the lake, searching for any sign of movement, any sign that Jasmine’s and Winston’s enchantments hadn’t worked. “Whatever you did, it worked.” She looked behind her to look at Winston. She forced a smile, doing her best to make it look lively. “For now, this is what needed to happen to ensure everyone's safety.” Her own safety, too, was a major catalyst for her involvement in the banishment to begin with-- she was a target, of course. “I don’t believe I’ll be of much assistance with the lake.” Zinnia smoothed her hand against the back of her neck. “I’m glad, however, we were able to work together to get rid of these beings.” She looked between Jasmine and Winston, making a note of them-- they were more powerful than she had considered.

Winston curiously wrapped their knuckles against the reflective surface of the lake, the glass echoed as their fists bounced against the surface of it. “You were kind of amazing,” Winston admitted looking at both of them, “I know that this was a team effort and I definitely couldn’t have done any of this without you guys.” Winston had known Jasmine for years but Zinnia was completely new to them on this. “Thank you for helping me with the energy and thank you for helping me with the spell.” Winston leaned back and sat on the edge of the lake, taking a long deep breath and sighing gently. “We really did it, we really … we really just destroyed Bloody Mary and the Sandman. Before this month I didn’t even know that they existed but somehow we’ve managed to destroy two of the most iconic folklore myth things … ever. Fuck.”

#wickedswriting #winston #zinnia #a lake of sand and glass

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flowerfan2 · 3 years

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Part of You Indefinitely - Ch. 5

David/Patrick, M, 15k so far, A03

Summary: An accident sends Patrick to the hospital and terrifies David. What follows changes their relationship in ways David and Patrick never imagined. A story of love and its challenges.

Chapter 5

The next week is tough. Patrick has PT every weekday morning at the hospital in Elmdale, and while they’re getting better at making the transfer from bed to chair to car to chair to car and back home again, it’s still awkward and tiring. Worse, Patrick doesn’t seem to be getting any better, at least not where his ability to support himself on his legs is concerned. He still goes practically limp when David hauls him up, and David doesn’t know how to raise the subject, even though it’s right there in his arms.

By the time they’re into their second week since Patrick came home, David starts spending a few hours a day out of the house. He has a lot of vendor visits to make, since he had postponed everything that was on the calendar after Patrick’s accident. Patrick seems generally annoyed at him, but David can’t tell if it’s because he doesn’t want David to leave, or he wishes he wouldn’t come back.

Nothing seems to make Patrick happy. David came home one evening to find him messing around with his guitar, and asked if he would play something for him, but Patrick just snapped at him and refused. When David brought home cheese samples from a new vendor, Patrick complained that if they ate that instead of dinner, they were wasting the groceries he had ordered. If David offers to get him a drink, Patrick accuses David of not trusting him to do it himself; if David doesn’t offer, Patrick pouts.

Late Wednesday afternoon David lets himself into the house quietly. Patrick has gotten in the habit of taking long naps after his morning physical therapy sessions, and David doesn’t want to disturb him. But Patrick is wide awake, glaring at David from the couch the minute he walks in.

“I can’t believe you did this,” Patrick says. “It’s my house too, you know. You could have asked me.”

David takes in a deep breath and tries to remain calm. “Asked you about what?”

“Very funny. I hardly needed you to advertise my problems to the whole town. You know how I feel about keeping stuff private, and you did it anyway.”

“Patrick, seriously, what are you talking about?” David can feel Patrick’s anger like a wave, pushing at his chest and making it hard to breathe.

“Our fucking bathroom.”

David goes into the house’s only full bath, and sure, it’s a bit of a mess. But then he pushes aside the shower curtain and sees a handrail has been added to the back wall, three feet of diagonal reminder that Patrick can’t hold himself up. When he turns back towards the door he sees that there’s another handle next to the toilet. They are definitely eyesores in the midst of their black and white vintage subway tile, but he doesn’t think the aesthetics are what Patrick is upset about.

He goes back to the living room, where Patrick proceeds to yell at him some more. David zones out briefly, unable to come up with any response in the face of Patrick’s verbal assault, until his brain manages to catch on one accusation.

“Patrick, I didn’t do this. I had no idea. I didn’t ask for this either.”

“You told Jocelyn to come over to babysit, and then you had Roland come instead.”

David is shaking his head repeatedly. “No, I didn’t. I mean yes, Jocelyn said she would stop by, but I didn’t tell Roland to come.”

“That’s what Roland said.”

“You’re going to take Roland’s word over mine? You think I’m lying to you?”

“He said he texted you. That’s proof. You can’t deny it.”

David fumbles for his phone and shoves it at Patrick. “My phone’s dead. Has been all afternoon.”

Patrick tries in vain to turn it on, and then wheels himself over to the side table and plugs it in. “You said you would support me, and then you do this,” Patrick says bitterly, watching the phone as it slowly comes to life.

It’s incredibly unfair, and David can’t help but point this out. “Okay, one, I didn’t tell Roland to install anything, and I’d appreciate the courtesy of you actually trusting me here.” His voice is rising, and he can’t stop himself. “And two, what if I had asked him to install some safety handrails? It’s a good idea – you’re totally unstable in there, and getting you in and out of the tub is a disaster waiting to happen. I’m glad Roland thought of it – I wish I had thought of it myself!”

“Are you serious?” Patrick asks, his voice dropping low and, if possible, even more furious. “After everything I’ve told you, you want to bolt a reminder to the wall of how inadequate I am – how can you say that?”

“Oh, that’s rich – you haven’t told me anything, how am I supposed to know what you’re thinking?”

“You don’t even try. You don’t give a shit about what I’m going through. You’re just a selfish, spoiled brat.”

David feels like Patrick has gut punched him, and all the air flies out of the room. He stumbles back, shoving open the door and winding up against the car, hunched over and panting furiously. When he can breathe again, he gets in and drives away.

He winds up at the Wobbly Elm, which is a terrible place to try to drown his sorrows. He’s hardly anonymous here, and he instantly spots several people from the town. Before he can sneak out, someone sits down next to him at the bar. He leans his head down on the sticky wood, wishing he could sink into it and disappear.

“You don’t look too good, David Rose,” Ronnie says. At least it’s her and not Bob or Twyla or someone that might try to cheer him up.

“I’m not in the mood to talk, Ronnie.” He can hear how rough his own voice is, whether from crying or yelling, he’s not sure.

“Word is your boy’s having a tough time.”

David huffs out a laugh. “That’s one way to put it.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

David picks up his head and stares at her. “None of your business.”

She shrugs. “Fine. But you two have gone from the town’s sappiest couple to a pair of misery twins, and I don’t give you good odds unless something changes.”

“That’s dark, even for you.”

“No point in sugar-coating it.” Ronnie gets up from the bar and pats David on the shoulder in an uncharacteristic show of affection. “You let me know if you want to talk. You wouldn’t believe the shit Karen and I got up to when we were younger. It’s a miracle the woman still speaks to me.”

“Ronnie,” David says despite himself, as she starts to walk away. “I think I’m losing him.”

She turns around and gives him a long look. “Well, if you’ve noticed, he probably has too. Maybe you better talk with him about it, before things get worse.”

David nurses his glass of wine for a few more minutes. He doesn’t really want to go home, but he realizes that Patrick’s been alone there for almost an hour now, which makes David feel even more awful. He considers calling his dad to see if he could stop by the house and check on him, but that would just make Patrick angrier, and he’s not sure what that would even look like.

On the drive back he makes himself do some yoga breaths, which don’t necessarily calm him down but at least they push back the edge of impending panic that’s he’s been teetering on for the past hour. He’s not even sure what he’s going to say to Patrick.

<i>You’re just a selfish, spoiled brat.</i> There was a time when this might have been a pretty accurate description of David, but it isn’t any longer; it hasn’t been for a long time. And it’s never described the David that Patrick knows.

He and Patrick had their moments before they got married, but overall things have been so good, David was lulled into forgetting how devastating is to have someone you trust betray you. It occurs to him that may have been exactly how Patrick felt when Roland came in to install the handrails – as ridiculous as it seems in hindsight. David still can’t really believe that Patrick would take safety handrails as a betrayal, but it seems to have triggered Patrick in a way David doesn’t understand.

Regardless of the reason, David has never seen Patrick so angry. It was frightening, and hurtful, and David really, really doesn’t like it.

The ironic thing is that the person who is best at making him feel safe is the one who is scaring him.

Back at the house, David scans the kitchen and living room, but Patrick isn’t there. Gingerly, he walks down the hall to their bedroom. The room is dim, and David’s eyes go immediately to Patrick’s wheelchair; his heart skips a beat when he registers that it’s empty. But then he sees a long lump under the covers, and some small part of him relaxes.

Patrick got himself into bed, presumably without help. That’s a huge step. If David didn’t feel so desperately miserable right now, he’d be cheering.

The lump shifts and Patrick lifts his head up. His eyes are red and swollen. “David. You came back.”

“Of course I came back.” David can’t seem to move, though, standing in the doorway with his arms wrapped around his waist. “Um, look, I’m sorry-”

“What? No, David, I’m so sorry. I was horrible to you, I can’t believe I said those things.” Patrick gulps in air, and David sees that he’s crying, maybe has been for a while given how congested his voice sounds. “I was so angry, but it shouldn’t have been at you. What I said wasn’t true. I don’t think that. I don’t know why you put up with me, you’re not selfish at all, I am, I’m awful-”

That’s it, David can’t take it, he rushes across the room and wraps Patrick in his arms. “No, no no no, absolutely not, don’t you dare say that about yourself.” He pulls Patrick close and tucks his head into his neck, stroking his short hair. Patrick is a crying, trembling mess, sweaty and flushed. “You are the least selfish person I know, you are not awful, you’re not.”

“I screamed at you,” Patrick sobs. “I scared you.”

David doesn’t quite know what to say to this, because it’s more or less true. “You didn’t mean to.” He knows that’s true, too, as soon as he says it.

“I never wanted to be that person. I never wanted to hurt you. I’m so sorry, oh my god, David, I’m so sorry.”

David holds Patrick as he cries, heart-wrenching sobs that shake his whole body. He loses track of time, petting Patrick’s head and rubbing his back. “It’s okay, it’s okay,” David murmurs. “I’m here, I’m not going anywhere, it’s okay.” When Patrick finally starts to calm down, David reaches over to the bedside table and grabs a handful of tissues.

“Thank you,” Patrick says, blowing his nose noisily and wiping his face. He’s an ugly crier. David kind of loves that about him.

“So, um, how’d you get out of your chair?”

Patrick sniffs hard, then reaches up with both hands and grabs on to the top of the headboard to demonstrate. “I kind of swung myself over.”

David nods. “Good job.”

Patrick shakes his head. “Nothing about this day is good.”

David can tell Patrick just wants to burrow back under the covers and go to sleep, and he’s so close to letting him off the hook. But sticking their heads in the sand is what has gotten them here, to a place where even taciturn Ronnie Lee is judging them for their failure to communicate.

“We, um, we should really talk.”

Patrick pushes himself up to a sitting position, putting a little distance between himself and David. “I know.”

“I’m worried about you,” David says carefully, watching Patrick out of the corner of his eye. It’s hard to look at him directly and say this. “And, um, I’m worried about us.”

If possible, Patrick’s face goes even whiter, the pink splotches on his skin from crying standing out in stark relief.

“David, what… what are you saying?”

“Patrick, I love you, I love you so much. But we’re both struggling and I don’t know how to fix it.”

Patrick is shaking, and he opens and closes his mouth a few times before sound comes out. “But – but you want to fix it, right?”

“I absolutely do,” David says, biting his lip. “There’s nothing more important to me. But you have to want it too. Even if you’re in a bad place, even if you’re feeling lost, you can’t keep shutting me out. Patrick… I miss you.”

“The old me.”

“You. You’re still you.”

“Hardly.”

“That’s not true, of course you are.”

“You don’t believe that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You treat me differently. Like I’m going to break. You won’t even touch me.”

David takes this in, trying to understand. “Do you mean sex?” he asks, puzzled.

“Yes, I mean sex,” Patrick says, quiet and sad. “We used to fool around every day, sometimes twice. Now all I get are vaguely reassuring hugs and pats on the shoulder.”

David is stunned, and somewhat offended – hugging Patrick is the best feeling in the world. “You told me you weren’t comfortable doing anything more,” David says slowly. “You were very clear. I was respecting your wishes. I was listening to you.”

“David, I was in the hospital – I said I didn’t want to fool around <i>in the hospital!</i>”

David takes in the appalled look on Patrick’s face, and suddenly he’s laughing like a crazy person, and Patrick is too. When they can breathe again, David takes Patrick’s face in his hands and kisses him hard, Patrick responding just as fiercely, until Patrick has to pull away and gasp for air.

“Still can’t really breathe through my nose,” Patrick coughs, and David bursts into laughter again, handing him another tissue.

*****

The next morning David wakes up with Patrick curled around him, warm against his back. For a minute he doesn’t remember Patrick’s accident, it’s just a normal morning in bed with his very favorite person.

“David?”

“Hmm?”

“We have to get up soon.”

Reality seeps in, this new world where David no longer has the luxury of demanding to be left alone until ten a.m., where Patrick is more dependent upon him than anyone has ever been before.

“Okay.” He starts to move towards the edge of the bed, but Patrick tightens the arm around his chest, and he stops, realizing that this is the first time in a long time that Patrick has held him like this. “Um, everything okay?”

“I love when you hold me,” Patrick says, barely audible. “You do it all the time, like it’s the most natural thing in the world for you to want to touch me. You make me feel safe. I should never have said….” He takes a deep breath. “I’d… I’d be so sad if you stopped hugging me. Don’t stop, okay?”

David rolls over and takes Patrick into his arms, pulling him tight against his chest, and wrapping a leg over his thigh. “I won’t. I love it too.” David’s heart is so full, he feels like it might overflow. “I love you.”

“Thank you for making this happen for us,” Patrick whispers, and David hums in response, their catch phrase making him smile as it always does.

“Always.”

#schitt's creek #schitt's creek fic #David Rose #Patrick Brewer

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wolf-mask · 4 years

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Why Borderlands 3 is Disappointing

Borderlands 3 is a fun game mechanically. I’ve spent almost 6 plus DAYS worth of hours playing the game. I finished every side quest and every collectible. The only thing I haven’t done is collect all the echo logs, but I’ve listened to all of them. The only complaint I have with the game is the story. I’ve ranted to my friend about this and, like they said,

“it feels like great writers set up a world and cast with a ton of potential and plans laid out, and then halfway through a different team of writers took over and there was 0 communication between the two groups.”

There was so much potential for Borderlands 3 to be good, but instead it came out “Meh.” and that seems to be what everyone thinks. After watching multiple reviews, there are 4 points of BL3’s story that people pick out as detrimental to the story.

If I’ve forgotten anything, or something sticks out to you that can be explained away by canon, please let me know.

More under the read more

1. The Calypso Twins

I have 2 complaints about the Calypso twins: their unexplained motivations and the writers’ choice of focus.

This is my own personal complaint, but why do the Calypso’s have these motivations? Sure, I get it. Tyreen wants to open the Great Vault because she thinks its her birthright as the daughter of the first vault hunter. But why become a God? I understand the whole wanting to be the most famous person thing but she could’ve just opened the vault to do that, look at Lilith and the other Vault Hunters. So why become a God? How did she come to that conclusion? Why build up an army? Why cause galaxy wide pandemonium when you could just become a Vault Hunter like the current and past playable characters? She even says herself they came to Pandora to be Vault Hunters! So why start a CULT? None of that is really answered by the game. Instead we’re given surface level villains with a surface level backstory. We never find out how their mother died.

The main complaint I’ve seen in these reviews is the story’s focus on the villains. Tyreen is never given screen time. We never learn more about her nor does she undergo any kind of character growth to become a good villain, yet she becomes the Final Boss. Instead, Troy gets most of the character development. Troy is the main focus out of the two villains, he gets the character growth after taking Maya’s powers. Troy is the more compelling villain out of the twins. He starts from the bottom, forced to rely on his sister to live but she sees him as nothing more than a parasite. He’s constantly forced into the background, be a follower, kept under his sister’s heel as she gets what she wants.

After taking Maya’s powers, however, he figures out he doesn’t have to depend on Tyreen. He starts crawling away from Tyreen’s shadow to stand by himself. The cultists start to worship him just as much as Tyreen, he starts hijacking the echo calls, he starts disagreeing with Tyreen’s leadership. The scene in Jakobs mansion makes it seem like Troy is scheming on his own. All of this focus, compounded with Tyreen’s comments during Troy’s boss fight, hints that TROY will become the Final Boss. But instead of having a compelling villain who’s crawled out from under his sister’s shadow, we kill Troy and we’re left with the less interesting villain. If they HAD to go with Tyreen as the main villain, they should’ve given her character growth to make her more compelling. You’d think she’d show some sort of growth after having her brother killed and killing her father, but nothing ever from that. She just stays a one dimensional character throughout the main plot.

2. Maya’s Death

Maya’s death was severely mishandled in Borderlands 3. In the context of the story, Maya had to die eventually, but that doesn’t mean her death couldn’t have been pushed back though.

Compare Maya’s death in Borderlands 3 to Roland’s death in Borderlands 2. In BL2, Roland’s death had more impact because we spent more time with him (Over half the game to be exact, 11 out of 20 story missions), he spent most of the game guiding the player, and we got to see him interact with other characters as well as see how his death affected other characters.

With Maya we spend less than a fourth of the game with her (4 out of 23 missions. She should’ve been introduced earlier and killed off later), we barely interact with her and we don’t see her interact with any other characters aside from Ava and Lilith. One of the things I loved about BL2 was being able to see the old Vault Hunters interact with each other in Sanctuary. When Maya dies, her funeral is played off as a joke, Lilith is blamed by Ava, and that’s as far as acknowledgement goes. No one besides Ava ever acknowledges Maya’s death. It’s as if her death is totally ignored.

Did Maya have to die though? Yes, but not immediately. When Tyreen drained Lilith, Lilith didn’t die. But when Troy drained Maya, why did she die? She didn’t have to at that moment. Throughout the story, Maya’s powers are an important plot point. Her powers are what allow Troy to experience some independence for the first time in his life. When Troy drained Maya he could’ve just stolen her powers and left her alive. This would have left her the potential for character growth.

So why did Maya have to die? Because Ava had to become a Siren eventually. I don’t mind Ava, I think she’s fine as a character, but if her purpose was to show how Siren powers are transferred, we already have Tannis for that. They practically shove in Ava to replace Maya as soon as she dies. It’s like taking a child’s favorite toy and shoving a new one in their arms, expecting them to like the new toy immediately. They should’ve let Ava become a Siren later down the line instead.

3. Ava’s Characterization

As I previously said, I don’t mind Ava. I think she’s an alright character as she is right now. Most people don’t think that though, and I can see why. Ava is directly responsible for Maya’s death. She disobeyed Maya’s directions and came to the Promethea Vault on her own. Due to her disobeying orders, Maya is forced to put Ava’s well being above hers. Ava further escalated the situation, leading to Maya needing to save her. This ends in Maya’s death.

Instead of taking responsibility for her actions, Ava blames Lilith for Maya’s death and claims that they need to rush in without thinking. And later on she’s praised as being right for the same thought process! When Lilith goes to sacrifice herself, she basically tells Ava she’s right. Not only that, she gives leadership of the Crimson Raiders over to a 13 year old child with no experience who got her mentor killed. At no point is she forced to face the consequences of her actions, she never goes through a character arc. Ava has the potential to be a likable character but her characterization was so botched that most people hate her now. They player should’ve been allowed to slowly learn more about Ava and watch her grow before taking over Maya’s role. Hopefully the DLC that focuses on her will do her better.

4. Ignoring the Player

The BIGGEST sin of BL3 is how it treats the player character. The achievements of the player are constantly undercut and we are consistently ignored by the narrative.

The whole game made me feel like I was the side character to the Sirens. All the other Borderlands games have focused on the Player as the main character. In BL1 the Vault Hunters killed the Destroyer, in BL2 the six vault hunters defeated the Warrior and defeated Handsome Jack, in TPS those six beat the Sentinel and helped Jack rise to power. In BL3, it feels like none of our achievements matter. As soon as we accomplish one thing, something bigger happens and that needs to be focused on. You got to Tannis after that pain in the ass fight with the Agonizer? Welp looks like Tannis is a Siren and you practically did that shit for nothing! We defeated Tyreen the Destroyer? Welp looks like Elpis is going to crash into Pandora and now Lilith has to go stop that. The only times I really felt like I was making an impact was when I wasn’t doing missions for the Sirens.

At the end of the game Ava is more acknowledged than the player and given command of an entire army. This should’ve gone to the player! The character who’s busted their ass off to bring the Raiders back from the brink of disbandment, who’s done all the heavy lifting! Hell, before going down to Promethea Lilith asks YOU to take over field operations while she’s powerless.

But what ticks me off the most is how the narrative ignores the player. Unlike the cut scenes in other Borderlands games, you are ignored. Nearly all of the cut scenes are in third person and you are NOWHERE to be seen. Maya being killed by Troy, Tyreen absorbing Troy and trying to crush the other Sirens, Tyreen killing Typhon, and Lilith’s sacrifice. We’re NEVER seen in those cut scenes. Compare this to the cut scenes in previous games, which are almost always in 1st person and if they aren’t, the 3rd person view is used when the cut scene isn’t important. In BL3, almost all the cut scenes are in 3rd person. The only time the player is acknowledged is when Troy phaselocks the player in the Jakobs Mansion, which makes this issue all the more frustrating.

Conclusion

Borderlands 3 is a graveyard of missed potential. The story could have been so much better than it came out as. I love the game from a gameplay standpoint, it’s so fun to play, but the main story is a drag to get through at this point. I don’t think it’s worth re-playing at this point and I’m going to wait for DLC to come out before playing more of it. Again, if I missed anything or you think something could be can be explained by Canon, please let me know! I have other little nitpicks I might talk about later but for now these are the main things that I think are wrong with the main story of Borderlands 3.

If you’re interested, these videos helped me in pinpointing what felt so wrong about BL3. They’re good videos to watch.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k-ws6VRYEDw&t=431s (Tina vs Ava)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=nO2qmhaRmcc (Main problem with BL3)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5lL0fAxjZnc (Wasting Maya)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ibOPCU2adkE (Why Borderlands 3 is Disappointing)

#Borderlands #Borderlands 3 #BL3 #tyreen calypso #troy calypso #maya the siren #ava the apprentice #ava the siren #my post #my rant #they could have done it so much better

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mystical-flute · 3 years

Text

Uncharted Waters 12: My Monsters are Real (And They're Trained How to Kill)

AO3 || Ko-FI

It was supposed to be a normal day.

Yugi had won the tournament, she’d soothed Seto’s ego after his loss, Marik was, apparently, no longer hunting down the items, Mai and Bakura were awake and safe, and the blimp would be en route back to Domino at any moment.

And then the alarms had started blaring.

Two portals had been opened, one in the warehouse district near the docks, and the other at a local park. Kenji and Yume had the agents divided up, orders given to suit up and try to blend in.

Reika had opted for her batons instead of her gun since they were easy to hide under the sleeve of the leather jacket she wore. Her hair was thrown into a messy ponytail, a cloaking device blocking anyone from recognizing her.

She hoped, anyway. There was no telling who may have come through.

“Two at once. You don’t think someone’s managed to co-op our tech, do you?” Aiko asked as they sped through the Domino streets.

Reika was holding onto the door for dear life, Aiko’s tires letting out the worst screeching sound. “No idea. You realize your dad said to blend in, not to go Mad Max on the roads, right?”

“We gotta get there and figure out what happened, don’t we?”

“We aren’t cops, Aiko! We don’t have si- rens !” Reika yelped at a sharp turn, before exhaling in relief when the warehouses came into view. “That’s the one, at the end.”

Because of course , it would be the last warehouse in a parade of sketchy-looking warehouses.

“Weird. It looks like it hasn’t been used in a while,” Aiko remarked, before she spoke into her earpiece. “This is Aiko. Agent Reika and I have made it to the warehouse. We’re beginning our inspection now.”

Reika frowned as she noticed the camera. “This is Reika. Can anyone at headquarters see if the cameras at this warehouse are in use?”

“Doesn’t look that way. The warehouse is supposed to be abandoned,” came the voice on the other end of the line. “Last time any sort of payment was made on it was two years ago. You’re clear for entry.”

It was unnerving how easy it was to gain entry, and after they’d divided up, she found herself wandering the lower level with Aiko.

“This is so weird,” Aiko whispered her gun at the ready. “What is all this stuff?”

Lab equipment was all she could guess. Tables were lined with beakers and test tubes, some containing God-only-knew-what sort of liquid.

“I don’t want to know, but I feel like we should call someone else about it,” she replied as they paused outside another door. “Count of three. One, two, three!”

Aiko kicked in the door.

It was a storage closet containing clean lab equipment.

“Just a storeroom, commander,” Aiko said. “We’re moving on.”

“Copy that.”

They continued down a hallway, and that’s when she heard it. A steady, rhythmic beeping.

“Is that… a heart monitor? Like they use in hospitals?” Reika questioned.

“Sure sounds like it. It’s coming from here…” Aiko said, kicking open the door, gun at the ready before pausing. “Huh. What is that?”

Reika peered into the room and felt the color drain from her face.

“No,” she whispered, edging inside.

“Holy shit, is that a kid ?”

“No…”

“It’s not?”

She ignored Aiko, forcing herself to sprint the distance to the machine. Her hand, shaking, gently rested against the glass as she stared at the figure, and the scream she’d been fighting back ripped from her throat, legs buckling and knees slamming into the hard cement floor below.

Noah Kaiba was floating in the strange, blue liquid, the steady, rhythmic beeping around her confirming her worst fears.

This was a KaibaCorp warehouse.

Noah was here.

Had Leichter known?

Sobs and dry heaves wracked her body as she curled into herself, head pressing into her knees, the world around her vanishing as all she felt was grief, six years worth, pouring onto her hands and spilling onto her lap.

“ - can’t get her to respond. She’s just been sitting there sobbing,” she heard Aiko say as reality slowly came back into focus. “Reika?”

“Huh?”

How long had it been?

“What is going on? Who is that?”

Her hands, still shaking, reached up to wipe the tears from her face as her eyes cleared.

“ That ,” she croaked, her voice strained, “is Noah Kaiba. The biological son of Gozaburo. H - he was in a car accident six years ago… Gozaburo said he was dead ! He told me he was dead !”

Hiro looked at her in concern. “I don’t know why Gozaburo would have said such a thing, because according to these documents… Noah did flatline, but they were able to save him moments later.”

It should have been good news. It should have been one of the best pieces of news she’d heard in her life, but all Reika felt was horror and despair.

“Then why is he here ?” she managed to choke out, her hand slamming against the machine. “Why didn’t he get to grow up?”

“I don’t know. I’m still looking into it.”

Reika held back a sob and tugged at her hair, then frowned when she remembered she’d put her cloaking device in. She tugged it out of her hair and let her natural appearance return. Even if Noah couldn’t see her right now, it felt wrong to not look like herself.

She slowly stood on shaking legs, using Aiko for support. “What now?”

“Now… we figure out what the hell that portal signal was. Someone wanted us here for a reason,” Hiro replied.

“I’ve found the transporter,” Yume said into their earpieces. “I’m gathering the data now.”

“Noah…” she whispered, putting her hand on the pod again. “I’m so sorry. I’m going to get you out of there.”

How? She had no idea, but now that she knew Noah was here, alive, it was only fair that she fought to get him out.

“I found something!” Miho cried from across the room. “Joey and Yugi went into a virtual game with Mokuba, right Reika?”

“Yes?” Reika responded, drawing the word out with dread.

“Noah is in a virtual world too. These papers say Gozaburo designed it after his accident, to protect his body,” Miho explained. “But the project was abandoned five years ago.”

Aiko frowned. “Five years ago? But Noah’s accident was six years ago. Why would Goz - ”

“Because he had a shiny new toy to play with,” Reika whispered, swallowing back another wave of nausea. “He abandoned Noah. Left him here to rot !”

“This is sick…” Hiro said. “We’ve got to get him out of there.”

Reika nodded as her communicator buzzed. “Agent Reika speaking.”

“... Reika?”

The little color that had returned to her face drained from it again. “Roland? How did you get this line?”

“The blimp has been hijacked. Fuguta was shot trying to protect Mr. Kaiba. Before he passed out, he gave this line to me. Which is good because our radio and cell phones are down and -”

“ Roland . Where are you?”

“Roughly fifty miles from Alcatraz.”

Reika moved the communicator away from her mouth, covering the mouthpiece with her hand. “Fuguta is down. He’s been shot,” she whispered, going back to Roland. “Roland, who hijacked the blimp? What happened?”

“It was a boy. He couldn’t have been older than Mokuba. I think they called him Noah.”

Her eyebrows raised as she looked around the room again, blocking the mouthpiece. “Get Yume in here. Now. KaibaCorp’s blimp has been hijacked and her daughter is on board.”

Hiro’s face went white as he began speaking into his device.

“Continue, Roland.”

“He ordered Seto, Mokuba, Yugi, Joey Wheeler, Tristan Taylor, Téa Gardner, and Mai Valentine out of the blimp. When we tried to follow, Fuguta was shot. I don't know what happened after that. What is this device I’m calling you on? Why did you call yourself ‘Agent’?”

“I’ll explain later,” Reika said. “If I need anything else, I’ll contact you.”

Reika had to take deep breaths as she ended the communication. “If the virtual world Noah is in is on KaibaCorp’s servers… and the virtual reality game Seto created is on KaibaCorp’s servers…”

“The Big Five might be involved,” Aiko finished, reading her mind. “Good God, Reika, do you think they would agree to kidnap the people you care about? I mean, didn’t you tell me Leichter was a mentor to you?”

“They did it once before. What’s stopping them from doing it again with who was supposed to be the original heir to KaibaCorp? The KaibaCorp that they wanted?”

AIko didn’t respond.

“Alright, listen up! We don’t have time to waste. Kenji and his team will stay here and look for more information,” Yume said as the squad gathered in the room. “Meanwhile we’re going to go to the KaibaCorp blimp to figure out what happened there. Cloaking devices on. We don’t need everyone to know who we are… Reika, you’re free to leave yours off.”

The coordinates were added to Yume’s teleporter, the deep blue ripping open. One by one, the agents stepped through.

The first thing she noticed was the whimpering girl sitting in one of the pilot’s chairs.

“Hey…” she said softly, kneeling next to her. “What’s your name?”

“S-Serenity.”

Reika smiled. “So you’re the famous Serenity I’ve heard so much about! I’m Reika. I’m Yugi’s cousin. You’re worried about Joey, huh?”

Serenity nodded. “Y-you look worried too.”

“I am. But I’m going to make sure everyone gets back here safely.”

“How?”

Reika smiled, giving Serenity a look of confidence. “I’m going to beat up the bad guys, of course!”

“Hey Serenity, I thought - Reika? How the hell did you get here? Who are you people?” Duke asked, tensing as he took in the strangers.

Yume straightened. “We’re special agents. We’ve received word that KaibaCorp has access to technology it shouldn’t, and when we heard one of our agents was shot, we came to investigate.”

Roland lost what little color he had left in his face. “One of your -”

Another agent stepped forward. “Commander, I’ll stay behind to fill in Roland and check on Fuguta. The rest of you should go and find the kids that were kidnapped.”

Yume nodded. “Very well.”

“I’m coming with you!” Duke suddenly said. “I’m not just going to sit here while my friends get hurt!”

“Me either!” Serenity said, suddenly filled with confidence.

Yume sighed, looking like she expected this. “Fine. We have enough weapons to protect you both should things go south.”

“Wait! You can’t go out there! They have guns attached to the walls! They’re motion activated!” Roland fretted. “If anything happened to Miss Muto, Mr. Kaiba would kill me!”

She was touched at the sentiment and angry that her house of cards was collapsing all at the same time. “Roland,” she said softly. “It’s okay, I promise. Let’s test the guns. See if they’re still operational now that Noah has what he wants.”

Duke had brought Serenity an apple, so they tossed that out of the blimp. When no guns went off, Reika slowly stepped outside as well.

“They’re not operational. Noah must be distracted. Let’s go.”

The agents huddled around Duke and Serenity, and the group made their way into the building, winding their way through the hallways, some agents breaking off to gather information after fighting off the robot guards, before they finally arrived at a large room, filled with pods, not unlike the one Noah was in.

Yugi and the others were inside.

“Joey!” Serenity squeaked, rushing over to his pod.

Duke followed, holding her back. “Serenity, don’t touch it! We don’t know what it does.”

“But we have to get them out of there!”

“We will,” Yume said, though she was trembling as she stared at Téa’s pod. “The question is, how?”

“I’ll go in,” Reika said. “If the Big Five are involved, maybe I can convince them this is a bad idea and they’ll tell me the way out of there.”

Yume sighed. “I don’t like it, but I don’t see what other choice we have. Just be careful, Agent Muto.”

Reika nodded, getting into one of the spare pods and feeling the world fade to black.

She felt a soft pillow under her head and the weight of her batons still hidden in her jacket.

She could smell the barest hint of cigar in the air.

She could see bright lights behind her still-closed eyelids.

She could hear a man with an American southern accent whispering as soft jazz played from a nearby speaker. It was familiar. Comforting.

It was wrong .

Reika’s eyes flew open as she quickly sat up, a wave of dizziness washing over her for a moment when she tried to orient herself.

“Miss Reika.”

She took a deep breath, raising her head and locking eyes with him. “Mr. Leichter.”

“You’re lucky I managed to secure your mind before it got too far in this world,” Leichter chastised. “Otherwise, you’d be in your worst memories. I don’t want that for you. I don’t want you here at all.”

“Did you expect me to not try to stop you once I found out you’d kidnapped people I loved again ?” she questioned.

“You should know by now that people that cross KaibaCorp very rarely get the chance to escape. Your family should not be an exception to the rule. But I can make this world better for you. Anything you want can be yours here,” Leichter said, crossing the room and standing before her.

She rolled her eyes. “Okay then, what I want is for all of us to get out of here. Including you and the rest of the Big Five. I can help you, Leichter.”

Leichter laughed softly and grabbed her chin. “No, Miss Reika. You can’t help me. No one can.”

“That isn’t true. I have friends - ”

“It’s too late for that.” The grip on her chin tightened, and he frowned, considering. “Your eyes are holding so much pain. I’ll protect you though. No more yelling or fighting.”

“What are you talking about?”

Leichter’s eyes seemed to soften, just a touch. “Your parents… then Master Noah… and going to school, was it? Must have been so difficult…”

Why was he questioning her going to school?

Reika felt her pulse quicken as she tried to pull away, to no avail. “Leichter, let go.”

“No, no, Miss Reika. I think I’d like to see some of your happy, happy memories from your time away.”

The office fell away, and for a moment, they stood in darkness.

“So you made it to California okay?” Yugi had asked on the phone.

“Yep! LAX was a nightmare to get through, but I found my guide. I’m unpacking now. You should see it, Yugi. The sun, the sand, the water…”

“We have all of that in Japan.”

She’d laughed. “I know, but it feels… different somehow. It’s probably just the butterflies.”

“So what are you going to do first?”

“You mean after I take a nap?”

Yugi laughed. “Yeah, after that.”

“I dunno. I’ll probably get to know my roommate, or take a walk around campus. It’s huge, so I should get my bearings before classes start.”

“That’s a good idea. I should get to bed. It’s past midnight here.”

“Yeah, get some rest, Yugi. I’ll try to call you later.”

The scenery returned, and it was the I.D.R.A’s base in Loguetown, an apartment above a bakery, with the teleporter hidden in an attic. Large windows faced the sea, and she remembered how she used to watch the ships in her downtime, wondering when she’d find a crew of people she could trust to take her out there with them.

“This is not California, Miss Reika…” Leichter suddenly said. “This isn’t anywhere I’ve ever seen. And you know I’ve been to many countries with Mr. Kaiba.”

Reika said nothing, staring down at the floor.

Leichter grabbed her chin again, forcing her gaze. “Miss Reika, did you hear me?”

“The I.D.R.A is watching. You should be more gentle with me,” she snarled as the room twisted and warped to the deck of the Going Merry.

They were safe. They had managed to escape from Loguetown and no Marines were in sight. The skies had finally cleared too, and it was nothing but peaceful.

“So what do you think so far?” Sanji questioned as she sat with him in the galley. “Any regrets?”

She laughed softly. “It’s certainly a lot to get used to, but no, no regrets. Even if I did have some, wouldn’t it be too late?”

“I’m sure Nami-swan would be able to find an island to drop you off at.”

She wrinkled her nose. “And sit for another month to find someone going to Loguetown? No way! I’m where I need to be.”

“What do you mean?”

Reika paused, sipping at the tea he’d insisted she have. “I mean… I feel like I belong here, on this ship, with you guys. I spent so long feeling trapped and helpless after my parents went missing that it's nice to feel like I belong somewhere, that I can do something to try to find them. You know?”

“I guess,” Sanji said, taking a drag of his cigarette. “It took me a while to feel like I belonged here. I’m just surprised you could leave your aunt behind so easily.”

“Who says it’s easy?” she questioned. “But it’ll be worth it when I can find out what happened to them and give the rest of the family some peace of mind.”

“The I.D.R.A managed to ensnare you. Oh, Miss Reika, I’m so sorry. If I had known, I would have stopped them much sooner!”

She stepped away from him, her arms raised in a defensive position. “Stopped them? They’re the only ones that can find my parents!”

Leichter waved his hand and the world warped, spinning out of control. “I know. I know, that’s the one thing you want in this world. And I will give it to you.”

“Leichter, what are you - ”

The spinning stopped, Leichter vanished, and Reika fell to her knees at what the world had twisted into.

Her childhood bedroom.

“Not here…” she whispered. “Anywhere but here.”

“I told you I would take care of you, Miss Reika. You won’t have any more pain here.”

“Leichter, please !”

“Little star! Can your father and I talk to you?”

“Mama…” she whispered, gasping as her eight-year-old self appeared in the room.

Her parents entered right after. Genji scooped her into his arms, and her younger counterpart laughed, lifting her arms in the air.

“I’m flying!” Little Reika giggled.

“You are!” Miaka said, her laughter joining Reika’s.

Reika’s knees dug into the carpet as she watched the scene. The bedroom was exactly as she remembered it. Purple bed sheets and pillows,, with twinkling fairy lights hanging above it (“Your mother was rightfully convinced you would be born on Tanabata,” Aunt Kumi had told her), her keyboard was against another wall. Shelves of books were near the door, and stuffed animals lined her bed.

“Mr. Kaiba says we get to play for you next week!” Little Reika announced. “We’re gonna play -”

“Shh! We want to be surprised, Reika!” Genji said. “But Mama and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

Miaka smiled. “That’s right. And we’ll make sure to take a video so the rest of the family can watch too!”

“But that’s not all we had to tell you.”

Little Reika looked at them curiously.

“In two weeks, your Mama and I will be going to California for our anniversary, which means you’ll be staying with grandpa for a while. Is that okay?” Genji asked.

No!

“Okay!” Little Reika said. “Will you bring me a present home?”

“Of course we will. We wish we could bring you with us,” Miaka said. “But we’ll tell you all sorts of stories when we get home.”

(She often wondered if lying was as hard for her parents as it was for her)

“We’ll miss you so much, but I’m sure it’ll fly by. I bet grandpa has new games he can show you.”

Little Reika nodded. “Yeah! I like the Capsule Monsters game he showed me last time I was there!”

“You didn’t stop talking about it for a week! I bet you’d kick my butt at it!” Genji said with a wide smile, reaching to tickle her.

(Reika swore she could feel the feather-light touches too)

“Look at the time! I think we should start dinner,” Miaka said, kissing Little Reika’s forehead.

(Th at she felt, and it was a jolt to her system)

Genji lifted Little Reika onto his back, and the trio left the room.

Reika let out a shaking breath. “I don’t have a choice but to follow, do I?” she whispered, to no response.

Right. Azila was safe in the real world.

Heading downstairs, she froze again. Instead of dinner, the scent of pancakes and bacon filled the room.

“Ah, there you are, Reika! I swear, teens today sleep much later than we used to,” Miaka chastised from the table.

She was looking right at Reika. Not through her, not at a specter of a past Reika, but her .

Like this was real.

“I - ” she managed to choke out, her throat dry.

“Drink some juice, sweetheart, you sound half-asleep still,” Genji said as he flipped a pancake.

Reika wordlessly lifted a glass of orange juice to her lips, taking a large gulp. “I’m just really happy to see you.”

“Oh little star, did you have that nightmare where your father and I don’t come home again?”

“I… yeah.”

“Well, you don’t have to worry about that. Your father and I are here to stay .”

Wait, why did that sound wrong?

“But visually, vocally, it would be the same!” Pegasus cried.

“It wouldn’t be them .”

She gripped the glass harder than she’d meant to, and it shattered, the orange juice stinging as it mixed with the tiny cuts now on her hand.

“Oh goodness, let’s get that cleaned up!” Miaka said. While she had her back turned, Reika bolted for the door, and the world began to spin.

Her worst memories? Fine. She could handle that.

She was eight, and her parents never came home.

She was twelve, and her friend was assumed dead.

She was sixteen, and she found out her parents were never in California.

She was eighteen, and she turned herself into a criminal.

The Going Merry was eaten by a whale as soon as they entered the Grand Line.

Nami was ill, terribly so. Vivi thought she might die if they hadn’t found Drum Island.

She was clinging to a sled as it climbed up a mountain, frostbite cutting through her mittens.

(“If I take you up there and your friends don’t come, then what?” Kureha sneered.

“Then you can toss me off the mountain.”)

She was marching through a desert with the crew, the sun beating down on them.

She was thrown from a window, landing in the waters outside the casino.

She was in an alley, Mr. 3 in front of her and ready for a fight.

The clash began as it had before, before she was pinned to the ground, one baton just out of reach of her fingers while the other sat near a trash can.

Mr. 3 was babbling, and then the knife came down, cutting into her chest and shoulder and she screamed out in pain, just like before.

“REIKA!”

That didn’t happen before.

Panic surged through her as she grabbed the baton. “Jupiter’s Storm!” and Mr. 3 was blasted away.

She tried to scramble to her feet, to hide the blood that was dripping down her arm but the pain was too intense, and she found herself unable to move as Yugi and his friends loomed over her.

And the foundation to her house of cards was gone.

“Oh,” she wheezed. “Son of a bitch .”

#uncharted waters #yugioh #one piece #fanfiction #crossover

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sgtrolandhills · 4 years

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Simple Kind of Man || Nicodemus & Roland

TIMING: Last week some time, before Regan does a loud PARTIES: @bountybossier & @sgtrolandhills SUMMARY: A weary Roland runs into Nic at a bar. The two chat and have some good life talks.

Normally, Roland could find comfort in his work. That had always been a constant in his life. It was why he had excelled in school and in his career, but now, he just wasn’t so sure. Now that it seemed like he was falling short at every corner in his career, he didn’t know where to find comfort. Most of the cases that came across his desk lead him to more questions than answers and that night spent in that abandoned house with Stryder still haunted him. Reading through case files wasn’t going to dull the lingering pain that maybe he wasn’t nearly as good at his job as he thought he was. He couldn’t help but think his father would have been able to figure all of this out. In his mind, his dad had always been this larger than life figure. Jim Hills had always dutiful and committed to honoring the city he served. His dedication motivated Roland much of his life, but even outside of work, it always seemed like his dad had the answers. When the road ahead looked dangerous or unclear, he’d always drove on and somehow knew the way. Roland would have given anything for some of his guidance right now. Instead, the only Jim in his life would have to be Jim Beam. He ordered his whiskey neat with a pint of Sam Adams to wash it down and let out a disgruntled sigh, not even realizing there was a man sitting next to him. “Sorry,” he grumbled, “It’s been a bit of a day-- week-- month.”

As fun as the idea of sitting at home and drinking alone in the dark was, Nicodemus needed some kinda noise to drown out his thoughts. Hell, when had he ever been so worried? Months later, he supposed accidental murder had that effect on a person. He stressed the word accidental and as a byproduct, stressed himself out. He wasn’t about to wallow. He feared the pull of the undertow if he did that shit. And fear had been the start of it all. Not to mention the crime gig Erin had taken to. He knew she could handle herself but hell if he didn’t consider the what ifs from time to time. It was hard to wallow in it when, instead, he could order a double whiskey neat and sit back while some soccer game played. The cheers of the patrons rang loud in his sensitive ears. Shit, he was at the Perfect Pint. Football. It was a football game. He grunted and took a long drink. Grit his teeth as the whiskey nearly burned the skin of his mouth. He had asked for the cheap shit and he could taste it. The crowd quieted for a second and the sigh that came from the man next to him just about startled him. But he held fast. Held tight to his drink as he glanced over. The man looked about how he felt and by any indication, it wasn’t fucking great. Nicodemus wasn’t a man of small talk. Nicodemus after a few whiskey neats, on the other hand, sure was. “Yeah, looks that way,” he commented, before he winced and waved a hand. “Shit. Sorry. Not what I--But, uh, yeah. Been a fuckin’ year. That drink you’re havin’ for the day or the month?” He snorted and shook his head. “Whichever one’s been worse, I reckon?”

How he’d ended up in a bar of all places, Roland wasn’t sure. Here his superiors probably thought transferring him to a small town would leave him bored and stagnant. He had stark determination when he first arrived, but now everything seemed to be spiraling further and further from his grasp. Every answer he reached for seemed to float away just past his reach, just where he couldn’t see it clearly. All it led to was an ever growing stack of half solved cases on his desk. Nearly getting himself and Stryder killed had been the icing on the metaphorical cake. Finding out how wrong he’d been about Erin was a last straw of sorts. At this point, he wasn’t even sure if his drink was for the day, month, or year. All had been weighing heavy on him. “Your guess is as good as mine. I’d have to say month,” he answered, perhaps more truthfully than he would have otherwise if there weren’t a fresh shot of bourbon in his system. “From the sounds of it, I’m not the only one getting my ass handed to me by this town. Care for a shot?”

“Hear that,” Nicodemus muttered out with a small, slow nod. “Months got a way of feelin’ like years here, don’t it?” The way White Crest could make a man feel older yet younger all at the same time, no wonder the town carried itself the way it did. All just about half awake, heads just above water. As long as there was a game on and a full fridge at home, what’d they have to worry about? But hell, they stayed. He certainly had and he had stopped trying to question why. He knew why. The hunter went to take another dry sip but snorted, lowered the glass back down. “Nah, definitely ain’t just you. Ain’t that nice,” he said with a slight lift of a brow. The humor in his tone withered as he sat up straighter and heaved a sigh. “Yeah, sure, deal me in. I’ll get the next.” He leaned into the bartop, arms slightly folded together. Before he spoke up, he laughed as he looked at the other man. “What happened, if’n you don’t mind some asshole askin’?”

“You got that right,” Roland agreed and took a gulp of the beer the bartender had set down in front of him. The time flew by, but so much happened so quickly that it felt longer, somehow. At this point, he barely felt like he was keeping his head above water, but there was still too much on the line to give up entirely. All of it had little to do with his own work ethic or sense of worth anymore, people were in danger. Mores so every single day. He’d made that his weight to carry and while he needed the night off mentally, tomorrow he’d be back at it again, trying his best to make this town even a little bit safer. “At least we’re not alone in this boat… or bar, rather,” he responded with a small chuckle. He was tired, but it felt better to be talking with someone who seemingly understood. He rested his elbows on the bar with his beer mug still in his hand. He looked down at the beer momentarily before he answered, “You hardly seem like an asshole. But yeah, I guess I could do with talking about it a bit. You ever used to feel like you were really good at something-- then all of a sudden you start to realize you’re not?” That was one way of putting it. The ever growing number of unsolved cases on his desk said it all. “I moved here a while back from Boston. Transferred from Boston PD. I used to think I was a good detective and leader and now… I guess this town’s just giving me a run for my money.”

In different bars in different towns, Nicodemus kept to the back corners. Kept to himself unless someone suddenly developed a problem or those in the know knew to ask something of him. He didn’t know how it happened or when it did, but in White Crest, he gravitated toward the bartop itself. Found himself in conversations with people he might even see the next day. He snorted. He had a strong feeling that he and the other guy wouldn’t be getting into any bar fights. A breath of relief followed after. “Sure ain’t,” he agreed, voice a tired whiskey drawl. He nodded. “You don’t seem like one either.” As the man continued, opened up, he sat up a little straighter. Weathered, he thought. That’s what they were. Weathered and continuing to weather. His eyes dropped from looking at the other man to the worn bartop. Being good at something. What did that even mean to him anymore? He had been good at what he did. Bounty hunting. Hell, he still was, but lately, he hesitated. The money said as much. And he couldn’t blame it on age. Wasn’t sure he could blame it on anything. It just was. No attribution necessary. The hunter tensed in his chair. Boston PD. A confessional with a cop, why the hell not. “Yeah...Yeah, I do,” he said after a beat. The shots slid across the bartop and he took his in hand. “I do the, uh, odd job here or there. People knew that I was reliable if they needed something done. But hell, lately...I don’t know anymore. I don’t know if I’m good for it anymore. That realization’s the worst part of it all, ain’t it?” He tossed the shot back. “Creeps in slow and fucks you right up. Town’s got a way of doin’ that too.” Erin had told him that once. That it wasn’t him, it was the town. Somehow, he got lost and understood the town more than he understood his own damn self. “Boston, huh? Ain’t too far from home then.”

Feeling a bit less alone in the world did help to an extent. The feeling of lead in his chest seemed to be dissipating at the very least. Roland wasn’t sure when or how things had gotten so out of control, but it was difficult for him to navigate. He thrived on order and found himself in a town ruled almost exclusively by chaos. Maybe one day all his efforts would pay off, but it was getting harder and harder to maintain the optimism he once possessed. He finally set his stein down and brought his shoulders back if only a little. Slouching indicated defeat and he wasn’t ready to reside himself to that yet. The people of this town were worth fighting for. He leaned back away from the bar top and looked to his new found friend. Understanding was a powerful thing. “You’re right. The realization hits like a ton of bricks. And then it’s a hell of a time trying to figure out when it even happened,” he responded a little more emphatically this time. He was feeling more comfortable with this… It dawned on him he didn’t know this man’s name. “Yeah, starts out so slowly, you don’t even know it’s happening. This town definitely has a way of it though. Let me tell you, gang violence has nothing on the strange crimes that happen in this town.” Mimes and eyeballs still haunted his nightmares. Now there were organs being sold and mutated animals. Nothing could just be simple. “Yep-- Born and raised. My dad was on the force there, too. I miss it sometimes, but this town has turned out to be a challenge at least.” One he wasn’t so sure he was up to facing anymore, but giving up was never an option. “What about you? You don’t sound like you’re from around here.”

Nicodemus was so used to dealing with the children of White Crest finding new and inventive ways to achieve martyrdom that he damn near forgot what it was like to talk to someone a little more than reasonable. Even as the topic grew heavier, his shoulders didn’t. He didn’t feel as rusted over, as withered. Maybe it was the booze or maybe it was the strange ease of the conversation. Either way, he took well enough to it. Breathed a little easier. “Feels like half the time you’re just tryin’ to keep up with it all and shit, you’re still gettin’ lost somehow,” he said with a slightly furrowed brow. “It’s weird, y’know? I feel lost as shit in this town most of the time but the, uh, people sorta help with that.” Plenty of people had helped him and oddly enough, he thought as he glanced over, their numbers kept growing. Nothing like bar hospitality and the kindred nature of the weary. Strange crimes. The hunter had to wonder how much this man knew about White Crest’s strangeness. Had he seen one of those native wolves? Maybe the bloody aftermath of some vampire’s creation? Nicodemus frowned some as he moved the small shot glass between his hands. “Shit,” he said with lifted brows as he looked at him. “Take it you’ve been seein’ weird stuff ‘round these parts?” He gestured to the bartender to bring them a couple more drinks. This time on him. “So it’s a family kinda business for you? I know that one. You do the same stuff he did?” Air rushed out his nose. “Sure as hell can be a challenge. Don’t really know how we all keep survivin’ here but we do.” The more he drank, the heavier his drawl came. The more the bayou came through. A wry smile made an appearance. “Louisiana. Y’all got a couple seasons we don’t up here,” he said with a raspy laugh. “Do a lot of travelin’ but-- Hell, I think this is the longest I’ve stayed in one spot in about ten years.” As their drinks came by, he shifted some. “I’m, uh, Nicodemus. By the way. Nic works.”

In times like this, Roland always did his best to remember his father. There were so many ways in his mind that the man had always been larger than life. Even when the world around him seemed to be moving far too fast or in ways no one could have possibly understood, Jim Hills stood tall. It was the same energy he tried to emulate now. Letting some of it out helped keep his chin up. Did he live up to the man who raised him? These days he couldn’t be sure, but it was hard to be too torn up about it as the effects of the alcohol slowly kicked in. “That’s exactly it. Most days it feels hard enough just to tell up from down,” he agreed, “There are some good people here, though. Guess that’s what makes most things worth it at the end of the day.” There were also people who were only seemingly good. Erin and whoever in his department had disposed of her evidence were proof of that. Still, there were kind souls out there like the one sitting next to him, letting him get some worries off his chest. Even the crimes he had no explanation for. Maybe if he spoke his piece out loud, he’d have some sort of epiphany that brought this all together. “I think you’re on the nose with the weird shit part. Mimes, eyeballs, cults, diseased animals, you name it-- this town seems to have it.” Surely, there were probably run of the mill drug rings, too. The unbelievably high homicide rate just took precedence. “Oh yeah, Pops was a cop, too. Boston PD Captain before he passed. Always looked up to him though,” he answered. He nodded along with his note on survival. It seemed all he could do some days was just survive. “You got that right. Louisiana, now that’s a cool state. Only ever been to New Orleans there. Ex-Wife was very into the history of the town. I enjoyed the food.” He paused and took a sip from his fresh beer before asking, “What brought you to White Crest?” Now his mystery bar friend had a name. “Nic, it’s good to meet you. I’m Roland.”

It would take a great deal more for the hunter to start seeing double. Even so, Nicodemus slowed down. Took his time between sips as he just listened. It was funny, how he had honed that skill by listening to the details of bounties to get them just right. He almost laughed. Maybe Morgan had been right, Erin too. That he could do something else with it. Yet, the mornings and evenings went on the same. How could he end when he didn’t even know where to start? He hummed low to himself. “There are, yeah,” he admitted. He had to wonder if this man had that same crusted over optimism that he did. “Made more friends here than I have anywhere else. Maybe it’s that death rate, y’know? Got people eager to make friendly.” He shook his head, a slight smile of disbelief as he turned his drink in hand. A bit of dark humor to shadow over how fucking worried he was about everyone. “Shit, half the time it seems like they’re all in on it together. Group effort. Just...mimes?” He looked at Roland with his glass in hand, his face sour. “They ain’t right.” From time to time, he thought of how he had twisted the head off his own mime and then wondered why sometimes he didn’t sleep. The hunter went quiet for a moment. Father figures weren’t a familiar notion to him. He didn’t know his father. Only that he had his face and for that, he was troubled from the start. He was too busy having his grandfather look down at him to consider looking skyward. When the hell fires came for Samson, maybe Nicodemus could look down at him for once. The burn of his whiskey shook him out of it. “Sounds like he was a good man,” he finally said with a nod. “Could do with more of those.” What constituted a good man? He didn’t know. Didn’t think he had much to say on it. “New Orleans, Baton Rouge. Those are the real nice places, can’t go wrong with ‘em. But you wanna see the weird shit? Gotta get out to the middlin’ or upper parishes. Ain’t too different from here sometimes.” Hell, that was how he had spent most of his growing years. Dealing with the weird shit. “But, uh, work, mostly. Depends what people need. Handyman or pest control type stuff. Left home and just sorta kept moving. Make myself useful.” It sounded good enough in his head. “Likewise, likewise.” He held his glass over. “Well, Roland, to weird shit and alright people, huh?”

There was something to be said about trauma bringing people together. Roland agreed the death rate likely helped bring them all together. He knew even within the station, he felt more of a sense of comradery than he had back in Boston. Given, the competitive atmosphere in Boston’s department likely didn’t help, but here in White Crest, they’d all been through a lot. They’d all seen some shit. “Yeah, that must be it. Gotta be in this together to survive a place like this,” he pondered aloud. He slowed down with his drink. It wasn’t often that he indulged in drinking and it hit him more quickly than it would hit most other men his size because of this. While he had every intention of grabbing an Uber home, he didn’t love the idea of making a fool of himself in public. The mention of mimes working with the other crazy things in this town made his brow scrunch up. “God, I hope not,” he grumbled, “The mimes are bad enough on their own. I don’t want to see what happens if they team up with overly aggressive animals and cults… though maybe the mimes are a cult.” He really hated that thought though they did seem to have a cult following in this town. At least they weren’t stabbing people anymore as far as he could tell. All he knew was he could go the rest of his life without seeing or hearing about a mime and he’d be damn glad. “He was,” Roland agreed when Nic mentioned his father sounded like a good man. There wasn’t much more to say about that unless he wanted to go down memory lane and make himself sad. Seemed like he’d done enough of that tonight. Mentions of parts of New Orleans being like White Crest caused him to shake his head. “If I’m going on vacation, the last thing I’m looking for is more weird shit, but hey, guess it builds character.” He nodded along with the odd jobs, “Well, I’ll definitely keep you in mind if anything comes up.” He raised his stein and clinked it to Nic’s glass. “Cheers to weird shit and good people.” Maybe this wasn’t his normal scene, but after a good chat with Nic, he understood why people enjoyed it. He felt a lot less alone in this crazy world having found a kindred spirit.

#wickedswriting #simple kind of man #nicodemus #nic

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laylacooke · 4 years

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Don’t Be Suspicious || Luce & Layla

timing: Late July, Midnight parties: @divineluce & @laylacooke summary: Luce & Layla have an unexpected meeting in the woods in the middle of the night.

The one benefit that had come out of the fidget spinner ordeal had been the ability to throw out claws and teeth when a fight came. Partially transforming hurt, but it had become easier when it came to needing protection. However, it was the fine art of fully transforming at will, that Layla was focused on. It had been something that had scared her greatly for multiple reasons. The immense pain of shifting, being one, but the fear of killing somebody again, being the biggest. It’s why her need to find a good place in her head and her heart where she could have full control over the shifting was important, and it’s why she had ventured out to White Crest National Park to try and work on her werewolf skills on her own. However, having been in the same spot trying to focus had led to nothing but frustration, which eventually led to Layla letting out a frustrated growl that echoed through the trees.

“Get back here, you piece of shit--” Luce growled as she ran through the woods, her lungs burning as she chased the creature down, her sword haphazardly rattling in its sheath as she pursued the monster. It wasn’t anything particularly hard to handle, just your run of the mill ghoul-- but still. She’d been running in the forest a few nights ago when she’d realized that she was being watched, being followed. Which is why she was back here now, turning the tables. She’d been through so much bullshit; she didn’t need to add a ghoul stalking her back to her cabin to the list. As she ran through the trees, a growl rang out through the woods, startling her. “What the fuck?” She said, as she slid to a stop, staring through the darkness around her. “Someone out there?” Luce asked. Or was it something?

Falling to her knees in pain, the young werewolf still couldn’t figure out the way to fully shift voluntarily. What was she doing wrong? Every full moon it came naturally leaving her broken and sick, until the animal took over giving her new life, but right now, all she could feel was newly formed fangs and claws which left her mouth aching and her hands sore, “Why won’t you change?!” The frustration running through her blood left her clawing and gripping handfuls of dirt before flinging it into the distance. But a voice stopped her from doing anything else. Animal instinct forcing her to sniff the air, Layla’s yellow eyes darted around looking for the culprit. The scent of a human and the sound of their heartbeat gave the young werewolf what she needed to go hunting, but she still had control and knew she had come out here for a reason, “I don’t want any trouble, okay?” Her eyes scanned the forest as she climbed back to her feet, “I just came out here to hike.” Yes, it was partly a lie, but maybe it would be enough to get the person to leave.

As Luce made her way through the trees, she saw a fallen form in the middle of the woods, clawing at the dirt. Stopping in her tracks, her hand instinctively went to the hilt of her sword. Not that she thought she’d have to use it, but… after that shit with the demon voice changing Santa in the woods and her run in Shocky Mc-Fuck-You, she was wary of things that lurked around the woods. Even though the national park was one of the safer places in White Crest, it never hurt to be careful. But, when a voice came from the crouched figure, she relaxed, hand resting on her hip instead. “You hurt or something?” She asked, wondering why this girl was out here in the middle of the night. Luce was looking for trouble, but not this kind. She was in the business of fucking up some of the ghouls and monstrous creatures that roamed the woods, not rescuing injured hikers. But, if she had to, she would. “You fall and twist your ankle?” She asked, clicking the small flashlight secured around her arm, the beam cutting through the darkness.

Layla kept her head turned and her fists clenched. The last thing she had wanted was to scare this woman, or worse, get into a fight with her. If anything, the redhead just wanted to be left alone. Find her peace and go back home. Ari and Ulf had probably been wondering where she was at, and Indy needed to be fed, “No, I was just out. Wanted to see the stars. I hear it’s pretty in this area at night.” Her face was aching from the fangs and blood seemed to drip down where they had forced their way out of her skull and gums. It was her heartbeat that was keeping them out, along with her claws. The fear of what this random person might do to her. However, before she could turn her head quickly enough out of the path of the light, she felt it hit her eyes and reflect off of her yellowed hues revealing that she wasn’t exactly human.

“Uh huh.” Luce said, nonplussed by the words. Out. To see the stars. It sounded a lot like the excuses she had made when Roland had caught her out in the woods. Well, she wasn’t a cop and she wasn’t going to go bothering some random girl in the woods if she wanted to be out here alone. With a shrug, she was about to move on with her night, make some comment about staying out of her hair when she saw the flash of yellow in the girl's eyes, a familiar shade she’d once seen glint in Ulfric’s. A werewolf. Huh. Well, how about that. “Just wanted to see the stars huh?” She said before tilting her gaze up. “The moon’s really bright tonight. Pretty.” She said with an offhand comment as she leaned back to look skywards, the sword on her hip glinting in the moonlight.

It was too late, and there was no use in turning her head. The woman had clearly seen what Layla was. It was apparent in her voice and the comments that were coming out of her mouth. The glint from the sword caught Layla’s eye, and she slowly started to back away, “Please. I’m not out here to hurt anybody. I didn’t think anyone would be out here this late, and I knew it would be a good time to...try and figure some things out.” She didn’t want to outright say what she was. It was clear this woman already knew. Her heart was beating a little harder in her chest at the fear of what might happen, and she had started to pant.

As the girl began to back away slowly, it didn’t take a genius to realize what had her spooked. Ah, shit. Luce let out a sigh and held her hands up. “I’m not a hunter, don’t worry. I’m not going to hurt you. I was just out here,” She paused, not sure how to answer. She’d literally just said she wasn’t a hunter. And she wasn’t. She was just out here… trying to make the woods a little safer, deal with some pesky ghouls that had a knack for making a mess of things. “On a hike. And in a place like this? It never hurts to have protection.” She said with a shrug. “Are you sure you don’t need any help? You don’t exactly look like you’re in good shape there.” She said, glancing at the way the girl’s hands were inhuman and gnarled.

The woman had a point. The woods of White Crest weren’t exactly the safest and knowing that reasoning made her feel a little less stressed. However, Layla still wasn’t fond of being around someone with a huge sword, “I guess that’s a good point. No pun intended...” She looked down at her hands, “Um, they should heal up on their own when my stupid claws go back in.” She hated not being able to have full control over herself. It made her unsure and leery when she was forced into certain situations. Layla’s intent was never to hurt anyone. As a werewolf, she couldn’t control that hunger. She had tried, but as a human, she was determined to keep those around her as safe as possible, even if that spelled bad news or pain for herself, “So hiking in the middle of the night huh?” She was starting to become a little more comfortable knowing that the woman’s vibe wasn’t really as hostile as she once presumed it to be.

Watching as the girl looked down at her hands, Luce cracked a crooked grin at the joke. “Like I said, I’m not going to hurt you. Just gonna have to trust me on that one.” She said. There was a certain irony in the fact that she was meeting another red-headed werewolf-- seemed like Ulfric wasn’t the only ginger wolf running around in these hills. But she wasn’t about to out him to some random werewolf in the woods. “Well, as long as they heal up fine, sounds good to me.” She said with a shrug. At the further question, Luce raised an eyebrow. “That’s what I said, right? Insomnia’s a bitch.” She said. She wasn’t even going to attempt to explain what she was doing out here. Besides, she had a feeling getting rid of the local ghoul problem wouldn’t do much to reassure the girl that she wasn’t a hunter. “Besides, you’re out here too, kid.”

“Yeah, I got that. Look, these things...I can’t make them go back in.” She held up her hands flashing her claws. “That’s why I’m out here. Trying to learn how to control what I was forced to become...” Her words kind of trailed off. Layla hated being a werewolf. She had learned to forget what she most of the time, but when it would come creeping back in, the regret held heavy in her heart. Shaking off that same feeling that seemed to be coming in stronger than before, she looked Luce in the eyes, “Yeah, insomnia is an absolute bitch.” Letting out a soft sigh, she decided a truce was in order in case they were to run into each other again in the future, “Name’s Layla. Consider this my way of trying to draw some kind of truce that if we see each other out here again, we either go our separate ways or are friendly to one another. Thoughts?”

At the girl’s words, Luce’s eyebrows raised even higher. What she was forced to become? What, was she some kind of bite victim? Luce didn’t know much about werewolves outside of what Ulfric had told her over drinks from time to time, but she’d only ever known born wolves. Then again, she had no idea what Ariana was, but she wasn’t exactly going to ask the girl. She had a feeling that talking about the girl’s background might… bring up some bad memories. The thought of Celeste, of their brief date in the woods not all that far from here, came back to the forefront and Luce shifted uncomfortably. “A truce? You make it sound like I’m out here trying to start shit. I already said I wasn’t gonna hurt you. Twice, in fact. So, chill.” She said before shaking her head. “If you try and go off on me, you won’t like it. But whatever, kid. Next time I see a red wolf running around, I’ll look the other way.” Luce snorted.

Geeze, she reminds me of somebody, but I just can’t… “Uh, excuse you, I didn’t come out here sportin’ a huge ass sword. Who carries a sword anyways? This isn't King’s Landing.” Fucking bounty hunter. That’s who she reminds me of. “And I guess we’re not doing the name thing, huh?” Layla’s claws and teeth were beginning to go back in. Feeling threatened went out the window. “And if I see someone carrying a big ridiculous sword on their hip like Jaime Lannister, I’ll look the other way. So, I guess we’re on some sort of mutual ground. And don’t worry, I wouldn’t expect you to shake on it.”

At the girl’s comment, Luce let out a short sigh before shaking her head. She honestly didn’t want to start shit with a wolf, she really didn’t. Ulf had warned her that wolves could be dangerous, and here was a young girl who’d been turned and was sitting there with her claws and teeth out. Not exactly someone she wanted to fuck with. “Luce. And yeah, I’m not about to shake on it.” She made a scratching gesture with her hands before pointing at the girl’s hands. “Sure. Mutual ground works for me.” With a sigh she jerked a thumb over her shoulder. “Well, if you’ve got this whole… tooth and claw situation on lock, I’m gonna go.” She said before backing away from the girl, returning into the darkness of the forest. The ghoul problem would have to wait for another night-- when there weren’t teen wolves in the woods.

#para: don't be suspicious #divineluce #wickedswriting

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randomvarious · 4 years

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Phuture - “Acid Trax” Mad on Acid: A Comprehensive History of Acid House Music Song released in 1987. Compilation released in 1998. Acid House

Before we talk about the legendary Chicago house trio, Phuture, who are fully responsible for launching the acid house phenomenon that would eventually take the UK by storm with its 1988 Summer of Love, we need to talk about the Roland TB-303, the electronic instrument that inadvertently ended up revolutionizing electronic dance music with its distinct, squelching and chirping, “acid” sounds. Just about everyone has heard the TB-303 used in a song before, but virtually no one has ever heard it used the way that Roland originally intended. Released to the public in 1982, the TB-303 was supposed to replace and replicate the sound of a bass guitar, but in actuality, it didn’t really sound like a bass at all. As a result, it failed commercially, and Roland ceased its production after only two years.

But that was before Phuture got ahold of it in 1985. Composed of a trio of young Chicagoans who were caught up in their own city’s burgeoning house scene, Phuture began as an idea to produce tracks that member Pierre could mix into his own DJ sets. Initially, Pierre was content with just spinning records, but his friend Spanky was adamant that they start making their own music. Pierre was still reluctant, though.

However, all that hesitancy seemed to disappear when Pierre heard a Roland TB-303 for the first time. A 2014 interview in DJ Mag has more:

Pierre was round at his friend Jasper G's house one day, listening to a track he'd made, and heard a unique sound coming out of the speakers. “I asked what he used to create that sound, and he said the Roland 303,” Pierre remembers. “He was using it to function as Roland intended, but immediately that light went off for me and I thought, 'If we got that machine, we can do some damage'. This is just from hearing it, I didn't even know what it looked like at the time.”

Pierre told Spanky he was in, he wanted to make music (“Yo! Lets do this!”), and Spanky bought a 303 from a second-hand shop for 40 dollars. “Spanky got it and started messing around the same day,” says Pierre. “At one particular session at his house, Spank had a beat going and I just got on the knobs and started twisting them. We kept going, man. We had a jam session for over an hour. We knew there was nothing out there like what we were coming up with, and we knew what it did for us on the inside. We knew that there was something there that spoke.”

Spanky, Pierre and other Phuture pal Herb J started getting alien voodoo out of the machines, jamming, with Pierre being the one twiddling the Roland TB-303. “Spank programmed a beat, and we just went with it,” Pierre recalls. “I got on the knobs and Spanky kept saying, 'Yeah, that's it! Keep doing that'. We all knew, man. It was natural and pure.

Another interview in The Fader provides a little bit more detail of that fateful day:

[Spanky] had it hooked up, running with the drum machine, but it wasn’t [working]. If you get one of those 303s it’s not going to have any baseline sounds in it, so you got to squeak and squack it till it makes some noise. He said he didn’t know what was wrong with it, how to program it right, so he said, “Could you figure it out?” So when I came over by it, I started twisting the knobs, seeing what they do, because that’s what I do: twist knobs. So I was doing that and we fell in love with the sounds it was making. We fell in love with how I was twisting the knobs with the beat. And then I started twisting them a certain way, and putting emotion and feeling behind it, and Spanky was like, “Yo Pierre, keep doing that, I like that.” I was like, “Yeah, this is something!” We were like, “Yo, that’s style.” We said forget trying to make a baseline, let’s program it like this and just twist the knobs. And so that’s what we did, you know.

And thus, the acid house sound was born.

Phuture would take this wholly new, alien sound that was unlike literally anything that had ever been heard before, and jam with it for hours on end. They knew they had something special and they wanted other people to hear it, too. They ended up recording a song called “In Your Mind” and decided to give it to the house DJ whom they admired most and also thought was most likely to play it: Ron Hardy.

From a Discogs review by user Alain_Patrick:

As soon as they gave Ron the tape, the visionary DJ listened to it and said, smiling: “It’s ok... When can I get a copy?”

That night, Hardy played “In Your Mind” a total of four times. As a song that clocks in at almost 12 minutes alone, that means he dedicated at least the better part of an hour of his set to this one song. Legend has it that the first two times he played it, the crowd wasn’t feeling it at all. A less confident DJ could’ve then very easily taken those reactions into account and decided to never play the record again, but Hardy seemed determined to get his audience to believe in this track the same way he did. There was a transformational moment in dance music history taking place right before people’s very eyes and Hardy was going to force his fans to embrace it. By the time he gave “In Your Mind” a third spin, the collective opinion of the club did a complete 180 degree turn and the dancefloor mutated into spiritual bedlam.

Word soon then spread about this otherworldly bit of cosmic funk. Fans dubbed it “Ron Hardy’s Acid Tracks,” and possibly because of how relentlessly Hardy had pushed it, people assumed that Hardy had made it. But he didn’t; he was just its primary evangelist. However, in order to avoid confusion, Phuture changed the name of their song from “In Your Mind” to “Acid Tracks.”

It wasn’t until 1987 that “Acid Tracks” would finally appear on wax. Executive produced by now house legend, Marshall Jefferson, the song was released on Chicago’s Trax Records, and despite their vital contribution to the history of both popular and underground music, Phuture has only seen a total of $1,500 in revenue from that record. It goes without saying, but that’s some really shameful shit.

Anyway, a song like “Acid Tracks” represents the absolute potential of the “acid” sound. It’s an experiment that uses the TB-303 as a maker of both melody and rhythm in a way that no one had ever previously thought of. As Pierre twiddled and twisted away on its knobs with purpose, like how a guitarist plucks and strums on their strings, he managed to unveil a full, undiscovered range of never before heard, nearly impossible to describe, fat and thick, funky sound. Spanky laid down the constantly changing series of hats, claps, snares, cowbells, kicks, and whistles to provide minimal layers of accompaniment to the leading, unpredictable heaps of acid, and unsung member, Herb J, who was also in on the action, played a part in co-writing the song with Pierre.

It’s impossible to know what the history of electronic music would’ve been like without “Acid Tracks.” Literally tens of thousands of songs that use the TB-303 like Phuture did have been released in just about every electronic music subgenre since. Had Phuture never chosen to exploit their discovery, or had Ron Hardy given up on it after its first two spins, all those acid tracks that followed would have likely never happened. It’s entirely possible that someone else could have discovered that sound accidentally, too, if Phuture didn’t, but who’s to say that they would’ve thought it was usable? Without “Acid Tracks,” there’s no 1988 Summer of Love in the UK, and there’s no incorporation of acid house into popular alternative music like The Happy Mondays or Stone Roses. The future that we would come to know about electronic music is highly improbable, if not impossible, without Phuture.

One of the most important tracks in electronic music’s history, bar none.

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detectivedreameater · 4 years

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Two To Get Set||Jane and Marley

TIMING: Nightmare POTW LOCATION: Precinct PARTIES: @detectivedreameater & @jane-the-zombie SUMMARY: manumbra but wearing a hat CONTENT: Gore, PTSD

“Where is it!?” Marley grunted, digging through the boxes frantically. That stupid monster was still out there. It was still hurting people. Trapping them in its nest or house or whatever and spinning webs through their minds like some sort of sick, evil spider. And Marley loved spiders. Her hands shook, still, from the memory. Watching it leap out and crush Bambi-- er, Nell. Remembered the sound of its scurrying feet. The sound that had haunted her for weeks when she’d been forced to see it in her sleep. She wasn’t going to let it get away this time. There had to be something in the report she’d filed about it. Had to be some clue to where it might go next. Nell had said it was some creature called a manumbra, whatever the fuck that meant. It didn’t ultimately matter to Marley, she just knew she needed to kill it. She wasn’t going to let it hurt anyone, anymore. “Where IS it!?” she said a little louder, shoving the box aside. The basement of the precinct was where all cold cases went to die, and someone had been slacking on filing. She ran a hand over her face, ready to call it quits when she heard a noise, standing up straight. Had it followed her here? No, no way. It couldn’t be. Marley crept along quietly, holding her baton by her side, ready to strike. The noise came again, followed by a grunt, and Marley took the chance to spin around the corner, weapon raised, and say-- “Jane!?”

She stumbled back, lowering her weapon. “Jesus fucking christ, Jane, you scared the shit out of me,” she grumbled, shaking her head. “What’re you doing down here?”

“Oh no,” Jane replied dryly. “You’ve found my weakness. A stick.” She let a beat pass, shoving her hands into the pockets of her slacks. “I’m - well, I came down to look for a file on some old missing persons case. But, well...” Jane gave a slight shrug, eyeing the boxes doubtfully. Anyway, she was more curious as to what Marley was doing. Things were, at least, a little better. She still wasn’t really in the most talkative mood - at least when it came to how she was now - but she had been coping better since seeing Dr. Saade every week. Not that she was going to admit going to therapy. It just wasn’t something she did. Or wanted to do. Not really, anyway. And the only reason she was still going was because of Sarge. Or something. Jane wondered if she should bring up her natural defensiveness whenever thinking about therapy in therapy. Ugh, as the twenty-two she got stuck questioning for vandalism the other day said:

Whatever. Jane put a hand on her hip, eyeing Marley closely.

“Are you alright? What are you doing down here? What are you looking for?”

“You’re one weakness is beheading,” Marley grumbled back without thinking, shoving the box she’d been rifling through back into its place. She raised a brow over at Jane, curious enough as to why she was looking at missing person’s cases, but in the end, it didn’t really matter. She shoved the file she’d grabbed under her arm, turning to face Jane. “I was looking for a file, obviously,” motioned to the one she was holding, “of a closed case.” Which file it was, well-- she wasn’t all too eager to tell Jane which one. Things had been better between them lately, but Marley still felt herself clenching up whenever it came to talking to her. She promptly ignored Jane’s first question. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go--” but a skittering noise stopped her mid-sentence, and she froze. She knew that sound-- it had followed her and Roland all throughout that house and it had followed her into the building with Nell. She threw out her arm to stop her motion, pressing back against Jane. “It’s here,” she said, her entire body clenching. What time was it? Was it dark outside yet?

“And what were you planning to do, beat my head off with a stick? I bet I could just eat it -” Jane said sarcastically - except Marley ignored everything else. She was trying to get out of there. Her dark brows furrowed. “Marley, how about we just -” but she cut herself off. She could hear the skittering too. She looked over her shoulder. What the hell was that? Some sort of spider? Marley was more than a little freaked out, her arm blocking her from moving. She took that to mean it was time to be afraid. Shit. Jane cursed under her breath as she felt the terror run through her. Sure, she could feel terror, but not adrenaline? What the fuck. She didn’t have time for that though, her hand twitching to her ankle holster.

“What’s here? Marley…” And then she saw it. Skittering around a shelf was a monster in the true sense of the word. Except…

“Is that thing wearing a sparkly pink hat?”

Was this thing following her? It had to be. Marley saw it skitter across two shelves, its brown, gnarly body toppling boxes and containers as it went, the ceiling too low down in the basement for it to do too much hiding. And it-- what? Among the bullet holes and knife cuts and bubbling black blood there was....a hat. Sitting a top its, well-- not head, but something. “Are you serious!?” Marley grumbled. Because despite the fact that this monster was wearing a hat that glittered in the dark, it was still the monster that had chased her down and trapped her and tried to kill her and-- no. Not this time. “I know what you are!” she shouted at it. It had disappeared behind some shelves, and she backed up her and Jane a little father. She didn’t have her gun, dammit. Why had she left it upstairs? Then again, she didn’t think she’d need a gun while down in the police records. She held up the baton she’d raised at Jane. “Think you can eat that?” she mumbled back to Jane, trying to listen for where it would come from next. The shelf in front of them rattled and Marley swung the baton into it, a loud clang ringing out when she did, hoping she’d scare it off. “Keep your eyes peeled, it likes to drop from the ceiling and pin you down.”

“I think the glitter might give me indigestion,” Jane replied flatly. For the first time in what felt like a lifetime, Jane pulled her gun out of her holster. And then, well, Jane wasn’t exactly in the room anymore. She was being shot. Pain bloomed from her chest and her head and her eyes were unfocused, the gun slack in her hand. Marley’s voice pulled her from where she went and Jane hurriedly shoved the gun at her. “Take it,” Jane hissed, her voice more panicked than she would have liked. “Take it now.” She let go of the weapon before Marley could even grab it properly. “Shoot it down and I’ll eat it.” Jane said, eyes narrowing in the darkness. There was a low crash just ahead of her as the thing tried to do just what marley said, it collided with the metal shelf. It crashed down to the ground. - “How is the hat staying on its head???”

A gun was being shoved into Marley’s hands before she even registered what was going on, or the panic in Jane’s voice. She took it, fumbling, before point it straight ahead, searching for the creature. Firing inside of the precinct was probably a bad idea, though, and she turned to look back at Jane-- firing around someone who was shot and killed was also a bad idea. She clicked the safety back on and holstered the gun, pulling out her baton again. “Wait-- you’re not actually gonna fucking eat that thing, right?” she asked, bewildered. “That’s disgusting, Jane. Have some standards--” but the shelf in front of her interrupted her as the creature came crashing down, bringing two shelves-- and them-- with it. Marley ducked, turning herself intangible-- oh thank god, it was nighttime-- and waded through the shelves to the other side, hoping the thing would follow her and no go after Jane. “Over here, asshole!” she shouted, banging the baton again. But it wasn’t following her. “Jane-- shit! Who cares about the hat, just-- kill it!” There had to be another weapon down here.

“Oh, do you have a better idea?” Why wasn’t Marley fucking shooting the damn the damn thing?! Jane planted herself to the floor to avoid the toppling shelves, muttering a colorful expletive all the way. “Shoot it!” She snapped. The stupid hand monster was skittering towards her and Jane couldn’t help but let out a loud yelp, scrambling away from it as she crawled through the shelf debris. “Alright, fuck this. Where’s it’s brain??” Jane didn’t listen for Marley’s response. She was still afraid - terrified even, to the point where her arms and legs were shaking. Oh what the hell? Jane lurched forward, launching herself up and over the debris, aimed for the bright pink hat, and threw herself on top of the hand spider. It bucked underneath her, and she dug her nails into it’s flesh, her thighs pressing into it as she desperately tried to hold on. The first thing she did was try to smack the fucking hat off - except that didn’t work. It was fucking stuck. Jane swore under her breath, before she absolutely sank her teeth into it, ripping out a chunk of flesh. “Marley! Help me kill it!” Jane felt the blood of the thing on her face as she spat out the nasty pieces of skin and tendons. Disgusting.

“I’m not shooting in a closed fucking space, Jane!” Marley growled. She looked around wildly, trying to find something, anything to help-- and there. The emergency ax. “Just-- keep it occupied!” she shouted, turning intangible again as she waded through the toppled shelves and spilled boxes. Ran as fast as she could, reconstituting herself and punching through the glass window to grab the ax. Her hand wrapped around the handle and she turned to look back at Jane and the monster just in time to watch Jane rip into it. She gagged slightly, putting a hand over her mouth, before moving towards the two. “Hold it still!” she called out, climbing over the shelves and swinging the ax down. It connected with a sickeningly satisfying crunch and Marley felt it vibrate through her whole body. She swung again and watched blood splatter. Again, and it sprayed out, coating her hands, her shirt. Probably getting on Jane as well, but Marley’s focus narrowed so suddenly and so quickly, she didn’t have control of herself as she swung again and again and again. She didn’t even realize she was shouting with each hit, matching the sound of the monster’s screeches as she did. She wanted it to somehow feel the fear and pain she had. “Fuck you!” she screamed with one final scream, watching a limb come clean off. The thing was still alive, sputtering, trying to get away. “FUCK YOU! You can’t hurt me anymore!”

Jane Held on for dear life, ripping it apart with her teeth as Marley hacked at it with the axe. She was covered in Monster blood, but Jane didn’t really seem to care as the monster finally grew limp. Marley was screaming, and Jane kept eating. It didn’t taste particularly good, but the more flesh that was ripped from the thing the more she couldn’t seem to stop. It wasn’t until she reached a good part of the bone and felt full did she really sit up on her knees, whipping her mouth. She stared at it warily, before she reached out and grabbed the pink sparkly hat and yanked. The fabric crunched under her fingernails as a squelching noise as she tore the thing off. Satisfied, Jane turned, the hat in her hands. She looked at Marley blankly for a moment, before holding it out to her. “Do you want it?” She asked kindly. And then she burped, a hand flying to her mouth as she stared at her partner with wide eyes. “Excuse me. That was disgusting.”

Marley paused only when Jane’s voice cut through her mind. The ax was dug deep into the creature’s back, and when she looked up from her tunnel vision, there was a hole in it where Jane had dug in and where she’d ripped the hat off. Marley didn’t exactly have a weak constitution, but the brown blood and gore on Jane’s face was enough to make her gag a little. “No, nope,” she said backing away, blood coating her hands, too, “you can keep that.” She glanced around at the room, at the toppled shelves, overturned boxes, and spilled files. Papers everywhere. She let out a long breath, hands still shaking. “The Captain is going to kill us,” she mumbled, looking back at Jane. “Get off that thing. We need to move it. Get rid of the body and-- come up with an excuse about what happened.” She moved back towards it slowly, prodding it, making sure it was actually dead. That she’d actually killed it. She looked up at Jane as she belched, shaking her head. She couldn’t help but laugh a little. “Jesus, it smells disgusting, too. I can’t believe you ate it...you need higher standards, Jane.”

“Oh, are you sure?” Jane asked, inching the hat a little closer. “I think it likes you.” Except as she glanced around the trashed basement, she winced. “Maynard is going to fire us both, and the keel haul us across White Crest,” she confirmed solemnly. She staggered off it, righting herself as she tried brushing herself off in vain. At least the station would be a metaphorical ghost town. She scrunched up her nose. “You said to kill it! And I guess I could… eat the rest of it. Except I’m not eating this thing.” Jane waved the hat around. “I was serious about the glitter giving me indigestion. I -” She stared down at it, before an evil little smile came onto her face. “I know exactly what I’m going to do with this hat. I’m going to give it to my good pal, the one that put that mayonnaise on my desk.” She set it aside gently. “Alright, let’s get too it, I want to go to bed and not sleep for 6 hours.”

#chatzy #chatzy: jane #two to get set #wickedswriting #jane

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