Hi so basically Im in a weird situation rn, my weekly schedule consists of being at my trade school from mon-Friday and leave Saturdays most of the time and come back sun nights. So when I’m here my mental health gets WAY better I mean way better, I’m with people who are emotionally and socially healthy and understanding.
It’s like when I come home as soon as my narc alcoholic dad comes pick me up in his 2000 something old ass dirty bug infested food and crumbs all over the seat and floor and fucken sauce stains everywhere Honda as soon as I get in the car with him I could just see how fucked in the head he is in so many fucking ways emotionally, socially, psychologically and a whole bunch of other shit. It’s literally like I get in the car and what it feels like all his bs issues become mine for some reason and it’s like I’m carrying all his bs with me.
I get miserable because my parents are some of the most sutipid bum lames that have no character whatsoever you’ll come across in ur fucking life. Til this day I haven’t come across anybody like these people. Than my dumbass mom had the nerve to come into my room sat morning saying it was Mothers Day to least say it to my grandma since she knows I’m not gonna tell her shit but she was just tryna make me feel bad and I just told her to close the fucking door cuz my grandma don’t deserve me telling her shit either not even me interacting with her.
Idk yesterday I went to the beach cuz I stayed and was kinda bored and had nothing to do. I took the bus and at first it was pretty good but after a while idk if it was cuz I smoked a sig and Im addicted tryna quit and it just put me in a bad mood? But idk, their was this cute girl were I got my pizza from and I could tell in the beginning she liked me a bit and was lowk tryna talk to me but it’s like I wasn’t mentally and emotionally there to even talk to her in any other way than to order my food.
But like I said my point is whenever I’m here at my trade school and I don’t leave home to my narc bum ass family, my mental health feels better, but when I leave it’s like I “heal” them in a way and with that comes me draining me completely from all the good energy I have leaving me with nothing which messes me up emotionally and socially.
They have nothing going on with their life really their bums who live miserabley day to day with my alc dad drinking every weekend and jacking off in the restroom while drunk. I wish I had a therapist to talk to about my situation, when I’m here I feel so much better but when I get picked up as soon as I’m in the car with that bum ass nigga every second I’m next to him he literally drains me, and within a couple hours of being with them my whole mental health and mentality changes for the worst.
I become really insecure I got no energy and and just worse mentally. But at the same time I don’t like staying here in the weekends because it’s boring and you don’t do shit here and the only people I even stay with on the weekends is my parents cuz I haven’t really better my relationship with my other family members from the issues we’ve had in the past, and don’t really have friends anymore in my home town, at least that I don’t talk to so I don’t do nothing but stay in my house with them all day and not do shit.
The best example I could give u is around 2 weeks ago I left for the first time in like a month of being here and not physically interacting with these bums, I stayed cuz I would forget to turn in my weekend slip so I could leave. So yea I left and it was good at first but it’s like my presence around them would “heal” them by them giving me all their bullshit issues, luckily I was mentally a little stronger so I dealt with it for a bit than I left, I came back home last week Saturday and I regret it it was way worse, they showed me their genuine bum selfs and drained me from all the good energy I had and put me in a really bad place mentally coming back here.
Now ik for sure unless I got back up in my house meaning I’m gonna do something with friends I’m not gonna go back for shit. Cuz that’s the only way if I go back and don’t go out with friends or nothing it’ll just be bad. But yea sorry ik it’s a lot what are your thought? Just wanna know.

March 26th, 2024 11:27 p.m. – I think I've done it. I've made a breakthrough on the antisera. With a simple, two amino acid change in the protein, the antisera binds more effectively to the brains neuroreceptors. With an electrolyte injection, I can reactivate neurons in the brains of diseased rodents. I believe that it can work on human specimens up to 3 days old. If this works, then I will have found a way to effectively bring patients back from beyond the point of death. I cannot overstate the importance of this discovery. All I need is a cadaver that’s fresh enough to experiment with. The three-day threshold will pose a unique challenge in acquiring a specimen. It will require further thought before I am to go ahead.
March 29th, 2024 1:18 p.m. – I have spoken with the hospital and the Department of Anatomy and have found a family who are scheduled to take a loved one of theirs off critical care tomorrow afternoon. They have agreed to send him to my lab following a short grieving ceremony. I have their written approval, though I have made no guarantee of my success. I don't want to give them too much hope. Particularly the patient’s fiancé, who the patient had been on route to the chapel to wed, when his car was struck by an oncoming SUV that had missed a red light. I'm worried that she more than anyone doesn't realize how much of a long shot this is. But I'll do my best.
March 30th, 2024 8:12 p.m. – The body has arrived. I have him right here, laid out on my bench. He’s a young man, 24 years of age. He is 6’ 1” and weighs 174 pounds. Aside from some exposed tissue above his right eye, and a fracture along the parietal skull, the head remains entirely intact. There is concern that any intracranial bleeding may interfere with the electrolyte solution. I don’t expect the antisera to revive him completely, but as long as there is some measure of brain activity now, six hours after he was pronounced dead, then I think this test can still be labelled a success.
March 30th, 2024 8:36 p.m. – I have administered 20mg of the antisera, and after a twenty-minute wait, have just administered an equal dose of the electrolyte solution. I noticed an immediate spike in brain activity in his parietal lobe. There was no movement from the patient, but after five minutes, I noticed a faint flutter in his eyelids. Talking in his ear shows a proportionate response in the auditory cortex. The brain is capable of taking in external input.
March 30th, 2024 9:00 p.m. – His eyes are open. At the present, they're only looking forward. He hasn’t yet glanced to look around the room, but his eyes are piercing in their focus, as if he’s processing more than just his initial surroundings. His pupils are an opaque white… what may be due to cataracts from damage to his ocular nerve from the incident.
March 30th, 2024, 9:08 p.m. – There’s movement. His fingers have started to jitter. They're feeling the cuffs of his coat. He still has on the black tuxedo he had wore to his wedding day. His head occasionally spasms, as though just now regaining feeling. Heartrate is 33 beats per minute. His hands have begun moving more noticeably up and down the sides of his body. He’s feeling his buttons, the flower of his lapel, and now the titanium top of the bench. It’s really quite remarkable. I’ve not detected even a flicker of movement in his moth-eaten eyes. He has not blinked since awakening.
March 30th, 2024, 9:12 p.m. He’s trying to stand. There are straps in place, but they're only loosely attached. They snap off with disappointing ease. Perhaps I should've been more optimistic and sprung for the thicker straps. There is a noise that he’s making... a low groaning, as though he is in pain or incapable of making more complex a sound.
March 30th, 2024, 9:14 p.m. I’ve tried speaking with him. I called him by his name. He doesn't respond. He’s now seated on the edge of the table. He’s breathing heavily, his chest noticeably rising and falling. A reflex test shows no response at all.
March 30th, 2024, 9:18 p.m. I’ve tried introducing myself. There’s no sign that he understands. He is still. I don’t know if he’s listening or if he’s even aware, but I think the sound of another person is at least calming for him.
March 30th, 2024, 10:25 p.m. Little has happened. The groom is much the same as he was an hour ago. I’ve taken photos of everything that I’ve observed tonight, but when I left the room to get the camera, I returned to find him standing in the corner of the room. At times, he'll stagger forward a step or two, or slouch against the wall. Always his head is down, his open mouth dripping drool on the floor while he stares ahead as if in a trance. I want to observe him for the night to see how he progresses. I am now seated at the desk in my office, which has a view of the lab from a large window. For the time being I will start recording my findings, but I will look often in case anything of interest happens.
March 30th 2024, 11:06 p.m. I am alerted by a loud crash. The patient has stumbled into a small table with scalpels, knocking them onto the linoleum floor with a clatter. His groaning now is louder now than before. I can hear it as clear as day through my window. It’s a deeply labored noise, creaking with every syllable as though his throat is severely dry.
March 30th, 11: 44 p.m. After completing my preliminary reports, I tried speaking with the patient, hoping that perhaps he could understand me. I explained the situation as simply as I could. I mentioned his wedding, the accident, and the agreement with his family. I went into detail about his operation. His pale eyes were watching me throughout, but there is no sign of any understanding in them. Still, at least he’s attentive. I might be naive for trying, but there's always a chance that he could be understand more than he seems.
March 31st, 12:01 a.m. There is a wailing from inside the room. A horrible, hair-raising cry that has me standing upright from my monitor the sound that I hear it. The noise persists, as if all he wants to hear is the sound of his own misery. He is moving erratically, lurching through the lab. He's knocked over the fire extinguisher, and, just now, the hospital gurney as well. There is no emotion in his face as he makes the most pitiful noises imaginable. I hope that I am not letting my own feelings cloud my judgment when I say that it sounds as though he is feeling a profound sorrow. His limbs flap loosely beside him, as though he still lacks the motor function to control them.
March 31st, 12:10 a.m. The groaning hasn't stopped. Any request for him to quiet down goes unheard. I’m reminded of a child feeling grief for the first time and not knowing what else to do with it than to cry as deeply as they can. Out of a grown man, the noise becomes chilling. It's much deeper and gruffer, like the cry of a wounded animal.
March 31st, 12:22 a.m. I have something I want to try. I've called his fiancé. She had expressed a great deal of interest in the success of the experiment when I met with her at the hospital, and when I explained on the phone to her what had happened to her fiancé, she agreed that she, more than anyone, could get through to him. I’ve called her a taxi and am waiting now on her arrival. It has been twenty minutes since the groom started to wail and he's still going. He stumbles into the wall from time to time and I am worried that he will only act more unpredictably as the drug continues to work.
March 31st, 12:35 a.m. The widow's taxi has arrived. I escorted her down to the laboratory. Behind the safety of the window, she is now looking at her husband for the first time since his recovery. She is noticeably shocked by his appearance. She looks like she might faint from the sight of him, but I can see also a hopefulness in her eyes that keeps her rooted in place. She sees as well as I do that he’s a great deal closer to what he was now than when he was lying unconscious on the hospital bed. She agrees to help when I ask her, though she only nods her response. Her eyes haven’t left her fiancés since the moment she's arrived.
March 31st, 12:41 a.m. We called to him, and the groom responded. He shambled up to the glass to where his bride was standing. He had stopped wailing. I watched his cataracts-riddled eyes stare at her with a dead, unwavering look. I’m not sure what’ was in them or what the man was thinking as he looked at the love of his life. But the response in the bride was profound. She was speechless, her hand trembling as she placed her fingers against the glass. The groom appeared not to have noticed the hand, his stare as focused as ever as he gazed intently into her eyes.
March 31st, 12:43 a.m. The bride has asked if she can go inside. I warned her against it, and when she insisted again, I raised my voice to make the point all the more clear. Whatever she saw in the dead man’s eyes was not her husband looking back. I think she’s blinded herself with nostalgia. The fact that she sees something of the old him in his eyes is just because she wanted there to be something of the old him still there. But when I look into those moth-eaten eyes, I see just the unaware, unresponsive look of an animal looking back at me. But she was adamant, and though I tried to hold her back, she still managed to force her way past me. She opened the door before I could stop her, and I watched in horror as she stepped out into the laboratory.
The groom had turned to face her. A low, raspy groan creaked from him. The two stood a meter apart, both looking into each other’s eyes. There was a bottle of sedative on my shelf. In this time, I took it, and drew a needle with one eye as I watched with the other at what was transpiring outside.
She took a step closer. She was practically standing beneath him. His breaths I noticed were ragged, panting into her forehead like a large dog. Pale, clammy fingers wrapped around her arms, and he drew her in. It was the first time I’ve seen him use his hands with any amount of purpose.
She didn’t struggle at first, and I could see that he was panting more heavily now, as though with excitement. She looked up at him, and him, down at her. His mouth hung slacked, occasionally stuttering or dripping droplets of saliva on her shoulder. But she didn’t seem to mind. Her eyes were half open, and she raised her head a bit to nuzzle his cheek with her nose. I could see that the groom had become still as he took in this newest sensation.
And then, with a noticeable breath, the bride pulled his head down and put his lips to hers. The groom’s groaning returned, but it was quieter and a higher pitch, more of a sing-song kind of noise. He pushed his lips against hers. His jaw slacked and his mouth poured over her mouth. I could see the shift from romance to disgust as she tried to push him off her. It was then that I heard the scream. It was muffled by the groom’s mouth over hers, and I could see that blood was starting to stream from her cheeks. His entire weight collapsed upon her, and the two crumbled to the floor as I bolted for the door. When I got in, I saw her flailing on the ground with the groom still at her face, a horrible slobbering sound slipping out from beneath the hysteric screams.
I plunged my syringe into his shoulder blade and administered the sedative. He hardly noticed. I waited a minute and then two for the effects to take hold, and all the while I had no choice but to listen to the shrieks of the woman, with not a thing I could do to help in the meantime.
March 31th, 12:58 a.m. The drug has finally taken effect, but the woman shows no signs of life. It wasn’t my first thought, but I fear for my research and the possibility of a civil lawsuit. Tomorrow morning I’ll tell the family that the experiment was a failure and ask if I can keep the groom’s body a little while longer in hopes that I can one day revive him. I think they are still hopeful enough to say yes. I will say nothing of the bride or the arrangement that we had made for her to come here tonight.
April 8th, 6:31 p.m. It’s been a week since the horrible events of March the 30th. The groom appears pleased with the latest results. I’m happy that he’s finally done with his infernal moaning. The bride is conscious and seems to have taken warmly to him. It’s a shame I couldn’t do something more about the face, but at least it doesn’t seem to bother them.

I, (18F) moved in with my boyfriend (19M) a couple of months after I turned 18, and my parents were furious and hurt. There’s a lot to unpack with this one, so bear with me.
My parents (40F and 42M) are very religious and were somewhat strict while I was growing up. I have two younger brothers, one 17 and one 8 (this will be important later). For context, my father is a pastor at a local church and my parent’s religious beliefs are the reasoning behind most if not all of their actions. Growing up, I was never a stereotypical girl. I didn’t have many female friends and was usually not accepted in groups with guys as I was a girl and we were kids. I was extroverted as a child but due to being repeatedly rejected by kids my age, I became more introverted. I was a major nerd who loved superheroes and I wanted to play sports. Again, for context, the town I grew up in was very conservative and my parents are very conservative themselves. Girls liked girl things- even if they claimed that’s not how they felt, it’s how they acted. However, as a kid, I did not realize this. I played soccer and basketball growing up, regardless of how “weird” it made me because I didn’t think there was anything wrong with it. I was probably around 9 or 10 at this point. It was around this time my parents started having issues with my hobbies. I remember my parents trying to convince me to be a cheerleader because I would “like it more,” but I insisted on playing basketball. (This basketball/cheer program was through our church by the way). Because I was still young, they let it slide, but to this day I remember them being annoyed with it. This is also around the time dieting was introduced to me as well as calorie counting. I have always struggled with my weight and so has my mother, so they were very adamant on making sure I was being “healthy.” I didn’t understand it, but as a child, the only thing I was worried about was making my parents happy. A lot of discipline I received revolved around emotion. What I was doing was right or wrong and if I did something wrong, I felt terrible and awful and would often come crying to my parents about the mistakes I made, fearful of their disappointment and anger if they found things out themselves. They also made everything a moral dilemma- everything was about God and religion and as a kid, it really messed with my head. I would blame myself for everything that went wrong, seeing it as God’s punishment for my behavior. When I was 9, I went so far as to blame my grandmother’s death on myself because I was hanging out with boys instead of girls. This made me to be more of an introvert and my now anxiety disorder is much much worse.
About a year later, my parents sat down with me and my brother and told us they wanted to adopt. At first, I was very excited. I loved the idea of having another brother or sister. And I wouldn’t trade my 8 year old brother (let’s call him Scott) for anything, but adopting kids is part of what triggered a huge change in my parent’s behavior. Also- I had started getting older. I loved playing video games, watching cartoons and writing. However, these weren’t the things they wanted me to like I guess, because I started to feel their judgment become more clear and apparent as I got older. Now, I assume this is because as a kid, I just did what I was told, or my oddities were assumed to fade over time, but that is not the case anymore. Anyways, entering middle school, our family fostered a little girl, let’s call her Ally. A young woman in our church had told us that Ally’s family was out of the picture, and as her aunt, she couldn’t take her in as she was already a single mom and planned on adopting her brother, but couldn’t handle all three alone. So my family stepped in- however, we had come to find that her father was still in the picture and was actively fighting for custody. And Ally was a bit of a handful. My parents have admitted that they expected to swoop in, save a child from a hard life and be the heroes, and when things were harder than that they were very upset. Ally was about three- she remembered her mom (who was in jail i believe), her sisters, her grandma and grandpa, as well as her dad. She didn’t want our family, she wanted hers. She didn’t listen to my parents and rejected their parenting. This is what started to make my parents snap. I understand it was hard for them, but now that I’m older, I get it. She was a little girl who wanted her family. But they took her rejection very seriously and were constantly unhappy with her and made sure she knew it. Children not listening immediately was newer to them as my brother and I both did pretty much whatever they asked, and they did not take well to being told “no” by a child. 8 months after living with Ally, she was taken in by her grandparents to live with them and her sisters. The next day, my parents took my brother and I on a small trip. I’m not sure if it was to cheer us up or to celebrate. I was quite sad though- I had started to really care about Ally and had convinced myself that “God would take care of things” and I would have a sister. But I was angry- God took someone away from me and I was doing everything right. Why was he punishing me? Nothing made sense. Yet, only a year later, my parents were considering taking in another child. I wanted nothing to do with it- God had already taken one sibling away from me. I couldn’t do it again. In the end, I agreed and soon became attached to this little boy, who was two when we met him. This was Scott. I immediately became attached- and I love this kid more than I can describe- he’s my little brother and I would do anything for him.
This is where things start to go further downhill. Scott has a lot of trauma and mental issues, one of those issues being oppositional defiant disorder. That basically means that listening to any form of authority is near impossible for him, and causes him to lash out and act younger than he is. This is probably due to a number of reasons, as he was severely neglected and abused as an infant and his birth mother was on several different substances while pregnant with him, to the point where he was born high on several illegal drugs. He was left in a car seat for most of his infant life, so the back of his head is slightly flattened due to this. My parents are very obedient/disciplined-based parents, so his behavior rocked their world. In my opinion, the way they handled things with Scott was borderline abusive. There were several occasions where he would say he hated them (as young children do when they're mad) and they would flip. Telling him that if he didn’t want them that was fine. They didn’t need him. He could run back to his other parents, but his mom was in jail and his dad didn’t want him, so good luck with that. If we were in the car when this happened, they would threaten to leave him on the side of the road and good luck finding his way home. Once my mother literally pulled to the side of the road, placed him outside the car and started driving so he would “think they would leave him if his actions didn’t change,” but she turned around to get him. Because they would “never actually abandon or hurt him,” their actions were justified and perfectly fine. They would tell him he was acting like a baby when he started to cry and scream. “Little baby Scott, do you need a diaper?” Is how they would tease him when he became older, which just made his tantrums worse. They would tell him how disappointed they were with him and that he should be ashamed of himself and the way he acted because they gave him everything. They would call him, to his face, “an ungrateful manipulative piece of shit.” Because according to my parents, he could control his actions 100% and was choosing to act out to make their lives difficult. While I understand that this was hard for them, in my opinion, this in no way excuses their behavior. One time, Scott was crying and was upset (who knows why, but the kid had a lot of trauma and mental issues so it didn’t bother me too much), and my mother picked him up and put him in his room. She told him that every time he tried to leave his room, she would take away one of his stuffed animals. (He had several that he loved very much). Because this sounded so terrible to him, he ran after her trying to say it wasn’t fair. So she went into his room and took a stuffed animal. This cycle continued while he cried and begged for her to stop, because he just didn’t get it that she was going to keep doing this over and over and his trying to convince her was making it worse. Eventually, there were none left, and she told him if he didn’t stop crying she was going to throw them all away. I don’t remember what happened after that, but I do know that several of them were thrown away, if not at that time than others. There are many other instances of things like this and worse occurring, but we’d be here for a while if I tried to recount them all. Moving forwards to closer when I was moving out-
Now, several years later, when I turned sixteen, I had come to terms with the fact that I was bisexual. This went against everything my family was for, and I knew exactly how they viewed queer people. So, I started learning about different branches of Christianity and felt like I knew a God who loved me as I was and was happy in my decision to switch denominations. (My parents were baptists, and I wanted to be non-denominational). A few months after this, I decided to tell my parents the truth. I had done my best to give them hints, but I wanted to be honest with them because I trusted that they would love me and be there for me no matter what. When I told them I wanted to talk to them about something, they pushed and pressed and I had been trying to wait to talk to them until the next day. I had been seeing my high school counselor, and she suggested giving them a heads-up before springing that conversation up on them. However, after telling them to wait, they went through my phone and saw that I had researched different denominations and read different sermons on queer-accepting faith. They were livid. To be clear- I had a friend over while this was happening. We were watching a movie and joking about how I lost my phone and couldn’t show them this picture I wanted to. Then, I was called upstairs. I had apparently betrayed my parents and, “how could I do this to them, when I had someone over?” My father demanded I send my friend home, but my mother convinced him for one more hour. I was told not to tell my friend anything they had said and to act like things were fine, but I couldn’t. I went back downstairs where we were hanging out and started sobbing. I felt like my whole world was falling apart. Everything was over- and the people I thought would love me no matter what made me so afraid and sad, I was completely broken. My friend did their best to comfort me and even felt weary to leave me alone with my family but I told them I’d be okay, and asked that they update our friends about the situation. That night was hellish. So many conversations, them trying to understand what I felt, but not taking me particularly seriously either. That night turned into weeks of books, slideshows, conversations, and prayers. It felt like at-home conversion therapy. Eventually, I was given a choice “put my convictional flag in the ground or loose their trust.” As the petrified 16 year old, I chose to lie. I put my “flag” in the ground and did my best to, “earn back their trust” and repair their reputation that I had tarnished. The next couple months were a blur. I felt so terrible about myself. I didn’t know what I thought or believed and I became extremely hyper anxious and depressed. I had lost all sense of privacy and I did trust my parents further than I could toss them. My 17 year old brother (he was 14 at the time, let’s call him James) was 100% on board with my parents. My life felt like a living nightmare. My parents had it so that all my texts sent or received from my phone would go directly to theirs, so I couldn’t even confide in my friends without getting into trouble (which had happened and was how I found out that they did that because I deleted the texts immediately after sending/receiving things).. Everything felt like it was about me and how I needed to earn back their trust and how I was a terrible betrayer who they were not proud of in the slightest. I had gone to get a pixie cut (with their approval) and after they told me I was disgusting and repulsive and would never find a man to love me. I was heartbroken and felt so alone and unloved in my house, while I had to watch my younger brother be treated the way he was by my parents.
Luckily, I had a lot of friends and our school counselor who had been there for me through everything. They showered me with support and love and made sure I had a safe space to exist and truthfully I think they’re the only reason I didn’t do anything drastic and am still here today. It was hard though because James went to the same school as me and would tell my parents if I was with anyone he knew was queer or queer accepting. This caused me to be very very paranoid about who I was with, when, where, etc. Constantly covering my tracks, having an excuse set up and ready to bolt if I saw anyone I knew. What made things equally hard is that the church my father works at is quite big in our area. So if someone from our church or someone who knew my family saw me with anyone they labeled as “queer” or “gay,” they would tell my family as well. For the most part, I didn’t feel safe anywhere. I was constantly alert and on guard, even when I was asleep as my parents had woken me up before to confront me about someone I was friends with at school.
Fortunately for me, despite everything being such a mess, I am quite academically smart. I got a job the second I turned sixteen as I had heard the horror stories of queer kids being kicked out and wanted to be prepared. I had been saving money, taking college classes (we have a state program that pays for the classes while you’re in high school), and putting on a show for my family for quite some time. After saving some money, I paid my parents for an older car that they had paid off ten or so years ago. After my brother turned 16, he claimed it was too hard to share a car with me, so while I was away visiting a friend they bought him a car and told us that they expected each of us to pay them one thousand dollars before we graduated high school and that when we did so, they would sign over our respective cars to us. To be clear, I contributed to insurance and paid for my own gas, as well as contributing to my phone bill and money for food. Meanwhile, my brother had no job, and was constantly asking my parents for money to go out with friends. He had also taken up golfing, which as most people know is extremely expensive, and my parents funded everything. James had actually admitted to asking for more money than he needed and save the leftovers for whatever he wanted. I was also expected to chauffeur him to golf events and to get togethers with his friends, and my parents would in return give me some gas money. Another thing to note is that the only reason I was contributing to our phone bill is because James wanted unlimited data and my father said it was unreasonable unless we both contributed financially. I refused as I was trying to save money (as I would have with the car situation), however things per normal went James’s way. However, because he did not have a job, he was not expected to pay anything and would not be charged for the months and years that he did not contribute to. I did my best not to let these things get to me and to keep a level head. I paid my parents for the car because I already had over two thousand dollars saved as a seventeen year old high school student due to my hard work.
I focused on my classes and joined theater to help fill the hours in between school and work. I was much more active my sophomore year but when James also decided to join theater I retreated a bit as my once safe space to freely exist was no longer safe. I joined the stage crew but honestly that was also very enjoyable and lethargic for me and I enjoyed it a lot. Anyways, I was mostly a straight A student besides the stray Bs and one or two Cs (psychology and AP government screwed me over) and was working 15 or so hours a week. This is on top of my commitments to the church which were most of my Sundays and my Wednesday evenings. The funny thing is though- James missed more church than I ever did yet because my absence was because of work and not golf, I was the one consistently reprimanded for my lack of attendance and socialization whilst I was there. Yet because James could never do anything wrong and was a very extroverted person his lack of attendance wasn’t as serious as my own. I had one close friend through our church, let’s call her Grace (now 18F) and she actually knew about everything and was very supportive of me. I also had some other friends who really only showed up to church so I didn’t have to go through the torture alone which I don’t know if I could ever repay them for. Besides the people I was comfortable with though, I was pretty much a loner there and this heavily displeased my parents as it made them look bad and messed with their reputation. I never realized how much appearances meant to them until all of the shit that happened took place. As I mentioned before, our church is very conservative and traditional, and many sermons and lessons revolved around gender roles and the sinfulness of the world in terms fo the LGBTQ community. I consistently felt targeted because of my looks and my personality and stopped feeling comfortable there a very long time ago.
Now that more context is in place, fast forward to the end of my junior year. I had at this point finished all my high school requirements for graduation and was given an incredible opportunity to go to our local college full time for my senior year. I was very excited and happy because not only did it give me more freedom but it also meant I would get more than a year of my college education paid for by the state.
It was also around this time when I met my now boyfriend, let’s call him Dean. We were coworkers and had begun to get to know each other. We had a lot in common and while were different people personality wise, we enjoyed each other’s company quite a bit. By some miracle, I convinced my parents to allow me to hang out with him outside of work by claiming he was just a friend and saying that he was a Christian (which is by no means true). They were extremely skeptical but allowed us to hang out. We had an incredible time- and by the end of our first date he asked me to be his girlfriend which I happily accepted. I was so happy, but when I got home, things spiraled out of control. I told my parents about our time, and they were extremely unhappy as they felt fooled (which they were to be fair) and told me I was not allowed to see him ever again. I was devastated and they said a lot of very uncalled for things and but I understand why they were angry. To be clear, they knew I had a romantic interest in Dean and that this hangout was to see if we would be compatible partners and get to know each other better. They did not call it a date though because they weren’t comfortable with it, even if it was a date and they kinda knew it. So while they were on some level “fooled,” I feel that their anger and harshness wasn’t called for as they knew the intentions of our hanging out. The next morning my father demanded to see my phone. This is when I started to panic. You see, they had stop tracking my texts and I had openly flirted with Dean over text. Nothing that explicit and no photos of any kind. But the flirting would be enough for them to tear my world apart and I knew it. They had gone through my personal conversations before and made me feel terrible because of it and I refused to let them do it again. So I deleted everything. The entire conversation chain, I removed it from my phone 100%. My parents absolutely lost their shit. They had been manipulating and gaslighting me for years, doing anything and everything to keep their control and with my actions I showed them they couldn’t control me forever and things went very downhill. I lost all my privacy and was once again told how I had betrayed them and I was terrible and couldn’t be trusted. Again- I partially understand their anger here because I had directly disobeyed a command. But at the same time, I feel as a young woman I should be allowed some sense of privacy and the ability to talk to people without being constantly monitored. I don’t feel like I did anything wrong and would happily do it again in a heartbeat if it meant I’d be where I am today. Regardless of this, my life became a living hell once again, and my parents compared this to when I came out, “which was maybe the worst night of their lives.” They stripped me of all my privileges even if I didn’t have many to begin with. They made me feel absolutely miserable and awful about myself and I was monitored like never before. I would be working and receive texts upon texts of how I was so terrible and how could I do this to them because they had done everything for me and I’m a terrible daughter who should be ashamed of myself for the deceit and malicious nature of my actions. Again- this was because they could not read the messages between me and my now boyfriend. I understand them being mad but they took it to a completely inappropriate level. I shared everything happening with my friends and counselor and they supported me and assured me I did nothing wrong and they would be there for me which helped but as my home was now a living hellscape it was hard to hear it. I found a way to tell Dean about things and at first he felt guilty but I assured him that their actions were not his fault but theirs. He then asked me if I wanted to pause our relationship but I told him honestly that they had taken so many things I cared about over the years and I refused to let them take this. I did tell him however I understood if he didn’t want to put up with all the complicatedness of my family but he told me he cared for me and would be there so long as I was okay with it. He also told me if things ever got really bad at home, regardless of the fact we had just started dating, he had spoken to his family and they offered me a place to stay if I needed/wanted it. This really touched me, but I reassured him that it was not his job to offer that, but I appreciated the offer.
This begins our relationship and we were very happy. We had found a way to communicate over email, and we were able to hide our relationship with my family. Luckily for me, over the years I had made a habit of hanging out at the park by myself so it was not strange for me to head to the park for a couple of hours. There, I would leave my car and phone (my phone had a tracker on it) and Dean and I would hangout multiple times a week and it was heaven. At this point, we’ve only been dating for a year but I can admit without any doubt that I am in love with this man and he is in love with me. During the school year, it became easier for us to hang out in between classes as we both went to the same college (I am older for my year in school and he is younger, so he was a sophomore in college while I was a senior in high school. However, we are barely a year apart in age for anyone who is concerned). However, in order for us to communicate and hang out, I had to be extremely diligent and was consistently covering my tracks while “once again, earning my parents trust and repairing our relationship.” Because of course their actions were completely justified and I was the one in the wrong, per normal. Anyways, every day, I was editing search histories, erasing messages, and looking over my shoulder. Our church had a program on campus where Dean and I went to school, so being together in public was risky as my father’s friends and coworkers were always on campus and I knew I would be screwed if we were caught together. We had a couple of close calls over the months but it was all worth it because I hadn’t been that happy in years.
Now, to the day I left and why. You see, my parents' behavior towards Scott was becoming more aggressive and worse over time. They also had, in my opinion, a drinking problem. Considering they didn’t deny it when I called them out, they may agree. They would behave more hostile after several drinks and it was happening so consistently I was constantly walking on eggshells. Between the way they treated Scott, the way they treated me and the constant stress I was under trying to balance my life in fear of the repercussions, things became too much. When things weren’t going to shit, I was consistently expected to either babysit my brother and do chores while being a full time college student and working a part time job WHILE attending church multiple times a week and keeping up with my responsibilities as a senior. This is on top of the stress my parents' behavior caused, meanwhile James was expected to do almost nothing in comparison. Don’t get me wrong- he didn’t do anything, but he had almost no responsibilities outside of school and his extracurriculars which were exclusively funded by my parents. Yes he helped with dishes during the week and would keep his space tidy. But as my schedule became much more flexible due to my school schedule, my expectations around the house became much higher than his. Even though I paid 200 a month on gas, 50 a month for insurance and 50 a month for the phone bill, and he paid nothing for his car, insurance, phone, gas, nothing. So you would think he would be expected to help in the house more but no. Also, James’s behavior towards Scott mimicked my parents and so all babysitting responsibilities fell on me as they couldn’t be trusted alone together. I was rarely if ever paid for my cleaning or babysitting services as it was my responsibility as their eldest child. They would also consistently judge me for my weight, cloths, hair, hobbies, etc. Why did I think it was a good idea to get fast food? I clearly didn’t need it. They would “outfit check me” to make sure the outfits I wore were feminine enough because the way I look effected their reputation and I couldn’t be trusted. I was not allowed to cut my hair after their tantrum over it. As for my hobbies, I stopped playing sports in middle school as I am very short (currently 5 foot even) and was unable to keep up with my peers. However my interest in video games and cartoons wasn’t feminine enough and they proceeded to compare me to my best friend Grace because she was skinnier and liked more feminine things than I did which hurt a lot. Another thing for context, I have PCOS. It’s an endocrine disorder that heavily effects your metabolism and hormones, which in turn severely effected my weight, however my parents never acknowledged it and again made everything my fault. So from what I wore, what I ate, who I hung out with and what I enjoyed doing was constantly criticized, scrutinized and eventually controlled by my family for years. On top of everything else, I was done. I was 18, I had resaved the thousand I paid my family and knew I was at a place where I didn’t need them and was tired of being treated like shit. So I left.
The night I moved out was a total shit show. I had rallied Dean and my other friend, let’s call them Rita (18NB), and they helped me form a plan. When I returned home, Dean and Rita would be on their way. I would pack everything that belonged to me or I felt they would let me take, and prep the bags outside. After Rita arrived I went to try and explain to my parents that I would be leaving and explain calmly why. In a perfect world, we would have had a long deep talk, and things would have ended alright. That is far, far from what happened. They immediately starting screaming, and took my phone and car keys as both belonged to them, which I calmly handed over. Rita was there for emotional support, and put themselves between me and my parents as they got more angry and seemed to be turning aggressive. After that, my father called the police and claimed that there was an intruder in their home trying to take their child. Yeah. Complete bullshit- which to this day I’m surprised they were never charged with falsifying a 911 call. They screamed at Rita to get out of their home and was screaming that I was throwing away everything and I needed to reconsider. I ignored them and attempted to calmly walk out, and my parents attempted to barricade the doors while harassing Rita to leave. Because Rita is incredible and one of my closest friends now, they refused to leave without me which was very calming. While my parents were distracted yelling at them, I slipped out through the garage. My mother saw this and then grabbed me, attempting to drag me inside by my arm. Rita saw this and assisted me in getting her off me, and after doing so we continued to walk towards Dean’s car where he was waiting for us. He figured it would be best if my family didn’t see him for the time being as they would definitely lose their minds at seeing his face. My parents continued screaming and then the cops arrived. They were quite confused at first because they had been sent to deal with a potential kidnapping, only to see two grown adults throwing a tantrum because their adult child didn’t want to live with them anymore. That night was honestly so insane I could write three more pages about everything they said and did. The most notable events were first when my mother tried to explain to the police that because I was her child, she was allowed to put her hands on me, which they humorously informed her was not the case. The next was when James came home from theater rehearsal, to which my parents told them that I was abandoning our family. He was an emotional wreck through all of it, and to this day has told me that until I “fix” things with our parents he is not okay with having any form of relationship with me. Throughout all of this Scott was in his room, and I was allowed to give him one last hug before leaving. The final and most notable thing, was as the cops allowed my boyfriend, Rita and I to leave, my father threatened violence towards my boyfriend and accused him of "taking advantage of his underage daughter," which is just ridiculous as we are practically the same age, and anything we had done together was consensual and reserved for after I turned 18. Another thing my parents did was go through each bag I had packed and took everything they felt belonged to them, including the laptop provided to me by my high school, which they hilariously were made to give back to me several days later as it was not theirs and they had no right to take it. They tried claiming they were giving it to me out of the kindness of their hearts, but that bullshit meant nothing as after I informed the school of their behavior, the school assured me they would be made to give it back. Another thing they threatened to do as I left was pull me out of high school, which I was assured by the police they were not capable of doing as I was 18. The police were for the most part annoyed with my parents, tired of their bs and told me I seemed to be a capable young woman and wished me the best of luck. My parents had tried to ask the police to say I was mentally unstable for the time being so I wouldn’t be allowed to leave, as their “she’s still in high school” excuse didn’t do anything. You see, as my father is an influential church figure and had friends in the police force, he thought they would be on his side but was sorely mistaken as the chief told him they wouldn’t be doing him any favors. And with that, I was free.
My boyfriend's family has been nothing but unconditionally kind and supportive and have accepted me as part of their family which has been a huge blessing in all of this. I am in contact with my father’s sister and his father, my aunt and grandpa, and as I have expressed my unhappiness at home, they are supportive of me as well. However, as my aunt lives further away and my grandpa is not in the best place to have me live with him, I have been with my boyfriend's family since I left home in October. I have a lot more I could say but I already feel like there are way too many parts here and so for now I’ll leave it at this. So yeah, AITA for moving out after I was treated like shit for years while witnessing the mistreatment of my sibling?

I, (18F) moved in with my boyfriend (19M) a couple of months after I turned 18, and my parents were furious and hurt. There’s a lot to unpack with this one, so bear with me.
My parents (40F and 42M) are very religious and were somewhat strict while I was growing up. I have two younger brothers, one 17 and one 8 (this will be important later). For context, my father is a pastor at a local church and my parent’s religious beliefs are the reasoning behind most if not all of their actions. Growing up, I was never a stereotypical girl. I didn’t have many female friends and was usually not accepted in groups with guys as I was a girl and we were kids. I was extroverted as a child but due to being repeatedly rejected by kids my age, I became more introverted. I was a major nerd who loved superheroes and I wanted to play sports. Again, for context, the town I grew up in was very conservative and my parents are very conservative themselves. Girls liked girl things- even if they claimed that’s not how they felt, it’s how they acted. However, as a kid, I did not realize this. I played soccer and basketball growing up, regardless of how “weird” it made me because I didn’t think there was anything wrong with it. I was probably around 9 or 10 at this point. It was around this time my parents started having issues with my hobbies. I remember my parents trying to convince me to be a cheerleader because I would “like it more,” but I insisted on playing basketball. (This basketball/cheer program was through our church by the way). Because I was still young, they let it slide, but to this day I remember them being annoyed with it. This is also around the time dieting was introduced to me as well as calorie counting. I have always struggled with my weight and so has my mother, so they were very adamant on making sure I was being “healthy.” I didn’t understand it, but as a child, the only thing I was worried about was making my parents happy. A lot of discipline I received revolved around emotion. What I was doing was right or wrong and if I did something wrong, I felt terrible and awful and would often come crying to my parents about the mistakes I made, fearful of their disappointment and anger if they found things out themselves. They also made everything a moral dilemma- everything was about God and religion and as a kid, it really messed with my head. I would blame myself for everything that went wrong, seeing it as God’s punishment for my behavior. When I was 9, I went so far as to blame my grandmother’s death on myself because I was hanging out with boys instead of girls. This made me to be more of an introvert and my now anxiety disorder is much much worse.
About a year later, my parents sat down with me and my brother and told us they wanted to adopt. At first, I was very excited. I loved the idea of having another brother or sister. And I wouldn’t trade my 8 year old brother (let’s call him Scott) for anything, but adopting kids is part of what triggered a huge change in my parent’s behavior. Also- I had started getting older. I loved playing video games, watching cartoons and writing. However, these weren’t the things they wanted me to like I guess, because I started to feel their judgment become more clear and apparent as I got older. Now, I assume this is because as a kid, I just did what I was told, or my oddities were assumed to fade over time, but that is not the case anymore. Anyways, entering middle school, our family fostered a little girl, let’s call her Ally. A young woman in our church had told us that Ally’s family was out of the picture, and as her aunt, she couldn’t take her in as she was already a single mom and planned on adopting her brother, but couldn’t handle all three alone. So my family stepped in- however, we had come to find that her father was still in the picture and was actively fighting for custody. And Ally was a bit of a handful. My parents have admitted that they expected to swoop in, save a child from a hard life and be the heroes, and when things were harder than that they were very upset. Ally was about three- she remembered her mom (who was in jail i believe), her sisters, her grandma and grandpa, as well as her dad. She didn’t want our family, she wanted hers. She didn’t listen to my parents and rejected their parenting. This is what started to make my parents snap. I understand it was hard for them, but now that I’m older, I get it. She was a little girl who wanted her family. But they took her rejection very seriously and were constantly unhappy with her and made sure she knew it. Children not listening immediately was newer to them as my brother and I both did pretty much whatever they asked, and they did not take well to being told “no” by a child. 8 months after living with Ally, she was taken in by her grandparents to live with them and her sisters. The next day, my parents took my brother and I on a small trip. I’m not sure if it was to cheer us up or to celebrate. I was quite sad though- I had started to really care about Ally and had convinced myself that “God would take care of things” and I would have a sister. But I was angry- God took someone away from me and I was doing everything right. Why was he punishing me? Nothing made sense. Yet, only a year later, my parents were considering taking in another child. I wanted nothing to do with it- God had already taken one sibling away from me. I couldn’t do it again. In the end, I agreed and soon became attached to this little boy, who was two when we met him. This was Scott. I immediately became attached- and I love this kid more than I can describe- he’s my little brother and I would do anything for him.
This is where things start to go further downhill. Scott has a lot of trauma and mental issues, one of those issues being oppositional defiant disorder. That basically means that listening to any form of authority is near impossible for him, and causes him to lash out and act younger than he is. This is probably due to a number of reasons, as he was severely neglected and abused as an infant and his birth mother was on several different substances while pregnant with him, to the point where he was born high on several illegal drugs. He was left in a car seat for most of his infant life, so the back of his head is slightly flattened due to this. My parents are very obedient/disciplined-based parents, so his behavior rocked their world. In my opinion, the way they handled things with Scott was borderline abusive. There were several occasions where he would say he hated them (as young children do when they're mad) and they would flip. Telling him that if he didn’t want them that was fine. They didn’t need him. He could run back to his other parents, but his mom was in jail and his dad didn’t want him, so good luck with that. If we were in the car when this happened, they would threaten to leave him on the side of the road and good luck finding his way home. Once my mother literally pulled to the side of the road, placed him outside the car and started driving so he would “think they would leave him if his actions didn’t change,” but she turned around to get him. Because they would “never actually abandon or hurt him,” their actions were justified and perfectly fine. They would tell him he was acting like a baby when he started to cry and scream. “Little baby Scott, do you need a diaper?” Is how they would tease him when he became older, which just made his tantrums worse. They would tell him how disappointed they were with him and that he should be ashamed of himself and the way he acted because they gave him everything. They would call him, to his face, “an ungrateful manipulative piece of shit.” Because according to my parents, he could control his actions 100% and was choosing to act out to make their lives difficult. While I understand that this was hard for them, in my opinion, this in no way excuses their behavior. One time, Scott was crying and was upset (who knows why, but the kid had a lot of trauma and mental issues so it didn’t bother me too much), and my mother picked him up and put him in his room. She told him that every time he tried to leave his room, she would take away one of his stuffed animals. (He had several that he loved very much). Because this sounded so terrible to him, he ran after her trying to say it wasn’t fair. So she went into his room and took a stuffed animal. This cycle continued while he cried and begged for her to stop, because he just didn’t get it that she was going to keep doing this over and over and his trying to convince her was making it worse. Eventually, there were none left, and she told him if he didn’t stop crying she was going to throw them all away. I don’t remember what happened after that, but I do know that several of them were thrown away, if not at that time than others. There are many other instances of things like this and worse occurring, but we’d be here for a while if I tried to recount them all. Moving forwards to closer when I was moving out-
Now, several years later, when I turned sixteen, I had come to terms with the fact that I was bisexual. This went against everything my family was for, and I knew exactly how they viewed queer people. So, I started learning about different branches of Christianity and felt like I knew a God who loved me as I was and was happy in my decision to switch denominations. (My parents were baptists, and I wanted to be non-denominational). A few months after this, I decided to tell my parents the truth. I had done my best to give them hints, but I wanted to be honest with them because I trusted that they would love me and be there for me no matter what. When I told them I wanted to talk to them about something, they pushed and pressed and I had been trying to wait to talk to them until the next day. I had been seeing my high school counselor, and she suggested giving them a heads-up before springing that conversation up on them. However, after telling them to wait, they went through my phone and saw that I had researched different denominations and read different sermons on queer-accepting faith. They were livid. To be clear- I had a friend over while this was happening. We were watching a movie and joking about how I lost my phone and couldn’t show them this picture I wanted to. Then, I was called upstairs. I had apparently betrayed my parents and, “how could I do this to them, when I had someone over?” My father demanded I send my friend home, but my mother convinced him for one more hour. I was told not to tell my friend anything they had said and to act like things were fine, but I couldn’t. I went back downstairs where we were hanging out and started sobbing. I felt like my whole world was falling apart. Everything was over- and the people I thought would love me no matter what made me so afraid and sad, I was completely broken. My friend did their best to comfort me and even felt weary to leave me alone with my family but I told them I’d be okay, and asked that they update our friends about the situation. That night was hellish. So many conversations, them trying to understand what I felt, but not taking me particularly seriously either. That night turned into weeks of books, slideshows, conversations, and prayers. It felt like at-home conversion therapy. Eventually, I was given a choice “put my convictional flag in the ground or loose their trust.” As the petrified 16 year old, I chose to lie. I put my “flag” in the ground and did my best to, “earn back their trust” and repair their reputation that I had tarnished. The next couple months were a blur. I felt so terrible about myself. I didn’t know what I thought or believed and I became extremely hyper anxious and depressed. I had lost all sense of privacy and I did trust my parents further than I could toss them. My 17 year old brother (he was 14 at the time, let’s call him James) was 100% on board with my parents. My life felt like a living nightmare. My parents had it so that all my texts sent or received from my phone would go directly to theirs, so I couldn’t even confide in my friends without getting into trouble (which had happened and was how I found out that they did that because I deleted the texts immediately after sending/receiving things).. Everything felt like it was about me and how I needed to earn back their trust and how I was a terrible betrayer who they were not proud of in the slightest. I had gone to get a pixie cut (with their approval) and after they told me I was disgusting and repulsive and would never find a man to love me. I was heartbroken and felt so alone and unloved in my house, while I had to watch my younger brother be treated the way he was by my parents.
Luckily, I had a lot of friends and our school counselor who had been there for me through everything. They showered me with support and love and made sure I had a safe space to exist and truthfully I think they’re the only reason I didn’t do anything drastic and am still here today. It was hard though because James went to the same school as me and would tell my parents if I was with anyone he knew was queer or queer accepting. This caused me to be very very paranoid about who I was with, when, where, etc. Constantly covering my tracks, having an excuse set up and ready to bolt if I saw anyone I knew. What made things equally hard is that the church my father works at is quite big in our area. So if someone from our church or someone who knew my family saw me with anyone they labeled as “queer” or “gay,” they would tell my family as well. For the most part, I didn’t feel safe anywhere. I was constantly alert and on guard, even when I was asleep as my parents had woken me up before to confront me about someone I was friends with at school.
Fortunately for me, despite everything being such a mess, I am quite academically smart. I got a job the second I turned sixteen as I had heard the horror stories of queer kids being kicked out and wanted to be prepared. I had been saving money, taking college classes (we have a state program that pays for the classes while you’re in high school), and putting on a show for my family for quite some time. After saving some money, I paid my parents for an older car that they had paid off ten or so years ago. After my brother turned 16, he claimed it was too hard to share a car with me, so while I was away visiting a friend they bought him a car and told us that they expected each of us to pay them one thousand dollars before we graduated high school and that when we did so, they would sign over our respective cars to us. To be clear, I contributed to insurance and paid for my own gas, as well as contributing to my phone bill and money for food. Meanwhile, my brother had no job, and was constantly asking my parents for money to go out with friends. He had also taken up golfing, which as most people know is extremely expensive, and my parents funded everything. James had actually admitted to asking for more money than he needed and save the leftovers for whatever he wanted. I was also expected to chauffeur him to golf events and to get togethers with his friends, and my parents would in return give me some gas money. Another thing to note is that the only reason I was contributing to our phone bill is because James wanted unlimited data and my father said it was unreasonable unless we both contributed financially. I refused as I was trying to save money (as I would have with the car situation), however things per normal went James’s way. However, because he did not have a job, he was not expected to pay anything and would not be charged for the months and years that he did not contribute to. I did my best not to let these things get to me and to keep a level head. I paid my parents for the car because I already had over two thousand dollars saved as a seventeen year old high school student due to my hard work.
I focused on my classes and joined theater to help fill the hours in between school and work. I was much more active my sophomore year but when James also decided to join theater I retreated a bit as my once safe space to freely exist was no longer safe. I joined the stage crew but honestly that was also very enjoyable and lethargic for me and I enjoyed it a lot. Anyways, I was mostly a straight A student besides the stray Bs and one or two Cs (psychology and AP government screwed me over) and was working 15 or so hours a week. This is on top of my commitments to the church which were most of my Sundays and my Wednesday evenings. The funny thing is though- James missed more church than I ever did yet because my absence was because of work and not golf, I was the one consistently reprimanded for my lack of attendance and socialization whilst I was there. Yet because James could never do anything wrong and was a very extroverted person his lack of attendance wasn’t as serious as my own. I had one close friend through our church, let’s call her Grace (now 18F) and she actually knew about everything and was very supportive of me. I also had some other friends who really only showed up to church so I didn’t have to go through the torture alone which I don’t know if I could ever repay them for. Besides the people I was comfortable with though, I was pretty much a loner there and this heavily displeased my parents as it made them look bad and messed with their reputation. I never realized how much appearances meant to them until all of the shit that happened took place. As I mentioned before, our church is very conservative and traditional, and many sermons and lessons revolved around gender roles and the sinfulness of the world in terms fo the LGBTQ community. I consistently felt targeted because of my looks and my personality and stopped feeling comfortable there a very long time ago.
Now that more context is in place, fast forward to the end of my junior year. I had at this point finished all my high school requirements for graduation and was given an incredible opportunity to go to our local college full time for my senior year. I was very excited and happy because not only did it give me more freedom but it also meant I would get more than a year of my college education paid for by the state.
It was also around this time when I met my now boyfriend, let’s call him Dean. We were coworkers and had begun to get to know each other. We had a lot in common and while were different people personality wise, we enjoyed each other’s company quite a bit. By some miracle, I convinced my parents to allow me to hang out with him outside of work by claiming he was just a friend and saying that he was a Christian (which is by no means true). They were extremely skeptical but allowed us to hang out. We had an incredible time- and by the end of our first date he asked me to be his girlfriend which I happily accepted. I was so happy, but when I got home, things spiraled out of control. I told my parents about our time, and they were extremely unhappy as they felt fooled (which they were to be fair) and told me I was not allowed to see him ever again. I was devastated and they said a lot of very uncalled for things and but I understand why they were angry. To be clear, they knew I had a romantic interest in Dean and that this hangout was to see if we would be compatible partners and get to know each other better. They did not call it a date though because they weren’t comfortable with it, even if it was a date and they kinda knew it. So while they were on some level “fooled,” I feel that their anger and harshness wasn’t called for as they knew the intentions of our hanging out. The next morning my father demanded to see my phone. This is when I started to panic. You see, they had stop tracking my texts and I had openly flirted with Dean over text. Nothing that explicit and no photos of any kind. But the flirting would be enough for them to tear my world apart and I knew it. They had gone through my personal conversations before and made me feel terrible because of it and I refused to let them do it again. So I deleted everything. The entire conversation chain, I removed it from my phone 100%. My parents absolutely lost their shit. They had been manipulating and gaslighting me for years, doing anything and everything to keep their control and with my actions I showed them they couldn’t control me forever and things went very downhill. I lost all my privacy and was once again told how I had betrayed them and I was terrible and couldn’t be trusted. Again- I partially understand their anger here because I had directly disobeyed a command. But at the same time, I feel as a young woman I should be allowed some sense of privacy and the ability to talk to people without being constantly monitored. I don’t feel like I did anything wrong and would happily do it again in a heartbeat if it meant I’d be where I am today. Regardless of this, my life became a living hell once again, and my parents compared this to when I came out, “which was maybe the worst night of their lives.” They stripped me of all my privileges even if I didn’t have many to begin with. They made me feel absolutely miserable and awful about myself and I was monitored like never before. I would be working and receive texts upon texts of how I was so terrible and how could I do this to them because they had done everything for me and I’m a terrible daughter who should be ashamed of myself for the deceit and malicious nature of my actions. Again- this was because they could not read the messages between me and my now boyfriend. I understand them being mad but they took it to a completely inappropriate level. I shared everything happening with my friends and counselor and they supported me and assured me I did nothing wrong and they would be there for me which helped but as my home was now a living hellscape it was hard to hear it. I found a way to tell Dean about things and at first he felt guilty but I assured him that their actions were not his fault but theirs. He then asked me if I wanted to pause our relationship but I told him honestly that they had taken so many things I cared about over the years and I refused to let them take this. I did tell him however I understood if he didn’t want to put up with all the complicatedness of my family but he told me he cared for me and would be there so long as I was okay with it. He also told me if things ever got really bad at home, regardless of the fact we had just started dating, he had spoken to his family and they offered me a place to stay if I needed/wanted it. This really touched me, but I reassured him that it was not his job to offer that, but I appreciated the offer.
This begins our relationship and we were very happy. We had found a way to communicate over email, and we were able to hide our relationship with my family. Luckily for me, over the years I had made a habit of hanging out at the park by myself so it was not strange for me to head to the park for a couple of hours. There, I would leave my car and phone (my phone had a tracker on it) and Dean and I would hangout multiple times a week and it was heaven. At this point, we’ve only been dating for a year but I can admit without any doubt that I am in love with this man and he is in love with me. During the school year, it became easier for us to hang out in between classes as we both went to the same college (I am older for my year in school and he is younger, so he was a sophomore in college while I was a senior in high school. However, we are barely a year apart in age for anyone who is concerned). However, in order for us to communicate and hang out, I had to be extremely diligent and was consistently covering my tracks while “once again, earning my parents trust and repairing our relationship.” Because of course their actions were completely justified and I was the one in the wrong, per normal. Anyways, every day, I was editing search histories, erasing messages, and looking over my shoulder. Our church had a program on campus where Dean and I went to school, so being together in public was risky as my father’s friends and coworkers were always on campus and I knew I would be screwed if we were caught together. We had a couple of close calls over the months but it was all worth it because I hadn’t been that happy in years.
Now, to the day I left and why. You see, my parents' behavior towards Scott was becoming more aggressive and worse over time. They also had, in my opinion, a drinking problem. Considering they didn’t deny it when I called them out, they may agree. They would behave more hostile after several drinks and it was happening so consistently I was constantly walking on eggshells. Between the way they treated Scott, the way they treated me and the constant stress I was under trying to balance my life in fear of the repercussions, things became too much. When things weren’t going to shit, I was consistently expected to either babysit my brother and do chores while being a full time college student and working a part time job WHILE attending church multiple times a week and keeping up with my responsibilities as a senior. This is on top of the stress my parents' behavior caused, meanwhile James was expected to do almost nothing in comparison. Don’t get me wrong- he didn’t do anything, but he had almost no responsibilities outside of school and his extracurriculars which were exclusively funded by my parents. Yes he helped with dishes during the week and would keep his space tidy. But as my schedule became much more flexible due to my school schedule, my expectations around the house became much higher than his. Even though I paid 200 a month on gas, 50 a month for insurance and 50 a month for the phone bill, and he paid nothing for his car, insurance, phone, gas, nothing. So you would think he would be expected to help in the house more but no. Also, James’s behavior towards Scott mimicked my parents and so all babysitting responsibilities fell on me as they couldn’t be trusted alone together. I was rarely if ever paid for my cleaning or babysitting services as it was my responsibility as their eldest child. They would also consistently judge me for my weight, cloths, hair, hobbies, etc. Why did I think it was a good idea to get fast food? I clearly didn’t need it. They would “outfit check me” to make sure the outfits I wore were feminine enough because the way I look effected their reputation and I couldn’t be trusted. I was not allowed to cut my hair after their tantrum over it. As for my hobbies, I stopped playing sports in middle school as I am very short (currently 5 foot even) and was unable to keep up with my peers. However my interest in video games and cartoons wasn’t feminine enough and they proceeded to compare me to my best friend Grace because she was skinnier and liked more feminine things than I did which hurt a lot. Another thing for context, I have PCOS. It’s an endocrine disorder that heavily effects your metabolism and hormones, which in turn severely effected my weight, however my parents never acknowledged it and again made everything my fault. So from what I wore, what I ate, who I hung out with and what I enjoyed doing was constantly criticized, scrutinized and eventually controlled by my family for years. On top of everything else, I was done. I was 18, I had resaved the thousand I paid my family and knew I was at a place where I didn’t need them and was tired of being treated like shit. So I left.
The night I moved out was a total shit show. I had rallied Dean and my other friend, let’s call them Rita (18NB), and they helped me form a plan. When I returned home, Dean and Rita would be on their way. I would pack everything that belonged to me or I felt they would let me take, and prep the bags outside. After Rita arrived I went to try and explain to my parents that I would be leaving and explain calmly why. In a perfect world, we would have had a long deep talk, and things would have ended alright. That is far, far from what happened. They immediately starting screaming, and took my phone and car keys as both belonged to them, which I calmly handed over. Rita was there for emotional support, and put themselves between me and my parents as they got more angry and seemed to be turning aggressive. After that, my father called the police and claimed that there was an intruder in their home trying to take their child. Yeah. Complete bullshit- which to this day I’m surprised they were never charged with falsifying a 911 call. They screamed at Rita to get out of their home and was screaming that I was throwing away everything and I needed to reconsider. I ignored them and attempted to calmly walk out, and my parents attempted to barricade the doors while harassing Rita to leave. Because Rita is incredible and one of my closest friends now, they refused to leave without me which was very calming. While my parents were distracted yelling at them, I slipped out through the garage. My mother saw this and then grabbed me, attempting to drag me inside by my arm. Rita saw this and assisted me in getting her off me, and after doing so we continued to walk towards Dean’s car where he was waiting for us. He figured it would be best if my family didn’t see him for the time being as they would definitely lose their minds at seeing his face. My parents continued screaming and then the cops arrived. They were quite confused at first because they had been sent to deal with a potential kidnapping, only to see two grown adults throwing a tantrum because their adult child didn’t want to live with them anymore. That night was honestly so insane I could write three more pages about everything they said and did. The most notable events were first when my mother tried to explain to the police that because I was her child, she was allowed to put her hands on me, which they humorously informed her was not the case. The next was when James came home from theater rehearsal, to which my parents told them that I was abandoning our family. He was an emotional wreck through all of it, and to this day has told me that until I “fix” things with our parents he is not okay with having any form of relationship with me. Throughout all of this Scott was in his room, and I was allowed to give him one last hug before leaving. The final and most notable thing, was as the cops allowed my boyfriend, Rita and I to leave, my father threatened violence towards my boyfriend and accused him of "taking advantage of his underage daughter," which is just ridiculous as we are practically the same age, and anything we had done together was consensual and reserved for after I turned 18. Another thing my parents did was go through each bag I had packed and took everything they felt belonged to them, including the laptop provided to me by my high school, which they hilariously were made to give back to me several days later as it was not theirs and they had no right to take it. They tried claiming they were giving it to me out of the kindness of their hearts, but that bullshit meant nothing as after I informed the school of their behavior, the school assured me they would be made to give it back. Another thing they threatened to do as I left was pull me out of high school, which I was assured by the police they were not capable of doing as I was 18. The police were for the most part annoyed with my parents, tired of their bs and told me I seemed to be a capable young woman and wished me the best of luck. My parents had tried to ask the police to say I was mentally unstable for the time being so I wouldn’t be allowed to leave, as their “she’s still in high school” excuse didn’t do anything. You see, as my father is an influential church figure and had friends in the police force, he thought they would be on his side but was sorely mistaken as the chief told him they wouldn’t be doing him any favors. And with that, I was free.
My boyfriend's family has been nothing but unconditionally kind and supportive and have accepted me as part of their family which has been a huge blessing in all of this. I am in contact with my father’s sister and his father, my aunt and grandpa, and as I have expressed my unhappiness at home, they are supportive of me as well. However, as my aunt lives further away and my grandpa is not in the best place to have me live with him, I have been with my boyfriend's family since I left home in October. I have a lot more I could say but I already feel like there are way too many parts here and so for now I’ll leave it at this. So yeah, AITA for moving out after I was treated like shit for years while witnessing the mistreatment of my sibling?

I’m so glad this sub exists because I’ve been annoying everyone in my life with my theories about these two … I figured this would be the right place to post my speculation/lyric breakdowns of songs that they may have written about each other, split into different posts for albums for ease of reading.
Starting with Reputation (2017) – I imagine the failed relationship with Matty was still fresh for Taylor during the writing/recording of this album. Her reference to her “longings locked in lowercase inside a vault” definitely made me look back at Rep in a way I hadn’t before (and I do think we’ll see some Matty-coded vault tracks on TV”. That said I don’t want to erase her other relationships, especially with Joe, so I’ll make notes of where I think I’m either stretching for a Matty connection or I think there are multiple muses.
Special mention to “Getaway Car” which feels like another (fictionalized?) response to Robbers but the story she tells is very similar to her fling with Tom, especially given the third man in the song. I usually claim it for the maylors anyway bc who cares about Tom. Let me know what you think.
“...Ready For It?”
Knew he was a killer first time that I saw him / Wonder how many girls he had loved and left haunted / But if he's a ghost, then I can be a phantom
I can't ignore the connections here to two other songs thought to be written about M - Ghost (2014) and Haunted (2015) by Halsey (I won't bother going into the HalseyMatty lore here but I could in another post...)
"You're a Rolling Stone boy, never-sleep-alone boy / Got a million numbers and they're filling up your phone, boy" (Ghost) "I'm begging you to keep on haunting me" (Haunted) "My ghost / Where'd you go? / I can't find you in the body sleeping next to me" (Ghost)
I can be a phantom holdin' him for ransom / Knew I was a robber first time that he saw me / Stealing hearts and running off and never saying sorry / But if I'm a thief, then he can join the heist / And he can be my jailer
Robbers is one of The 1975’s most famous songs. In the music video two lovers stick up a convenience store - definitely worth a watch if you haven't seen it. In 2014 M dedicated the song to T in Dallas in November 2017 (a week after she attended the concert in LA) here and here
Burton to this Taylor
One of my favorite references that I think reveals a lot about the messy but irresistible relationship M and T seem to have. Here's a link to a great article about the wild love affair between Elizabeth Taylor and Richard Burton.
Every love I've known in comparison is a failure / I forget their names now, I'm so very tame now / Never be the same now
This sentiment is repeated throughout many of the songs I believe are about M. The idea of a life altering love is obviously prevalent across TTPD but also in folklore, evermore, and Midnights. ex. "I'm never gonna love again" (cowboy like me), "I don't remember who I was before you painted all my nights a color I have searched for since" (Question...?), "I felt aglow like this / Never before and never since" (loml)
Also want to mention This Must Be My Dream from 2016, which M has said is about an older gf but may fit: "Let me tell you 'bout this girl / I thought she'd rearrange my world"
No one has to know / In the middle of the night, in my dreams / You should see the things we do, baby
See Guilty as Sin? lol
Baby, let the games begin
Taylor in an interview with Glamour in February 2014:
TS: [Nods. Pauses.] I think everyone should approach relationships from the perspective of playing it straight and giving someone the benefit of the doubt. Until he establishes that this is a game. And if it's a game, you need to win. The best thing to do is just walk away from the table.
CL: Is that winning?
TS: It is when they come back. [Laughs.] And if they don't, then they didn't care enough to begin with.
conclusion: I believe ...Ready For It? is a response to Robbers and reveals M and T's similar romanticism (sometimes toxic but so addicting). The mirrored stylization of ...Ready For It? and Question...? makes me think the latter is a continuation of the former. The mentions of “island breeze” and “we’ll move to an island” have made people believe this song is about Tom Hiddleston but other lyrics, namely “younger than my exes” pretty clearly contradicts that.
"End Game"
I wanna be your end game / I wanna be your first string /I wanna be your A-Team
Funny reading this after The Alchemy and So High School.
Big reputation, big reputation / Ooh, you and me, we got big reputations / And you heard about me / Ooh, you and me would be a big conversation
And they were! Especially because T hadn't been really linked to anyone after Harry, the speculation about her and M came hard and fast. M especially was inundated with questions in the months after the LA and NYC shows.
And I heard about you / You like the bad ones, too
Another possible reference to a Halsey song, this time Hurricane from 2014: "He says, "Oh, baby, beggin' you to save me / Well, lately I like 'em crazy/ Oh, maybe, you could devastate me"
I don't wanna touch you, I don't wanna be / Just another ex-love you don't wanna see / I don't wanna miss you / Like the other girls do
Very reminiscent of The 1975's song Somebody Else, released in 2016, speculated to be about T: "I don't want your body / But I hate to think about you with somebody else"
I hit you like bang, we tried to forget it, but we just couldn't
"Flashbacks waking me up / I get drunk, but it's not enough" (Death By A Thousand Cuts)
And I bury hatchets, but I keep maps of where I put 'em
"I circled you on a map / I haven't come around in so long" (The Alchemy)
Reputation precedes me, they told you I'm crazy
"And they tried to warn you about me" (The Albatross)
And I can't let you go, your hand prints on my soul
"Marked me like a bloodstain" (Cardigan)
It's like your eyes are liquor, it's like your body is gold
So many of the songs speculated to be about M reference his eyes but the most relevant (not the starry eyed motif which we'll get to in the future) are: "Eyes like sinking ships on waters / So inviting I almost jump in" (gold rush) and "But your eyes are flying saucers from another planet / Now I'm all for you like Janet" (Snow On The Beach)
"Deep blue, but you painted me golden" (Dancing With Our Hands Tied)
You've been calling my bluff on all my usual tricks / So here's the truth from my red lips
From the same Glamour article, Taylor talking about her 'trick' when dating:
CL: What's the freeze-out?
TS: You don't respond to any of his texts or calls until he does something desperate [like] shows up. Or he calls and leaves a voice mail. Something that makes it very clear to you that he's interested.
disclaimer: I am someone who thinks the Tom relationship was not that serious for T, so this song imo fits what she may have told us about her relationship with M more, though the beach reference does point to Tom in a way.
"Don't Blame Me"
I've been breaking hearts a long time / And toying with them older guys / Just playthings for me to use
See the quotes from the Glamour article above. "Younger than my exes, but he act like such a man, so" (...Ready For It?)
Something happened for the first time / In the darkest little paradise
May refer to the dark concert venue where they met for the first time (see So It Goes... for more)
For you / I would cross the line / I would waste my time / I would lose my mind / They say, "She's gone too far this time."
Sentiment that is repeated throughout TTPD, but most clearly in But Daddy I Love Him
My name is whatever you decide / And I'm just gonna call you mine
Though this could be a stretch, in the spotify storyline for The 1975's Oh Caroline (2022), speculated to be about T, M said "It's an invented character, where the cadence really mattered. It couldn't be "Oh Linda" or "Oh Jane" [or "Oh Taylor"] - you had to have a 3 syllable that really works. I knew what the song was about, I had felt that about someone before and I got to write an episodic, mini movie about the subject"
disclaimer: If about M, this song is very on the nose with the drug references. Generally it's a very vague song and could easily be about Joe or another ex.
"So It Goes..."
See you in the dark / All eyes on you, my magician / All eyes on us / You make everyone disappear
Likely refers to the first time T saw M in person, when she was front row at The 1975's LA show. All eyes were on M then (including T's)
"Once upon a time, the planets and the fates / And all the stars aligned / You and I ended up in the same room / At the same time" (Mastermind)
Tripping, tripping when you're gone
May relate to Don't Blame Me: "Trip of my life / every time you're touching me"
'Cause we breakdown a little / But when you get me alone, it's so simple
Maybe a stretch but M famously had a breakdown on stage in Boston on December 6, 2014. In an interview with the Guardian he said: “There was girl stuff. There was family stuff. There was financial stuff. There was drug stuff. I remember hearing the crowd and having an identity crisis. I thought: ‘If you want to see a show, I’ll give you a fucking show. If you’ve come to see the jester drink himself into a slumber, I’ll give it to you.’ I felt like I’d become an idea as opposed to being a person.”
“And I was 25 and afraid to go outside” (Give Yourself a Try)
And all the pieces fall / Right into place
"I laid the groundwork and then, just like clockwork / The dominoes cascaded in a line" (Mastermind)
Getting caught up in a moment / Lipstick on your face
"I said, "Don't fall in love with the moment" / She said I've got a lot to learn / Don't fall in love with the moment /And think you're in love with the girl" (She's American)
Come here, dressed in black now
"Yeah, we're dressed in black from head to toe" (Chocolate). Taylor was also wearing all black the night of the LA show.
conclusion: You did a number on me / But, honestly, baby, who's counting? / I did a number on you / But, honestly, baby, who's counting? ( "King of My Heart"
We met a few weeks ago / Now you try on callin' me "baby" like tryin' on clothes
The reason why I don't necessarily think Joe fits. They met at the Met Gala in 2017 and she very quickly started seeing Tom, obviously it could still be him but I wanted to note this.
"Don't call me 'kid,' don't call me 'baby' / Look at this idiotic fool that you made me" (illicit affairs)
And you move to me like I'm a Motown beat
M loves Motown, even sampling a track by The Temptations on Tonight (I Wish I Was Your Boy). He's also always loved dancing, which you can see in the videos for A Change of Heart and Oh Caroline.
Salute to me I'm your American Queen / Say you fancy me, not fancy stuff
He's English, obviously.
And we rule the kingdom inside my room / With all these nights we're spending / Up on the roof with a school girl crush
Totally speculation but M and T hiding out in her NYC home makes a lot of sense from other pieces she has shared about the relationship “My kingdom come undone” (Hoax)
Late in the night, the city's asleep / Your love is a secret I'm hoping, dreaming, dying to keep
Speculation again but fits with the story of M and T as mostly loving each other in secret (see Dancing With Our Hands Tied and Dress)
Is this the end of all the endings? / My broken bones are mending
As mentioned above, T had seemingly taken a break from dating after the breakup with Harry.
disclaimer: Definitely not 100% sure on this one as there is convincing evidence that it is about J
"Dancing With Our Hands Tied"
I, I loved you in secret / First sight, yeah, we love without reason / Oh, 25 years old
M and T were both born in 1989, M was 25 when they first met and dated and T was turning 25.
My, my love had been frozen / People started talking, putting us through our paces / I knew there was no one in the world who could take it / I loved you in spite of / Deep fears that the world would divide us
“A red rose grew up out of ice frozen ground / With no one around to tweet it” (The Lakes)
In an interview with the Guardian Matty said: “The day after she’d been to a show of ours, someone sent me a screenshot of E! News with the headline ‘Who is Matt Healy?’ That freaked me out. I’m not ready to indulge in that world and I’m not ready to be judged by that world.” So sad to read knowing that they dealt with a similar situation nearly a decade later.
Picture of your face in an invisible locket
“Wear you like a necklace” (So It Goes…)
And darling, you had turned my bed into a sacred oasis
“Now you hang from my lips / Like the Gardens of Babylon / With your boots beneath my bed” (cowboy like me)
I'd kiss you as the lights went out / Swaying as the room burned down / I'd hold you as the water rushes in / If I could dance with you again
Reminds me so much of the music video for cardigan, where T slips into a rough ocean and hangs on to a piano. Also from cardigan: “Leaving like a father / Running like water”
“Dress”
Our secret moments in a crowded room / They got no idea about me and you
"Did you ever have someone kiss you in a crowded room / And every single one of your friends was / Making fun of you" (Question...?)
There is an indentation in the shape of you / Made your mark on me, a golden tattoo
M seemingly makes a lasting impression: “Deep blue, but you painted me golden” (Dancing With Our Hands Tied) “The mark they saw on my collarbone” (Maroon) “Marked me like a bloodstain” (cardigan)
'Cause I don't want you like a best friend
T often seems to refer to a friendship with M, perhaps they tried it a few times: “We were supposed to be just friends” (Glitch) “Like you were my closest friend” (Maroon) “Just say when, I'd play again / He was my best friend / Down at the sandlot” (My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys)
And if I get burned, at least we were electrified
“I'd kiss you as the lights went out / Swaying as the room burned down” (Dancing With Our Hands Tied)
I'm spilling wine in the bathtub / You kiss my face and we're both drunk
Many of the possible M songs refer to M and T’s love of wine. “And I can see us twisted in bedsheets / August slipped away like a bottle of wine” (august) “The burgundy on my T-shirt when you splashed your wine into me / And how the blood rushed into my cheeks, so scarlet, it was (maroon)” (Maroon)
disclaimer - Obviously most likely about Joe given the reference to the 2017 Met Gala but I think it was worth a mention!
“Call It What You Want”
My baby's fly like a jet stream / High above the whole scene
Probably a double-entendre. M considers himself slightly on the outside of the ‘scene’ but this can come across as self assurance. This also could refer to literally being high on drugs
Loves me like I'm brand new
After T’s clever use of The Starting Line in TTPD I’m convinced she’s referring to the band Brand New. M posted a Brand New album on his ig story in 2020.
All my flowers grew back as thorns
An interesting contrast to “I once was poison ivy, but now I'm your daisy” from Don’t Blame Me
Windows boarded up after the storm
“I look through the windows of this love / Even though we boarded them up” (Death By A Thousand Cuts)
I'm laughing with my lover
“Laughing with my feet in your lap” (Maroon) “Please don't ever become a stranger / Whose laugh I could recognize anywhere” (New Year’s Day)
Making forts under covers
Matty famously built a fort in ATPOAIM 3. “I'll build you a fort on some planet / Where they can all understand it” (Down Bad)
Trust him like a brother
“Like I lost my twin” (Down Bad)
Starry eyes sparking up my darkest night
So many starry eyed references which is terribly romantic and terribly sad. “Do I really have to chart the constellations in his eyes?” (High Infidelity), “Your opal eyes are all I wish to see” (ivy), “Eyes full of stars” (cowboy like me), and “Gazing at me starry-eyed” (The Smallest Man Who Ever Lived)
I want to wear his initial on a chain 'round my neck
“Picture of your face in an invisible locket” (Dancing With Our Hands Tied) “Wear you like a necklace” (So It Goes…)
I recall late November, holding my breath
Late November fits perfectly into the timeline of M and T’s 2014 relationship. Late October to Late DecembeEarly January makes the most sense.
Slowly I said, "You don't need to save me / But would you run away with me?"
“You're mad thinking you could ever save me. Not looking like that.” (A Change of Heart)
disclaimer: Again lots of Joe references in this as well so take this with a grain of salt.
“New Year’s Day”
You and me from the night before, but / Don't read the last page
From Me and You Together Song (2020): “I think the story needs more pages, yes.” The reference to “the last page” also makes this song feel like more of a reminiscence than a song about a current lover.
I want your midnights / But I'll be cleaning up bottles with you on New Year's Day
Impossible not to reread these lyrics after Midnights was released as a nod to M: “When the morning came we / Were cleaning incense off your / Vinyl shelf ‘cause we lost track of time again” (Maroon)
You squeeze my hand three times in the back of the taxi / I can tell that it's gonna be a long road / I'll be there if you're the toast of the town, babe / Or if you strike out and you're crawling home
Especially after the release of TTPD it seems that both T and M made many promises to each other that they couldn’t keep
Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you / Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you / Hold on to the memories, they will hold on to you / And I will hold on to you
The reference to memories here creates a bit of a confusing feeling about the muse for this song. Although T seems to be talking in the present tense I do think these are memories and dreams for a past relationship.
“Hold on and hope that we'll find our way back in the end / Do you think I have forgotten? / Do you think I have forgotten? / Do you think I have forgotten / About you?” (About You)
Please don't ever become a stranger / Whose laugh I could recognize anywhere / Please don't ever become a stranger / Whose laugh I could recognize anywhere
Not much to say about this but ow!
You and me forevermore
Again reminds me of Me and You Together Song (which I do buy as a song at least partially about T). And of course links to Evermore.
disclaimer: This could absolutely be about Joe but it does feel almost like a goodbye to M, closing the album. It’s as if she is reading “the last page”
Congrats if you read this lol. I clearly have too much time on my hands

Credit to Blue for the wonderful cover art of Trilvri
Thank you to:
u/SpacePaladin15 for creating the Nature of Predators universe.
u/EdibleGojid, author of Dark Cuts, for proofreading.
EmClear, aspiring author, for proofreading
You, the reader, for your support. I love reading your comments.
Please consider reading the works of my proofreaders as they’re all authors of excellent stories and be sure to check the links below for more of my work and beautiful art from members of the community.
[First] [Previous] [Next] [Master List of Stories, Art, and More!]
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Memory transcription subject: Sawvek, Junior Extermination Officer
Date [standardised human time]: October 5th, 2136
Hard foam presses uncomfortably up against delicate pressure points situated across the length of my entire body, building up to an unbearable ache that makes me shift and turn against the thin mattress pad. I yank at the rough old blanket I’d taken out of storage and clutch it even tighter around my body, trying to keep out the chill. The best racks, the ones near the heating vents, had already been claimed long before I’d decided to move into the Guild House’s Barracks and it doesn’t seem likely that the current occupants will be giving up their spots any time soon.
My mind is still racing from the events of last paw, replaying the scene over and over again in my dreams and in my head. The way my brother had looked at me… That look on his face when he’d seen the real me…
My paw gives a sympathetic throb in memory, still aching from where it had met the wall, but at least I had been able to wrap it up a bit and stop the bleeding. I feel like I should take it as a small miracle that it isn't broken. More medical bills are the last thing I need right now.
I turn about in the bunk once more, rolling around in vain to try and find a comfortable position that doesn’t seem to exist. Through a conscious act of will I try to empty my mind and sleep, but the very act of trying not to think about things only brings them bubbling back up to the surface of my thoughts. My heartbeat echoes in my ears, a damnable drumming sound brought about by the exertion of my own restless tossing and turning. Out in the hallway I can hear the muffled shuffling of feet and murmurs of conversation. The Guild Hall never sleeps, and it seems that neither would I this paw.
Electing to abandon the attempt as hopeless, I cut my rest claw short and get up, venturing out into the hallway. If I can’t sleep anyway then I might as well start my waking claw early, maybe get in a little exercise. It’s not so bad when it’s self-directed, almost fun in a way. If our family had the money to support it then maybe I could have been an athlete of some variety growing up. I had always possessed something of a natural physicality.
“Stop wasting time with worthless questions about what could have been, Killer.” The voice interjects, early and active today by the sound of it. “You’ll never amount to anything more than a wild predator kept on a leash.”
There’s nothing to do but sigh and carry on. It was right after all. This is it. This is my life now.
Making my way down the hallway towards the gym I find myself walking past a row of private offices assigned to some of the more veteran officers on staff. Most are empty at this claw, their occupants either asleep or off doing other work. One room in particular catches my attention though, the one belonging to our newest PRED Team Commander.
The door leading inside is open and ajar, seemingly forgotten in the midst of more pressing business and granting me a look inside. The entire room is a mess, papers and binders strewn about everywhere with official looking documents littering the floor. A map of the city decorates the otherwise unadorned and impersonal space. On its face it hosts a variety of multicoloured pins, all connecting seemingly arbitrary locations as well as photographs of people and places from the records department. The face of the former PRED Team Commander, Vrienna, looks out at me once again with the same cruel eyes that decorate the memorial wall. Beside her photo are another pair of eyes, a pair I recognise, but not one I would have expected to see here.
Trilvri, my brother’s creepy coworker, the one who’d brought him home the night he’d drunk himself into a stupor, stares out at me from the wall. He was younger in this photo, barely of age, if even that, and dressed in a regulation space corps flight suit, but I could still recognise him. Trilvri’s eyes appear somehow more lively than when I had met him in person, though it does nothing to improve his overall disposition, looking, as they are, as if behind them resides only hatred and a feral desire to kill and rend. Come to think of it, he had mentioned he used to be in the corps hadn’t he? ‘Used to’ being the operative word. When I’d asked he hadn’t seemed particularly fond of his time in the service…
Situated as he is next to Vrienna like that, their pitch-black wool and evil-looking eyes bear a striking resemblance. It was the exact same sort of predatory expression that bore into your soul, the kind that made me feel weak and exposed, the same kind that was worn by-
“What do you think you’re doing in my office?” A voice asks from behind, nonplussed, but with a casual depth of power and authority behind it that makes me freeze on the spot.
“Commander Glagrig, Sir!” I turn about on the spot, fixed at attention in the doorway as I stare up at the man himself. “I’m sorry to intrude. I noticed someone had forgotten to close the door so I was just going to secure it.”
“I see.” Glagrig doesn’t seem to believe a word of it, but neither does he seem inclined to press the issue. “At ease. Tell me, do you recognise the man in the photo there? Have you ever seen him before?”
“No, Commander.” I lie reflexively as I shift to a parade rest, not fully knowing why, but knowing that whatever is going on I want no part of it, for me or my brother. It’s only after the fact that it occurs to me that lying might be worse than telling the truth.
“How… regrettable.” The prestige officer says plainly and I can’t tell whether he believes me or not. “If you do ever catch sight of this individual, then be sure to let me know immediately.”
“Y-Yes, Commander.” I subconsciously swallow with apprehension, hoping that he doesn’t notice. I want nothing more than to run away as quickly as I can, but I haven’t been dismissed yet.
“Junior Officer Sawvek, was it?” Glagrig carries on, looking me up and down, dissecting me with his eyes. “You have quite the interesting record on file and Officer Intalran is quite adamant about your potential. Your simulator results speak for themselves, even if they are just simulations.”
“Thank you, Commander.” I can feel myself growing dizzy as I answer with uncertainty.
“Don’t thank me,” the all-consuming void in front of me replies with no hint of warmth, “just remember that your performance is under evaluation. It’s in my interests to keep note of promising young aspirants who might someday join my team, and I would hate to see you squander your talents.”
“I-I understand, Commander.” I flick my tail in agreement, straining not to look away towards the floor.
“Dismissed.” Glagrig brushes past me as he enters his office, moving to shut the door behind himself.
“Um, Commander?” I ask just before the door shuts, feeling a beckoning call of curiosity that even the predatory prestige exterminator couldn’t crush. “If you don’t mind me asking… Why do you have all that stuff up on the wall there?”
The door opens again, just a crack, and I can feel my superiors' weighty presence bearing down on me, almost suffocating in its intensity. “It’s simply a personal matter. I have reason to believe that the prior investigation regarding the kelach incident was conducted according to… insufficient standards. The predator responsible was never found and I intend to remedy that deficiency.”
“How hard could it be to find a kelach?” I tilt my ears in confusion. “They're huge!”
“Despite initial reports,” he answers with an ominous, cold tone that sends a chill up my spine, “it may be possible that we're dealing with something far more dangerous than just a kelach.”
“T-Thank you, Commander.” I flick my tail in appreciation and the door closes.
I breathe a sigh of relief as the malevolent aura recedes. That was too close.
“And you’re a complete moron going back to ask him more questions afterwards, Killer.” The voice rises with amusement. “What? Do you want him to figure you out and turn you to cinders? Only a matter of time, Killer.”
“Ugh, shut up.” I mutter under my breath, quickly turning back around to make sure Commander Glagrig didn’t hear me, but when no reprisal comes I quickly depart. If I’m gonna be stupid I should at least try not to do so right in front of his office.
As the imminent threat of our in-house prestige exterminator dwindles so too does the energy driven by the adrenaline of the encounter. It figures that the moment I roll out of bed I want to take a nap again, but I know the moment I lie back down I’ll be back to full wakefulness in an instant. That’s just how that sort of thing works. With that in mind there’s really only one solution, a big, steaming hot cup of tea.
Making my way towards the tea machine I spot Jonsco, the feisty little primitive that mans our dispatch centre, smacking the top of the dispenser with a clenched paw while holding a mug underneath it.
“Is the tea machine fixed?” I ask as I pull out a mug from the cabinet myself.
Jonsco sighs heavily and shoots me a combative glare. “For the last time it’s not my brahking job to fix this damn tea machine! You got a problem with that then you can go pester someone else about it!”
I shrink back under the harsh rebuke. Jonsco may be small, but there was as much rage and fury condensed into that little package as anyone else in this department. Maybe more.
“I… I didn’t mean to imply…I just wanted to know if it was working again or not… Sorry.” I sputter out, feeling properly admonished as I look away towards the ground.
Jonsco looks at me quizzically, his hard glare softening somewhat as he seems to truly see me for the first time before returning to his usual scowl.
“Right…Whatever you say…” With one final smack the machine coughs and chokes, sputtering to life with a struggle, and a small trickle of freshly brewed tea begins to fill Jonsco’s cup. “The machine is on the fritz again as usual, but if you hit it just right, do a little percussive maintenance, then you can get it started again.”
“Thanks, Jonsco.” I lean back against the wall and watch as the mug slowly fills, impressed by the primitives know-how. “That's actually pretty smart of you.”
“For a ‘primitive’ right?” The words are barbed and spiteful, but lack his typical enthusiasm, more of a simple statement of fact than a real question. I couldn't exactly deny it, those had been my thoughts, and so the silence drags on awkwardly, marked only by the splash of tea falling into the steadily rising pool.
“What are you doing here at this claw anyway?” I eventually ask, dodging the question entirely. “We’ve still got at least another half-claw until our crew's shift is supposed to start.”
“I could ask you the same thing, you know?” The angry little dispatch operator retorts. “I'm here early working an overtime shift so I can afford to put food on my family's table. It's expensive feeding that many mouths. What's your excuse?”
“I had a fight with my brother…” I rub the back of my neck as I turn away abashedly, “moved out of the apartment and into the barracks full time… couldn't sleep…”
“Well then you should hurry up and work on patching things up with him.” Jonsco looks at me with an uncharacteristic hint of sympathy in his eyes. “Your family are the only ones who might actually care. This Gods-damned place is a slyther’s nest and no one here gives a speh about you or your problems. If you want my advice, you should do your best to spend as little time in this cesspool as possible.”
With his cup now full, Jobsco steps back from the machine and begins walking out towards the main hall.
“Thanks, Jonsco.” My words stop him in his tracks as he walks away from me. “I appreciate it.”
“... You're welcome.” He says after a short pause, glancing back to look at me one more time before leaving. “See you around, Sawvek.”
Taking advantage of the tea machine while it’s still mostly working, I fill up my own cup and drink deeply of the warm, fragrant beverage. The taste is bitter and unpleasant, just about the quality I would expect of this Guild Hall, but even at the first taste it’s evident that it’s been loaded with an extra strength dose of caffeine. I down the drink quickly and rinse out the cup before continuing on my journey towards the training hall. Fatigue begins to fall away as I walk, bit by bit as the drug makes its way into my bloodstream, blocking off sleep receptors and energising me. I know I’ll probably pay for it later, no amount of caffeine can actually replace sleep, but for now it feels good and I can see how some people can get addicted to the stuff.
A loud, metallic clanging emanates from the gym as I approach, something unexpected for this time of paw. No one's reserved space in the gym for this claw and not many people are industrious enough to sweat on their own initiative. Peeking my head inside the door I spy Bikim, the perfect, privileged, ‘holier than thou’ brahkass occupying the otherwise empty weight room. His irritatingly handsome face is taut with strain as he performs a series of weighted squats, his back and leg muscles straining underneath his short-cropped wool, and he pants heavily under the exertion.
I’m half tempted just to leave and go back to bed despite the fact that there’s no way I’d be getting any sleep with the tea running through my system. It’s too early in the paw to deal with Bikim’s speh. Before I can slip away unnoticed though, he spots me. I give a heavy sigh and continue my way inside. There's nothing to be done for it now. Trying to back out now would only make things worse later, a sign of weakness.
“What… Do you want… Predator?” Bikim asks between gulps of air as he reracks his weights, practically hanging off the bar to support himself on shaky legs.
“Good paw to you too, Bikim.” I say, forcing civility into my tone. “I’m here to use the equipment. Same as you. I'm allowed.”
“Whatever…” He eyes me with suspicion. “Just keep your distance… I don't want to catch any of your taint.”
“Believe me,” I flick my tail out in irritation, “I intend to.”
Looking around the room for available spots, I march my way over towards a cable machine on the opposite side of the room. Not nearly as far from Bikim as I would like, but the farthest I can get without leaving the weight area entirely. Bikim watches me all the while as I seat myself down and begin adjusting the machine. Eventually he grows tired of watching me fumble around with the machine and returns to his own exercises with a displeased flick of the tail, quite obviously judging me for my lack of experience with the equipment.
A tense sort of quiet settles over the room as we each go about our business, trying our best to ignore one another. Bikim slowly winds his way around the room, cycling from station to station to exercise all the different parts of his body in sequence before repeating it all again. He seems to bypass my corner of the room, glancing over at me with each repetition of his pattern. For myself, I stay put where I am, taking advantage of the varied exercises offered by the versatile machine to experiment with different muscle groups. Occasionally I slip up, dropping the weights with a loud clang that always draws Bikim’s ire. Every time he seems just a bit more disgruntled, a bit less patient. Eventually, the constant disruption reaches a tipping point and the pompous, self-entitled jerk walks over to confront me.
“Do you always do this?” He asks rhetorically. “If you keep slamming the weights like that you're gonna break it. Your form is speh so either fix it or lower the weight so you don't have to keep compensating. Better yet, just leave. You’ve been monopolising the cable machine for almost half a claw now. I don't know why you're even here in the first place.”
“Oh, look at Mr. Know-it-all thinking he can just go around telling us what to do, eh Killer?” The voice rises to the challenge. “Where does a guy like that who's been handed everything his whole life think he can get off with telling us how we should be doing anything?”
“Brahk off Bikim!” I don't even try to reign in the predator inside, feeling justified in letting it roam free for once. “I didn't ask for your advice and you don't get to kick me out of the weight room just because you can't wait your turn! I'm here because I don't have anywhere else to go! Ever since Intalran dragged me into this stupid Guild this brahking job has taken over my entire life! I don't even have a home to go back to anymore!”
Bikim's body tenses at my tirade and his tail flicks out aggressively like a whip.
“That's your own damn fault, predator!” He shouts back, eager for the excuse to vent his own frustrations. “Maybe if you weren't just some blood-starved beast out roaming the streets then you wouldn't be here right now! I’ve read your file! You got a history of herdless behaviour and physical altercations! Someone should have institutionalised you a long time ago, but someone took pity on you and let you slip through the cracks because of your poor dying mommy! They should have known it would come back to bite them! A normal, functional member of the herd wouldn't even think to pick a flamer up off the ground and burn another person to death with it! But you? You did it instinctively! You revelled in it!”
“You think that was easy for me!” I get up and walk towards him as I yell incredulously. “You think I asked for that to happen! You think it was fun for me to get choked out and almost eaten! That thing I burned wasn't even a person anymore! It was a predator in the middle of a feeding frenzy! So yeah, I did what I did, and you know what? It's a good thing I did! If I wasn't a freak of nature then that thing would have kept on going and kept on killing! Last I checked, preventing that sorta thing was supposed to be your job, but I had to be the one to step up! Now I have to live with the consequences of my actions every paw, knowing that I’m a Protector-damned killer that doesn't belong anywhere! Maybe you, in your infinite wisdom, would've known the perfect thing to do in that situation, but I’m not you! I’ve had to work and struggle for every little thing I have! Not just had it handed to me on a silver platter!”
“Oh, so you got me all figured out do you?” Sarcasm drips from Bikim's mouth as he looks down on me. “You don't know me. You don't know my life or what I’ve been through, how hard I’ve worked to get where I am. You just see the end product from cycles of effort and assume that it's always been that way, that it's always been that easy. It hasn't.”
“Yes, I’m sure you had it so hard growing up Bikim.” Saying it aloud almost makes me laugh. “You’re such a child of privilege that it drips off of you with every move you make and every word you say. I hate people like you, thinking that you're better than everyone else just because you were lucky enough to be born into wealth and status. Try living like the other side for a change, scrounging for every credit just so you can afford to eat, and then try to tell me how hard you had it with a full belly and a warm home!”
“You’re right, predator,” Bikim says contemptuously, “I am a child of privilege. My family has a long and decorated military tradition, my father is a captain for the space corps, a brahking hero, and I’ve reaped the benefits of that. That privilege came at a cost though, and that’s called expectations. Second best is not good enough and I've had to put in ten times the effort as anyone else my whole life just to meet standards! At least you grew up with a father who was there for you and loved you without the condition that everything you do is perfect!”
“All that talk about reading my file and you didn't even get past the first page did you?” I snap at him with a snarl. “ I didn't grow up with a father at all! He's been dead since I was in elementary school! Killed in action! I barely even remember him anymore!”
That one seems to give Bikim pause, but I’m not done yet.
“If you and your whole family are such a bunch of brahking heroes then how come you're here, working as a common garrison exterminator in a run-down backwater city like this?” I taunt. “Shouldn't you be out gallantly fighting the Arxur with one of the fleets or on a colony pacification force rather than making my life here harder than it already is?”
“That's the price for failing to meet expectations,” Bikim quiets down, drawing away from the world and into himself, “the price for knocking up a beautiful, wonderful girl right after graduation and refusing to get rid of it afterwards. You get cut off. You lose that privilege, and you do whatever you have to in order to provide and try to be a good role model for your son.”
Now that one threw me for a loop. In the short time I’ve known Bikim I’ve had a lot of thoughts about him, few of them good, but never would I have expected him to be the type to take responsibility… For anything. Still, there is one thing about his story that doesn't line up…
“Oh really?” I take a step back as I watch for his reaction closely. “I seem to recall Jonsco mentioned just the other day that your wife had left you for a Human.”
“Don't you bring that brahking primitive into this!” Bikim's anger flares in an instant before returning to a subtle simmer of regret. “We’ve just been having a… a rough patch in our relationship. I’m not giving up on us. I’ll win her back. She's just… confused and being taken advantage of! It's all that damn predators fault!” Bikim sighs and sits down on a nearby bench. “You're not the only one whose had something taken from them because of this job. You're not the only one without a home to go back to.”
Looking at Bikim now, a sad, pathetic man moping on the bench with nothing better to do on his rest claw than to try to externalise his inner pain… I find it hard to stay angry at him. He's still a narcissistic brahk ass and a complete jerk, but it's hard to truly hate someone when you actually know them. I had made quite a few assumptions about him when we first met, and he certainly hadn't helped my impression of him since, but… perhaps I was wrong to judge him so harshly?
“Nah,” the voice chortles, “he’s a piece of speh that got what he brahking deserves for being an insufferable prick.”
Overhead the intercom crackles to life and I can hear Jonsco's voice reverberating over the airwaves.
“Officers Vaesh and Sawvek please report to the briefing area for assignment. Repeat. Officers Vaesh and Sawvek please report to the briefing area for assignment.”
“Sounds like it's time for your first field assignment, Kid.” Bikim says, staring up at the intercom. “At least it gets you out of my wool. Try not to brahk it up and make the rest of us look bad.”
“Hmph.” I turn to leave, muttering to myself. “Stupid brahkass.”
—----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
A/N - Hello! Sorry this one took a while. Like I mentioned before I got delayed working on my Ficnapping chapter as well as a crossover One-shot that's still in progress (but hopefully will be done soon). In other news we have new art of Sawvek's life-changing encounter in the Builder's Lane Bloodbath as drawn by Miglove and you can still find that and everything else Nature of Family in the new Master Post linked up above.
If you like the story then please remember to upvote, comment, and use the “!Subscribeme” function to be alerted to all new posts. I post as often as I can but real life has a tendency of getting in the way and my job makes it almost impossible to keep to any kind of schedule. Your engagement and support go a long way towards helping to keep me on track and motivated, so thank you very much for reading and I hope you'll stay tuned for next chapter!

Part 1
Chicago, 2016. Flinn Gerald is doing his best to make it in the city. Born in Selma, Alabama, he has spent his entire life trying to escape the ever tightening grasp of his small town. But alas, he made it out and is adapting to life in the big city. With a big fancy corporate job, an endless supply of friends, an apartment with a stunning view of the lake, and great distance from his family, what more could he need? Well, there is a lot more (or less) that he needs, but of course that is a story for later.
On a typical Tuesday night at a bar, the regulars crowd in. Flinn is late, as usual, as he stayed late at work (again), but on his arrival, the cheers and hugs from all the friends make everyone forget of the regular inconvenience. Conversation ensued, starting with all the boring finance jargon, but as the drinks flowed, so did the conversation, moving away from work and more into life. This is what everyone preferred.
“Another round, anyone?” asked Raheem, enthusiastically. After a murmur of concurrence, he stood up to make his way up to the bar. “Flinn, care to lend a hand?”
Raheem Bartlett was Flinn’s college roommate and the first person he met outside of his hometown. The pair hit it off instantly despite having wildly different backgrounds. Even in their freshman year, the engineer and the finance major would get into all sorts of trouble together, but eventually they leveled out. Six years later, they still have each other’s backs just like day one.
The pair made their way up to the bar and waited to get the bartender's attention. “What's up with you, bro?” asked Raheem. “You’ve been seeming a bit off.”
“Oh, ya know. Work, life, everything kinda happens so fast. Work has been busy as of late, and the hours long.”
Seeming displeased by this answer, Raheem stared back in concern.
“Really, I’m fine… just long hours.”
“Back in school you’d pull back to back all-nighters and then still make it to a morning class. I find it hard to believe that the mighty Flinn would be so setback by ‘long hours’.”
Flinn took a moment to ponder, staring down at the bar covered in various stamps and postcards beneath the epoxy surface. “I guess, ya know, it's not all it was cracked up to be. I guess I had expected more.” Flinn had mostly dropped his accent, but occasionally it would still slip out.
Despite coming from a long line of mill workers (mostly paper) and farm hands who never ventured further than the Dallas county line, Flinn yearned to leave his small town and conquer the world from a young age. Coming from the poorest county in Alabama, his family always squashed his dreams, labeling them as impossible. But Flinn knew better. Or, at least he knew he could do better. Graduating top of his class a year early and winning a full-ride scholarship to Northwestern University, he had proved everyone wrong and set his own path. The path he was told was impossible became his reality.
“More what?”
“Nothing, really. I mean, what more is there? This is what I always wanted, right? The stable job in the city, never having to worry about money. It’s great, and I couldn’t be more grateful, but… something is missing. Doing the same thing day after day staring at a screen, moving clients money around. I… just hoped it would be more fulfilling, especially after all it took to get here.”
Before he could finish his thought, the bartender came up to take their order: another round for the table, plus a round of shots, plus two more shots.
“What am I saying, really?” added Flinn. “I shouldn’t be complaining. Look at where I am now compared to six years ago. So much has changed. My home, friends, even my diet. I just feel a bit off. Like I need something more to do..
“I get it, bro. Adjusting to your new life can be rough. Enjoy it for a minute or two.” Raheem slides a shot in front of Flinn. “Here, take this.”
Tuesday had become fairly consistent to this point for this group of misfits: Raheem and his girlfriend Amy; Jack; Jasper, from Flinn’s firm, and his wife Max; and of course, Flinn. For nearly two years, these six have been meeting at O’Malley’s every Tuesday night for drinks and trivia. Some nights are more wild than others, but Tuesday has become the staple of the week among them.
Drinks flowed pretty regularly and heavy over the next few hours as the clock approached the end of day. Still going round for round on alternating tabs, the useless debates began to heat up.
“You can’t seriously think Wicker Park is the best neighborhood outside the Loop. Y’all need to get out more,” said Flinn.
“Bro it’s obviously Wicker Park,” argued Raheem.” Right on the blue line, getting to O’Hare is insanely easy, plus you can’t find better music in the city. Besides, Wicker Park has Davenport’s.”
“No one ever says Wicker Park,” adds Jack. “Have you ever heard someone say Wicker Park before?”
“Dude, but you can obviously get to O’Hare from anywhere in the city,” said Flinn
“Sure, but beats walking through that dumb Block 37 Center transfer like you and your red line. No transfer is the way to go, plus the blue line gets you right to the center of the loop.”
“So does every other L line as long as ya don’t mind walking a few blocks!”
“You’re both wrong,” adds Max. “Neither matters because Midway is better anyways.”
“Woah!” the whole table murmurs, sharing shocked looks as if she just confessed to a crime. Flinn rolled his eyes at this notion.
“Who flies out of Midway?” asks Raheem.
“What? Less people, cheaper flights, and more space. Why wouldn’t I fly out of Midway?” said Max.
“Wait, wait, that aside,” interrupts Raheem, “can we go back to the fact that Jasper thinks Sheffield is the best neighborhood? I feel like we moved past that too quickly.”
The debate rages on for many more minutes, until Flinn, seemingly out of nowhere, had enough.
“Can y’all just shut the fuck up! Why does it even matter?” Everyone’s glance quickly shot over to Flinn as a deafening silence overtook the table. Everyone pondered how to respond, and couldn’t seem to find an answer. This behavior from Flinn was unexpected, nay, unheard of. Flinn was the most level headed amongst them by far. Not even Raheem, his best friend of six years, had ever seen him get angry, let alone over an inconsequential friendly argument. “I…” Not even Flinn knew what to say next. “I’m going to go home. Long day tomorrow.” Already on his feet, he quickly walked away from the table and out the door.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The walk home was fairly brisk, but Flinn had grown fond of the cold. He tucked his hands into his coat pocket and hunched his shoulders forward, only looking down at the pavement ignoring the mostly asleep but still wide awake city surrounding him. His thoughts ran wild and near out of control. Of course, his intoxication did not help with clarity, but the inner dialogue was deafening. Not even he knew what was bothering him, but he was obviously bothered, deeply. He made a fool of himself in a way he never had before, and right now he felt he did not recognize himself. Surely some sleep will help, right?
He slowly made his way down the steps to the platform, carefully watching each step as to not fall, to wait for his train. He posted up against a pillar and stared off onto the dark, empty tracks. What has gotten into me? He did his best to calm his racing, wasted mind searching for some legibility amongst his thoughts.
Once he finally got home, he slumped down on the couch and scarfed down some week-old sushi he found in the fridge. He turned on some old documentary and was asleep before he knew it.
Suddenly, he was woken up by his phone ringing. It usually does not ring this time of night and was less than thrilled to be woken, so he let it keep ringing. It stopped after a couple of seconds, and he glanced down at the screen:
Mama
(2) missed calls
Dad
(1) missed call
Now concerned, he calls his mom back in a hurry. “Hello?”
“Flinn? Your grandfather, he’s dead.”
Part 2
The wet air engulfed Flinn’s face as he stepped out the airport doors into a warm February day. Six years had passed since he smelled the Alabama air. Even after all this time, it still smells just as he had remembered as if not even a day had passed. The drive to Selma was another ninety minutes, and despite having five days to mentally prepare himself for his arrival, it was not nearly enough time. He had not seen or spoken to anyone from his town, not even family, since he left early that August morning all those years ago. He left everything behind to start his new life. The life so many told him to not start, that he needed to stay. He left anyway and never looked back.
That was, until now. He had little choice in this regard. He knew he would have to make his return someday, but he knew not when nor for what. But today was that day. Flinn and his grandfather (Pops) had always been close. If anyone had been supportive of him, it’d have been Pops, but he was a man of little words. Even when he could talk, he hardly chose to. He was a great listener, and not just because he could not speak. He showed he was engaged and listening no matter what Flinn had to say. At times, he felt Pops was the only one who understood him as if he had been just like him before, but no one would ever talk about his past. All Flinn knew is Pops lost his tongue after a failed lynching.
The familiarity of the scenery zipping past was bittersweet. He had not realized how much he missed the rolling hills and thick forests beneath the unforgiving southern sky. He kept his head pressed against the cool glass of the car window even through the constant bumps in the road. He couldn’t look away. So many memories happened here, and the closer he got, the more plentiful the memories became, and the more potent they were, and the more painful they’d become.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As the dust settled behind him, he stood on the driveway staring at his childhood home still unsure how to process his emotions. It was all so overwhelming. He was thinking everything at once. He took a deep breath, rolled back his shoulders, and swallowed. He reached for the door handle, hesitating slightly, and took a step in. One foot, and then the next.
“Martin!” Flinn smiled as his old friend and childhood dog rushed towards him without hesitation. He knelt down and embraced him as Martin excitedly rustled through his arms seemingly showing more energy than he had in years.
He walked down the hall and around the corner into the living room. There, both drawn to the large television like moths to a flame, he saw his parents sitting beside one another on the couch watching some daytime program with their backs to him. They seemed to pay no notice to the commotion at the front door nor the loud creaking footsteps he took along the old wooden floors. They knew he was there; they just chose to ignore him. He walked into view to greet them. "Mama, dad." His father smiled slightly but caught himself and refrained.
Mama kept a straight face, but seemed to be fighting tears."Howard, help Flinn with his bags, dear."
“No, it's alright, I know where to take them,” said Flinn. “How are y’all?”
“Service is tomorrow at eleven down at the ole First Baptist Church. Make sure to wear something nice.”
“Alright, mama. I’ll... I’ll see you at dinner.”
“Whole family is coming tonight. Dinner is served at...”
“At seven, I got it, just as always.”
“It’s good to see you, kid.” said his dad. “Let me know if you need anything”
He did not expect things to go like that, not that he knew what to expect. He had hoped time would have been more forgiving. Perhaps leaving unannounced in the middle of the night was not the best plan, but at the time he felt as if he had no other choice. Everyone knew he was leaving. That was no secret and had not been for years before any plan had actually been set into motion. No one knew the date or time, except for Pops, of course, but he’d never tell. Of course he wanted everyone to know. He wanted everyone to be proud of him, but it was too big of a risk and commendations were too much to expect. Besides, Mama always had her schemes, and had she known, she would have found a way to stop him.
Not much had changed since he’d been here last. The old wood paneling still lined nearly all the walls, crack in some spots, replaced in others, but all coated by decades of cigarette soot. On the walls were a combination of family portraits from over the years and cheap artwork found at the flea market. Old green furniture, too many house plants to count, and a tacky themed kitchen, it was all still the same.
His childhood bedroom, however, was much different. Hardly even recognizable, what was once his bedroom was now a storage room filled with endless shelves and boxes. He set his things on the lonely cot in the corner, sat down, and took it all in.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Not realizing he had drifted off, Flinn awoke and looked at the clock. 6:55. Convenient. He sat up and brushed his hair down with his hand as he suspected it was sticking up in the usual way. He rubbed his eyes and made his way to the dining room. The whole family was there, probably about twenty people or so, all scattered about throughout the kitchen, dining room, and living room engaged in various conversations. His nana, aunt, and Mama were cooking away putting the final touches on the large meal.
“Well if it isn’t this fucker…” said a familiar voice to his left, laughing. Flinn looked over to see his cousin who’s just a year younger than him.
“DeAndre, how are you?”
“Never thought I’d see you again, even since you left. Thought maybe you ‘ood be dead.”
“Nah,” Flinn laughed. “Still very much alive.”
“I can see dat. Wearin’ your fancy suit and all.”
“Yeah I’ve been doing pretty well. Work has been… good. I have a great job at a finance firm in Chicago. Everything has been… Good. Yeah, good. How about you?”
“Now you ain’t goin’ city on us, are you?”
Flinn laughed. “I think I might already be.”
Just as dinner was finishing up, a line started to form and people found a seat wherever they could, be it at the table, on the couch, near the counter, or outside.
“Flinn!” his dad called out. “I saved ya a seat here at the table, kid.”
Flinn took his seat right next to his dad which positioned him right across from Mama. The table could sit eight, and the seats filled in pretty quickly so he was lucky to get one. Besides his sister, all of the oldest family members took the other four chairs.
The dinner itself was mostly uneventful, except for the food of course which was extraordinary. Flinn had not eaten Mama’s cooking, or anything like it in six years. The southern food in Chicago was alright, but nothing like what you can get down here, and no restaurant is going to have the same quality and taste as a home-cooked meal. By God, he had not realized how much he needed this. It was almost healing, like a part of his soul had been lost and he found it once again. The last week had been incredibly overwhelming, and last Saturday he never foresaw being here now, but he was glad he was, regardless of the looming tension. All the stress from work and life back home in Chicago was now all gone. All he had to worry about was… oh yeah, the family drama. The dreaded interactions, what he had suppressed for so long, that had kept him up at night for years. All those long nights doing homework or anything else beside sleeping. They had not been by choice but rather necessity. He would have slept more if he could, and some of those nights he really needed to, but instead was kept motivated by the pain. The pain of knowing no matter what he did, no matter how successful in life he became, he would never be good enough for his family, good enough for Mama, because he left them.
If there ever was a time to clear his conscience and get everything out of the way, it would be today, or at least over the next couple of days. When else would he have the chance? Not that any of this had been planned, and his therapist would probably advise against it. She did not even know he was here. What would she have to say? Avoiding conflict has always been his choice. He has always been quiet, never been at the center of drama, but some things need to be said. Just, maybe not by him. If he waited long enough, perhaps they would come up on their own. So he decided to wait, but he knew time was limited and he could not wait forever.
“Mama, could you pass the butter?”
Mama just stared back at him. “Get ya own damn buttah, since ya can do everything else on ya own.”
Flinn stands up and reaches for the butter. “I can do everything myself, and I have. I hope you’re proud, Mama.”
“Proud? What do I have to be proud of?”
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe my job, my degree, everything I have been able to do to build a good life for myself.”
“I don hear anything worthy of praise.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Mama.”
“Oh, so now you’re sorry? You could’ve fooled me. Is that how you felt when you left? Unbelievable.”
“I left because I had no other choice.”
“Oh don go lyin’ to me now. You did have a choice. You had a choice and you chose to leave us. You didn’t say goodbye, and you were just gone in the mornin’.”
“If I had not just left, you would’ve stopped me.”
“Cause you ain’t got no reason to go nowhere.”
“I had plenty of reasons to want to leave, and not because of you. I’ve always had dreams, Mama, ya know that. I’ve always been bigger than just this town.”
“Oh, so now you’re too good for us, city boy? Huh? I don wanna hear no more of it.”
“It wasn’t about that, Mama. Look at all I’ve been able to do.”
“I ain’t see nothin’. You never call and you never visit. How am I supposed to know what you been doin’?”
“I thought you didn’t want me coming around any more?”
“Well, you’ve got that right. Glad to see you still have some brains left.”
“Well excuse me. Maybe it's best if I leave again. Sorry I ain’t make you proud, Mama.” Flinn got up and left the table.
Part 3
Just as the early light began to peak through the blinds, Flinn was woken up by a firm knock at his door. “Flinn, may I come in? It's Uncle Terrence.”
Flinn sat up and rubbed his eyes. “Yep, come in.”
“How are you this morning, kid? Ya know, she’ll never admit it, but ya Mama missed ya.”
“I find it hard to believe.” Deep down Flinn knew it was true, but she was hard as a rock, and arrogant. She would always find a way to be right, even when she knew she was wrong, and she would never let you know she knew she was wrong.
“Well, we’re all proud of you, kid.” Flinn hated when Terrence and everyone called him kid. “Just wish yoo’d come around and see us every once in a while. I know ya busy with all the big city stuff and all.”
“I thought no one wanted anything to do with me any more?”
“At first, maybe, but I miss ya, kid. Ya know who missed ya most of all?”
“Pops?”
“Yes, of course. He always wanted to know about ya, every time I’d come round. He couldn’t call, but always wanted me to.”
“I should have called.”
“I think everyone wanted to call, but as time went on, it became harder and harder to push that button. It was already so hard at first, and only got harder.”
“I thought about everyone a lot, especially at first. Leaving was really hard, and I almost didn’t, but I always wanted more. I didn’t want to spend my whole life in this town, and if I had not left when I did I probably never would have. But it was still hard. I wanted to go home so many times, but I convinced myself no one wanted me here no more or that y’all would’ve said ‘I told ya so’ or sum bullshit. No one wanted me around any more and I had left, so I was stuck on the path I chose. And I’m happy, and I’ve done so much, but it’s never been easy.”
“Pops was a lot like you when he was your age. Set on leaving as quickly as he could. Things were different back then, not that they are any better now, but Hank... my brother… Pops, was just like you.”
“What changed?”
“Well, he never did. Just no one talks about it anymore. After what happened on that day, they blamed his behavior. Said he should’ve played it safe and he’d still have his tongue.”
“No one has ever told me the story.”
“And they won’t. It changed the whole family.”
“But you’ll tell me?”
“Only if you promise not to tell. I don need an earful from ya Mama.”
“I promise.”
“Hank couldn’t be confined to Selma, just like you. He joined the army right out of high school, and after he was done in Lebanon, he didn’t go straight home.”
“Where did he go?”
“Everywhere but here. He used the small amount of money he got from the army and went anywhere that would let him in. Across Europe, parts of Asia, Northern Africa, even parts of South America. Of course, a young black man traveling by himself at the time was challenging, but Hank could hold his own pretty well. He still ran into all sorts of trouble. He spent more nights in jail than he would have liked, but he would have done it all again if he could.”
“What happened when he got back?”
“He was much different, but for the better. He couldn’t wait to get back out there again. He had confidence like I had never seen before. That’s what got him in trouble not too long after.”
“How’d he lose his tongue? I’m guessing that is what changed everything.”
“When he got back, he got involved with a girl, I think her name was Susan. She was the mayor’s daughter. They snuck around for a while. Their relationship was not acceptable, especially to her father. If he found out, Hank would be in a lot of trouble, and of course eventually he did find out. He spent about a month in jail in just awful conditions even for the time. They didn’t have anything to hold him on so eventually they had to let him go. About a week after he got out, he was walking downtown and some guys grabbed him. He took him out to a field and tried to lynch him. Luckily, they failed and he survived, but they took his tongue as a warning. He was never the same after that. All of his confidence was gone, and of course he couldn’t speak no more.”
Flinn did not know how to respond. It all made sense now: why the family so desperately wanted him to stay, why they were so hurt by him leaving, and why they’d feared who he was becoming. They were all traumatized and wanted to protect him. They did not want him to suffer the same fate as Pops.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The funeral itself was fairly uneventful and went nearly as perfectly as expected. The church filled in with hardly any empty seats, tears were shed, and speeches were given. Pops touched the lives of almost everyone he met, and they came to show it. After the service was the reception, and yet again, the food was spectacular. Everyone got along just fine today and there was no more residual drama, at least for now. Today was Pops’ day.
After the reception, the family gathered back at Mama’s house for the reading of the will. Pops did not have many possessions, at least not of monetary value, but what he did have was meaningful in other ways. He was very clear on who he wanted to give off, and handpicked what would be most substantial to each person.
Everyone gathered around much as they did at dinner, and the lawyer began his reading:
I, Hank Gerald, a resident in the City of Selma, County of Dallas, State of Alabama, being of sound mind, not acting under duress or undue influence, and fully understanding the nature and extent of all my property and of this disposition thereof, hereby make, publish, and declare this document to be my Last Will and Testament, and hereby absolutely revoke any and all other wills and amendments previously made by me.
The reading went on for some time as there were many beneficiaries. Flinn began to daydream about what could be left for him. Flinn was not a very sentimental person, so trinkets and heirlooms paid him little interest. Perhaps his car, or maybe money. Something that will be useful to him.
To my dear brother, Terrence, I leave my 1964 Pontiac GTO and all tools and parts associated and necessary with/for the running and upkeep of the vehicle.
The further down the list he went, less was given, but this is to be expected. As the end of the list neared, Flinn began to wonder what would be left for him if anything at all. The will had been in order of age, to this point, so he should be up soon.
To my Granddaughter, Nia,...
Nia? She's younger than me… Flinn thought.
I leave her my grandmother’s locket containing a picture of my Grandfather before he left for the Great War. She looked at it everyday to keep the memory of him alive until he eventually returned to her alive.
How could he skip me? Perhaps I should have called, or never left. Flinn got lost in his own thoughts and barely paid attention to the rest of the will. He and Pops were so close, and he never imagined he would be taken out of the will. But that is my own fault, afterall. I left, and I never even care to call. He died, and I never even said goodbye.
Just as Flinn began to accept the consequences of his actions, they got to the last beneficiary listed in the will:
Finally, to my oldest Grandson, Flinn, who is more and more like me than I ever could have wished to have been, I leave my journal. I hope whenever you need the motivation, you read it to find the meaning you are looking for in life.
Part 4
Flinn sat at his desk unable to focus. It was fairly slow for a Friday, but he still had work to do. After a chaotic weekend back home in Alabama, he was ready to settle back into his monotonous routine. The experience had been healing in some regards, but still left a lot unanswered. What did he mean by finding the meaning in life? Flinn wondered as he flipped through the endless pages of Pops’ journal, all filled with endless recounts, drawings, symbols, and pictures from his travels, just as he had since Monday. The journal consumed his whole attention, and nothing else seemed important enough to focus on. He had even ditched his friends all week which he never does.
He is supposed to meet Raheem for drinks tonight, but now he is wondering if he even wants to go. There is just too much in his head right now. He just wants to be alone. 12:37. The clock is moving too slowly. Flinn clears his calendar for the rest of the day and decides to go home.
At home, he still finds himself flipping through the pages of the journal, not even reading them but just looking at them. Again and again, he flips through until he has enough. He drops the journal on his lap and stares off into the distance at the gorgeous view of Lake Michigan. The endless city and skyline take up most of the horizon until it just stops, cut off by the endless ocean-like lake. He stares at it for quite a while until something catches his eye. He has seen this before. Well, of course he has. He lives here and this is his view everyday. But he knows he has seen it somewhere else.
He picks the journal back up and flips through in a hurry. There it is. He holds the journal up to the window to show a matching two-page drawing of this exact view. Well, not exact. It is a slightly different angle, but it was close enough. Pops was here. He would have loved visiting. I should have invited him. This made Flinn sad, and he threw the journal down on the table in frustration.
Just then, that is when he noticed it. There was a page sticking out from the journal, but it was not like the rest. The page was white and pristine, aside from a few wrinkles, as if it was new, whereas the rest of the journal showed its age. He rushed over to grab it. He opened it to find a letter, addressed to him:
Grandson, When you left, I knew that you would accomplish everything you set out to do. I also knew, however, you would find yourself lost someday, returning home for answers. I was hoping I’d be able to give you those answers myself, but as time goes on that seems less likely. I too found myself lost, and I knew not why. I had gone and seen the world, and it changed me, but I was still not fulfilled. I came home still looking for the answers, and it took a while, but eventually I did find them.
Through this journal, I hope to share my findings so that you too, when you are lost, find the answers you seek. Whenever you are ready, follow my journey and the clues I have left for you. Go out and see the world, just as I did. You will find that what you want from life is less than what you expect.
I hope the experiences you have are less harsh than my own, but still be careful. The world has changed a lot, but still not enough. But don’t skip ahead for the meaning may be lost. Take only one step at a time, and when it comes time to take the next step, it will reveal itself.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Seven o’clock rolls around and Flinn walks into the bar to meet Raheem. He hasn’t seen Raheem, or anyone else from the group, since last Tuesday when he had his outburst. He begins by telling the story of the events of this last weekend, but leaves out the parts about Pops’ past.
"Pops left me a hidden letter.”
“What do you mean?” asked Raheem.
“Like in his journal, I found a hidden letter. It was addressed to me.”
“What did it say, bro?”
“He says he was a lot like me when he was my age. He wants me to go where he went and learn what he did.”
“In Alabama?”
“No, everywhere but there. He wants me to start in Western Europe and follow his clues around the world.”
“He traveled?”
“A lot, apparently. I never knew. He was in the army, and after he got out, he traveled… everywhere, basically.”
“Why did no one tell you?”
“They wanted to keep me safe, I guess.
"They wanted to keep the whole family safe after what happened to him.”
“What do you mean, bro. What happened?”
“I can’t talk about it, but it doesn’t matter now anyways. I’m living a different life now.” Flinn never shared much about his past or his family with anyone, not even Raheem. It has always been a mystery. This was the most he had ever shared with him.
“Well, are you going to go?”
“No, I can’t. I have work. It took too much to get here. I can’t just give it away.”
“It’ll still be here when you get back, bro.”
“If only it was that simple.”
“It can be. You have money saved up. Chicago isn’t going anywhere. We’re not going anywhere. Plus, you’ve always talked about traveling more. Why don’t you take some time to do it.”
“I suppose, but I like my life here.”
“If you don’t do it now, when will you? You’ve taken a leap before, why not take another one. You’re smart, you’ll land on your feet, bro. Besides, your grandfather thought it was important enough to not only give you his journal, but hide you a letter for you to find when you needed it most. Maybe now is when you needed it most. You’re way too stressed at work anyways, and I can tell you’ve been off for a while now. Perhaps some change could give you what you need.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
On Monday morning, when Flinn gets to work, he walked straight to his boss's office. He turned in his letter of resignation.
Two weeks later, he took the red line to the blue line to O’Hare. Journal in hand, he boarded a flight to Dublin.

Today I want into a traveling agency where i was insulted, degraded and made to feel like shit by the front desk lady.
I went to leave a deposit for my and my friends trip, as soon as I walk trough the door I see this lady, not older then 30 death glaring me. I sit down and ask if i can leave a deposit to which she asks me are you XYZ( profession as in what my parent works as) kid? I was like yeah?? Totally confused I stare at her and she says something like “so this are the people who made a huge fuss about renting a room”, and i was like excuse me? She continues on about how they do not appreciate privilege here and that kids of even more serious people travel via their agency. I am stunned and I start getting angry telling her stuff like you are being extremely rude bla bla.. I leave the building to get money in order to play the deposit and call both mine and my friends parents in order to get the story straight. My mom never disclosed her profession, my friends dad is a foreigner and he doesn’t know my moms name, so he just said XYZ kid, which this lady apparently took very personally. The lady started screaming to him on the phone and he gave his phone to his wife… so here we are. I go back into the traveling agency again to leave the depost, this time knowing that no one did anything ominous and that he in no way meant to offend anyone, it was his slip of tongue that she apparently took very personally. When i get back I tell them that I want to talk with the owner to which she replies that I can wait if I want but that they have no owner and that whilst they were nice with me the president wouldn’t be so. I tell her yet again that she is being very rude and that she has no right to act this way to me since I never did or said anything at which she blows off. She tells me that I have no right to be acting this way at my age and that she could be my mother. She was 25, I am 18. I tell her that I do not think so she starts going off on me about how she thinks traveling isn’t even suitable for someone like me. (Hinting that i am probably not mentally stable) At that moment the president comes, I tell him what happend, even nudging him to watch the security cameras footage, the very young nice lady tells me she will cancel my reservation because she can. I talk with the man who was for a change quite nice and calm, he tells that even children of Prime ministers travel via their agency however they do not disclose such information to which I reply that I do not care, since I, in no moment mentioned anything In regarding of my family, my status or my friends family or status. I was being insulted and discriminated based on someones elses frustrations on something that I didn't even do, in the end to only be threatened and for them to cancel my reservation because I have no rights to defend myself when someone attacks me unprovoked. The president told me he is going to call me by tonight in order to tell me if we are allowed to travel or not, but i do not think he will. I no longer care if i will travel or not, but what they put me trough was torture, i left in teats. So please, give them a review if you can, their agency wont shut down but i want them to atleast know that their actions do not go unpunished. The name of the agency is Rapsody MK, and yes, I already filed a complaint.

Today I want into a traveling agency where i was insulted, degraded and made to feel like shit by the front desk lady.
I went to leave a deposit for my and my friends trip, as soon as I walk trough the door I see this lady, not older then 30 death glaring me. I sit down and ask if i can leave a deposit to which she asks me are you XYZ( profession as in what my parent works as) kid? I was like yeah?? Totally confused I stare at her and she says something like “so this are the people who made a huge fuss about renting a room”, and i was like excuse me? She continues on about how they do not appreciate privilege here and that kids of even more serious people travel via their agency. I am stunned and I start getting angry telling her stuff like you are being extremely rude bla bla.. I leave the building to get money in order to play the deposit and call both mine and my friends parents in order to get the story straight. My mom never disclosed her profession, my friends dad is a foreigner and he doesn’t know my moms name, so he just said XYZ kid, which this lady apparently took very personally. The lady started screaming to him on the phone and he gave his phone to his wife… so here we are. I go back into the traveling agency again to leave the depost, this time knowing that no one did anything ominous and that he in no way meant to offend anyone, it was his slip of tongue that she apparently took very personally. When i get back I tell them that I want to talk with the owner to which she replies that I can wait if I want but that they have no owner and that whilst they were nice with me the president wouldn’t be so. I tell her yet again that she is being very rude and that she has no right to act this way to me since I never did or said anything at which she blows off. She tells me that I have no right to be acting this way at my age and that she could be my mother. She was 25, I am 18. I tell her that I do not think so she starts going off on me about how she thinks traveling isn’t even suitable for someone like me. (Hinting that i am probably not mentally stable) At that moment the president comes, I tell him what happend, even nudging him to watch the security cameras footage, the very young nice lady tells me she will cancel my reservation because she can. I talk with the man who was for a change quite nice and calm, he tells that even children of Prime ministers travel via their agency however they do not disclose such information to which I reply that I do not care, since I, in no moment mentioned anything In regarding of my family, my status or my friends family or status. I was being insulted and discriminated based on someones elses frustrations on something that I didn't even do, in the end to only be threatened and for them to cancel my reservation because I have no rights to defend myself when someone attacks me unprovoked. The president told me he is going to call me by tonight in order to tell me if we are allowed to travel or not, but i do not think he will. I no longer care if i will travel or not, but what they put me trough was torture, i left in teats. So please, give them a review if you can, their agency wont shut down but i want them to atleast know that their actions do not go unpunished. The name of the agency is Rapsody MK, and yes, I already filed a complaint.

An hour after getting back from the Mason apartment, Bruce Kenner had the distinct misfortune of meeting Bertha Henderson.
A plump, gaudy woman with wrinkles and sun beaten skin only an alligator could love, Bertha Henderson wore bright red lipstick, bright red rouge, and way too much mascara. Her tangled hair was a dull red color and her clothes - pink pants and a white floral top - stretched tight across her bulbous frame. She looked like the kind of woman who lived in a trailer with velvet pictures of Elvis on the wall and pink flamingos in the front yard.
She acted like one too.
From the moment she stormed into his office, she hadn’t shut up once. She scolded, chided, accused, and badgered, sometimes even wagging one fat finger in his face like he was a naughty little boy. Ten minutes into the dressing down and Bruce was beginning to fantasize about police brutality.
It took him another ten minutes to find out what the hell she even wanted.
“It’s my granddaughter,” she shot back, “she’s missing in your town.”
My town? Lady, this is barely my office. I share it with three other people.
“Well, if you’ll calm down, maybe I can help.”
Jesus Christ was that the wrong thing to say. She hit the roof and didn’t come down again until Bruce was this close to arresting her for assault on a police officer. “Young man, I do not appreciate the way you’re talking to me. My tax dollars are the only reason you have a job. If it wasn’t for me, you’d be working at a car wash.”
At least I wouldn’t have to deal with you.
Bruce took a deep breath and held his tongue in check. “How can I help you?” he asked.
“I told you, my granddaughter is missing. If you listened to me, you’d know this already.”
Bertha produced a picture and slid it across the desk. Bruce studied it. A girl, roughly sixteen with black hair, blue eyes, and dimples smiled back at him. “She;’s with that Rossi man, I just know it,” she said bitterly.
“Who?” Bruce asked.
Rolling her eyes like he was stupid, the old woman told him the story. Jessie - the dimple faced girl - had the rotten luck of having to live with Grandma Bertha after her parents went to jail on drug charges. They lived in Sand Lake, a little town in the mountains outside Albany, where Bertha was no doubt loved and admired by all. One day, Jessie, who her grandmother lovingly described as “A little troublemaker”, ran off. Bruce didn’t blame her. He’d known Bertha for half an hour and he wanted to run off. Bertha did some snooping on Jessie’s laptop and found that the “little whore” had been chatting with an older man, Joe Rossi. Rossi, or so Facebook said, lived in Albany and worked at Club Vlad.
“I want him arrested for pedophilia,” Bertha said and crossed her arms defiantly over her chest. “He’s a dog just like all men. She’s probably pregnant already. Another mouth I have to feed.”
Behind the old battle ax, Vanessa appeared in the doorway and lifted her brows as if to say What a piece of work. Knowing her, she’d probably been standing just out of sight this whole time with McKenny, the elderly evidence clerk, and snickering into her hand like a little girl. LOL she called him young man.
Bertha noticed him looking over her shoulder and started to turn. Vanessa’s face went white and she ducked out of the way, narrowly avoiding detection. “I’m glad you think this is funny,” Bertha said to Bruce. “Meanwhile, if I don’t get Jessie back, the state’s going to stop sending me my checks. I need that income. I can’t work, you know. I have gout.”
Too bad being an asshole isn’t a job, you’d be world-famous
“I’ll go talk to him,” Bruce said.
“I want more than talk, young man, I want action.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
When Bertha finally decided to waddle off and ruin someone else’s day, Vanessa came in and sat in the chair the old woman had so recently occupied. “Oh, my God,” she said, “that was intense. I was this close to radioing in a 1015.”
1015 was code for officer down.
“Funny,” Bruce said without a trace of humor. He had kids going missing, a dead guy someone moved around like a goddamn Barbie doll, and now this. What next, hemorrhoids?
“What do you think? Code 1 or code 2?”
Code 1 meant top priority. Code 2 meant not a top priority. Bruce thought for a moment. It didn’t sound like Jessie Henderson was in danger. It sounded like she met a guy - granted, one too old for her - and decided to hide out with him from her psycho grandma. Maybe it could be something more, but he had a gut feeling that it wasn’t…and his gut feelings were usually right. “2,” he finally said. “I got shit to do.”
By shit, he meant “Talk to the families of those missing boys again.” He’d been interviewing them for two days looking for clues, but there was nothing. It’s like they just vanished. Bruce didn’t like this. He didn’t like it at all.
“Well, I’ll leave you to it,” Vanessa said and slapped the desk.
When she was gone, Bruce sighed.
Never a dull moment, he thought.
***
Ed Harris - no relation to the Hollywood actor - had been the medical examiner for the City of Albany since 2002, and in all that time, he had never seen anything quite like this.
It was Wednesday evening and Ed was locked away in the cold, sterile space beneath the city offices that comprised his domain. With its puke green tiles, harsh lights, and cloying smells of disinfectant, the .coroner's office creeped most people out, but not Ed. He was at home here, as comfortable surrounded by toe-tagged bodies as a cactus was surrounded by desert. A thin man in his fifties with curly, steel gray hair thinning in the middle, he wore a white smock, blood stained over his clothes that made him look like a butcher instead of a low level government functionary. He had a dark and dry sense of humor, but then again, so do all people who play with dead bodies for fun and profit.
The coroner’s office was a vast, utilitarian vault segmented into multiple different rooms. Here, where the magic happened, three stainless steel tables stood in a row; a bank of refrigerated drawers kept watch, making sure nothing funny happened. One of the cold fluorescent lights overhead flickered with a hum of electricity, and water dripped rhythmically from a faucet. It was a cold, eerie place, but to Ed, it was home.
On most nights, only one of the tables was occupied, but tonight, two were. On one lay an old lady who died of what appeared to be cyanide poisoning. On the other was Dominick Mason.
Naked save for a white cloth draped over his groin to protect his dignity, Dom was the most corpsy corpse you’d ever hope to see. In fact, if you looked up dead guy in the dictionary, you’d see a picture of him. His body was pale and sunken, one side covered in purple splotches where his blood had pooled, and his eyes were closed. His abdomen was slightly distended with the expected build up of gas, and his flesh stuck fast to the bones beneath. In other words, he was text book. A normal corpse.
Mostly normal.
As men of his trade are wont to do when strange bodies mysteriously appear, Ed had opened Dom up, making a Y shaped incision from his neck to his groin. He hummed to himself as he did so, his hands wielding his sharp and shiny tools with the deft assuredness of a seasoned surgeon. Done cutting, he dipped his gloved hands into the cavity and started removing organs. A spleen here, a liver there, nothing Dom would miss. When he got to the heart, however, he stopped.
There was something…off…about it. At first glance, it was black and withered like an oversized raisin. An odd and putrid odor emanated from it and though he was familiar with the various smells and stenches the human body produced after death, this wasn’t one of them. Try as he might, he couldn’t place it, couldn’t even compare it to anything. Plucking a magnifying glass from the metal cart next to the table, he peeled back part of Dom’s chest and examined the heart closer.
That’s when things got really weird.
Dominick Mason’s heart was, indeed, shriveled, but it was not black. Instead, it was almost entirely covered by an interlacing crisscross of what appeared to be black mold. Here and there, Ed could glimpse flashes of the heart beneath: It was wrinkled and a sickly gray color. “What is this?” Ed asked himself at length. He grabbed a pair of tweezers from the tray and carefully, very carefully, attempted to remove a piece of the mold for analysis. The moment the cold metal tips touched the heart, it gave a violent spasm that sent Ed falling back with a shocked gasp, the tweezers falling from his hand and clinking to the tiled floor.
The heart began to pulse like an alien egg sac, slowly at first, then more rapidly. For a moment, Ed was frozen in place, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. Once you die, your heart ceases beating. That’s that. Only living hearts beat, and Dominick Mason was certainly dead. He was dead from the moment Ed first laid eyes on him earlier that day and he was dead now. Yet there was his heart, beating anyway.
It could be a muscle spasm. They usually aren’t that violent and consistent, but dead bodies sometimes do strange things. As he watched the blackened muscle expanding and contracting, however, Ed had the most eerie feeling. He went to rub the back of his neck, realized he was still wearing blood soaked gloves, and stripped them off. He was spooking himself out; he needed a break and a hot cup of coffee. He’d come back fresh and start over again.
With that mold.
Could you really blame him for being creeped out? That stuff wasn’t normal. He’d never seen anything like that before, not even in textbooks. Dom was scrawny and didn’t get enough vitamins in life, but overall, he was healthy; that mold…or whatever it was…had no business being there.
Going over to the coffee pot, which stood in the same room to save travel time, Ed grabbed a styrofoam cup. When he was done here, he planned to go home and -
A terrible, metallic clatter rang out, and Ed jumped. He turned around, and when he saw Dominick Mason standing next to the table, hunched slightly over and staring at him, an electric burst of fright shot up his spine and exploded in his brain, so strong it made the edges turn gray. Pale, hands hooked into talons, and the flaps of his chest hanging open to reveal the cavity beneath, Dominick Mason looked for all the world like a boy who’d been caught sneaking out to meet his girlfriend. A weak, involuntary, “Oh, God,” slipped from Ed’s trembling lips, and the spell was broken. Dom came alive and ran toward the door leading out to the parking lot. He slammed through it, and the sound of it crashing open and then falling closed again echoed through the empty chamber.
Shaking, panting for air, and soaked in piss, Ed sank to the floor in a sitting position, his eyes wide and staring like those of a soldier returning damaged from the front.
It was a long time before he composed himself enough to call the police.
***
Dazed and caught in a nightmarish twilight realm where nothing made sense, Dominick Mason limped painfully down the sidewalk, a stranger lost in a strange land filled with danger and hostile creatures. Barefoot and shrouded in a white sheet, he trembled with cold and struggled to ignore the dark, threatening shapes looming from the fog in his brain, shapes that would turn into unspeakable truths if he let them.
Passersby openly stared at him, their expressions either morbidly curious, disgusted, or alarmed. A man put his arm protectively around his girlfriend; a woman pulled her little boy to her breast, and another man sneered at him, his nose crinkling. Dom, his glazed eyes narrowed against the harsh glare of the many street lamps, headlights, and storefronts, lumbered headlong toward nowhere, his fear growing until he was shambling. He imagined he could hear every cough, every whisper; smell the odor of every unwashed body. Each car horn was deafening, every whiff of ass or armpits sent his stomach churning. The rustle of a passing pedestrian’s jacket jammed into his ears like icepicks, and the approaching globes of LED headlamps burned his eyes. He gritted his teeth and groaned against the pain.
The dense mist wrapping his brain made it hard to think. Like a frightened animal, he made his way on instinct alone. Home. He needed to get home. Out here, on the street, he was exposed. At home, locked away in his small apartment, he would be safe.
A car passed in the street, bass heavy rap music blaring from its open windows, and Dom’s brain exploded with agony. He threw himself against a street sign and held on for dear life, his legs weak. Dizziness overwhelmed him, and he almost went down. He was also cold.
So, so cold.
People around him quickened their step; they never took their eyes off him, as though he were a venomous snake that would strike at any moment. He needed to get away from them. They were going to hurt him; people always hurt him.
Pushing away from the sign, he began to hobble once more toward home, wherever home was. He looked over his shoulder several times as he made his way down Central Avenue, and each time, he saw that no one was following him as he had feared.
No one, that is, except for the man in sunglasses.
Tall and lank with curly hair, he wore dark Aviators and a leather motorcycle jacket over a button up shirt. His hands were thrust deep into his pockets and his face showed no expression. He was always there, always a few steps closer. Outside Capital Fried Chicken, a group of people openly stared at him, He heard their whispers as he passed. What’s wrong with him? Dude’s straight tweakin. And the one that struck him the most. That guy looks dead.
Dom hobbled faster, as if to outrun the realization that he was, in fact, dead. The man in sunglasses was closer now, his footsteps so loud that Dom winced. He turned around, and the man was impossibly in front of him. Dom ran into him and bounced backward, going ass over tea kettle and landing on the former. They were in front of a church on a darkened corner, the lights here either burned out or shot out - you could never tell in Albany. Even though it was dark, Dom could see everything with crystal clarity. Dom tried to scurry away, but he was too weak to escape. Right there and then, he decided to give up. Come what may, he just wanted this nightmare to be over.
The man stared down at him, emotionless, unspeaking.
Dom squirmed.
“You’re real lucky I came along,” the man said. His tone was flat, even.
Dead.
“Get up,” he said, “I’ll take you home.”
Home?
Yes.
Dom wanted to go home.
The man helped him up, and Dom followed him into the night.
***
Bruce Kenner stood in the middle of the medical examiner’s office at half past nine that evening with his hands on his hips and stared doubtfully down at Ed Harris. The lonely cavern was alive with activity as cops went over everything, all of them looking either bemused or a mused. Bruce was neither. He’d been at home, sitting in his chair and having a beer in front of AEW Dynamite when Vanessa called. “You might wanna get down here,” she said, sounding confused, “something really strange is going on.”
Ed Harris - no relation to that one guy - sat in a straight back chair beside his cluttered desk and gripped a styrofoam cup of coffee in both hands, putting Bruce - for some reason - in mind of a monkey. When Bruce came in, the old man was white as a sheet and shook like a leaf. In the last half hour, little had changed.
“Tell me again,” Bruce said.
He and Ed were pretty good friends. He knew that Ed knew standard police procedure. Cops don’t ask you to repeat your story a thousand times over because they’re forgetful fucks, they do it because telling it again and again helps to jog loose details that you might have forgotten. Ed, therefore, did not protest. “I turned my back,” he said and chopped the chair like Jackie Chan, “and I heard the noise.”
His voice was thick, unsteady, and halting. He sounded as squirrely as he looked…and he looked pretty damn squirrelly right now.
“I turned around…and he was looking at me. He was standing there and he was looking at me.”
This was the fourth time he’d had Ed go through the story, and nothing had changed. Bruce felt something stirring deep inside his gut. It was either disquiet…or he had to fart. He opened his mouth to speak, but sighed.
“You don’t believe me,” Ed said.
“I dunno, Ed. Dead bodies don’t just get up and walk away.”
Ed flashed. “I know that, goddamn it, but this one did.”
Bruce glanced at Vanessa. She looked uncomfortable.
“Are you sure he was dead?” Bruce asked.
Ed opened his mouth, closed it again, and said, “I did the autopsy.” His voice broke on the last word, and he sounded almost like he was pleading. “His fucking liver’s on the floor. He stepped on it. The man has nothing in him. I-I’m telling you, there’s no way he’s alive.”
During the autopsy, Ed had sat Dominick Mason’s organs on the little tray table where he kept his pointy things. Mason knocked it over while getting up. Indeed, there were human organs on the floor, and one of them did look kind of squished. Bare, bloody footprints led to the exit door, up a set of concrete steps, and then disappeared in the alley behind the office.
“You said you left his heart,” Bruce said.
“And his brain,” Vanessa helpfully added.
Ed pinched the bridge of his nose like a put upon professor dealing with two particularly stupid students. “Even with his heart and his brain, he’s dead. You saw the livor mortis. He was cold, he was stiff. His heart wasn’t beating, he wasn’t breathing. He was in one of those drawers for nine hours, not breathing, no blood flow - it’s impossible. It’s just…it’s impossible. I don’t care what you think, he was dead. And even if somehow he wasn’t, I cut out almost everything. I opened his stomach, I took his spleen - you don’t just get up from that. You don’t walk away from that, much less run.”
Bruce chewed the inside of his bottom lip because he didn’t have a Twix. He didn’t look like the smartest man in the world…and he wasn’t…but he knew a dead body when he saw one, and the body they took out of Dominick Mason’s apartment was D.E.A.D. And like Ed said, even if by some freak fluke of nature he wasn’t, he couldn’t just get up and go about his day with no liver, spleen, or kidneys. Hell, Bruce had his gallbladder out and he couldn’t even walk away from that.
“You said there was something funny about his heart,” Vanessa said.
Ed finished off his coffee. “Yeah. It was…moldy. I-I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“Is it possible that…has something to do with it?”
“Unless the rules of biology have changed overnight, no,” Ed stated.
While Ed poured himself another cup of Joe, spilling some because he was still shaking, Vanessa took Bruce aside. “So what do you think?” she asked. “Is he telling the truth?”
For that, Bruce did not have an immediate answer. All else aside, he was a cop. He followed the evidence - and his gut instinct - wherever it led him. Ed was a sober man - he was not a drunk, insane, or stupid - and no man on earth could fake the look of trauma in his eyes. Bruce’s eyes went to the bloody footprints leading away from the exam table and his stomach roiled. It might be cliched, but there had to be a rational explanation. “Yeah,” he finally said. “The kid got up like he said, but there’s no way he was dead. Maybe…I dunno, he had a surge of adrenaline or something. I’m not a doctor.”
“That’ll only get him so far,” Vanessa said. “We’ll probably find him on the street somewhere.”
He went back to the purple splotches on Dom’s face, to his cold stiffness. There’s no way he was dead?
Bruce was confused, and he hated being confused.
“I dunno,” he said, “maybe.”
But he had the gnawing feeling that they wouldn’t. They would never find him…and Bruce would be confused forever.
Goddamn it, Mason, he thought, where are you?

First
While the first few weeks were pretty eventless, Mor had this bad feeling that the peace would not last. He excels at magic theory and can hold his own on applied beginner magic, still, he had a dower outlook as he was unable to make a single friend.
But when, after the lessons, he found a little letter slipped discreetly below the door of his dorm room, it changed his outlook in an instant. So as he opened the envelope slightly smelling of flowers, Mor read the elegantly written letter inside, a dopey smile growing on his face.
"I don´t know how to start this letter, but I admire your smarts and think you are really cute. I would like to meet you tomorrow after the lessons behind the training center where we could have a talk and get to know each other some more.
Zaletha Angelith"
As he went to class the next day, his head in the clouds, he finally felt that everything would be alright it was his popular phase now. While he dreamily sat through the lessons his imagination ran wild and sometimes threw a shy glance toward the girl who wrote him the letter. His heart fluttered a little as she noticed him and smiled brightly. Mor could not await the end of lessons and finally was released from his torment. He was almost rushing to the meeting spot not wanting to let this opportunity go, and he would not be made to wait long. A few minutes after he arrived at the meeting spot the sparkling form of Zaletha walked up to him smiling brightly and instantly going for a hug, which set Mor´s brain into a state of shock and exhilaration.
He was instantly thrown into a dreamy dopey state and did not notice the other visitors who intruded on the intimacy of the two to be lovebirds.
"Look at that, the princess and the peasant!" One of them exclaimed and the other two snickered.
"Maybe you should rather get yourself, someone of your status, like a little beggar girl. You magicless looser"
And while those words were hurtful to Mor he just ignored those idiots, but then his view fell onto the face of Zaletha. He saw her fear of those bullies and instantly a cold furry began to burn in his chest. Turning around furious he began to channel his magic, glowering at the three other boys
"Fuck off Ruby, and take your flunkies with you, or I will beat you up!" He shouted and all three just smiled at him. The leader called Ruby raised an eyebrow at Mor.
"You would attack someone from royalty? Know your place trash. I Ranbor Ruby, am the most talented flame caster of this school and can burn you to cinders if I wish!"
A slight bout of fear manifested inside of Mor´s conscience but as his view flickered to Zaletha clinging fearfully at his back it was quickly squashed. His rage reached new heights and he unleashed a bolt of pure arcane power which instantly was stopped by a magic barrier cast by one of the flunkies.
Mor was instantly caught in a whirling wall of fire, burning away his flesh, hurting like nothing ever hurt before, he would die, right here right now but at least he could protect Zaletha. Smiling like an idiot he embraced death, just as with the snip of fingers the flames disappeared, along with something, and a feminine giggle started behind him.
There he was standing looking like an idiot, his actions finally catching up with his brain and draining all color from his face. He slowly mechanically turned to look at Zaletha, but his admiration for her was completely gone, and she just laughed at him.
"He really fell for it, that lowly peasant thought he could have a chance with me!"
And now he understood, with his longing for friends, for someone to have social connections his hope for that letter to be real, Mor was caught in an illusion magic. Forming his thoughts, giving him fake feelings, and making him make a stupid mistake, as it is against school rules to use magic against another student. So here he stands four people laughing at his idiocy and he has no witness of his own to change the narrative, he was caught and would now be expelled.
"Well, well, well peasant. You are really in a sticky situation here, aren´t you?" Ranbor gloated.
"But don´t fear, we won´t tattle on you, but let's say for our understanding and silence you need to grant us a few small favors, nothing too bad, so don´t fear. How about you do our homework for today? That seems fair, for the scare you caused."
With that, Mor knew his bad feelings had been right and he would be at the mercy of those bullies. Because who would believe a low-born over the statement of a group of nobles? His school life of dread would really kick off now.
While his grades stayed good, as he would from this point on, always did the homework for 5 people, and secluded himself as often as possible in his room while they had free time so he could evade his tormentors, every time they would cross paths they would torment him with illusions if no teacher was nearby and be all buddy while a teacher was watching. It drained him and let his magic control waver, because of this his applied magic training got worse and worse.
Mor would often think to write a letter to his parents about his dismay, but could not bring himself to disappoint them, so he would lie about how he made a lot of friends and how great everything was. Sometimes he would try to trip up the lies of his bullies in front of a teacher, but his attempts were always seen as "friendly" rivalry between the generous nobles, who took on the peasant recluse and tried to get him to socialize against his will.
As soon as the teacher was out of sight, he would pay for his insolence with illusory pain, and anything to hurt him, that would not leave any marks. It was plain hell and as his thoughts went to quitting everything more and more, another desperate plan formed in his brain.
Maybe if he could be strong enough if he could get specialized magic he could fight back show those bullies he can not be taken lightly and finally break this abusive cycle.
He would do something forbidden, a once-in-a-lifetime ritual, designed to join the souls of two soul-kin together, a ritual designed as bonding with your soulmate and lifelong partner joining your magic pool and affinities together and enhancing both. In some children story´s a lone hero would often use this ritual to fuse his soul not with kin but a mighty elemental force and become far more powerful than any kin, with the cost of staying alone forever, never having a "true" soulbond.
In the deep night, Mor began to draw the required magic circles, using his blood and earth from the gardens as a medium for an earth elemental force and with a last bit of exertion he funneled all his magic into the ritual, falling unconscious at the same time.
In the same moment, fate called, or perhaps it was just chance, when a pick struck something that should never been rediscovered, and something was awakened that should have died in eternal slumber.
_____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
Second try because something went wrong.

A friend of mine started playing Fates for the first time, so once again I got bitten by the “complaining about Fates” bug. In particular, watching chapter 18 of Conquest again after so many years really got me going, and while the general consensus I’ve seen online about this chapters writing was negative, I wasn’t that satisfied by any of the overviews of it I read. I decided to give it a shot myself.
Dissecting why something doesn’t work is fun and all, but I think it’s also important to be constructive which is why I wanted to rewrite this chapter alongside my criticisms. I really do think there’s a lot of potential here that could have been the highlight of the entire story, and so I’d love to try my hand rewriting this chapter to be what it could have been rather than what we got. I have most of it done already, but Reddit only has so many characters before it cuts you off and this post is plenty long enough as is, so I’ll save that for another part coming up soon. This will be part 1, explaining what the chapter is and elaborating on my issues with it, while part 2 will be rewriting it along with my thought process and explanations.
Recap: https://fireemblem.fandom.com/wiki/Black_%26_White/Script
Corrin and Co are traveling when they decide to rest for the night at the nation of Izumo. They are greeted by Izana, the archduke of the kingdom, who seems to be a real goofball. After introducing himself, the levity is ended when it’s revealed the entire Hoshidan family has been invited here as well! Before any swords can be undrawn, Izana tells both parties that the kingdom has a strict neutrality pact neither of them can violate.
The scene cuts to later, where Ryoma enters Corrin and Xanders room to talk with them. Xander and Ryoma’s argument is cut short when Ryoma is dragged off by Nohrians. Turns out “Izana” is actually a Nohrian mage named Zola, who disguised himself to trick the Hoshidan royal family into a trap. Corrin and Xander don’t approve of such dishonorable methods to win, however, and fight to rescue their captives with Xander saying “we’ll win this war with honor or die trying”. After Leo kills Zola, the game cuts to later where we see Nohrians and Hoshidans alike having a meal, much to the delight of the real Izuma, who turns out is exactly as bizarre as the fake impression. Xander and Ryoma confirm with eachother that their fight will continue as usual, but Corrin states that no matter what happens they’re grateful they got to see both families eating together even if it’s not under the best circumstances, and the chapter ends with them saying they’ll revel in this feeling.
So on paper, I think this chapter is a great idea. Despite being at war, when one family is at the total mercy of the other, they lend a hand instead of kicking them while they’re down. This highlights how the two nations could accomplish so much together if only they weren’t at war with eachother. If utilized well, this could have been a great “eye of the tornado scene” emphasizing how tragic it is that these two families who share so much in common are forced by fate to fight eachother, making it all the more sorrowful when that’s brought to it’s conclusion through bloodshed. This would also encourage Conquest players to buy Birthright in a natural and subtle way as well now that they’ve had a nice sample of the other side. Of course, I don’t think this chapter was utilized well, and after reading the script again I believe it boils down to three major problems.
-Problem 1: The Lack of Worldbuilding Causes the Conflict to be Driven by Contrivances.
This is one of the many instances where the lack of fleshing out the world and it’s rules out really hampers the weight of the scenes. Unlike Awakening where there was a general cause-and-effect outlining the level structure, all of the Fates routes are much more individual and self-contained when it comes to chapters. This means the game has to really stretch itself to justify this elaborate setup being brought up and solved in one single chapter of regular length, and it’s very apparent when you write out the summary of events here.
Corrin and his army are just walking by when they happen upon the capital of the country. Corrin decides this would be a great place to rest for the night at and are instantly welcomed by its leader, who is also the only person in the game of that country. The entire Hoshidan family also just happen to bump into us because they coincidently came here at roughly the same time, with somehow neither party noticing the other until they were staring at eachother in the same room.
The only thing we know about this new nation we’ve never seen or heard about before is that it’s a peace-loving land with some sort of neutrality pact which means the two nations can’t fight here. What is the importance of this place that would entice all the Hoshidan royals to come over for a banquet in the middle of their country being invaded? Never explained. What exactly is this pact and what power does Izuno have to enforce it, if any? Never explained. Xander, prince of a nation at war and frontline general, has never heard of it. How does Garon or Iago never figure out or look into what happened here, considering the royals walked through their trap unharmed and everybody in charge of the trap vanished? Never brought up.
How many times here was this supposedly major event dependent on coincidences, seemingly important details left completely unexplained, and characters not knowing things that should be basic information of the world they live in? Things like all this quickly build up and make the world feel small scale and artificial, as if nothing truly exists until it’s in the peripheral vision of main characters. In a vacuum, this could all be excusable if the main meat of the chapter was just so dense and important that they just want a convenient excuse to delve into it. But about that…
-Problem 2: Nothing happens, either character-wise or plot-wise.
This is the only scene in both Birthright and Conquest where all eight of the royal families are together in one spot, and they’re unable to fight eachother. What a brilliant idea! How many great scenes could you come up with from this setup alone? How many directions could this move towards?

-The families bonding over their memories with Corrin (X)
-Calling eachother out for uncool actions, like Ryoma refusing to help Elise or Nohr siccing monsters on farming villages (X)
-Working together to defeat some threat they’d have trouble taking down on their own (X)
-Some cultural exchange (X)
-Some melancholy scene where, even if there’s a lot of resentment, they acknowledge how this may be the last time they ever get to have a meal with Corrin. (Somewhat?)
-Corrin sits down and has a mature conversation with his birth family elaborating on their choice to stay with Nohr (X)
-Some negotiation or debate between the two families about the future of their countries relationship, successful or not (X)
-Corrin being formally declared by the Hoshidan royals as a Nohrian, officially cutting them out of the family (X)

So what does Conquest do with this prompt? It does the unexpected route where all of them but Ryoma are shuffled out as soon as they’re introduced, captured offscreen, rescued offscreen, most of their dinner is offscreen, finishing their meal and leaving is offscreen, all of them sans Ryoma have barely any dialog, and none of them are even present in any of the CG’s.
We actually start off strong, Ryoma and Xander naturally puff out their chest and don’t get along when they’re in the same room, but seem to calm down when Corrin elaborates on how similar they are to eachother. But the game is so eager to get to fighting that it drags Ryoma away kicking and screaming before he even gets to share what he had to say to Corrin, let alone explore what having common ground means to the two of them.
1) I understand this is the Nohrian route so it makes sense the focus is mostly on them, but Takumi only gets three lines here, one of which is “…” Hinoka also only gets three lines, which I think is still more than she got in Birthright, and two of those lines are “You!” and “What are you doing here?”. Sakura lucks out as she’s the only sibling on either side who has anything to say whatsoever when Corrin says they’re grateful they could share another meal with the Hoshidans. That’s a start, but the fact remains Ryoma is the only sibling in the chapter whose remotely relevant, the rest could be omitted and nothing would change. They are only here to be damsels in distress heightening the stakes of defeating the local bad guy rather than providing any character development, checking up on how they are doing without Corrin and Azura, comparing and contrasting their differences between their counterparts, sharing any new information about them, foreshadowing Takumi’s possession, any notable interactions with their counterparts, etc. But no, nothing happens.
2) I also understand this is a video game and they don’t have all the time in the world before the next fight has to happen, yet Conquest is oddly completely uninterested in it’s own set-up. Zola, a minor chapter boss introduced and killed in this chapter, has more screentime and relevance here than any of the siblings, something you’d think would be the actual meat of the chapter they’d want to delve into.
The implications and weight of two dueling nations and families obligated to pause their fighting and dine with eachother could easily take up two or even three chapters as a pivotal arc, yet it’s completely blazed through as if the game considered it a cute novelty rather than a potential life-changing or history-changing moment. Simply put, it’s wasted potential, as if to say “Oh both of the two families meeting in a game about choosing between mutually exclusive families? Eh whatever.”
I wanna stick with just this chapter and not rewrite a good chunk of the entire story, but I can’t stress enough that in any other game this chapter would be the plot-defining moment paving the new way forward rather than chapter 15’s “we’ll expose Garon as a monster by helping him invade an innocent people.”
Neither of the two families are fighting because they outright want to, this isn’t a war about irreconcilable differences or mutually exclusive goals, the only reason for any conflict whatsoever as far as the game has shown us is that the guy in charge of Nohr is a sociopath who threatens to kill his own children at the drop of a hat. Sure, they probably won’t hold hands singing kumbaya after one extended conversation with eachother, but when all of them are in a truce far away from Garon’s authority having a meal together, nothing significant comes out of it plot-wise?
In fact, at the end of the day what significance happened here at all?

• -We learned about a new country, but we know very little about it and (other than Izama potentially joining the party later) absolutely none of it will be relevant after this chapter anyways.
• -Well, maybe this place is just set dressing so we have an excuse to meet up with our siblings again, but then nobody has any meaningful interactions, new info to share, planning ahead, or character development resulting from sharing scenes with them.
• -Then is the primary focus supposed to be on how this situation affects the Nohrian family? The antagonist and the conflict he brings is introduced and quickly solved without any consequences, with all the siblings instantly in agreement about stopping him. They don’t really talk amongst eachother about their feelings or how to go forward.

If there’s no juicy character interactions or exploration, and no setting up future events, then presumably the point of this big moment of Corrin and Xander leaping to save their enemies was made to show off that despite working in the same army, our heroes are indeed better than the swarms of war criminals under Nohr’s name we’ve seen and would never tolerate such things under normal circumstances. They’ve talked the talk about disagreeing with their father’s cruel methods, now here’s proof they’ll walk the walk, aren’t they such noble people? The way this is done however, opens up another can of worms…
-Problem 3: Protags come off as dicks
While our heroes are indeed more likeable and moral than blatant monsters like Garon and Hans, liking peace and disliking war crimes is not enough of a reason for a pat on the back. Our protags might not be burning villages for fun, but it’s difficult to take their proclaimed goal of peace seriously considering both the context of working for people who DO burn villages for fun and they way they handle themselves when presented with an opportunity to work on this supposed goal.
Corrin and Azura

• This is not seeing things under the worst possible interpretation to be a stick in the mud, Nohr is indeed invading Hoshido for no apparent reason and leaving war crimes wherever it’s armies go. Everybody in the building is aware of this to some extent.
  
• Azura and Corrin’s grand plan to expose Garon as a slime monster to his family indeed involves directly helping Garon conquer Hoshido, which they acknowledge will bring destruction and suffering that the nation and royal family have done nothing to deserve.
  
• Corrin and Azura are indeed presented with a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity here to sit down behind closed doors and communicate anything, just anything significant at all, to the royal family that still seems to value them, but our heroes don’t even try or seem to acknowledge that. Corrin doesn’t have any interactions with them that last more than a sentence or two, and Azura is never acknowledged nor speaks to them.
  
• And yet despite, all this, both Corrin and Azura are quite pleased with the turn of events here, with Corrin acknowledging they’ll “probably try to kill eachother next time they see eachother” but that they’ll “revel in this feeling.”
  

Azura in particular is problematic here. During Odovakar 's excellent overview of the problems with Fates writing, he goes into detail about how Azura’s line about “this is all quite heartwarming. We're like one big family...albeit, a dysfunctional one.” in particular comes off as incredibly tone deaf and tasteless given the circumstances of Azura and Corrin marching on one family’s homeland for the sake of the other family. What I think was also worth noting is the context leading up to that line…

Sakura: I was just, um...th-thinking...it's really nice to finally see you again. I'm glad you... I'm glad you f-found a way to be happy... Corrin: Sakura... I'm happy to see you too. Sakura: R-really? You mean it?! Oh, Corrin! Elise: HMPH! Back off, you! He/She's my brothesister! MINE! Sakura: Ah! I'm s-sorry! Corrin: Elise! Mind your manners, little one. Elise: But she's trying to take you away from me... She's my archnemesis

Whether intentional or not, this is actually a very clever microcosm of the family’s conflict acted out by the youngest and most innocent among them who probably weren’t even born when the conflict started. The Hoshidan loves their sibling, but their time with Corrin is interrupted by the Nohrian shoving them away and declaring Corrin for themselves. This is a great way to challenge our protags to some introspection about themselves.

Azura: Heehee! Corrin: Azura? Did you just...giggle?

Instead, Azura just finds this a real knee-slapper. I understand maybe this is just meant to be a cute image of imoutos fighting over oni-chan Corrin and nothing more, but the context makes it very hard to swallow the narrative’s insistence that all this is “heartwarming” as Azura puts it. Keep in mind that all the Hoshidan nobles are sitting at the same table watching all this. Do you think Ryoma also finds it funny that his little sister is scared off and declared an archnemesis by the daughter of the man who killed his father in cold blood? Do you think Hinoka also thinks it's like one big dysfunctional family when Corrin is preparing to march on her homeland with an army?
I get it, I totally know what they were going for, and in a vacuum it could be a great line making for a properly bittersweet moment. “Even if the two are at eachothers throats and the future is bleak, me and Azura are grateful we get to have at least one big normal dinner together like a real family.”
But the future is bleak because of Corrin and Azura participating in an invasion, the families are at eachothers throats partially because Corrin and Azura haven’t accomplished anything to reform Nohr. If anything, Corrin should feel great shame here. Elise just unintentionally reenacted the history between the nations where Nohr was clearly in the wrong, and Corrin is sitting directly across and staring at the family who’ve done nothing wrong to him yet are going to be hurt because of Corrin’s decision. Grateful they could spend time with them again? Maybe. But cheerful and laughing?

ProZD: D-did an alien write this game? blows gently

But at least Corrin doesn’t show outright contempt for the family they’re screwing over…
Xander and Leo

Xander: Corrin! There's no need to insult me like that. I could not possibly be anything like this sorry excuse for a prince. … Xander: We will win with honor or die trying. Come, Corrin. Let us go set free our sworn enemy. … Corrin: Heh, sorry... It's just that you and Ryoma really are so much alike. If you weren't on opposite sides of a war, I think you could have been great friends. Xander: Yeesh... Do me a favor and keep that nonsense in your head where it belongs. … Xander (to Ryoma): We only acted as Nohrian royals should. When we leave this place, you'll be nothing but an enemy to be defeated once more.

Okay, but why? Ryoma is not the one Xander overheard laughing to himself about how much he’s going to make Corrin suffer. How are the Hoshidan royals “nothing but enemies to be defeated” here when they’re just trying to defend their homeland from somebody who assassinated their king at a peace meeting? Where is all this contempt from Xander coming from?
It’s perfectly understandable he doesn’t get along super well with Ryoma because of the tensions between their nations, that makes sense, but I see no reason for why Xander is making several petty insults to his face unprompted, let alone so nonchalant and even somewhat eager to get back to waging a war Xander himself calls “a senseless war of greed and madness” in the epilogue.
He doesn’t treat his own people much better this chapter, declaring Zola and his henchmen as “traitors” to be “dealt with” for their dishonorable methods when ironically Zola taking over the country by disguising himself as the archduke is actually one of the least evil and self-destructive things we’ve seen the kingdom do so far. It must be emphasized that every sibling was in the same room watching Garon demand Xander kill Corrin if he interferes with killing POWs for his amusement, and half of them were in the same room when Garon ordered his henchmen to murder every singer they can find in a neutral country. So a few hundred or thousand innocent people, most of whom would presumably be young woman, murdered to snuff out potential assassins. Or Garon directly ordering the deaths of unarmed civilians in chapter 13 with Hans relaying “Villagers are just soldiers who haven’t picked up a sword yet.”
Xander talks a big game in this chapter about how “we’ll win this war with honor or die trying”, but how do you honorably win a war when your nation is constantly and openly rushing to pointless overkill brutality like this at every turn? What moral high ground does this country have that Xander is so determined to preserve he kills loyal soldiers over what he sees as sullying it, when at no point in the game does the influence of Nohr ever do anything but make life significantly worse? His sudden fervor towards doing the right thing is completely contrasted later on when Xander is the one telling Corrin there’s no justice to be found in war and you just gotta do what you gotta do rather than what’s morally right, in response to Corrin being upset the Nohrian army is killing woman and children who looked at them funny.

“Justice is an illusion, a fairy tale…Letting innocents die is a tragedy, but so is letting the chance for peace slip away. This is war. There is no such thing as a clean win when lives are on the line.”

“Justice is just a fairy tale, innocent people getting screwed over is something we have to accept in war because there’s no such thing as a clean win! But also we better win this senseless war of greed and madness with honor or die trying!”

• If “justice is an illusion”, how is killing Nohrian soldiers to free people who are apparently “nothing but enemies to be defeated” so you can fight them later on terms you prefer, directly prolonging a war which will lead to much more deaths on both sides, for the benefit of Nohr? By Xanders own logic, is this not letting the chance for peace slip away since there’s no such thing as a clean win? Forget Garon and Iago, I’m confident the citizens back home whose loved ones got conscripted would be the ones demanding his head if they found out about this. A very charitable interpretation is that ending the war this specific way will cause more chaos and fighting in the long-term compared to if they conquered and oppressed an innocent nation fair and square, but that’s nowhere to be found in the script whatsoever.
  
• If Xander believes in “We’ll win this war with honor or die trying”, why is he still following Garon? Garon is winning the war in part thanks to honorless and extreme acts of cruelty like blackmailing the Ice Tribe or making an example out of Scarlet’s body, yet instead of taking action against him like he does with Zola, Xander is instead the most loyal sibling to him to the point Corrin decides the best way to get him on his side is to expose Garon as a literal slime monster? Where’s Xander’s zeal of “Come Corrin, let’s go save our sworn enemies” when his father orders Hans is go through killing injured and surrendering foes who were promised they be spared? Where’s his conviction shown here about “not letting treachery go unpunished” when his father outright says he couldn’t care less about the welfare of his people and he’ll just kill anybody who complains to make an example?
  

I understand one might get the impression I’m going off topic or selectively picking and choosing quotes here from all over the game, but no matter how you look at it Xanders beliefs, morality, and priorities are just all over the place depending on what the plot needs him to do. This means not only is his motivation for helping his enemies here faulty no matter how you look at it, but it also makes the extreme lengths he goes to do so, killing his own subjects who won him victory on a silver platter because it wasn’t a “proper” victory, come off as baselessly self-righteous at best and outright cruel at worst.
I’m sure the game would assure us Zola and all his mooks are terrible people who had it coming, but the issue is no matter how virtuous you portray Xander and creepy you portray Zola, Xander is still directly managing the war for a megalomaniac and helping him achieve his goals in spite of his long history of open sadism and public crimes that make Zola look like a saint. By ignoring the clear root cause of Nohr's dishonor while going this hard against random goon's participating in dishonor, instead of being a gallant preserver of morals, he comes off like a bully who selectively picks and choices punishment.
On the topic of punishment, it particularly rubs me the wrong way how Leo just casually mercs Zola at the end, keep in mind Birthright confirms for all his faults he actually isn’t a complete monster like Garon and dies trying to help the protag.

Leo (smiling portrait): You’d probably rather die than live with the shame, correct? In that case…
Zola: Eek! No, please! M-m-milord... I was wrong! S-so wrong! I have seen the error of my ways! P-please...spare my unworthy life!!
Leo (still smiling): Make peace with it, Zola. Perhaps on the other side you will find forgiveness.

Leo makes a fair argument that the stakes are too high and Zola can’t be trusted not to snitch, but this is bit sadistic, no? One of the most powerful people in the country is smug and sarcastic as he’s getting ready to execute somebody whose bleeding on the ground begging for his life and genuinely confused as to why we’re upset with him. I know the intent of “I was wrong! I have the seen the error of my ways!” is supposed to be him saying whatever Leo wants to hear to weasel out of punishment, but that’s exactly the thing, he’s fully cooperating and doing everything he can to appease this guy. And then he’s just killed like a dog without trial or final words, presumably using the spell that skewers you with tree branches.
Didn’t the game use killing defeated foes like this to establish Garon as a bloodthirsty monster? Why is Corrin just standing there watching this happen? This exact same scenario in Birthright has them jump to spare Zola, but here their disapproval is very meek and only voiced after the deed is already done. It’s still apparently too much for Leo though, who chastises Corrin for being “too soft…I envy your innocence.” And then he declares the matter settled on their behalf.
I’m sure this scene was meant to show off Leo’s pragmatism and strategy skills, but it just makes him look like a sociopath and Corrin look spineless. And that’s the biggest issue with this chapter to me, more than the plot being driven by contrivances that aren’t explained or the lack of any character development or interesting scenes taking advantage of the setup, the actions and dialog of our protags don’t match the noble heroes the narrative insists they are:

• Corrin is openly enjoying spending time with innocent people they’re throwing under the bus so Corrin won’t have to risk their relationship with the Nohrian siblings by directly fighting Garon. They then clearly disapprove of Leo executing a surrendering foe begging for mercy but stand idle watching it happen.
• Azura sits directly across her former family who’ve been very negatively impacted by her decisions and actions, and will continue to be so in the future, yet she’s giggling about the conflict and doesn’t seem to be taking the fact that her two families might kill each other seriously.
• Xander insults Ryoma as a sorry excuse for a prince, and afterwards kills his own subjects to prolong a war of aggression so it can be won the way he personally wants it to be won.
• Leo seems to be having a good time killing somebody who’s surrendered and begging for his life. He then chides Corrin for being “too soft” when they wish that didn’t have to happen.
• And again, for no apparent reason, neither Corrin or Azura do the bare minimum to clue to the Hoshidans about what’s going on or even have a meaningful conversation with them despite claiming to care for them. This is the golden opportunity they were hoping for, yet they apparently spend the entire dinner instead talking to eachother about how happy they themselves are.

These are not the actions of heroic characters.
Summary: Overall, this is a very bizarre chapter. It feels like something meaningful happens here at first glance, your brain sees what’s going on and knows that this is supposed to be a huge moment. Peaceful music playing, a very well-drawn CG of dozens of individual units, liberating a country from Nohrian control, Corrin and Azura are happy and say some lines that sound like they should be deep and impactful.
But when you step back and analyze the bigger picture and context, you find that more or less embodies all of Fates writing, both good and bad. It has a brilliant premise that gets your mind going, excellent presentation to accompany it, and some individual scenes or dialogue in a vacuum are very welcome. If you’re a casual player who just wants context for your favorite characters fighting, it’s easy to feel satisfied at first glance and move on thanks to those factors, especially since the gameplay and MyCastle are very fun. At the same time, there’s no denying the severe flaws that hamper the experience.
Despite being the hyped-up main draw of the chapter, our exciting premise that opens so many doors is almost completely neglected in favor of (once again) exposition on meaningless settings and characters that aren’t relevant anywhere else and also reminding us how evil Nohr is, to the point the chapter title is Black and White. The context makes it very difficult to take the plight of our heroes seriously due to their lack of action (both before and in the present) to achieve their proclaimed goal despite ample opportunity, the proaction they do have being unnecessarily extreme and self-serving, and a narrative that insists they are in the right at every turn despite the results clearly showing us otherwise. There’s definitely bits and pieces of something great buried in all this teasing us, otherwise I wouldn’t be interested enough to write this much all these years later, but as is it’s just a mess. An enjoyable mess, but a mess all the same.

But what do you guys think of Conquest Chapter 18: Black and White? Do you also consider it a wreck, or was there something positive here you believed I missed? What would you like to see in a potential rewrite of it?

This is taken from and is copyright protected by globalsoup.net, a website that promotes flash Fiction with annual writing contests.
I am reprinting these Flash Fiction Prompts because they are outstanding ways to freewrite and offer plenty to work with for those who want to learn how to write Flash Fiction.
So check out these prompts and the article and work some of them into your journal! Post the best responses!
100 Awesome Flash Fiction Prompts - Plus Bonus Prompts!
We’ve put together 100 flash fiction prompts, each one designed for a very short story. These prompts will probably be best suited to a story of between 300-1,000 words. If you want to write a longer story using these prompts, you can easily expand these ideas to fit a story of any length.
What is flash fiction?
Flash Fiction is defined as a very short story that can be anywhere from just a couple of words to about a thousand in length. The beauty (and difficulty) of writing flash fiction lies in trying to tell a complete story in so few words. Great flash fiction is succinct, emotive, thought-provoking, and impactful.
What’s the difference between flash fiction and a short story?
The only difference between flash fiction and a typical short story is the word count. However, this scarcity of words means that writing flash fiction can feel like a completely new skill. Just like the short story is a different animal to the novel or novella; flash fiction is kind of unique.
When writing flash, you’ll need to use fewer characters, a simpler plot, and you’ll have to make each word count. This is why editing is so important. You have to be brutal. Cut out everything superfluous and really make sure each and every word is performing an important function in the story. If you’re interested in writing very short fiction, why not check out drabbles? Drabbles are stories of exactly 100 words in length, and they can be a great way to practice keeping your stories very, very short.
How to plot a flash fiction story
When you sit down to write flash fiction, you must begin by choosing an appropriate plot. You cannot simply use a short story plot and tell it using fewer words. A typical flash fiction plot is like looking at one part of a story under a microscope.
For example, let’s look at prompt #21 in our list of 100 Flash Fiction Prompts:

1. Two people on a sinking ship must decide who should take the last seat in the last lifeboat. If you were writing a novel about a sinking ship, you’d probably want the actual sinking to be the climax of the story. Of course, there are infinite ways to write a novel about a sinking ship, but this would structurally be the most obvious. You’d use the first part of the novel to introduce your characters and describe the voyage leading up to the sinking and the sinking of the ship would be the dramatic climax, leaving the last part of the book as the resolution.

The golden rule of writing short stories is to begin as close to end as you can. So, to turn the same story from novel to short story, you’d probably want to begin with the ship sinking. You haven’t got time to introduce the characters before the action begins, so you’d need to feed in exposition and backstory here and there during the events.
All stories need a good climax. So, you would find the most dramatic moment in the story and build up to it. Perhaps your climax would be the two main characters having to decide who will take the remaining seat on the last lifeboat.
Finally, you need a resolution. In a longer short story you do have time to bring in some kind of satisfying resolution at the end.
But, if you’re writing flash fiction and your story is only a few hundred words, you really need to zoom in on one tiny moment in that story.
You don’t have time to tell the entire story of a sinking ship, but you can turn one moment into a story.
We’ve chosen the lifeboat situation as the key moment in this hypothetical story. Two characters must decide which one of them will take the last seat on the last lifeboat. This is an appropriate plot for flash fiction because it’s simple, high-stakes, dramatic, and thought provoking.
Not all flash fiction will have a plot quite this dramatic, but all great flash fiction will have a plot that can be expressed in just one or two sentences.
If you have a plot in mind, but it seems more suitable for a longer story, you can sometimes find several flash fiction plots hidden within it. Just look for little stories within the story, like the lifeboat moment in our hypothetical tale of the sinking ship.
This brings us to our top tip for coming up with ideas for flash fiction stories:
if you’re ever stuck for ideas, you can find little stories within the story in books, movies, and TV shows. A full length feature film might have as many as 20 little incidents in it that could easily be flash fiction.
Don’t directly write a story based on the film, though. Just carefully pick out those little moments, write down what’s happening as a one or two sentence plot, and then use it to inspire your own, completely original flash fiction story.
One of our 100 Flash Fiction Prompts was actually taken from the movie Pulp Fiction!
How to write very short flash fiction
There are several reasons writers might start writing flash fiction. Of course, it could be that they just love and enjoy the form, but sometimes they’ll be a more strategic and practical reason at play.
Perhaps they want to practise the process of writing stories within the confines of a certain word limit. Maybe they are trying to develop a daily writing routine and they don’t have a lot of free time. It could be that they’re trying to break a habit of not finishing writing projects, or perhaps they are entering a flash fiction competition.
Whatever the reason, very often when we sit down to write flash, we must work under an imposed or self-imposed word restraint. We’ve set ourselves (or been set) the task of keeping the story under a particular number of words.
So, how do you plot a flash fiction story when you have to keep your story very, very short.
We’re not going to discuss stories of 100 words or fewer here. Technically, those stories are still flash, however, we prefer to categorise 100 word stories as drabbles and anything under 100 words as micro fiction.
But what if you have to keep your flash fiction story under, let’s say, 300 words? How do you write a flash fiction story that short?
The answer is: get your microscope out again. Remember earlier when we said writing flash fiction is like looking at part of a story under a microscope? If you have to write very short flash fiction, you’ll need to zoom in even further.
Let’s look at a couple of examples from our 100 Flash Fiction Prompts:

1. During a match, a young boxer must decide whether to throw the fight.

If you had 1,000 words to devote to the story, you could have time to tell the story of the entire fight. With only 300 words, it might be better to zoom in on the very moment when the boxer must choose whether or not to go down.
In a longer flash fiction story you might have time to go into detail about why he’s in this situation and why he’s so conflicted. In a 300 word story, you might only devote one or two sentences to his gambling debt and the large sum of money waiting for him if he goes down in the third round, as instructed.

1. A family must decide what to take and what to leave behind as a wildfire approaches their home.

If you had 1,000 words to devote to this story, you might be able to write about the whole process of choosing what to take and what to leave behind. You might be able to mention many different choices and have the whole family participate in the story. You’d be able to go into some details about certain choices and the stories behind individual objects or mementos, as well as the implications of choosing certain things over others.
With only 300 words, it would be advisable to zoom in on one member of the family and to focus on one profound and important choice.
How to write a flash fiction story
Now you have your mini plot, you still need to make sure your flash fiction feels like a complete story. It should still have a beginning, middle, and an end.
Just like a short story, you may need to bring in a little exposition here and there to give texture, context, backstory, and to bring some depth to the characters. But, unlike a short story, you won’t necessarily need to end with a full, detailed resolution. It’s quite common for a flash fiction story to end with a quick twist or plenty of ambiguity.
Flash Fiction is much more about eliciting emotions and provoking thought, than setting up and resolving a complex story.
100 Awesome Flash Fiction Prompts
A young ballet dancer chooses not to tell the other dancers in her troop about a loose paving stone outside their dance studio.
Two sisters realise they’ve both been on a perfect first date … with the same man.
On the car journey home, two parents realise they’ve left their child’s favourite teddy on a park bench several hours away.
A writer suffering from writers’ block looks for inspiration in a strange place.
Set 200 years in the future, a young man realises he’s too emotionally dependent on his robot assistant.
A young woman discovers she’s taken the wrong suitcase home from the airport. The contents of the case make her question her own life choices.
A murderer realises he has only 10 minutes to dispose of a body.
A child decides to walk home by themselves after their parent forgets to pick them up from school … again.
Your protagonist manages to talk the grim reaper out of collecting their soul.
Your protagonist suddenly realises they’ve been living in a simulation.
A young couple has chosen to spend the night in a haunted house to fix their marriage. Your story starts just as things get very weird.
Your protagonist finds a letter they wrote to themselves when they were a teenager.
Your protagonist must decide whether or not to drink from a fountain that erases all painful memories from the mind.
Your protagonist comes across a street called ‘Memory Lane’. They quickly realise the name is eerily apt.
A bride finds out something startling about her future husband an hour before the wedding.
Your protagonist finds an advertisement for a company that promises everlasting youth.
A youngest sibling shows up at a family reunion they weren’t actually invited to.
Your protagonist finds a piece of paper with a spell on it. If they say the words out loud they aren't sure if something terrible or wonderful will happen.
Your protagonist is watching a jazz band play when they realise they know the drummer from somewhere — but where? It takes a whole song for them to figure it out.
Your protagonist must meet their ex for lunch to tell them they’re now engaged. It’s been just a few weeks since they split up.
Two people on a sinking ship must decide who should take the last seat in the last lifeboat.
During a match, a young boxer must decide whether to throw the fight.
Your protagonist must pack their belongings before moving to a new colony on mars.
A pilot realises they have lost control of their aircraft.
Your protagonist doesn’t want to attend their 100th birthday party — and for good reason!
Your protagonist gets stuck in a lift with their ex … 5 minutes after breaking up with them.
A child says goodbye to the fairies in his garden before moving to a new home.
Your protagonist saves someone’s life … and then wishes they hadn’t.
Your protagonist arrives at a blind date. They’ve been set up with someone they actually know a little too well.
Set in a dystopian future in which public displays of affection are banned, your protagonist faces an agonising choice.
An agoraphobic must face their fear in order to save something important.
Your protagonist must make her partner fall out of love with them. Both their lives depend on it.
Your protagonist is hiking with her small children, they come face to face with a grizzly bear and her cubs.
Cinderella and Prince Charming realise they got married too quickly.
A message written in graffiti on a bathroom wall has serious implications for your protagonist.
Your protagonist finds a bag, looks inside, and realises the owner might just be their soulmate.
Your protagonist has been seeing the same stranger everywhere they go for months. They finally decide to confront them.
A couple realise their relationship is over during the trip of a lifetime. They’ve been saving up for the trip for years.
A public debate sees two previously married people letting their private grievances come into their arguments.
Your protagonist plans their escape from a retirement home.
A couple realise their fundamental beliefs are at odds with each other.
An artist develops an obsession with drawing a next-door neighbour.
Your protagonist finds themselves trapped in a cabin with a group of hikers during a heavy snowfall.
An ice skater must face going back on the ice after a dangerous fall.
A couple must decide their plan for New Year’ Eve. They both have secret reasons for their choice.
A family must decide what to take and what to leave behind as a wildfire approaches their home.
Your protagonist is waiting for someone important at the airport. They begin to think that person isn’t going to show up … and then they realise why.
Your protagonist must find their way through a maze. What they find in the middle of the maze is the last thing they were expecting.
An actor waiting in the wings has forgotten his first line.
Your protagonist is wrongly identified as a hero. Do they come clean?
Your protagonist realises their past is catching up with them.
Your protagonist overhears something that has serious implications for them while trying on clothes in a changing room.
Your protagonist is in a costume shop trying to decide what to dress up as for Halloween.
Your protagonist realises they’ve slipped into an alternate dimension.
A surgeon must make an impossible choice on the operating table.
A pregnant journalist interviews the mother of a missing child.
Your protagonist must ask his girlfriend’s father for his blessing, only to discover the father knows his deepest secret.
Your protagonist sees something on social media that will change their life forever.
Two work colleagues realise they’ve been dreaming the same dreams for weeks.
A reluctant daughter comes to terms with having to carry on the family business.
Your protagonist realises she must go on the run.
Two bank robbers disagree on their plan to rob a bank. This leads to a disastrous consequence.
A strange case of deja vous leaves your protagonist convinced of supernatural interference.
A sceptic begins to question their beliefs during a psychic reading.
Your protagonist uncovers a scandal at their workplace.
A hapless cook tries to recreate her late father’s favourite recipes in an effort to feel connected to him.
Your protagonist has a premonition that makes them certain they can’t visit their mother-in-law for Christmas. Now he must convince his husband.
A young backpacker discovers something unexpected in a cave.
An impulsive character and an indecisive character are brought together by chance. They must make an important choice.
Two characters cleaning up after a party discover an object that sheds light on something strange that happened earlier.
Two strangers are trapped together during a blackout.
Your protagonist must take a leap of faith in order to save something important to them.
Your protagonist discovers a huge part of their life has been a lie.
Your protagonist has set up an elaborate way to propose. Inexplicably, everything goes wrong.
Your protagonist must buy a dress for her mother’s funeral.
Your protagonist goes back to her favourite city in the world, only to find it has completely changed.
While stargazing, your protagonist realises the stars are forming secret messages in the sky.
Your protagonist hears a news story on the radio that will mean the world changes forever. However, she seems to be the only person who heard it.
Your protagonist is crossing a frozen lake. They see something under the ice that definitely shouldn’t be there.
A workaholic must come to terms with retirement.
An Olympic athlete must decide whether or not to report their teammate for doping.
A young mother feels isolated from her childless friends.
Your protagonist is about to realise their greatest ambition. Will it be everything they were hoping for?
Onboard a spaceship, a couple prepare to go into stasis for hundreds of years.
Your protagonist has an obsession with thinking about the past.
Set in a post-apocalyptic future, your protagonist meets an unlikely love interest.
Your protagonist visits a place from their childhood and realises their memories of that time might not be accurate at all.
A small child has decided to run away from home. Her parents watch on with amusement as she decides what to put in her backpack.
On a whim, a bus driver decides to radically change his route, much to the chagrin of his passengers.
Dystopian. A couple in love are only allowed to spend time with each other one day a year.
A shapeshifter begins to realise their powers are fading. They must decide what form will be the last one they take before they cannot change again.
The devil visits your protagonist with an offer on her soul.
Your protagonist suddenly has the ability to read minds. There’s only one place they want to go now!
Your very wealthy protagonist has designed a simple test to see who will inherit her estate.
An archaeologist discovers something that will change how we see the history of the world. It could be dangerous. Does he keep it to himself?
Your protagonist must clear out their late mother’s house. She discovers an incredible family secret.
Your protagonist is meeting his brother. They haven’t seen each other for 20 years.
Your protagonist develops the ability to see the world literally through someone else’s eyes.
Your protagonist starts to believe their partner might be a spy.
Your protagonist discovers a hidden camera in their living room.
Looking for a flash fiction competition? Check out our ‘Big List of International Writing Competitions!’ Looking for inspiration? Why not check out our list of the 20 Greatest Short Story Writers of All Time! Just received another short story rejection? Here’s our post about ‘How to Deal With Story Rejections’ Bonus Prompts! Two characters waiting by the side of the road realise they are both meeting the same person.
A woman loses her young niece in a busy shopping mall.
Three strangers must solve a riddle in order to gain entry to a secret club.
A poor woman must borrow ingredients from her neighbours to bake her husband a birthday cake.
A waiter finally finds out why an old man has been coming to the restaurant where he works every day at exactly the same time.
Two work colleagues must decide which of them is to take the blame for a terrible mistake at work.
Your disgruntled protagonist goes to confront the couple next door about the strange noises they’ve been hearing at night.
A family dinner party sees three characters make three very surprising announcements.
Two women argue over who should get to buy the last dress available in a store. How do they decide who should get it?
A young couple find out they knew (and disliked) each other vehemently as children.
Love writing stories? Register now for our free 7 Day Story Writing Challenges. Write a short story in a week, get extensive feedback on your entry, and compete for a prize of £500 in each round of the challenge. Register today!
Mastered the art of flash fiction? Now you can try submitting your stories to literary magazines! We’ve compiled a list of the best literary magazines that don’t charge a reading fee! Check out our Big List of No-Fee Literary Magazines.

(Warning, because I haven't posted in a bit and am not sure how this would fall for some folks, but this one is a bit "Horror Movie" inspired, and a bit gory/violent)
Traitors of Rath
Post Lord Daug's Disappearance
Lord Daug had vanished, reports indicating he may have been lost in battle with enemy forces that he had been hunting through the wilds. Jeremy snorted at that, served the fat bastard right, the rathians may hold the noble in high regard, probably brainwashed by something in the water on that damned planet they loved so much, but Jeremy wasn't from Rath and by the emperors sitting ass he knew better than to trust in a noble. Which had made what he and the guys were planning a lot easier to stomach.
He nodded at Nel as the man spooned him some gruel into his bowl, a mix of ration packs and of some kinda local plant the rats had said was good to eat. That was another thing! What kind of self-respecting man trusted those THINGS? Every single rath born trooper treated them like they were little mini officers, it was DISGUSTING. There was no way the stories about the nobles asses butler were even halfway true, just stories to keep the men in line. Like they would be scared of a rat.
Jeremy resisted the urge to spit and signed at Nel, making sure the seargent couldn't see the signs. Nel signed back, and Jeremy smiled, their plan was ago, after tonight they would slip off and signal to the xenos that they wanted to surrender. Of course, the seargent, the only brainwashed bastard of Rath in their whole squad would protest, but they had a way to fix that, emperor issued too. Sure, the xenos were barely better than animals, but they at least had food, and weren't a thrice blighted noble or officer telling him what to do.
Jeremy took a spoonful of the rather decent gruel and hummed to himself as he ate. He would be first watch, and then when time came for shift change the seargent was supposed to relieve him. Then they'd be ready to have a talk with the seargent all seven of their remaining men.
...
Jeremy stirred slowly, since they weren't gonna be part of the guard after tonight who gave an imperial damnation if he slept on duty. But something was wrong, he couldn't figure out what the bad feeling was, but he struggled his way out of the blankets he had tucked around himself vaguely panicked. He hadn't been with the reigment long, but he had been a scout long enough to know this silence...was bad.
Carefully he moved back towards the little outpost they had occupied, some kinda poured stone stuff, like he knew what that shit was, with a heavy metal door. Whatever was coming, it would be safer with a few more lasguns around him. Having reached the edge of the clearing around the outposts entrance he looked around carefully and seeing no sign of danger dashed for cover in the doorway, the inset door offered plenty of cover for him to take while he knocked the passcode.
Or would have, had the door not been ajar...and the scent of blood wafted from within. Jeremy froze. That was a bad sign...a very bad sign. That was a LOT of blood he was smelling...but if someone had attacked, why hadn't he heard it? Slowly carefully, he pushed the door open further with the barrel of his lasgun. Even if he would have preferred to retreat, doing so alone was probably certain death, especially considering all his kit was inside.
The door swung open stiffly, as if stuck on something...and then something fell from the top of it into Jeremy's arms, he fumbled for a second, catching it between his hand and lasgun. Then he screamed and chucked away Nel's head, his lasgun was back up and at the ready aiming at the door. While he panted in fear. Then he heard something crunch the snow behind him, he spun around and opened fire blindly into the small stand of trees that surrounded this outpost.
His shots blew chunks from the trees and caused steam to rise from new craters in the snow, but no figure emerged from the moonlit shadows to face him. And that only made the terror worse. Jeremy spun and body slammed the door, forcing it forward and entering the outpost. Quickly he spun and slammed the door back shut again...only to find his hands in a massive smear of blood. Trembling he looked down and saw Nel's body below, the object that had blocked the door. Slowly his eyes went upwards to the top of the door, staring at the gore.
Trembling he threw his entire body weight against the door as he felt something slam into it with incredible force, only him holding it and Nel's body being in the way kept the door shut, and he fumbled with the latch. It was a secure door, once he locked it, the door would hold, it HAD to hold! Jeremy struggled, every slam against the door forcing him to throw himself back against it, cursing desperately as it failed to lock again and again. Finally, with a heavy clank, the door closed, and its lock fell into place.
Jeremy exhausted, slide downwards in the pool of blood at the door, happy that the 33rds footwear had not slipped in the mess. Jeremy cursed to himself again and stood up trembling as the banging on the door seemed to end. Whatever was on the other side...he didn't see it, but it was no man. No human was that strong, no human could...use the top of a door as a upside down guilotine. With a shudder Jeremy turned from the door and surveyed the room, grimacing as he caught sight of... Jenny, he thinks that who it was, their head apparently inside the now upended stew pot, still.
On the left, Ramsos and Hinkle were both dead, crushed against a wall by the table they'd been seated at, Ramsos slumped forward, Hinkle pinned to the wall by one of the standard issue sporks through his throat. On the right, it looked like Vanessa had been torn limb from limb by something. Massive tears across her body and limbs missing. Looking around Jeremy realized there were two people missing, Lowozky and Seargent Tion. Hope erupted in his chest, maybe they survived? The seargent may be able to deal with whatever was attacking them, he was a veteran he had to know some way to stay alive!
Jeremy looked around frantically trying to think of where they could have gone. "Lowozky! Seargent!?" he called out and then his eyes fell on the only door deeper into the place, he rushed over to it, and pulled it open. Maybe Lowozky had hid in the latrine?
He had.
But he had not survived.
Jeremy wretched at the stench and stepped back. Lowozky had voided himself in death, unfortunately he had been shoved head and shoulders first down the latrine and not the other way around.
The banging at the door resumed, this time harder.
And then Jeremy heard the roar of a chain sword revving.
...
Seargent Tion strode through the snow, covered in blood, he would have changed, but this had been his last decent uniform. He carried his kit on his back, chainsword holstered at his side. His las pistol had been lost in battle days ago alongside his combat knife.
It had made the night more unpleasant than he would have hoped. Then again, it would have been unpleasant either way. Tion shook his head and lamented the loss of seven soldiers of the imperium. It was unfortunate but he could not hold this post on his own, and due to his failure seven men were lost. If the Lord was here he would report to command immediately but...as it was...
He would have to find other imperial forces to report his deriliction of duty, losing seven men to poor morale when they were in his care was a serious failure. Though the Rathian did have to wonder.
How in the world did Jeremy sleep through the racket? Tion shook his head at the mans poor discipline, yet another failing of Tion's, he didn't instill a proper attitude and it showed.

Part 14.3

Heracles VS Lernaean Hydra

Author Note: I was thinking about it and I really wish that GT9 used more draconic symbolism throughout the story when (or if) I revisit Team Crowley VS Rosencreutz I'll have symbolism of Aleister (TheBeast666), Aiwass (Codename: DRAGON) and Coronzon (The Dragon of the Abyss) all have symbology of them being Dragons preying on a God/Hero like CRC and the reversed conflict of Chaos VS Order you see in mythology, I also wanted to achieve something similar with Kakine Teitoku as he can represent the Fallen Angel and the Seraphim but for now I'll try adding draconian symbolism into Gunha VS CRC.
True Expert Christian Rosencreutz, with his golden rosy cross sword, clashed relentlessly against the indomitable force of the Strongest Gemstone, Sogiita Gunha. With each clash of their powers, the air crackled and compressed, and the pavement trembled beneath.
CRC, observed Sogiita with a mixture of intrigue and disdain. "You fight like the legendary Heracles," he remarked, his voice carrying over the din of battle. "But know this, I am the Lernaean Hydra, and no matter how many heads you sever, I shall always rise again!" Rosencreutz roared to slice the #7’s midsection.
Sogiita, his entire body wreathed in unknowable energy, met CRC's blade unyielding. "Bring it on, old man!" he retorted, his voice brimming with confidence. "I'll knock you down as many times as it takes! I won't stop till you come to your senses and remember your roots, like the roses you love so much, Rosencreutz!!"
Their clash intensified, that old man’s higher dimensional sword colliding with the raw power of that boy’s fists and kicks as they pushed each other to their limits with each sword swing, punch, kick and flash.
Sogiita unleashed a barrage of punches, each strike carrying the force of a meteor, while that silver young man countered: he wielded his sword in his right hand and released impacts followed by white light that was enough to previously take down all of The Bridge Builders Cabal.
As the battle raged on, the very fabric of reality seemed to warp and shift around them, bearing witness to the titanic struggle between two unparalleled forces.
The founder of Rosicrucianism who intimidated reality itself to obey his will and that Gemstone with an unstable personal reality that could change on a whim.
The atmosphere crackled with electrifying distortion.
Sogiita's fists tore through the air with the ferocity of meteors, their velocity enhanced by his ability to adapt and accelerate, surpassing even CRC's speed. As each blow was released, the friction with the surrounding air molecules ignited a scorching heat, intensifying the impact.
The rapid movement of molecules generated an escalating thermal energy, causing the air to seethe with increasing temperature. It was akin to a tempest of incandescent projectiles hurtling towards CRC, their speed surpassing the limits of human perception.
It was like a storm of brilliant fiery arrows was fired at Rosencreutz.
These blazing arrows of force were reminiscent of the elusive strikes employed by the Rose & Cross Leader, ignoring distance with deceptive agility.
With each thunderous punch, that bandana boy sought to overpower his adversary through sheer kinetic force, his unwavering resolve palpable in every motion.
But that wasn't enough for this superhuman.
CRC, wielding his cross sword with precision and skill, deflected each and every one Sogiita's flaming arrows with calculated strikes of his own. Each impact unleashed a burst of blinding white light, sending shockwaves rippling through the chaotic city.
"You think brute strength alone will defeat me?" the silver man taunted, his voice cutting through the chaos of battle. "You may be strong, but strength without strategy is nothing but raw power wasted."
Sogiita grinned, his confidence unshaken. "Strategies for cowards who can't handle a real fight," he retorted, his voice ringing with defiance. "I'll K.O. you with my fists and guts alone!!!!"
Rosencreutz's eyes narrowed as he parried another of Sogiita's punches. "Your arrogance will be your downfall," he warned, his tone tinged with certainty. "I may not match your overall speed, but I have something you lack: intellect and precision.”
Christian Rosencreutz then plunged his cross sword into the ground.
"This is what harmed Kamijou Touma," he declared, grinning and unleashing a torrent of lethal invisible attacks from his outstretched palms.
However, the #7 countered with a relentless barrage of flaming arrows from the thermal aftershock of his punches.
Each strike akin to a particle accelerator in its intensity and speed. That Gemstone was the particles being fired on the right and that True Expert was the particles fired on the left.
As the attacks clashed, the battlefield became a spectacle of raw power and precision.
“Roar!” CRC held his open palm to his mouth and blew gently on the tip of the middle finger.
That was all it took for a blaze easily outdoing a flamethrower to rush out. And this was not just any fire. It fed on the power of a ley line and stole vitality from space itself. This overwhelming mass of light and heat was wielded for no other purpose than to take lives. Anyone who tried to survive it using simple composite armor or special fibers would dry up and burn away in less than a second.
But that wouldn't kill another superhuman would it?
Of course not.
“Aaaaarghhhh!!!!” screamed the #7.
Some assaults bypassed the fray entirely, slipping through the chaos like elusive particles in a collider.
A smokescreen.
Those brilliant fireworks from hell weren't meant to take Sogiita’s life. They were meant to disrupt the Gemstone's senses and sight so he couldn't counter all of that old man’s deadly attacks.
Invisible strikes found their mark on that Gemstone, and the searing arrows of the arrows scorched Rosencreutz.
CRC was wounded but he rejected to make any whimpers. Instead with a sudden burst of velocity, the young silver man picked up his cross sword from the ground and launched a flurry of strikes, cutting at the #7’s body with pinpoint accuracy.
His arms, his head, his face, his stomach, his legs, his midsection, his back.
Each blow landed with devastating force, causing Sogiita to stagger back under the onslaught.
If that bandana boy hadn't had his defenses and general stats raised by the #5 he’d be cut to pieces.
The #7 fell on his back.
"There's a fire," Sogiita declared, his voice ringing out amidst the chaos of battle.
With each attempt to break his spirit, Sogiita's resolve only grew stronger, fueling the flames of his determination. "Every time someone tries to make me give up, it's like wind feeding my flames, making them burn even brighter just like my punches," he explained, his words carrying the weight of his unwavering determination.
He refused to stay down.
With a roar of defiance, Sogiita surged forward once more, his movements blurring with speed as he disappeared from view. In the blink of an eye, he reappeared behind Christian Rosencreutz, catching the magician off guard.
"Hey, old man," Sogiita taunted, his voice filled with confidence as he seized Rosencreutz from behind.
Christian Rosencreutz's eyes widened in surprise as he realized he had been outmaneuvered.
As Sogiita Gunha faced off against Christian Rosencreutz in their airborne duel, he felt the flames of determination burning within him, driving him forward with unstoppable force.
Before he could react, the boy lifted him effortlessly and slammed him onto the pavement below with a resounding thud.
"I'm not just a kick-boxer!!" Sogiita sang.
As the impact reverberated through the air, the young silver man let out a pained cry. The force of the collision compressed the surrounding air, heating it up until it crackled with energy. Christian Rosencreutz's head struck the ground with a velocity equivalent to mach 20, igniting his body in flames upon impact.
This move is called a suplex.
Struggling to regain his bearings, Rosencreutz muttered in a daze, "The House of the Holy Spirit...the seven walls..."
"You said it yourself, didn't you?" the gutsy boy retorted, cocky. "My power and my guts can break through your impenetrable walls. And I can spread those same guts to the world around me."
With a grimace, Christian Rosencreutz acknowledged the truth of the boy's words. "Your uncontrolled AIM field grants you the ability to imbue non-organic objects with the properties of your virus," he observed, his voice tinged with begrudging admiration. "Allowing them to bypass even the defenses of the seven-walled tomb.”
"A virus? Don't be so gutless, CRC," the #7 retorted, his voice filled with defiance. "This battleground ruled by wills is a two-way road between you and me."
Christian Rosencreutz raised an eyebrow at the boy's words. "Hey Gemstone, you could've killed me if I weren't a superhuman with an idealized body that accomplished The Great Work and crossed the Ungrund, what then short-stack?" he questioned while fitting an insult against his height.
Even without the seven-walled tomb or sheets of diamonds Rosencreutz was cartoonishly durable.
"Sorry, old man," Sogiita retorted, a hint of irritation lacing his words at the jab about his height. "I may have let my enthusiasm get the better of me, but rest assured, I understand the magnitude of this battle. Just like the Hydra, no matter how many heads you regrow, I'll persevere until I've completed my labors.”
"Mhm, so you do know your mythology," CRC remarked, a hint of amusement in his voice. "The Lernaean Hydra, or simply Hydra, is a serpentine lake monster in Greek and Roman mythology. Its lair was the lake of Lerna in the Argolid, known as an entrance to the Underworld. In the canonical myth, the monster is slain by Heracles as part of his Twelve Labors."
"Yeah, I know," Sogiita replied confidently. "I studied the tales of great gutsy heroes in school.”
"So, short-stack," Christian Rosencreutz began, his voice carrying a hint of scholarly interest. “Have you ever considered the parallels between our battle and ancient Near Eastern religions?”
Sogiita listened intently. "Are you saying you see yourself as a god of war or a hunter?" he inquired.
CRC chuckled softly. "In a sense, indeed. We are both assuming roles in this grand theater, are we not? I, the Hydra, and you, Heracles."
He continued, "Consider the Second Labor of Heracles. Eurystheus, the king of Tiryns, sent Heracles to slay the Hydra, which Hera had raised specifically to defeat him. Heracles approached the swamp near Lake Lerna, where the Hydra dwelled. To protect himself from the poisonous fumes, he covered his mouth and nose with a cloth and shot flaming arrows into the Hydra's lair, causing it to emerge and terrorize the surrounding villages."
CRC paused, drawing a comparison. “In our own clash, the flaming arrows that Heracles hurled at the Hydra find their echo in your lightning-fast fists, generating shockwaves that ignite the air with their speed and force. It's as though each strike of yours is akin to shooting a flaming arrow, much like Heracles did.”
“Huh? Are you suggesting we're caught in a time loop? That some enigmatic group, like the Bridge Builders Cabal, manipulated events to resurrect you, pitting us against each other in a timeless struggle? I've never met them, and I'm certainly no child of Zeus. Are you implying that our battle will be distorted into a Greek legend by a meddling time traveler?!” frantically asked the boy.
“No, no, you simpleton. This world contains synchronicities. In Sumerian, Babylonian, and Assyrian mythology, the war and hunting god Ninurta was celebrated for his deeds. The Angim credited him with slaying eleven monsters during an expedition to the mountains, including a seven-headed serpent, possibly identical to the Mushmahhu, and Bashmu, whose constellation was later associated with the Hydra by the Greeks. In Babylonian contexts, the Hydra's constellation is also linked to Marduk's dragon, the Mushhushshu.”
“Uhhh….” That shounen boy was dumbfounded.
"Hhm, I suppose calling it a time loop isn't technically wrong," Christian Rosencreutz began, his tone measured. "I'll break it down from history class and reconstruct it through the lens of the occult. Historic recurrence, young Gemstone, is the phenomenon of events echoing throughout time. Whether it's the rise and fall of empires or the repetitive cycles within a single society, it's all part of this grand plan that was decided when Adam ate the forbidden fruit."
The #7 with his guard up but curious listened: "So, history just keeps repeating itself? Just a series of coincidences?"
Christian Rosencreutz shook his head sagely. "There is no such thing as coincidences. Take, for instance, the Doctrine of Eternal Recurrence, pondered upon by thinkers like Heinrich Heine and Friedrich Nietzsche. While it's said that 'history repeats itself,' it's not quite that simple. Rather, these recurrences stem from identifiable circumstances and chains of causality."
He continued, his voice carrying the weight of centuries of philosophical debate. "Consider the phenomenon of multiple independent discoveries in science or the reproducible findings in natural and social sciences. These recurrences, whether in the form of rigorous experimentation or comparative research, are vital to our understanding of the world."
Christian Rosencreutz paused, allowing the weight of his words to sink in. "G.W. Trompf, in his seminal work, The Idea of Historical Recurrence in Western Thought, illustrates the recurring patterns of political thought and behavior since ancient times. Through these patterns, history offers us invaluable lessons, often leading to a sense of resonance or déjà vu."
Their words reverberated like a challenge to destiny itself, a testament to their unyielding determination in the face of adversity.
That Gemstone didn't surrender his characteristic fervor. "History echoing through time, huh? It's like the universe itself is stuck on repeat, and we're just caught in the cycle. But you know what? If history's gonna keep looping, then let's break the pattern! Let's smash through those chains of causality and forge our own path. Who cares about déjà vu? We'll create something entirely new, something that'll shake the very foundations of this world and we’ll do it with guts!!!" He defied that silver monster.
But Rosencreutz wasn't finished. He pulled out his Crystal World Map.
The supposedly old man listened intently to that boy's impassioned response, his expression inscrutable behind his clairvoyant card. After a moment of contemplation, he spoke.
“Gemstone, you speak of breaking free from the chains of repetition, of forging a new destiny against the backdrop of eternal return. It is a noble aspiration, indeed. However, consider this: eternal return is not merely a philosophical concept or a whimsical notion of fate. It is the very fabric of existence, woven into the nature of time itself.” He pressed his finger on the Miniature Garden and a 3D holographic projection flew out—
“In ancient times, the Stoics grappled with the idea, seeing in it both a sense of cosmic order and a challenge to individual agency. Augustine and others recoiled from its implications, fearing it as a negation of free will and salvation. And yet, Nietzsche, in his brilliance, dared to confront the concept anew, exploring its depths in the crucible of human consciousness.”
Didn't Aleister Crowley say that he had to shatter every single phase in order to eliminate the concept of fate?
“I will shatter every last phase and put an end to all mysticism. It can be helped and we need not restrain our tears and bite our lip when faced with tragedy. I will bring back the pure world in which everyone can feel anger like normal and question it all like normal!!”
And didn't Coronzon appear to break down all the phases including the Pure World?
Partial destruction would be meaningless. If anything remains and an eternal distortion is born from that, then it will all happen again. I will eliminate the ten spheres, the twenty-two pathways, and the hidden eleventh symbol. Collisions between phases? Sparks and spray? You cannot save anyone if you only treat those symptoms. All of the fundamental clogs must be removed. All so we can pass the baton to whoever comes next.”
“Sparks and Sprays…” Rosencreutz muttered.
“Eh?” The #7 didn't quite hear him.
"Beside time stands fate, cruelty's steadfast herald. In the silent chambers of the soul, whispers the most profound wisdom. Humanity, in its folly, neglected to exalt life's splendor, its radiance, its grandeur. Truly, it is a rare gift to comprehend the forces that shape our existence.” That magician spoke in despair.
“From the moment man ate the fruit of knowledge, he guaranteed your species’ failure... Entrusting his future to the whims of fate, man clutches to a flickering hope. Yet, within the Miniature Garden lies the key to all revelation. Beyond the well-trodden path lies the ultimate terminus. It matters not who you are; Death is the sole certainty awaiting all.” he finished with scorn.
Shokuhou Misaki was currently linked to Sogiita Gunha so she was overhearing the entire conversation.
“Are you okay, Leader?” asked Kamijou back at the hospital.
“Yeah…” she responded.
*“Really?” Mikoto breathed a white sigh. “It wasn’t the shock of seeing their school destroyed. Nor was it the fear of having those rioters attack. …They’re afraid of their own power. And after learning how exactly to use that power to survive, they’re not sure they can just switch it off and return to their normal lives. So their gears have ground to a halt.”
Tokiwadai Middle School was a prestigious esper development school.*
The young ladies registered there were Level 3 at the lowest and Level 5 at the highest.
Almost all of the students had a power that surpassed that of a blade or handgun if used properly, but something had become twisted.
Yes.
“A lot of them weren’t really sure why they were training their powers.”
Shokuhou breathed a white breath, wrapped her own arms around herself, and rubbed her thighs together.
Why are you studying?
How many people could give a proper answer to that question? Because my parents told me to, because my teachers taught me to, because that’s how the world works. Those would be most people’s answers. Even the students with a clear vision of their future would only have something vague like “for the entrance exams” or “for my future”.
Only a small handful would have specific puzzle pieces in mind, such as “I need to learn how to use this equation so I can build a rocket”.
The young ladies of Tokiwadai Middle School were the same.
What if the very gears that humans have…their actions, reactions, inactions were all the result of some transcendental entity hovering above.
Like God or The Devil watching over humanity’s reality sphere and ordering around his system like everyone was a pre-programmed NPC that had specific events occur to them to get them to develop in the way that they did and determined their genetic bloodline that composed their psyche?
Is there truly a free will?
It was said that in order for you to break out of the system of society that the working class was stuck in you had to climb to the top where the corrupt elites resided.
Imagine Breaker negated sparks, Aleister Crowley could see through the veil thanks to Holy Guardian Angel Aiwass, Great Demon Coronzon could always see the cogs.
Christian Rosencreutz could view the entire world through his Miniature Garden.
The rest of humanity was at the mercy of their own destinies.
A Guardian Angel wouldn't arrive to save a parent’s child from fate every single time.
"Okay, nice poetry, can we get back to fighting already?" asked the #7 impatiently.
"Seems I got carried away," the old man conceded with a nod. "The synchronicities of this world, akin to the astral configurations in astrology, serve as an example of synchronicity, according to Jung. It describes circumstances that appear meaningfully related yet lack a causal connection, much like the parallel relationship between celestial and terrestrial phenomena. Synchronicity experiences entail subjective encounters where coincidences between events in one's mind and the external world may lack a clear causal link but still harbor an unknown connection.”
"Ah," Sogiita chimed in, recalling his philosophy class discussions. "We talked about synchronicity back then. Jung thought it was a good thing for the mind, but said it could get dicey in psychosis. He cooked up this theory as a kind of mental link between those meaningful coincidences, calling it a noncausal principle. This term came about in the late 1920s, and then he teamed up with physicist Wolfgang Pauli to dive deeper. Their work, The Interpretation of Nature and the Psyche, dropped in 1952. They were big on this idea that these connections, even the ones that don't seem to have a cause, could still teach us a lot about how our minds and the world work."
“Mhm, you know more than you lead on, Gemstone.” pondered CRC.
“Oh this? My teachers say I'm not good at remembering speeches hahaha…” The #7 looked slightly nervous. “You know, analytical psychologists really push for folks to get what these experiences mean to boost their awareness instead of just feeding into superstitions. But funny thing is, when clients spill about their synchronicity experiences, they often feel like no one's really hearing them out, or getting where they're coming from. And hey, having a bunch of these meaningful coincidences flying around can sometimes ring the schizo bell. Delusions aren't healthy.”
Where was this conversation going?
"Delusion! Hah! That's a good one coming from you," CRC fired back.
"The real delusion is thinking humanity isn't worth a darn," Sogiita shot back, pulling out some info from Johansen and Osman. "Some scientists think coincidences are just random flukes, but counselors and psychoanalysts reckon there's more to it, like some deep-down stuff needing to come out. Unconscious material to be expressed."
Rosencreutz interjected, his expression reflecting a mix of confusion and concern. "Aleister Crowley's actions have left a lasting scar on this world and this city," he began, his voice weighted with solemnity. “The vacuum-like dichotomy between magic and science created by the use of that colossal psychotronic weapon, has damaged this world's memory almost irreparably.”
Psychotronic weapon?
The Archetype Controller?
He paused, his gaze piercing as he continued, "Jung's exploration of synchronicity as evidence of the paranormal paved the way for further inquiry, notably by Koestler and the subsequent embrace of these ideas by the New Age movement.”
Sogiita shrugged, "Some folks say synchronicity is impossible to test or prove, so it gets labeled as pseudoscience. Jung even acknowledged that these synchronicity events are basically just coincidences, statistically speaking. But hey, who's to say what's really going on without some solid scientific studies, right?"
"Dubious as his experiments may have been," CRC interrupted, "Jung believed in a connection between synchronicity and the paranormal, drawing parallels to the uncertainty principle and works by parapsychologist Joseph B. Rhine.” CRC posed a thought-provoking question, "How are we to recognize acausal combinations of events, since it is obviously impossible to examine all chance happenings for their causality? The answer lies in the fact that acausal events are most readily expected where a causal connection appears inconceivable upon closer reflection. It's impossible, with our current resources, to explain ESP or meaningful coincidences as mere phenomena of energy. This challenges the very notion of cause and effect, as these events occur simultaneously rather than in a linear cause-and-effect manner. Hence, I have coined the term 'synchronicity' to describe this phenomenon, placing it on equal footing with causality as a principle of explanation."
Getting closer to that Gemstone, CRC emphasized, "Esper abilities cannot be fully understood with science alone. They defy traditional cause-and-effect explanations, instead representing a convergence of factors that create a quantum phenomenon affecting both the micro and macro. Why were there the naturally gifted and the naturally ungifted?”
Why did some students get praised for their abilities while others needed to work harder?
Others among them would have worked every hour of their free time and not progressed anywhere in this city’s leveling curriculum.
Why did this city present such an unfair and unpredictable status quo of potential?
Why did hard work barely matter in a city of empirical evidence to record any possible progress?
Sogiita Gunha wasn't a normal Level 5 but he wasn't always this powerful. He went through the curriculum same as everyone but if the outside conditions for his Gemstone ability to manifest didn't form in the exact way that it did, in such an acausal form then would he even be here to challenge Christian Rosencreutz right now?
Everything just happened to fall right into place.
All those puzzle pieces that would lead to this moment here and now.
Was it all just talent? God picking a fool as his champion?
The #7 leaned back, absorbing CRC's words with a thoughtful expression. "So, what you're saying is, there's this whole other layer to reality that we can't quite wrap our heads around," he summarized, nodding slowly. "I mean, it's like trying to catch smoke with your bare hands—slippery and elusive."
He chuckled, shaking his head slightly. "Historic recurrence, synchronicities, all these things—they're like pieces of a puzzle scattered across this substantial reality. And sometimes, they just... click into place, right? It's like the universe has its own plan, and we're just along for the ride."
That bandana wearing boy's gaze drifted, lost in thought. "You know, CRC, it's funny," he remarked, a wry smile playing on his lips. "Here we are, with all our powers and potential, but at the end of the day, we're still grappling with the same questions as everyone else. Talent, destiny, divine intervention—maybe they're all just different sides of the same coin."
He shrugged, the weight of the philosophical musings settling over the broken city. "Who knows? Maybe God does have a sense of humor, after all.” that boy chuckled.
There was a deep silence between them.
Rosencreutz’ response was swift and resolute, his tone filled with certainty. "All this ‘universe has a plan’ banter is just a distraction from the inevitable," he declared, his eyes narrowing. "We can debate the nature of us being all-powerful yet struggling with mortal issues until the sun burns out, but it won't change the fact that our fate was sealed upon the knowledge Adam learned."
“To think so many trivialities have developed while this old man wasn’t watching. Heh heh. Then I should assume the thread of fate has again begun to weave its strange connections between myself and some unknown human.”
He rose forward, his movements purposeful. "It's time to put an end to this dance of platitudes," CRC continued, his voice cold and unwavering. "We'll settle this the only way that somewhat matters—through objective action in this grand play."
“Silence, preserved doll. Illusionists are meant to remain silent. That is all we magicians are: wielders of substanceless illusions. Opening your mouth serves only to break the illusion.”
With a flicker of resolve in his eyes, he locked gazes with the #7. "I am Hydra, Gemstone," he said, his voice carrying a hint of challenge. "Our battle ends now.” CRC opened both his palms and began shooting at their surroundings, the buildings, the pavement, the apartments, the rubble.
It probably wasn't random as it seemed to create a pattern.
“Huh are you getting senile old man?” asked the young Gemstone.
“What fun. I never imagined someone would bother diligently polishing their skills this far while knowing it is all essentially an illusion. Didn’t you ever feel silly going to the effort?”
Rosencreutz dropped to all fours, his rosy cross sword gripped tightly in his right hand.
He moved—
“Arrgh!” Sogiita yelled amidst the relentless and precise and precise strikes from that golden cross. “Old man?” he asked.
That magician didn't say anything.
That silver man’s movements became more beastly.
Faster.
Stronger.
Fiercer.
Something new was beginning to manifest.
With each strike of his higher dimensional blade that old man’s blows seemed infused with an otherworldly energy.
The wounds inflicted by his weapon burned with a venomous intensity, sending searing pain coursing through Sogiita's body.
That boy grimaced as the poison from that silver man’s strikes surged through his being, each wound feeling like it was ablaze with venomous fire.
"Damn... That burns…like a killer hornet’s sting," he muttered through clenched teeth, his voice strained with effort. Gritting, he fought to maintain his focus, despite the agony threatening to overwhelm him.
Was this another application of The Four Stages? Citrinitas? No, there was nothing yellow here, it was more like a dirty purple.
But it wasn't just the physical damage that posed a threat.
As the Rosy Cross leader leaped on all fours his movements took on an almost erratic quality, he was bouncing from one building to another with an animalistic agility.
With each jump, a shockwave rippled through the air, carrying with it a palpable sense of dread.
Something was spreading.
The air around them seemed to thicken with a toxic miasma. The #7 struggled to breathe, the noxious fumes clouding his senses.
Like a chaotic monster’s venomous poison breath.
The once-clear air now felt thick and suffocating.
Gasping for breath, the bandana boy struggled to maintain his focus amidst the swirling chaos.
His vision blurred, his movements sluggish as he fought against the oppressive atmosphere.
Blinded that heroic boy could only fire a flame arrow without his sight.
His fists striking out with all the strength he could muster. Igniting in that poisonous compressed air.
It seemed to be flammable like a dragon’s breath.
???
At the hospital, Shokuhou's voice carried a mix of surprise and relief. “He caused real damage.” she exclaimed.
Kamijou turned his attention to her, intrigued. “What happened?”
“It's hard to see clearly, but it looks like the #7 managed to blast off CRC's left arm,” she explained. “Though, I'd say it was more of a lucky shot. I can read he acted on pure instinct.”
Kamijou nodded, a hint of melancholy in his tone. “Yeah... the psychic link and all.”
Had the #7 Level 5 given up on the old man?
Back on the battlefield, Sogiita cursed under his breath. “Dammit... Sorry, old man,” he muttered. “I was aiming to hit your whole body to maximize the surface area, maybe break a few bones as a casualty. We can probably get your arm reattached at the hospital. Heaven Canceller has enough guts to even fix me.”
It was clear—he hadn't given up.
It was an accidental strike of his arm.
“As each ghastly head was severed from its serpentine form, dreadfully, two more writhed forth from the abyss.” a cryptic voice amidst the chaos spoke.
Wasn't it said that the Hydra’s lair was the lake of Lerna in the Argolid.
Lerna was reputed to be an entrance to the Underworld.
The abyss.
The Ungrund.
There is no limit to the depth of the Alcyonian Lake, and I know of nobody who by any contrivance has been able to reach the bottom of it since not even Nero, who had ropes made several stades long and fastened them together, tying lead to them, and omitting nothing that might help his experiment, was able to discover any limit to its depth. This, too, I heard. The water of the lake is, to all appearance, calm and quiet but, although it is such to look at, every swimmer who ventures to cross it is dragged down, sucked into the depths, and swept away.
The keeper of the gate to the Underworld that lay in the waters of Lerna was the Hydra.
The serpentine Lake Monster.
“Rosencreutz……?” The #7 muttered.
That magician chuckled ominously. "No, young Heracles, Hydra." he intoned, his voice echoing with a bizarre resonance. “The Lernaean Hydra's curse is upon you now.” as he said that he cut off a bit of his arm that was cuterarised with his golden blade and it began bleeding.
Anna Sprengel’s blood was said to create unknown miracles when spilled.
Christian Rosencreutz’ blood was so virulent that even its scent was deadly.
As Sogiita Gunha glanced at his severed arm lying on the ground, a creeping sense of horror enveloped him. "All of fate is a curse and that curse," he murmured, his words barely audible over the din of battle, "extends even to my severed limb.”
Christian Rosencreutz’ left arm grew back.
No.
Two new arms grew in its place.
The fate of chaoskampf? The hero battling the dragon?
The arm was fully functioning with no defects.
Although one of the arms appeared somewhat scaly and lanky like a serpent.
It had human anatomy but something was abnormal here.
He almost looked like a spider as he emerged from the poisonous fog as he remained on all fours.
“So short-stack. Are you ready to complete your final labor: Crossing the abyss!!!” He challenged that boy with his cross sword facing him.
"Boss, what's up? You look kinda stuck," Kamijou asked, his tone concerned.
Two students were sitting together in the waiting room at a hospital.
"—abyss, Hydra, curse, synchronicities, Historic recurrence." she replied, her words carrying a weight of unease.
"Huh? What? Can you give me the lowdown?" Kamijou prodded, his urgency evident.
"Can't quite wrap my head around it. But what I can tell you is that after CRC started talking about these esoteric concepts, he leveled up his power ability, managed to seriously hurt the #7 despite me cranking up all his stats for the win condition," the honey-blonde girl explained, frustration creeping into her voice.
"Can you beam all that stuff into my head, like a memory download? You're a psychological esper, right? My right hand won't mess with it, and we've done the telepathy thing before," Kamijou suggested.
"Memory download's not quite it, but I can send you a recording," she clarified.
"Got it," Kamijou muttered as he absorbed the info.
"You got any ideas to help the #7’s situation ability, Kamijou-san? We're kinda desperate here," she asked.
"I wish Index was still here, dammit.” he lamented, “But you know about magic, right?" he queried.
"Yeah, people converting their delusions into reality right?," she admitted.
"Well, magic's not just about delusions; it can be tied up to the whole world. Not sure if it's relevant, but based on Idol Theory, Rosencreutz might be pulling in 'energy’ from the Greek 'phase’ of Heracles for an edge," Kamijou theorized.
"Like a chessboard flip?" Shokuhou Misaki inquired, her brow furrowed with concern.
"No, more like... imagine you're playing checkers with a buddy, and you're totally crushing it because you're a checkers pro. Then suddenly, your buddy switches it up and challenges you to an arm wrestling match, and you lose because, well, arm wrestling isn't your forte," Kamijou Touma explained, trying to paint a vivid picture.
"So, by taking on the role of the Hydra from Greek myth, he's essentially forcing the #7 into the role of Heracles? But didn't Heracles defeat the Hydra?" Shokuhou sought clarification.
"Yeah, but..." Kamijou recalled the tale from the movies he'd seen. "Lichas gave Heracles a shirt soaked in the Hydra's poisonous blood from his arrows, which ends up killing him by tearing his flesh down to the bone," he elaborated.
"It was actually Nessus seeking vengeance and tricking Deianira into giving it to Heracles as a gift, delivered by Lichas without disclosing the tunic's lethal bloodstained secret from the Lernaean Hydra, but you're right," Shokuhou corrected gently. "So, Rosencreutz is harnessing the power of that legend to slowly poison the #7?"
"Not literal. I mean the poison is real but his slashes do significant harm now so it's more like shifting the paradigm in his favor…shifting his position.” The spiky-haired boy wasn't in the mood to explain Phases, “Earlier, he mentioned Sogiita spreading his 'virus' throughout the world. A virus isn't a poison in the traditional sense, but the Rosicrucians originally sought to create a universal cure for all illnesses. Now, CRC is spreading a literal poison, positioning himself as the ultimate predator and his opponents as prey rather than his savior role, the paradigm has been shifted." Kamijou concluded, his voice tinged with gravity.
“So he’s changed the environment to get the win condition? The #7’s durability doesn't matter in the face of the world being forced to go about a certain way because of Rosencreutz stage play?” The girl asked.
“Yeah…if things keep going this way…Sogiita will….goddamnit….” The spiky haired boy swore. “I can't let someone else die after all that's happened but I feel like if I go out there I really will kill him…” he muttered that last bit while clenching his right fist that began shaking uncontrollably.
The girl’s eyes seemed confused.
“What did you say?” The honey blonde middle schooler asked.
“Nothing, just mumbling to myself.” he spat out.
That boy and girl could never come to the right conclusion on their own without the aid of former Magic God Othinus by their side.
“Did you think I had challenged you with no hope of succeeding, you cesspool? The magic born on earth is bound by the directions based on the earth’s magnetic field and by the density and composition of the air which is determined by air pressure which is in turn influenced by gravity. That is inevitable when you are focused on the cardinal directions of north, south, east, and west or on the basic elements of fire, water, wind, and earth. But what you will find upon leaving the atmosphere is an unknown. Coronzon, are you sure there will be no malfunction in the magic giving you control of Avatar Lola? And before, my power was bound by the puny speck named earth which failed to become a black hole or even a sun, but once we enter outer space, just how far do you think that power will be released? I do not mind at all that I will lose the support of Academy City.”
Well the boy was half right.
“Let us test it out, you cuspidor. On one side, we have you using the planet and bound to an avatar. On the other, we have me exposed and freed from the planet. Now, who will be the star of this show?”
Christian Rosencreutz did not shoot at his surroundings for no reason.
The battlefield transformed into Rosencreutz's canvas, resembling the legendary battleground of Lerna where Heracles once clashed with the Hydra.
Yes.
He didn't unleash his powers randomly; every action was deliberate.
In the magical side of Idol Theory, mimicking an object, event, or person allowed one to tap into a fraction of its power.
And that even applied to locations that essentially worked as stage plays.
Idol Theory was so absolute that even the basic cross held a portion of the son of God’s power.
As Above, So Below.
As Below, So Above.
Macro to micro.
Micro to macro.
And the macrocosm and the microcosm are always linked.

First Prev
Star Crossed [Multiple Free Sample Chapters] Patreon Subreddit Discord Paperback NOP2 Species Lore
Memory Transcription Subject: Elias Meier, Former UN Secretary-General
Date [standardized human time]: July 13, 2160
The irritability coursing through my psyche was palpable. Every sound was dialed up to eleven, stabbing at the core of my sensory processing. Constant awareness grated on me after days without sleep, never having any break from the stream of information I needed to digest. There was no way to shut the world off and reset, and no reprieve from the unsettling reality of my physical experience. I was curled up in a ball on the floor, rocking back and forth; I wasn’t sure how much longer I could go on like this.
Virnt scuttled over to me in the spaceship, jostling my shoulder. “Elias? Would you like to turn back from this mission?”
I remembered how I’d spent most of the trip, standing under the water in the shower. There was a special shampoo they’d provided for synthetic hair, like a wig. I held out my phony hand and emptied most of the bottle’s worth of goop, zoning out; I was trying to soak in the distant sensation of liquid running down my spine. Once upon a time, this had been the most relaxing time of my day—letting muscle tension fade away and cleansing grimy skin oils. Now, I knew neither of those two still existed in my day-to-day life to assuage.
Did it even matter to slap soap on some metal frame? There were no consequences of letting hygiene go by the wayside. I didn’t sweat in order to start to reek, and I couldn’t get skin conditions or be affected by bacteria. It could be that I was bathing out of habit, clinging to my old lifestyle, that I kept going to wash up. Perhaps the shower had become my favorite haunt because I felt disgusting in this body. Everything was a reminder that I was an inhuman scrap pile, and it was wearing on my sanity. It wasn’t like anyone related to what I was going through.
I used to spend so much time fussing over making my suits look crisp and perfect—immaculate ties, UN pins adjusted just right. The heavy jackets would trap my body heat in the summer; now, it no longer had that effect. I could bundle up as much as I wanted in 40 degree Celsius heat, unless there was some limit that would fry my circuits. Shit, I might not need a spacesuit in the vacuum of space—I couldn’t freeze or suffocate, after all. Being left out in the void for all eternity didn’t sound that much different from my present experience.
I hate what I’ve become. I hate what they’ve done to me; all I do is think, and every part of my new self lives in the uncanny valley. There’s nothing positive. Maybe it’s time to call it…death was better than this. I can’t bear another day of this hell.
“Hey, stay with me! Distractibility, depression, being unable to maintain concentration—these are natural consequences of sleep deprivation. I’m surprised it carries over without a physical mechanism to grow tired…but I’m working on a sleep suite, I promise,” Virnt said, glossy eyes staring at me.
I groaned. “I’m not tired, but it’s just nonstop. I…I’m having trouble remembering what I read.”
“Here, I’m going to try a temporary fix. You look like you need it. I don’t want you to suffer; just turning you off and on isn’t the same. I’m going to emulate GABA, uh, shut off your optic sensors, decrease the activity in your prefrontal cortex, and simulate delta waves for an hour. We can see if it somewhat fills the need for deep sleep, okay? Relaxation, no processing: worth a shot, right?”
I nodded mutely, staying in the fetal position. I didn’t have the will to move, and I didn’t want to get my hopes up that Virnt’s plan would be any mercy. The sensation of the Tilfish tinkering with my settings was strange, as if my brain was being overridden in the moment. There was no process of falling asleep to give it the air of naturalness. Suddenly, I was blind, trapped in darkness—and a modicum of drowsiness kicked in, limiting my movement. Thoughts died down, offering much-need relief; I faintly wished I could remain in this state.
When I came to, there was a sudden influx of information as the rest mode was switched off; it was hardly a seamless waking, but I’d take it. Peace in my own head was something I’d never take for granted again. I hadn’t thought myself to be a weak-minded individual, but I hadn’t realized how much it wore on you: feeling out of place in your own body every waking second, and not trusting your senses. Brain function had been restored enough that I could get a grip on myself, and rise in my disheveled state. A peek out the window revealed we’d completed our intra-atmosphere transit to the Duerten embassy.
I rubbed my eyes on reflex, but there were no gifts from the Sandman there. “Why couldn’t you have just added everything to start with, Virnt?”
“The humans I talked to said they wouldn’t want to sleep, unless they had to! I put the most focus on your emotional matrix and your facial expressiveness, since I thought that has the highest importance of what makes you human,” the Tilfish replied.
“You could’ve made it at least optional.”
“I sent the option to your holopad for the future, to trigger this program for as long as you’d like. This is a learning process, so I’m sorry for anything that’s off. All trial and error here, but it’s only going to get better! That’s the positive.”
“There are a lot of patches needed. For starters, you’re missing two of the senses: taste and smell. In spite of that, ever since I walked past the Terra Technologies staff eating tater tots, I’ve been craving them at random intervals. I’m not hungry—I can’t consume food!”
“Predator instincts,” Virnt teased. “The Federation was right.”
“I’m serious! Why on Earth would that be a thing? I literally can’t satisfy it, so it’s almost cruel.”
“It’s psychological, Elias. I looked into it after I saw it in your transcript. When humans are under a lot of stress or otherwise feeling down, you seek dopamine from food. It’s something familiar that activated your memories, and promised emotional comfort. That’s why you have the phrase ‘comfort food.’”
“I can already see how the Federation remnants would spin that. A predator’s so-called emotions are tied to food, and stimulate appetite to fulfill their whims.”
“You seem in better spirits. To add to your improved mood, we announced the success of your memory transplant to the world. The response was overwhelmingly positive—history looked back fondly on you. You got a lot of well-wishes, and I was able to get almost all of your social media re-activated. At least, the platforms that are still active.”
“I’m…allowed to share my honest experiences?”
Virnt eased me out of the shuttle, into the sunlight; cameras were waiting, causing me to stiffen. “Of course you can. I’m not here to muzzle you, my friend. Quite the opposite, in fact: I want your experiment documented as thoroughly as possible! You’re the spokesperson for—”
I shielded my face from the reporters, who were lobbing questions. “What is this? I don’t have a prepared statement. This is an ambush.”
“Terra Technologies has a mission of transparency, and improving sapients’ quality of life through digital means. We had to announce such a monumental breakthrough, but you’re under no obligation to speak with them.”
“Good,” a warm voice chimed in from next to me, making me jump. “The poor guy’s come back from the dead, Virnt. Give him a break. He’s here to speak with the Duerten Forum and their ambassador, for some semblance of his old life.”
I turned my head, beaming as I recognized her. “Erin? Oh, sorry: that’s Secretary-General Kuemper, isn’t it? You’ve moved up in the world. The United Nations is in good hands.”
“It’s good to see you, Elias. I bawled my eyes out at your funeral. You cared so much for peace and taking the high road; there isn’t a person out there who could’ve handled first contact with more grace. You inspired me, and an entire generation of future diplomats.”
I embraced Erin, who’d once been a passionate SETI researcher giving me all of the bad news about aliens. As we flailed about in the dark to save humanity and adjust to the galaxy, finally acquiring a few friends, she’d become my Secretary of Alien Affairs. I’d trusted her to do whatever it took to stabilize our extraterrestrial relations. It was a bit of a relief to see a positive reaction from someone I knew; I wasn’t sure how my friends would take my return, but I hadn’t been expecting a welcome with open arms. It brought me solace and comfort to know about the legacy I’d left behind, and the ripple effects my tenure had on the United Nations.
It is strange to see how much she’s aged. That’ll be the reality of anyone that used to be an acquaintance of mine.
The alarm bells pinging in my head faded into the backdrop, and I forgot that the wind gusting against my face only felt like a dull push. My mind slipped away from food cravings that failed to get my mouth to water, how there was no feeling of tightness from my dress shoes, and the stillness of my non-existent diaphragm. I was simply happy to see someone I cared about and enjoyed working with, in my old life. There was safety in having a person I trusted to be on my side. My brain snapped back into diplomat mode, falling into a familiar flow of conversation. If I had nothing else, I still had my social skills—an ability to navigate various cultures.
“So the Duerten Forum agreed to meet with the two of us. They know about the Sivkit attack, but not the full threat,” I spoke aloud, after breaking away from the rather soul-affirming embrace. “I read the strategy meetings for briefing them, and I’m on-board to appeal to nostalgia; humanity saving their homeworld was after my time, but close enough to it that I could serve as a reminder. A blast from the past.”
Erin nodded, her security forming a wall between us and the cameras as we walked toward the embassy. “I always wondered what you’d think of modern Vienna, Elias. All of the aliens willing to be here on our world, and to treat us like people. Friendship used to seem like a pipe dream; we were happy if they’d allow us to exist, tolerate us to that extent. Look at us now.”
“I almost gave up hoping that they could care about us, or stand beside us at all. We couldn’t do it alone then. It’s time we remember to stand together—to rise to the occasion once more. I can’t bear the thought of anything threatening our home, or our friends. I saw enough needless death twenty-four years ago.”
“That pain is a lot more recent to you. It’s completely okay to be wrestling with grief. A billion of ours died.”
“We didn’t become the monsters they thought we were, and we pulled through. We revealed their hatred and treachery, and have chosen a future set on rectifying every right they trampled. I’ll always mourn what we lost, but I’ve never been more proud of humanity in my life.”
Kuemper patted my shoulder. “You sound like yourself, my dear old friend. It’s very good to have you back; you were much better at smiling while they spit in your face than I ever was. Let’s do what’s necessary to get the ball rolling with the Shield.”
“I’m right behind you.”
The exterior of the Duerten embassy had a distinct construction style, with metal and concrete forming the bulk of the outside structure; on Kalqua, sturdiness was at the foremost of their priorities. Winds on a normal day could ratchet up to what we’d consider a tropical storm, according to my brief review of their culture. The door was evidently heightened to facilitate foot traffic from humans, despite the exit hatches on the upper floor which seemed frequented by the avian staff. Their personnel could literally fly away during an emergent situation. I tailed Kuemper into the lobby, and noted how much of the inside’s floor was concrete as well. It was resilient and easy to clean, a perfect surface to avoid being marred by talons.
Most of the gray avians used perches instead of chairs, with several staffers working on paperwork at their desks; in private areas, some met with any humans who had business with the Duerten Forum. The lack of reaction to a predator’s approach was new to me, but a welcome change. Kuemper confidently led the way to an elevator, which had the English and German words for “Welcome to the Duerten embassy!” written above the opening. The generic Shield logo was painted on both sides of the door, and emblazoned with a representation of Kalqua. There were no buttons inside, apart from an emergency exit; a camera surveyed us, before a watching staffer summoned the car upward. I felt a jolt as we reached the top floor.
“To be visited by two Secretary-Generals: one of whom is a ghost! Let me express the Duerten Forum’s honor and delight. Not, of course, that I don’t cherish Ambassador Hannah Marston’s visits.” A silver-feathered head poked out of a door at the end of the hallway, past a spacious lounge; his beak was the precise yellow of corn. “Please, come in. Make yourselves at home. Can I get you anything to drink?”
Kuemper shuffled forward, giving me a knowing look. “Water would be lovely for me. Thank you for the warm welcome, Ambassador Korajan.”
“I second that gratitude. Enchanted to meet you. I’m sure you know, but I’m Elias Meier.” Taking a gamble that the ambassador was more than acquainted with our customs, I extended a hand. Korajan strode forward with confidence, ensnaring my palm in his wingtip. “We appreciate you taking the time to sit with us, Ambassador.”
“Just Korajan,” the avian said, feeling my artificial hand with undeniable curiosity. He finally released my grip, and waited for us to get seated. “There’s no need for formalities, especially when I’m in such esteemed company. What can I do for you?”
“We’ve come to seek your assistance in the fight against the Sivkits’ assailants. The Sapient Coalition needs allies to back us against these menaces,” Kuemper stated. “Any help we can get would make a difference.”
“I see. I heard about your unfortunate defeat in your prior engagement, but I don’t see how it involves or concerns us. The Duerten, as you well know, aren’t in the position we used to be. We’ve turned our focus inward for years, shoring up our defenses to watch out for our beloved planet. The potential benefit it might offer you is so negligible that it’s hardly worth increasing our vulnerability. The risk far outweighs the rewards for any party.”
I studied the avian, careful to avoid a direct stare. “I understand that it’s a lot to ask. However, small bits of help from across the Shield can accumulate to be a massive difference maker. We want to stop this genocidal force from getting anywhere near Kalqua; if we play our cards right, you won’t need defenses.”
“Elias—sorry, may I call you Elias?” Korajan asked, continuing after I nodded. “We’re, of course, concerned to have a predatory species with such power and intentions, outside our known terrain. They bear a striking resemblance to the Arxur, and my government does appreciate the advance warning from the SC so we can make preparations. Yet the Forum is concerned by several of your recent initiatives, which would make us doubly unwilling to back your cause.”
“Go on. What initiatives have unsettled you?” I hope he doesn’t mean me, with resurrecting dead humans; that’d hit close to home, and I don’t know how to defend it. “Perhaps we can clear up our rationale and intentions, ensuring that there are no misunderstandings.”
“I hope I’m not impolite to point it out, but my government is beginning to see a pattern in your recent connections to carnivores. The Sapient Coalition is attempting an uplift on one race, despite what we all know happened on Wriss, and has brought them into your mix while they are at war with each other. We’re also aware of these Osirs—a race you are resurrecting to live among you, despite having no idea what they’re capable of. Present company excluded, species that need meat are not trustworthy types. These Osirs are weapons: look at the fangs.”
“Anything is a weapon in the wrong hands. Respectfully, we don’t feel that it’s right to judge a species for their diet. If I’m not mistaken, your own kind were once omnivores, Korajan.”
The Duerten fluttered his wings in acknowledgement. “The Federation changed us greatly—some things for the better, others to erase our intellect. We’re an individualist species, and they tried to make us…what do you humans call it? A ‘hive mind.’ Hive minds, of course, are fiction, yet they tried to make it real. Still, sometimes when you’re changed enough, it makes it impossible to go back to how things were.”
“I of all people grasp that sentiment,” I sighed, without moving an abdominal muscle, reflecting how my life would never be the same in this state. “We believe all sapients deserve a chance at life and happiness. Equality isn’t a principle we withhold based on any factor, and we don’t change species to fit our own whims.”
“This is why we’re content with our relations as is: separate, so we’re not connected to your disputes or obligated to get involved. The Duerten will always have differences between what are considered acceptable behaviors, and our guiding principles and overarching goals.”
Kuemper tapped her fingers on her knee. “Regardless, our choices with the Bissems and Osirs will have no impact or tangible effects on the Duerten. Nor is it a reason to shy away from protecting herbivores, the mandate that led you to stand up to the Federation in the past.”
“That cost us everything. Kalqua took a beating worse than Earth did. We don’t set out to attract the ire of powerful enemies these days.”
“We saved Kalqua. We were there when you needed our help to keep your innocents safe,” I reminded him, knitting my eyebrows with earnestness. “We answer when others call for our help to stay alive; the Duerten know what drives us to answer the bell. Isn’t that worth a smidge of reciprocation?”
“If Earth, or for that matter, Leirn were under siege, we would come. However, it appears to us that you entered their territory, not the other way around.”
“Think of the type of species…no, the kind of governments that would glass worlds. The old-school Arxur Dominion. The Kolshian shadow caste when they were defied. The Krakotl extermination fleet because they hated us. That’s what we see in the Osirs, and the gluttonous killing of Sivkit civilians while refusing to speak. We can’t turn a blind eye.”
“I’m sorry, Elias. Even if I wanted to help you, I don’t have the authority. I’m expressing my government’s position, and I’ve been told the Duerten Forum isn't going to war under any circumstances. I apologize that I can’t be of more use, and regret if you might feel your time has been squandered, leaving empty-handed.”
I shared a look with Kuemper, recognizing that we had been stonewalled; there was an implication in Korajan’s last statement that the discussion on this matter was over. The Forum hadn’t given him any negotiating room, so I didn’t get the sense I could do better than asking for him to take a message. If this was the most friendly party we’d be interacting with, I wasn’t off to a good start wrangling support for an alliance. There were a few other Shield races we could try, but an endorsement from the founders might’ve gotten the whole union on board. We had to find another angle—negotiating with the Fed remnants would be impossible without the Shield as an intermediary.
“Of course we don’t feel that way. The back-and-forth was enlightening, productive communication, as much as humanity would love to stand side-by-side in this endeavor,” I offered. “We appreciate you hearing us out, and do hope you’ll pass along our rationale to the Forum, for clarity.”
“I will,” the Duerten responded. “Your words, as always, deserve to be heard and treated with respect.”
Kuemper followed my lead, rising as I stood. “Korajan, I want you to know I deeply appreciate what you said about coming to Earth’s aid should we ever fall on hard times. That stood out to me, as a reason why our cooperation is so precious and beautiful.”
“I agree wholeheartedly. I do wish you the best of luck in your future engagements; my people hope you emerge victorious.”
“Thank you. Our door will always be open if you have a change of heart.”
In my mind, I had already vacated the Duerten embassy, but it was necessary to retrace my steps to depart the ambassador’s office. Aliens were much more diplomatic in rebuffing us now than in my era, which was the proper way to express disagreements between nations. It wasn’t lost on me that the differences in “behaviors” and “principles” Korajan meant were things such as hunting, omnivory, accepting carnivores, exterminators, and predator disease facilities. The Forum still clung to much of their old lifestyle; the gray avian had stated that some Federation changes were “for the better.” That was telling about how much of their ideology they’d yet to shed.
“Forgive my impertinence, but before you go, Elias…may I ask a personal inquiry? It’s not on my behalf of my government,” Korajan called, as our shoes cleared the threshold of his office.
I turned around, giving him an encouraging smile. “Of course. Go ahead.”
“What…what was it like? To die…to be dead?”
“It wasn’t like anything. It was a singularity of all outcomes: all I ever was, and all I ever could be, condensed to nothing. There are no words to describe emptiness and infinite rest. It’s a peace that knows no equal.”
The Duerten dipped his head. “Thank you. It gives me some…personal solace, to know…to know my daughter is resting peacefully. She died in so much pain after only a short period of remission. Ahem…if you’ll excuse me, I…”
“We’ll leave you in peace,” Kuemper replied, softness in her voice.
I folded my hands behind my back, mulling over the choked-up ambassador’s words. How could I let a few days of mental suffering defeat me, when kids suffered through such terrible diseases—never getting to reach adulthood? This program could give children like Korajan’s daughter a chance to grow up, and be a kid, free from pain. As soon as I was alone, I knew I’d be cast back into a maddening state of consciousness, with my brain struggling to stay tethered to this reality. Where I’d been ready to give up before Virnt’s quick fix, the avian’s story made me want to remain in the fight.
The Tilfish had been right: there was the potential for the technology that had brought me back to do a lot of good, and save others a great deal of heartbreak and suffering. No personal sacrifice was too great to ensure that one day, no parent would ever have to bury their child.
First Prev
Star Crossed [Multiple Free Sample Chapters] Patreon Subreddit Discord Paperback NOP2 Species Lore

Arabic country here.
I have a 4 month old and I’m staying with my husband’s sister & mother. His sis is a middle aged unmarried lady with no kids and is horrible with kids in my opinion but I haven’t told her that.
I safely let my baby girl TASTE foods. There’s a method where she’s upright and I have it mushed to puree in my mouth and let her take a lick or 2 (banana, or apple) to the form of a sauce and that’s all. Maybe once a week. She’s on formula otherwise. I do that because she’s highly interested in foods like INSANELY food curious and in a safe way.
My husband’s sis keeps insisting we feed her. Once she put a chopped carrot in her mouth (while she was laying on her back) which is dangerous, she keeps saying she wants to feed her a banana, she will put the whole banana in her mouth and I kinda have to say “NO please that’s it.” And earlier today she begged to spoon feed her halawa, a dry sesame paste. I said ok as long as I mush it up with my mouth and finger feed her a small, half a pea sized dollop. Just a smear.
I’m scared she’s gonna feed my daughter behind my back.
She already took videos of my baby naked and sent it to a group chat that I wasn’t included in, and worse is she had poop smeared on her butt. (Diaper change) I only found out when a relative let it slip & told her the dangers of having these kinds of infant photos circulating on any online server. My jaw dropped because I had no idea she was taking careless pics of my baby and sharing it with the f*king world. My brothers other sisters quickly shushed the relative who accidentally let this is info slip, and tried to push me out of the room to pretend this never happened. They had her back. When I walked to the other room furious and trying to collect my composure, I heard them all telling that stupid sis in law to hurry and delete the video.
I came back in the room and gently tried to tell everyone that I think I know what’s going on, and how I don’t like anyone taking pics of my baby without clothes on. They said ok.
Now, how can I tell my stupid sis in law not to feed my baby behind my back, only i can? I feel like im being mean if i say it like that, or as if im attacking her. I wanna tell my husband to talk to her, but then ill be that wife who tells her husband everything behind their backs, and then they will think im sneaky

I'm walking through a bustling underground train station. I push and shove my way through all the other commuters onto the platform. As I look around, there seems to be endless rows of platforms in both directions, stretching well into a dense fog. Further ahead, neat lines of railway tracks extend out from the fog and through the platforms. I instinctually look up at the info screen
Next train in ### minutes
I furrow my brow, squint to try and focus on the numbers but they're heavily pixelated and illegible. I look around at the other commuters, who stream onto the platform completely unaware of the anomaly. Most people are on their phone, or wearing headphones while some are talking to each other. No one seems to notice the malfunction with the screen.
That's when the absurdity of the situation clicks for me. Endless platforms, a wall of fog, unreadable numbers and people that don't care. It's all a dream. I bring my hand up to my face and pinch my nose, trying to breathe through it. An old reality check I remembered from back when I was trying to learn to lucid dream.
My heart rate jumped when I realised, that I couldn't breathe through my nose. Before I could even process this, another problem presented itself. I didn't know why I was here. I didn't know where I was going and I definitely did not know how I even got here. It seems as if reality ceased to exist right before I walked onto this platform. Just like it typically feels in a dream, you spawn in out of nowhere and don't really know what happened prior - except this wasn't a dream.
I knew I was sure of it because deep inside my bones I felt this anxious urgent message. I need to catch this train. It was a primal feeling.
At this point, my head is spinning and I need to sit down somewhere. I choose a silver bench with a middle aged woman sitting on it. She shuffles further to the left as I sit down next to her clutching my head and racking my brain to try and figure out what it is happening. This is what amnesia feels like, I thought to my self as I gnawed at scraps of messy muddled memories. Each image that came into my mind was just a fragment - A school, a library, sickeningly white walls. It hit me that I didn't even know my name. I was starting to hyperventilate but then my body kicked into autopilot. I started to take deep breaths, focusing on my diaphragm and calming myself down. It felt like I was trained to do this. I started to focus on the current situation.
Where was my ticket? Instinctually, I knew I had to have gotten one on my entry to the train station. I reached into my pockets and pulled out a scrap of paper. Scrawled in very familiar cursive:
*In case of memory loss, read the journal in your backpack*
Strange message but I didn't have any choice then to at least give the instructions a try. I removed my backpack and rummaged through it for the journal. I wouldn't really call it a backpack - more a tattered and frayed bundle of cloth that was reminiscent of a backpack. I finally found a series of small thick journals, bundled in cloth with their leather covers on the verge of disintegration. The pages still seemed in good condition though. Each cover was sequentially labelled which I'm guessing corresponded to the chronological order of the writings within.
The lady next to me was weirdly getting agitated. She kept stealing glances, her body shaking and eyes burning with a fierce rage. I slowly got up from the bench and began to step backwards. My backpack bumped into a pillar. The dull thud it made seemed to cause a drastic change to everyone around me though. They all snapped their heads, locking eyes on me and staring through my very soul. I felt exposed.
The rumble of an arriving train stole away their attention and within a split second everyone was ignoring me again, going back to their usual activities. It seriously felt like I had just imagined it and it was becoming more and more clear that I was having some sort of mental breakdown. Nevertheless, as the train slowed to a stop on the platform, I walked into it and found a seat. The train seemed to be old and new at the same time. Typical blue seats with abstract dirty patterns complete with a modern sleek interior of gentle curves clashing with a boxy dull metallic exterior and doors that looked like they belonged on a rusty submarine.
I opened the first of the journals and began to read. I soon realised that the handwriting was mine and within the next few moments I was attacked by a barrage of memories that had remained repressed and buried in the back of my mind.
*
My name is Jacob and I have been stuck here in this place called *The Limbo* for an eternity. When I say 'eternity', I don't mean it lightly. Back when I used to keep track I counted over 500 years through my wristwatch that never seemed to run out of battery. Now I know counting is meaningless. There have been periods like this where my mind falls into a deep trance and I lose my whole identity as I mindlessly wander in this place much like the entities that inhabit it. Occasional periods of lucidity breach this trance and then I find myself lost and confused. It's why I keep the journals with me. I think its some sort of psychological survival mechanism that human brains develop when faced with the infinite vastness of The Limbo.
Speaking of The Limbo, I've come to learn a few things about its nature through my stay here. Some of its been through people that I've come across (Yes others are also stuck here) and some has been through my own experiences. Perhaps the most important is the question of where I get my food and water. The answer is weird. I have never felt hungry or thirsty. The sensation of having cool water slide down my throat remains a memory so distant that it feels like the snippet of a childhood dream.
I guess the next natural topic about this place would be time. Through various experiences of mine (that you'll get to read about) and discussions with others, the leading theory of mine is that The Limbo exists outside of time itself. While I myself have fallen here sometime during 2001, I've met many others from various years like the 80s, 90s and even one recent fellow from 2043.
Most people in The Limbo eventually fall into a trance, withering away until they become one of the entities or become mere tools for them. It's probably naive but I keep going through this place with only two hopes. The first is to somehow get out of here at the right time point and see my son, who I never got to see. The second is to come out of this place and die so that I no longer have to live out the empty agony of eternity (I'll explain how you can't age or die in The Limbo later). Perhaps my hopes will dwindle as the centuries pile and I will become just like those who I look upon in pity now.
I am writing this consolidated diary of my experiences for several reasons. I'd like someone to know of my unending journey in this place. To be aware of the capacity of the human spirit to keep going in the worst of situations. I have never had a long term friend in The Limbo, but know that I consider you the reader a dear friend even if I never get to meet you because you will know my story. I'm also sharing this in hopes that there is more awareness of The Limbo. Perhaps the military and scientists can actually figure out what it is. Perhaps all of us can be brought home. Or maybe this can serve as a survival guide to those who may be unfortunate enough to fall through.
There are small holes in The Limbo. Most of them are barely large enough for a pinkie finger to fit in let alone a person, but sometimes I've come across one large enough for this journal to go through. I'm not sure what time or place these holes lead to, so the safe passage of this book into a person capable of reading it has about the same chances as me ever leaving this place.
The train I'm on supposedly leads to the edge of The Limbo, where the holes are large enough for humans to fit through. It's really more of a legend amongst the poor souls that are trapped here and I've followed trails and clues for a long time to even find this train.
There are only two ways this goes. Both outcomes would lead to you reading this book in your hands. I'll either find my way out of this hell or give up hope and slip this journal through a Hole. You will find my fate at the end.
I should stop rambling now though. It would be best to start at the very beginning.
*
I was rushing out of work in pure ecstasy. My wife had gone into labor while I was at work and been rushed to hospital. I needed to get there fast. People were glancing over at me over their cubicles in confusion as I packed up my work bag and rushed out to the elevators. I couldn't stop thinking about seeing my first son as the elevator made its way down. The elevator doors finally opened and I rushed out.
The ground entrance of the building I worked at, particularly near the lobby, is an intersection of various hallways. I was already walking to close to the wall when someone came rushing around the corner and bumped me right into the wall. I was only able to hear half their apology when I fell *through* the wall like it was just a holographic projection. In hindsight, I find it oddly funny how easy it is for a life to get ruined. Just when you think you've got it all, when everything is going smoothly, a small incident like that is enough to take it all away.
I found myself in a room that resembled a classroom. It looked as if someone who had never stepped inside a classroom was asked to imagine the space. Desks were arranged in messy uneven rows with the chairs facing various directions. The board at the front of the room was a seamless patchy mixture of both chalk and modern whiteboard and mounted way too low on the wall, nearly hugging the floor. A large teachers desk sat in the front of the room. The walls were filled with posters of absolute gibberish along with diagrams and pictures that seemed like they showed something tangible but no matter how close you looked you could never identify anything in the picture.
The initial confusion was replaced by an immense panic. My heart was drumming against my chest as I searched the room for a doorway to exit it. My mind was trying to rationalise the situation. I was trying to convince myself that this was just some old part of the building and I had fallen into a hallway instead of the wall.
I ran through the doorway at the far end of the room and found myself in a large hallway that seemed to extend forever in both directions. The walls were a muted grey and the floors were that typical dirty linoleum. Soon I would find out that the regularly spaced doorways on either side of the hall led to other nonsensical classrooms.
I ran down the hallway screaming for help in pure panic, which was a terrible mistake in hindsight. I stopped running down the hallway when I suddenly heard the distinct scratch of chalk against board. In this large empty space, the sound echoed and boomed. Since I was still refusing to buy in to the reality of the situation, my hopes were momentarily increased by the supposed presence of another person here.
I slowly walked over to the doorway that the sounds were coming from. My stomach filled with an uneasy dread. This deep primal instinct within me urged me to hold back. I peeked carefully in the classroom and saw a woman with their back turned to me drawing something on the chalkboard.
It took me a few moments to notice that it was a very realistic portrait of my face.
She was drawing lines across my throat, her long dark hair swaying as she drew in the details. The drawing was completed with a terrible slash across the throat, blood gurgling out. I was frozen in place, transfixed on the hauntingly beautiful realism of the picture.
She began to turn around slowly while humming a high pitched tune. To this day I can't describe the face I saw. It is still etched into my mind. A face full of so much hatred, so much anger that I don't think its possible for a human to make that face. It expressed an emotion beyond human understanding. No artist in the world could ever render the expression on the paper. No words could describe the pure fear that coursed through my veins as she stared at me and began to approach.
I turned around to run, only to realise that a bunch of school children had gathered around me. They were headless, the bleeding stumps dripping thick blood onto the floor in a rhythmic patter. Somehow they were laughing.
I shoved through the group and ran down the hallway. I wasn't sure where I was going. My whole world had shattered and now I was completely aimless in some nonsense dimension with horrors beyond imagination that wanted me dead.
*
The extract above is from this journal I found at the foot of a large tree on a hiking trail. It's a miracle that I spotted its faded leather cover given that it was almost buried under rotting leaves. I really don't know what to make of what I'm reading, so I'll be slowly transcribing bits of it in separate posts over the next few days.
I know this subreddit is good for this sort of stuff. I'd love if someone else could share anything they know about The Limbo. This whole journal feels like some sort of prank, but the words and memories within feel way too real.
I can't help but feel a connection to this story. My mum doesn't speak much of my Dad, who I know left before I was born. No one ever found out where he went.
I was born in 2001
X

[prev]
As it stood, my crazy plan certainly seemed to resonate with the gathered leaders, though they did offer their own suggestions as to how best to implement improvements and contingencies. I of course welcomed each and every one of them, then debated their merits and as the hours flew by we weeded out the ideas that simply would not work and expanded on those that would.
It was quite honestly refreshing to not have to do all the thinking for once, it felt nice to do a little outsourcing as one might describe it. Besides, as many would say I only had one point of view, well, two if we’re being literal, that of a human and an arachne, the former coming from a world without magic and monstrous beings like those I had surrounded myself with.
Their unique viewpoints had offered a wealth of possibilities and were in their own ways invaluable to the war effort. I am glad that they all managed to get along as well. I had seen no hint of animosity or long held grudges between any of them, not even the age old and quite frankly stereotypical hostility between the elves and dwarves had reared its head. In fact, the two races had seemingly fed into each other's ideas with excited glee, and I had almost expected there to be a bout of mad cackling near the end of their ramblings.
Of course now the meeting was over and we were all starting our preparations. The basic prep wouldn’t take that long, ensuring our warriors were all well supplied, their weapons and armor at peak quality before the battle was paramount. It was everything else about the plan that would take time, time we must ensure we had if we were to succeed. And so I headed for the Aberrant Spire, a place I had not been in a long time.
As I followed the streets I was reminded of my first delve into this city, back when it was fully under the control of vile abominations. I paused, looking at a short building on my right, large claw marks scoring the wall near the lip of the roof. I remember one of those beasts had attempted to climb up to get me as I traversed the rooftops.
Remembering that I felt a shiver run down my spine and issued a silent word of thanks that such horrors no longer existed in my new home, that vibrant life had returned to these hallowed streets. It was a place of hope now, not terror.
It was with this remembering of certain facts that I began looking for a faster means of travel to reach the Spire, as walking would be a long and arduous task indeed. Thankfully this was something that was already thought of, for as I meandered through the streets in my search I came across a somewhat raised walkway, except this walkway had a pair of lines worked from crystal or metal, I couldn’t rightly tell which, running through it.
I paused, wondering how I had never seen this thing before and in doing so I bore witness to its purpose. A merchant with a large wagon approached a circular pattern on the walkway, ensured his wares were well secured and then spoke a destination. At once a ball of energy surrounded him and the wagon, raising it all off the ground and then sending him zipping along, following the right hand line. Even as I watched, another traveler came from the opposite direction, the magic wrought into the pathway depositing them gently off to one side and they continued on their merry way.
I had to wonder why thing wasn’t around the first time I had come here, though the more I looked at the construction the stone looked somewhat fresh, perhaps it was simply a new addition and not something from the city’s past. Either way, it looked mighty useful so I stepped into the circle and took a deep breath.
“The Aberrant Spire.” I spoke clearly, and felt myself go weightless. The magic ball of energy formed around me, lifting me off solid ground and leaving me floating, which certainly triggered a slight fear response from my arachnid instincts. I was moved into position and then shot forward. It took all I had to not scream, sudden fear turning into excitement as my human experiences harkened back to several amusement park visits as a kid and getting to ride the roller coasters.
Though instead of loop the loops and corkscrews it was naught but straight lines and gentle curves that weaved through and over the city streets. Everything was a blur and yet I hardly felt it, really all that I felt was a vague sense of motion in my gut and the wind pulling at my hair, but that was it. I did see the spire come into view however, and steadily it grew larger and larger till at last it dominated the skyline.
My breakneck pace started to slow and just as it had with the other traveler, the magic gently shifted me to one side and then put me down softly. I found my legs were incredibly wobbly and as such I simply stood there and waited for the wobbling to cease. Once it had I stepped off the platform and down onto the street proper, finally taking in the sights as it were.
If the areas around the palace and the rest of the city were for merchants, common folk and nobility, then this area was almost exclusively inhabited by those with magical talents. I saw robed figures flitting to and fro, some hovering along on disks of light or wind, one even walked into a shadowy patch and vanished, presumably reappearing elsewhere. And over it all loomed the Spire, still as pretty and strange as it had been, though it seemed to glow with newfound life and vigor.
The teleporter complex seemed in working order as well, though it would have to be since new mages had taken up residence in the spire above. I made for the complex, many mages who had been engrossed in walking and thinking doing double takes as I passed. I simply nodded at each in turn and continued on my merry way, entering the complex and getting bombarded by the sounds of a busy building. Pages and mages zipped about, conducting their various tasks as they did, stepping into or out of the teleporters as needed. It felt almost like that one time I’d visited Grand Central, boy hadn’t that been fun.
I decided that I should probably get some directions to the person that would be most suited to help me with my plan, really whomever happened to be in charge of this place would be perfect for that and so I stepped up to a circular desk that seemed to be staffed by a mixture of elves, dwarves, humans and even a slime person, the latter wobbling in place and simply shifting their features about to face anyone that spoke to them.
I stopped before an elf, the woman looking up and recognition dawning on her face as she beheld me.
“Y-Your majesty! What brings you all the way out here?” She stammered even as she made to stand and bow. I waved her back down into her seat with a smile, the elf sinking back down into her seat.
“I have business with whomever is in charge of the Spire and I have found that I have no idea who that happens to be. I was hoping to change that, and get directions as well.”
The woman nodded, still a bit frazzled thanks to an unannounced visit by royalty.
“I-I can do that, a moment please your majesty.” She said, hunching over a large book that sat before her and furiously flipping through it. Once she found what she needed, she opened a drawer and pulled out what looked like some sort of talisman, setting it down before me on the desk. “Firstly, this will identify you as not only an authorized visitor to the spire, but also as royalty. Granted we all know you are but the spire itself wouldn’t and so would treat you as an intruder if you didn’t carry this with you at all times. And considering your authority over us all, it will allow you to access areas that would be otherwise restricted to normal visitors.”
As she explained its function I picked the talisman up and looked it over. It was a simple thing, not too gaudy though I couldn’t help but notice a coat of arms upon it that had a distinctly arachne flavor to it. I could swear I’d seen it before somewhere else, perhaps that would have to be something else I looked into later.
“I can call an escort for you, they can guide you right to the Archmage.” The receptionist spoke, snapping me from my thoughts as I affixed the talisman to my breast.
“That won’t be necessary, a map will suffice. I am an adventurer first and a queen second after all.” Chuckling, I watched her nod and pull a sheet of parchment towards her, a hand hovering over the surface and magic flowing from her palm onto the page. What looked like ink appeared on it, which then took the shape of the current room I resided in. Words even appeared, informing me that I could use any of the teleporters I wished.
“The man you are looking for is Archmage Yesric. As far as I know he doesn’t have any pressing duties today so you should find him sequestered in his office.” The receptionist rose and bowed again, keeping her hunched over pose even as I started to walk away.
“Thank you, you’ve been most helpful.” I said. I took a subtle look over my shoulder and was relieved to see that she’d sat back down and was currently in the midst of furious conversation with her coworkers. Which was fair, not every day a member of royalty comes asking for help right?
Stepping into the teleporter I was promptly deposited into the halls of the Spire, which now bustled with activity. Mostly staff it seemed, though I spotted several gaggles of younger folk all dressed in something reminiscent of school uniforms rushing through the halls, their expressions belying a desperate desire to reach their destination as quickly as possible. I had heard nothing about the spire being used as some sort of school, though I suppose it only made sense to train the next generation of magic users in a place where magic was dominant.
Looking down at the map I’d been provided, I was pleased to see that my current position was reflected upon its surface. But now there was a handy dandy guiding line that pointed down a hallway to my right. And so without further ado, I followed it. People naturally got out of my way, though whether that was because I took up most of the hall or because they knew who I was I wasn’t sure, either way I did my best to not impede their progress too much.
Turning a corner I was suddenly met with an empty hallway, one that slowly began to fill with black smoke. My gut twisted and my head felt heavy, my eyes began to flutter and then I blinked, the hallway was bustling with people, no longer filled with the smoke. I licked my lips, trying to shake the ghosts of the past and move forward, though my legs couldn’t help but shiver slightly with every step I took.
Floor by floor I made my way closer to my target, till eventually I was directed through a door into what looked like every executive's office that I’d ever seen, just with a fantasy twist to it. Or rather, it was the little office for a secretary that I entered, which presumably meant that through the next door was what I was looking for.
A bespectacled goblin lass looked up from a large tome and blinked at me, her eyes rather enlarged thanks to the lenses that sat before them.
“Can I help you?” She drawled tiredly, and I stepped up to a good distance from her desk.
“Yes, I’m here to speak with the Archmage.”
“I do not recall setting any meetings today. May I ask who wishes for this audience?” She said, flipping through another much smaller tome that sat nearby.
“Safa Eventra.”
She continued to look through this smaller book, before freezing, her head slowly turning towards me. Now she really seemed to be looking at me and I could only smile politely back at her.
“A-Apologies your majesty, a moment if you please, I must inform the Archmage of your presence.” She said, hopping down off her chair and scampering hurriedly towards the other door. I didn’t say anything, instead just engaging in the arachne equivalent of rocking back and forth on my heels. She slipped through the door and I could hear muffled speech before several loud thuds and some not so muffled cursing ensued. The goblin secretary appeared, leaning against the door after closing it.
“The archmage will see you in just a moment, your majesty.” She said, resuming her post and doing her best to look professional for me.
“That’s quite alright, I’m in no rush.” I responded, humming softly to myself as I looked around the room. A moment later, I heard a voice call out from the office and since that was my cue, I bowed my head to the secretary and stepped through the door into the archmage's office.
[prev]