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sneyrwrites · 4 years

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|4| |Ace|Levi Ackerman X Reader

✘Ace: The Mighty Fall.✘

Once I recovered from the initial shock, I was able to think straight.

Without waiting around, and with the money I earned in the last fight, Hale and I rented a cart to go back to my house. Forty minutes later, the driver left us at my door. Without a second glance he grabbed the money and left in a hurry, the dust rising behind him.

Hale's eyes were swollen and red from an interminable night of crying and judging by the throb behind my own I was in the same condition. Hurrying, I opened the door to my small house, and I let her go in, locking behind us. Hale's eyes traveled across the room, stopping at the table where my dad had left a shoe, as if it was the most casual thing in the world. The corner of her lips lifted a little bit as she sat in front of it.

"Dad?" I called, silence responding me. He had already left for his shift at the wall. "Hale, we're alone, you can start explaining if you're ready"

She nodded, shifting her eyes to her hands, frowning.

"The officers said that during the raid, a noble which I assume was Lord Reiss, came to them stating that a dark figure came out of the tunnel and tried to rob him, but he made it out thanks to the sacrifice of a valorous Garrison soldier who saved him. The mysterious girl stabbed him and flight the scene." She wiped her eyes. " In his deathbed the Guard said he recognized the girl as one fugitive of the basement they were raiding, and that Lord Reiss should get help..." Her fists were clenched.

I would have thought after twelve hours of straight crying there would be no tears left in my body, but turns out humans are surprising.

A headache that began to spread earlier now pounded heavily on my temples. Walking to the kitchen I filled a glass with water, finishing it in two gulps, hopefully it would help. I filled one for Hale and left it in front of her.

"(Y/n)... That fucker was able to turn the story in his favor... " She reached for the glass, sipping it. " Ivo had to lie and agree with him, the police that was surrounding the area found him with Ann's body... They were going to hang him up if he contradicted Reiss..." Her voice came out strained. "If we come out with the truth, it's our word against his... He's got money, and the influence... Judging by how he accused you like that he wants your head on a stick." Her lids drifted shut, looking as defeated as I felt.

My soul sank to my feet. I was so dead, but that wasn't the problem. The thing that hurt the most was the fact that they blamed me for my friend's death, while the actual killers were laughing in my face. I already blamed myself enough, and the injustice of everything left a bitter taste in my throat.

I flopped on the couch, lost in thought, reviving the Annton's last moments. The tears wetted my cheeks once again and I covered my eyes with my arm, leaning my head back, waiting for something to show this was only a dream, an awful nightmare. But the throbbing on my knuckles let me know it wasn't the case, that Annton was gone, I beat up Kenny, and that Lord Reiss stated a hunt for my head.

"It's not the end..."Hale muttered, catching my attention. Did Ann's passing finally broke her mental strength? Her capability to stay in control of her emotions in the hell we were living amazed me. " They are searching for Ace after all..." I uncovered my eyes and looked at her, her gaze focused on my own. She seemed to think out loud.

"Yes Hale, I'm aware they are searching for me..." That detail was clear enough.

"No... I'll (y/n)." Her eyes were bright, realization clear on them. "No one on the basement knows your actual name, they only know your nickname... No one has a portrait of you. The only solid clue is a description that fucker gave of you..." She got up from the chair, clapping her hands, making me jump a little in my seat."You can still survive this... I couldn't protect Ann. But like hell I'll let those motherfuckers take you away too." The determination in her voice made my heart ache. The only one to blame for Ann's passing was myself... But if this gave her some sort of distraction from all the grief, so be it.

What she was saying made sense, but her plan was unclear. I could practically see the wheels turning in her brain.

"So what's your plane Hale?" I asked.

"Join the Military" I choked on my spit. A coughing fit later I managed to look at her wide eye. Now I was sure she blamed me for Ann's death as much as I did. "Don' look at me as if I'd lost my mind and think about it."

"Hale, there's no place inside these walls where I won't cross path with a garrison or a military police eventually. And if there's money involved, they won't think twice before handing me to Reiss in a silver platter. And you want to speed up the process by sending me to the lion's den?" I asked, trying to hide de waver of my voice.

"Just listen to me." The intensity of her eyes made me halt. She was serious about this plan of hers. "Not all the soldiers took part on the basement, not even a five percent of the garrison knew about it before last night. And they are the only ones that knows how you look like, the others depend on a description provided by someone else." She said. " No one knows '(Y/n)', and Ace doesn't exist. You can sign in using your real name and papers, and nobody would notice. The branch of the military that's in charge of the training barely interacts with the rest, and I'm sure no officers from it are involved with the basement. The plan is perfect," Her face fell suddenly "well... almost perfect"

"What do you mean? " I asked. The plan made sense, and I let myself feel a little ray of hope.

"If you join the forces, you can't go into the military police like me or to the garrison like Ivo for obvious reasons... " her face held a severity that was out of character in her. "Your only option is the Survey Corps. Someone there owes me a favor... I could ask him or help ."

"So... what you're saying is that my options are; either die a horrible death because of Reiss, or Die a horrible death because of a titan?" The little ray of hope extinguished.

"You wouldn't die necessarily... You train for three years to be prepared to face the titans, you learn to maneuver on the ODM gear and the technique to slice them with the blades...." She said " You're strong, and you have fast reflexes Ace, you'll be just fine." Te seriousness was clear on her voice, as if she wanted to imprint her next words into my brain. "(Y/n), you need to fight in order to survive, and joining the corps is your best chance."

When the word Fight left her lips, my mind wandered to Annton's words, his last request for me. I looked at my hand, where his ring stayed since last night, and I caressed it tenderly. My gut constricted, and I nodded looking at her, my decision plastered all over my face.

"I'll do it" Her eyes softened with relief

"I'm proud of you (Y/n)" She said, sighing. "I need to settle everything with my friend in the corps then, and I also need to meet with Ivo to plan the lie about our whereabouts last night, we also need to take care of Ann's..." She said, a flash of pain behind her eyes.

An ugly sensation of dread filled my body when I thought about Hale leaving me alone, but as she said to me on the cubicle, It was time for me to put on my big girl's pants. With shaky fingers I took a loose hair strand from my braid and placed it behind my ear, wincing when my battered knuckles brushed my cheek, a shiver raising the hairs in my arm. That stung like a bitch.

Hale noticed and came to me. Careful not to touch my bruised hand too roughly, she examined it.

"What the hell happened to you?" She asked, horrified at the poor state of my torn skin.

"After Kenny..." I didn't dare to mention what happened again, a knot constricting my vocal cords. Hale nodded, letting me know she understood what I meant. "I just... Floored him and fucked his face up... I was so furious I was about to kill him... But Ann called my name."

"Kenny the ripper?" She asked, a little incredulous. " Ace, the man killed a hundred of military police, I don't even know what he is doing with Lord Reiss. The guy is a butcher, How did you even manage to get close enough to him."

"If I knew, I would've grabbed the tooth I knocked out of his stinky mouth at the basement. Coul've been a good luck charm." Hale's warm laugh made its way to my ears, and it felt like a decade had passed since I last heard it.

"I know Ann is so proud of you wherever he is" She said, eyes trained on his ring, gently caressing it. "But enough crying for now, I'll have time to do it later." She said, but still sniffled, wiping her eyes, trying to avert the tears. "Let me clean your hands"

And I did, telling her where everything was I complied, being selfish, needing her care and gentleness to keep me from breaking down. With care she cleaned my wounds, blowing gently on them when the antiseptic burned. She finished wrapping them up as she did my hand wraps so many times in the basement and then she hugged me.

We stayed like that for a long time, both needing the comforting, and when she had to go the longing to keep the embrace was pulling at my heart, my hand twitching with the desire to reach out and beg her to stay.

Hale walked to the door, stopping with one foot out, turning to me.

"Wait until I come back to go outside. Once everything is settled, I'll come to help you out. And maybe you might want to talk to your dad about enlisting, if he can help you out with the ODM gear you'll have a head start. " She smiled sadly at me, the tears glistening in her waterline, threatening to spill. "Take care of yourself (Y/n), be careful and don't forget the three of us love you." She closed the door behind her back and didn't wait for an answer.

My heart ached and I broke down until dad came back and I had to pretend my heart was just fine and not the mess it was.

I surprised dad when I commented I was thinking to join the army just like him. I tried not to feel bad because of the proud expression he showed me, I wished he could be proud of me for something I chose freely, but that could never be the case, his daughter was a runaway, a criminal, an illegal wrestler accused of killing a man. I tried to pretend I could really make him proud, that it was indeed my choices that sparked the joy in his expression, as he congratulated me on my morals and values.

During the next three days I advocated myself to cleaning the house, keeping it spotless, organising the book we had by title, then by color, then for extension and then by title again. I even went ahead and organized the pantry by the same criteria.

It was just an attempt to calm the anxiety that nibble my insides, making my nights long and sleepless, the dark and silent hours stirred my brain, the gruesome death of Ann chasing me, making the waterfalls in my eyes to cascade down until I passed out from exhaustion, holding Annton's ring tight to my chest. If I was I lucky enough I had two hours of dreamless slumber.

On the fourth day, my dad had a day off.

He woke me up only an hour after I drifted off, with the tea already made, the small white flowers that grew on the garden floating around in the cup. All morning was spent talking about his work, and laughing at his tales from the new recruits, fresh off from training. Until he asked me to be careful if I went out, because there was a killer girl running around as if nothing. A city runt that tried to rob a noble and respectable man and killed a brave guard in cold blood.

"I knew Annton" He said. My cup halted midway to my lips. "He was a good boy, he used to live with his mom around here. She died when he was around twelve. She was sick just like your mother. "His eyes were distant, remembering the old times when things were simpler " His father left his mother when he found out he was on his way. " I tried to remain nonchalant, which was really hard when the only thing I wanted to do was break down sobbing, a usual occurring in the last few days. "It's a shame... That Ace girl took an outstanding man from this world." I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs it was not me, but that filthy motherfucker and that heartless assassin were the ones who took his life away. I wanted to cry until I dried up, to hit the wall until the break apart, I wanted Annton back. But I remained in my chair, trying so hard not to react, not to show how broken my soul was.

The rest of the day went flying after that, and the night came back. Sobs rocked my body in the shelter of darkness once again. Annton's story showed me how ruthless the world could really be, how money and being born in with a powerful last name gave you the right to decide on other's people's life.

That night a kid skinny as a corpse and with Annton's eyes haunted my dreams, his lifeless gaze staring straight at me.

The fifth morning after Hale left was the same as usual. My eyes burned when I tried to open them, swollen and redden.

After lunch dad left, kissing my cheek goodby and hugging me tight, almost as if he had an instinct, just knowing I needed it. It lasted a little too long to be a normal one, and I felt cold when he left. I resumed my routine, a weeping session as I punched the bag in the yard. I had bought it with the excuse it was for dad, but I used it more than him, training when he was on duty.

Each blow was stronger than the one preceding it, the violence behind them growing with every falling tear as I tried to get rid of all the rage and sadness within me, trying to consume me leaving nothing but ashes behind.

I would end Lord Reiss when I had the chance, Kenny the ripper next on the list, at any cost. I owed it to Ann.

With one last hook to the bag I left a broken sigh out as I pressed my forehead against the cool leather, letting the tears run free. I wasn't sobbing, those were reserved for the night, when no one could hear them.

"I'm glad to see you're still in good shape." Hale's voice broke the sad spell I was on.

I looked up and there she was, a smile on her lips, her uniform was clean and void of Ann's blood, and an ODM gear was strapped to her body, she must've gotten to my house on that. My lip trembled.

"Let's go inside..." I said, noticing how glad I was she was safe. I gave one step to the door.

"I was thinking we could walk to the market. It might do you some good, you've been inside for a long time. I can see how much you've paled from here. When was the last time you saw the sun, Kid?" She sounded like Annton, and she had a weak smile on. Hale had aged so much in just a few days. Tired lines and dark bags covered her face.

I changed quickly out of my sweat filled clothes, grabbing a green cape to hide my face just in case.

Hale was waiting for me at the door, and once it, she grabbed my hand, intertwining our fingers and we started to walk to Rose's gate, in our way to Shinganshina, hiding my face from the guards as we passed by.

When we made it through, Hale spoke

"How are the knuckles" she asked, a casual tone in her voice, her thumb brushing the bandages.

"They're good. I keep opening a few of the cuts when i hit the bag thou, but they'll heal, eventually." One more scar on them wouldn't make a lot of difference. I looked at her from the corner of my eye. She was staring dead ahead. "How's Ivo?" I haven't seen him since we separated at the tunnels.

"He's a little better. We buried Annton in one of his favorite places after the Military police gave us his body back. They interrogated him, but he's an excellent liar, so he made it out in one piece. He always cheats when we play cards, in case you didn't notice." I hadn't, actually. I smiled, thankful he was safe.

"I'm glad." I whispered, my voice drowned by the murmur of the multitude. A few teens fere sitting around a font and sellers were screaming about their products. Everything kept going, while I felt like my life had ended less than a week ago. "And ab..."

"I got you something." She interrupted, "They called me to search the basement the day after I took you home. They had to wait until the smoke dissipated to go in," She reached in her pocket. " Since nobody had touched anything I could bring this back for you" She extended her opened palm, a golden chain in it, and Kenny's tooth was the charm on it. A laugh bubble out of me when I saw it.

She placed it around my neck.

"Don't worry, I washed the blood off" she winked, but I could see something bothering her.

"Thanks Hale"

"(Y/n)... " Her was suddenly serious " The news traveled, almost everyone knows what happened, and who to look for. So unless there's a fucking Titan invasion every fucking soldier within this wall will hunt you down, and to make matters worse, this year's recruits already started their training, and they are not allowing extra ones until next year. " The stress was clear as she passed a hand trough her hair with exasperation. " Do you think you can hide that long? I already talked to my friend, and he said he would help, I might or might not have said you would be an amazing addition to the corps, so please try your best and don't make me look like a fool. " Her half hearted joke held some truth behind it. I could tell she was worried sick.

I stopped a few blocks into Shinganshina and rubbed my face harshly

"Fuck!" I exclaimed, the thing couldn't get worse.

"Come on Ace, leave the worry to me, everything will be fine. We're not going to leave you alone in this." Her eyes glistened in the warm sunset light.

"Yeah right, how do you plan to distract a whole fucking army?" I didn't want to be harsh to her, but she was way too hopeful, all things consider.

"We could..." Her voice got stuck on her throat when a clap of thunder shook the earth, blinding us momentarily

Startled scrams sounded all around us as people exchanged confused looks. My eyes turned to the mighty wall, smoke rising behind her.

"What the fuck? A storm? There're no clouds in the sky..." Hale thought out loud, and a unsettling feeling fluttered in my stomach.

The ground shook beneath us, making everybody at the marked wobble, some falling to the floor, their groceries rolling away. An almost primal instinct tightened my chest. I felt like I was staring dead in the eyes of a predator. The hairs on my neck raised. Something was wrong.

Exchanging a brief glance with Hale i knew she felt the same way. I could see her hand twitch, and feel a buzzing course through my legs, I wanted to flight from there as fast as I could, and I was about to suggest it when the unimaginable happened.

A head rose above the top of Maria. It was a fucking titan, and a huge one at that. He must've been at leas fifty meter high, if not more.

His face lacked skin, the muscles and teeths on full display. Pure, cold and gut wrenching terror filled me.

I felt the blood leave my face, and how my muscles locked up, eyes glued to the beast ahead. A few persons started to run, and a small part of my brain, the one still functioning, told me to imitate them and to run as fas as I could, but somehow I couldn't. Until a harsh and unforgiving wind sent me flying a few feet back. I landed hard on my back, the air knocked out of me. A few pieces of stone missed me by a fraction, and hell broke loose.

Hale was by my side in a few seconds later, as my brain tried to process what the fuck had happened. Connecting the dots, I realized the bastard kicked a hole in Maria.

I was on my feet, and grabbing Hale's hand, I ran. A survival instinct I didn't know I had drove my body. I was convinced that if I stayed even one second longer, we would be a titan's snack, and I was not down for it.

We crossed the gate, but I couldn't stop running. They trespassed one, they might as well trespass two. Hale's hand was still in mine as we ran trough the stets, dodging people who just stood there waiting for a horrible death to claim them.

"Shit (Y/n)... You have fantastic luck or a fucking curse, it depends if you want to see the glass." How could she joke at a time like this?

What were the odds? A hysterical laugh bubbled up, and my legs burned, but i was not about to be eaten.

Hale's sudden stop made almost made me fall on my ass, I turned around to urge her on, but I noticed she was grabbing the handlers of her OMD gear and was snatching a fresh pair of blades in it. With a gesture of her head she told me to go on her back.

"Try not to move too much, this thing depends on balance. We might fall." She warned me, before shooting a hook to the nearest building, propelling us forward. I'm sure I choked her from how hard I was squeezing her neck. The mechanism of the ODM Buzzing against my leg as the wind slapped me in the face.

We soared the air, towards my house.

"I need to go back to Rose and warn them. We need to get the evacuation protocol going, you go to the ships and you get on them right now okay?" I nodded, and she hugged me once, leaving right after. I could only watch as she disappeared, flying.

I tried to calm the erratic beating of my heart, I looked at the Maria's Gate, the imponent door separating Shinganshina from the rest of Maria, I was going to be just fine, besides when dad noticed the commotion he was going to come straight for me.

I waited for him outside, there was nothing important inside the house, Ann's ring and Kenny's tooth were on me. But in the last moment I remembered my papers inside. If I was evacuated for safety issues I might need them. Rushing inside I grabbed the stack of documents and I also grabbed my handwraps from the table. Those were my favorite.

I pulled my hood up and went outside, waiting for dad to appear in any moment.

I wasn't even outside for a minute, when another shudder broke the earth. Horrified I turned to the Gates, where a cloud of dust was dissipating. When it disappear I saw another titan, smaller than the one who breeched Shinganshina, but with something hard covering his body. Those two differed from the rest, the managed to break down our first defense, it was almost as if they had intelligence, the focus on their eyes.

Titans swarmed Maria's territory, and a massacre begun. Unfortunate persons were devoured in front of my very eyes, blood staining the streets, limbs flying in the air. Whoever was in charge of collecting the death bodies would have a heavy load of work. I scolded myself when I noticed the grim humor in my words. I tried to think. What should I do? Wait for dad inside or go to the boats. The titans that got in were still pretty far away, it all depended on my dad and on how fast he could come. I shuffled on my feet, the adrenaline still coursing through my veins, my breathing was heavy and the fear was making me heart beat in my ears.

A titan turned a corner, and it saw me. It was huge, at least ten meters high. Ann's words ringed in my mind and I took off, trying to stay alive for as long as possible. And if I died, it wouldn't be for lack of effort.

The boats where across the town, I turned to the right, the thundering footsteps of the beast trailing behind me, closing the gap between with each passing second. I turned behind me and almost screamed in fear as I noticed it was only a few feet away, its empty eyes and a sinister smile sending shudders down my back. The shadow of the titan leaned over me, and I knew I was dead, it was about to grab me, and I could already feel the searing pain of its teeth sinking into my flesh. Tears poured without me noticing.

I was ready to kiss the world goodbye and to join Ann in the afterlife, when the figure of a soldier flying in the air, too fast to recognize, disappeared behind the titan, the sound of blades cutting through flesh filling the air.

The titan fell to the ground, shaking the floor beneath me, and I recognized my father standing tall on its neck. A cloud of steam raising from his clothes, the blood from the titan sizzling. Shit, he was in good shape, even tho he finished his training years ago he still got the fast reflexes and strength to go.

He got down from the lifeless steaming body and rushed to my side. Grabbing me by the shoulders he inspected my face, searching for any kind of injury. Hands cupped my cheeks and I gripped them tight with my own. He was alive and I was glad I was too.

Dad hugged me and I could almost feel the relief filling his body.

"Are you hurt anywhere?" He asked me. Not fiscally I thought but I shook my head. "We need to get you out of here, we lost Maria." With one last glance at the defeated wall, he grabbed my hand and ran.

Hand in hand we crossed the city. I thought he would use the ODM gear, but he settled for running. My dad was amazing. Sadly it skipped a generation.

I still had blisters on my feet because of the long night walking the tunnels, and this running session would not help. But I clenched my teeth and held on, better hurt feet and all my limbs still attached.

The boats were filled, and the line to get into them was immense, everyone crowding around the guards, trying desperately to get on them. The screams and cries of the kids rang in my ears, my heart aching as they called for their parents. I squeezed my dad's hand tighter, and he returned the gesture. The distant howls of pain and the insults to the guards raised in the air, and you could almost feel the collective fear on your skin, like an oily substance that stuck to your clothes. Some desperate enough people jumped, not worried about the possible fall to the canals. Hysteria had taken over Maria's population, and if the titans didn't kill us, we would kill each other, the persons in the front of the line were being pushed against the metal bars, the air squeezed out of their lungs.

I didn't want to get into one of those deathtraps, I'd rather run to Rose, but obviously dad was against it.

He looked at me, and his eyes were tearful. I didn't like that look in his eyes at all. I frowned, and he smiled sadly at me.

"(Y/N), I Love You so much... An I'm sorry, but I'm not risking you not going into that boat." Determination shone on my eyes, and I knew his resolve was as strong as steel.

"What do you mean? " My voice trembled as I asked " You're getting in with me. How is that a bad thing?" I tried to smile, but my frown was deep.

He didn't answer and just shook his head. He grabbed me and as if I weighted nothing he put me over his shoulder.

"My duty is to protect the walls (Y/n)" His voice was steady" When all of this is over I'll go back for you, and we'll play cards like we do every morning, I'm going to give you advice for when you go to the army... I'm so proud of you, honey." His grip on my back tightened. "I will miss you so much, but wait for me. Okay?"

"Dad, don't do this... Please " My body was unmoving, the tears free falling at his feet, and I could only focus on the heels of his boots as he made his way through the crowd, pushing people aside. And just looking at his boots were better that acknolodging the searing pain on my chest, as if Ann's passing wasn't enough y dad was about to risk his life. "There's got to be another way... Please don't leave me...I love you please don't do it" I said trying to negotiate I refused to let him go just like that. "There must me something we can..." He shushed me.

"An I love you too, but it's my job. Understand, I swore to give my life for the sake of humanity if it ever came to that." His hands were shaking, and I tried to chase away the thought of him being afraid. It was something normal, but that meant I should've been terrified, dad was never scared. But the only thing that I had on my chest was a hole, filled with pain and grief, as if I was incapable of feeling anything else. "I'm sorry honey, i love you so much... And believe when I say I'm coming back for you"

I was going to answer, and plead some more, but suddenly I was no longer on his shoulder. An empty feeling filed my body before I landed on the wood from the boat's floor. I got up to try to see my dad in the crowd, but he was no longer there. The boat sailed away, tearing me apart from the place and streets I grew up, tearing me from one of the only people I love that was still alive... for now.

Angry with myself I pinched my arm, I was assuming he would die. My dad would survive and he was going to come back as a hero, saving the life of a thousand of humans, and destroying a thousand of titans, more titans than the whole Survey corps toghether. I had to believe it for my own sanity, or for what was left of it.

When we got to the refugee center I sat at a corner and just waited. The soldiers were coming back from Maria, one after the other, injured and with a broken spirit, witnessing horrible things, and traumatized for the rest of their lives. I prayed to whatever god there was for my father to be among those soldiers it didn't matter if he was missing a leg or arm, I just wanted him by my side.

The cold evening air was biting my fingers, and I tried to cover them with the pocket of my hood, that covered my face, feeling the unmistakable cold of metal against my skin. I pulled out my hand, and in the middle of my palm there it was.

My dad's engagement ring.

Letting the golden band slide down my finger, the tears fell again. The hours passed, transforming into days, but there was no sign of him. God had laughed at my childish hopes.

My heart ached for my lost loved ones, and to add up on top of it, the amount of kids sleeping on the floor by themselves was devastating. We were all in the same boat, orphaned for the rest of our lives. The resources were low and Sina's infrastructure wouldn't stand for long. We would be seen as leeches instead of refugees, only sucking on their food and water.

No matter what age, kids to elders, all of us were hated and mistreated equally, the garrisons insulting us to dirt. A few of them were familiar, being in the basement's underground world.. The constant threat of being discovered kept my mind away from the grief. I couldn't even mourn Dad in peace.

I wasn't even sleeping anymore, tormented nightmares that portraited Kenny's laugh, Annton's at his feet as Lod Reiss's hands grabbed my clothes, or my dad's dismembered and broken body. So I had given up on resting. I barely had a nap here and there. My body functioning only for the sake of it. The food was sparse and not enough water made it to my mouth.

We used old blankets as mattresses, trying to soften the stone floor where we slept, leaving our bodies vulnerable to the cold. It was only a matter of time before someone died of hypothermia.

A week had passed, and I haven't talked to anyone, staying at the sidelines, silently watching.

The children were a heartwrecking sight. A lot of them barely knew how to walk, and they were all alone, the few unlucky ones old enough to understand the severity of everything had somber expressions all day.

Next to my improvised bed, two kids slept together every night.

One night in particular, the temperature had dropped insanely low, and they were trembling in their sleep, the tears making their faces red and puffy, wet trails shining in the moonlight. The little girl's black hair got stuck to her cheeks, and I noticed her dirty and worn out red scarf. She gripped it tightly in her small fist, trying to hold on to whatever it represented to her. She reminded me of myself, as I had my own habit of stroking the rings in my left hand as I cried. The boy was immersed in a restless dream, twisting and turning, quiet whimpers slipping out of his parted open lips, tormented by whatever they had witnessed the day Maria fell.

Fuck it I thought.

Sighing, I untied my cape, slipping it out of my shoulders, covering their sleeping bodies. I glanced at the fabric laying on the ground. Sleep had left me a while ago, it wasn't like I would use the blanket. I picked it up and dust it off, placing it on top of my cape, building the layers, hoping it would be enough.

After a few minutes later the shudders that traveled their bodies disappeared and I smile appeared on my lips. I glanced at the boy, hopeful that his nightmares had stopped, but a pair of black eyes captured mine. Her intense glare paralyzing me, I felt like she caught me doing something wrong. The corners of her mouth lifted, and she went back to sleep.

I breathe out the air stuck in my lungs and I sat against the wall, tilting my head back, eyes on the ceiling.

Those two kids couldn't be older than ten years old, and their life were destroyed, losing everything. I wondered if they had an adult that took care of them and what would happen with them if they didn't.

Could I do something else besides giving them a shitty blanket?

I shook off the idea as soon as it came, I had more urgent problems than taking care of two orphans, like hiding from Lord Reiss for example.

#Levi ackerman x reader #Reader insert #Levi ackerman #Attack on titan #Attack on titan x reader #levi x reader #Ace x Levi #levi

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lonestarbabe · 4 years

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Holding Out For a Hero

Chapter 4: I’m Fine (AO3)

Marjan is worried about T.K. and enlists the help of Carlos to make sure T.K. is okay. Things heat up between T.K. and Carlos... but in an angry way... for now. Carlos learns more about T.K. while T.K. starts to think that Carlos may actually care.

T.K.

It was a Wednesday, but T.K. didn’t know which one. He only knew that the pool cleaner had been outside earlier. The pool cleaner came on Wednesdays, so it had to be Wednesday. He was almost positive it was March but coming up with the month took a few seconds too long as alcohol and Oxy muted his mind. “Maybe you should slow down a little,” Marjan suggested, looking at T.K. with her usual disapproving look. If T.K. knew she’d planned on coming over, he would have saved the drugs and alcohol for later in the evening. Marjan didn’t consume either, and while she didn’t mind being around people who were drinking or maybe even smoking some weed, she wasn’t shy about telling him why he should avoid those things. She thinks I’m an addict, but I’m just having fun. As much fun as a miserable person can have, at least.

“Don’t be a kill joy Marjan.” She always wants to spoil my fun. Some best friend she is. I don’t need her to look after me, no matter what she thinks. Between her, Judd, and the new bodyguard, I’ll never get a moment to myself.

“Slow down,” Marjan told him again, pulling the bottle of vodka from his hand and putting it out of his reach. “I know you already had pills, and you shouldn’t be mixing that crap together.”

“Okay, Doctor Marwani.”

“I’m a first responder. I know a thing or two about these things, but of course, teen heartthrob T.K. Strand doesn’t like to listen to rules. It’s not cute to be a bad boy anymore.” She sounded annoyed, but her eyes were terrified. Look what I do to everyone around me. I put them through shit, and I act like an asshole, even though I’d give them literally anything they asked.

“You’re such a rule follower. Are all firefighters as boring as you?” T.K. lamented. “You can’t get anywhere if you go slow. Did Michael Phelps ever slow down?” T.K. added, grabbing a new bottle and watching amber liquid fill his glass. He took the shot of tequila just to prove a point. Stings more than vodka, and I kind of like it.

“No, he didn’t, and now you see him sitting in an empty pool in those Better Help commercials. Do you want that to be you?” Yeah, sitting in an empty pool might be pretty fun, but you can’t drown in it. Unless you find something other than water to drown yourself in. Wouldn’t it be funny to drown at the bottom of an empty pool?

“That’s because he stopped swimming. He let his feelings catch up with him. If you don’t ever stop, nothing can ever catch up to you. That’s why I gotta keep going.”

“Everyone has to stop eventually, T.K. People get old and slow. They can’t win races forever. You just better hope that you’re the one who makes that decision and that it isn’t the universe that steps in and slows you down.”

“Give me too much time to stop and think, and I’ll go crazy. There’s nothing that you, Judd, or any hot bodyguard can do about it.”

“Hot bodyguard? Don’t tell me it’s another Mr. Clean.” Oh, yes, the Mr. Cleans. So many bodyguards he’d had were bald and had an uncanny resemblance to Mr. Clean. He figured Judd just thought those guys looked responsible. Mr. Cleans were attractive, sometimes, but in a one-night stand kind of way. Let ‘em use you and then clean you away with their magic erasers.

T.K. shook his head. “This one isn’t just hot in an ironic way. He’s an ex-cop.” T.K. had done a quick— two-hour— internet search into Carlos. Carlos kept a pretty low profile, but T.K. had learned enough about him to guess how he ticked. He also knew that he had an ex-boyfriend, so he at least liked men.

“And you say that you don’t have a type.”

“He’s an ex-cop.”

“Still. Once a cop, always a cop.”

“I don’t care what he was or what he is. I’m just saying he’s hot. He hates fun just like you, but he’s hot.”

“Don’t harass him, Tyler Kennedy.”

“Don’t call me Tyler Kennedy, Marjan Marwani.”

“Marwani isn’t even my middle name.”

He stuck his tongue out at her. “Whatever. It’s not like I’m going to seduce him, anyway. I don’t do the chasing. People chase me.”

She looked at him like he was full of shit. “I’ve watched you chase plenty of guys. You practically mauled that big one last week.”

“Fucks, not dates. It’s different.”

“Yeah, because all you care about is having fun, I get it. T.K. Strand can never take anything further than a fuck,” she replied sarcastically. She doesn’t believe a single word of my bullshit, and that’s something I love and hate about her.

“I choose not to. Dates don’t like hanging out with party boys.”

“The issue is that party boys refuse to stay sober.”

“I’m sober a lot. Far too much for my liking, actually,” T.K. quipped.

“Yeah, I know. That’s exactly my point. You know, I rescue idiots like you every day. People who think they’re just having fun when they’re not having fun at all. They hate what they’re doing. They’re just being dangerous and stupid for no other reason than having a gap they need to fill.”

“I’m not dangerous. I’m really safe when I take anything. I don’t run heavy machinery when I’m high— not even my can opener. I’m careful, Marjan.”

She laughed. “Yeah that damn automatic can opener Judd got you could decapitate a person if they got their head too close.” Her face returned to concerned. “But don’t distract me with the Strand charm. I’m serious, T.K. I’m not worried about you getting other people hurt. I know you wouldn’t get in a car or endanger other people intentionally, but shit still happens. You’re going to do something to yourself that you can’t take back.”

“Maybe I’ll get a Better Help commercial out of it,” he said with a grin. When I’m washed up and the crowds stop coming to my shows, I’ll be one of those celebrities who has to resort to paid testimonials. I’ll suffer the horrifying ordeal of being known, forgotten, and known again as a relic from a time that had almost been erased from people’s memories. The voice from a song they used to love (or hate).

She punched him in the arm. “If you don’t shut up…” but she couldn’t help the smile that was on her face. “You look at the world so differently than I do.”

“Yeah, that’s for sure. Why are we even friends? I was trying to date a firefighter, not become best friends with his coworker.”

“Bob was forty-five with a wife and kids. You had to know it was never happening” Bob had a great dad bod.

“Why should that have stopped me?”

Marjan crossed her arms. “Your daddy issues are showing.”

“I don’t have daddy issues,” T.K. protested. My dad died a long time ago, and I’m totally over it. It’s not like he left me. He just left and never came back. He hugged me goodbye, went to work, and then just like that, he was gone. It wasn’t fair, but it was nothing he did. He died a hero, and now, there’s no hero left to save me. Not that I need one. I’m fine. Great even. I hate my life, but I’m surrounded by wonderful things. I would be happy if I wasn’t such a dreadful person.

“Your father was a firefighter and you wanted to date a firefighter old enough to be your father. Sounds like daddy issues to me.”

“You don’t get it because you don’t have daddy issues. I wasn’t interested because he was old or a firefighter. It was because he was hot… and looked nothing like my father for your information.”

“I’m just saying you never really dealt with your dad’s death.”

“It’s been two decades! Of course, I dealt with it. Mom made me go to therapy.”

“I’m guessing you didn’t take therapy seriously.”

“It only lasted a couple weeks before I threw a fit and convinced mom it did more harm than good.”

“See, you need to actually address your issues, T.K.”

“When did you get your psychology degree, anyway?”

“First, you tell me I’m not a doctor, and now you tell me I’m not a psychologist. You’re getting very predictable, Teek. And very defensive on top of that.”

“That’s not fair. I can’t say I’m not defensive without being defensive!”

“Sucks to be a loser.” Marjan made it her goal in life to win at everything.

“We all can’t be good at everything like you, Miss Has Gone Viral Eight Times.”

“It was only six, and I don’t think you stop going viral… ever. I always see your annoying face wherever I go— in magazines at grocery stores or billboards. I went on a date once with this girl, and when I went home with her, she had a big poster of you over her bed. Really killed the mood.”

“Any of the guys you dated have a poster of me?”

“One had a bobblehead.”

T.K. cringed. “That’s worse than a poster.”

“How? The poster is a lot bigger. I could shove the bobblehead in a drawer.”

“It’s unofficial merch,” T.K. explained.

“Oh, yes, the dreaded unofficial merch. How will you ever live without your cut of the money? You could have two Porsches by now if only you sold bobbleheads.” He didn’t mention that he could buy more than two Porsches if he wanted because he was sure she already knew that.

“The Barbie doll was nightmare enough. It looked like they glued feathers on my head.”

“I still have that doll. Just for when I need a good laugh.”

Marjan uncrossed her legs and got up to go to the kitchen. “While I wish I could stay to talk, I have a shift in an hour, so I have to go. The captain doesn’t like my attitude as it is, which means being late would take me from his bad list to his firing list.” She shrugged. “It’s not my fault that I’m allergic to poor leadership.”

“That’s one hell of an allergy, Marj,” he shook his head at her. “If you’re trying to leave, the door isn’t in the kitchen. My mind is a little warped right now, but even I know that.”

Marjan put a water glass next to T.K. “I don’t want you to die. The hangover is probably unavoidable. But hydrate.”

“Why do you have to go? I thought your next shift wasn’t until Friday.”

“It is Friday. Hence why I have to go.” She told him impatiently. “Do you pay attention at all?”

“No, the pool cleaner came today. It’s Wednesday.”

“The pool cleaner comes on Thursdays, T.K. He came yesterday.” He checked his phone and saw that yes, it was Friday. Oof wonder where the time went.

“Fuck. Why does the week need seven days?”

“That’s it. I’m calling Judd.”

“He’s in Texas with Grace. I’m fine, Marwani. Go to work. Billy the Bully isn’t going to wait.” She sighed, looking torn about leaving him, but T.K. wasn’t going to be the reason Marjan got in trouble. Just because I can’t keep my shit together doesn’t mean I should drag everyone down into my miserable life.”

“I’m calling your new bodyguard.”

“No, you’re not.” He didn’t want the only times that Carlos saw him to be when he was indisposed. Carlos probably already hated him, and T.K., as much as he hated bodyguards, did not want to start again with a new bodyguard. If this didn’t work, Judd would probably call in a drill sergeant. Anyone but Carlos.

“I am. Maybe he can come sit with you for a while.”

“No way. You can’t call him on his day off.”

“There aren’t a lot of options right now. If he says no, he says no.” She’s so persistent. She won’t take no for an answer. Not with me, not with Carlos. “He might not be busy. He’s new to town, so he probably hasn’t made a lot of friends yet.”

“I’m not letting a hot guy see me in sweatpants and a hoodie.”

“That’s like your uniform.”

“Yeah, but it’s not for people who haven’t seen the shit show. I don’t want him to think I’m a slob.”

“Oh, so you care about his opinion? Give me his number. You know I won’t leave until you do.” She waited not so patiently for a response. “I guess I could ask Judd. Interrupt his nice trip with his wife, but you won’t make me do that, will you?” Friends are the worst.

“No, do not bother anyone. I’ll give you the number.” He sighed, fumbling for his phone. You’re a real psycho, you know that?” Marjan swiped the phone from his hands before he could even unlock it. She punched in the code. I really need to change that. “He’s listed under—”

“Hot Body Bodyguard, yeah, I got it.” She chuckled. “You’re so obvious.”

“Delete his number from your phone when you’re done.” He didn’t want Marjan talking to Carlos on the regular. That would be a disaster.

“Do you even know me?” Marjan laughed. “I still have Aaron’s number. This one isn’t going anywhere. I may delete Aaron’s though. I think it’s time.”

“Aaron?” He didn’t know who the hell that was. Was he somebody I slept with? One of Marjan’s exes?

“Mr. Clean #3.” Oh, him. He wasn’t so bad, but not at all personable. Hated the very idea of fun. Treated me like a toddler. Slightly attractive.

“Don’t remind me. He was awful.” T.K. groaned. He flipped his hand in the air to wave her away. “Go to work already.”

“Yeah, okay.” She finished up a couple of texts and stuck her phone in her purse. “I’ll see you later. Probably tomorrow, so don’t get drunk before five. No drugs either. I want you clear headed. I have boy issues to talk about.”

“I don’t get wasted every night, but okay. Cannot wait for your boy issues.”

Marjan smiled. “Good.” Before heading out the door, she turned to give him one last look. “Seriously, dude, be careful. I’d be really pissed if something happened to you.” Marjan always started throwing in “dude” when her emotions were getting the best of her.

“You’re the one who dives into fires for a living.”

“Yeah, but I do it with equipment. You dive into fires just to see if they’ll burn you.” She doesn’t understand that sometimes the burn feels better the numbness.

Carlos

Carlos’ plans were interrupted by a series of three pings on his phone. He picked his phone up, immediately having a bad feeling when he saw an unknown number. He was used to calls from unfamiliar numbers, but texts were rarer.

You need to get to T.K.’s house.

This is Marjan by the way. Marjan Marwani.

I’m T.K.’s best friend (reluctantly).

As he read the messages, Carlos stood from his couch, beginning to pace across his floor as his brows scrunched in consternation. This was not how he saw his day off going. T.K. better not be dead. I’m not going to lose that idiot if I can help it. I told Judd I’d protect him, and I don’t plan on backing down on my promise no matter how irritating T.K. can be.

What? Why? Is something wrong?

Carlos had just settled in from going to the store and was about to call his mom before cracking open a beer and watching TV. He was a worrier, so he couldn’t help thinking that something truly awful had happened. It can’t be that bad if T.K.’s friend is making jokes, Carlos reassured himself, but the chance that things might not be okay twisted Carlos’ stomach. I’m not going to let some bratty popstar ruin my evening. He’s probably just drunk and looking to do something stupid. I don’t need to deal with this.

Is it an emergency?

I’m not on duty, so I can’t just go over there if he doesn’t want me to.

Carlos had a bad feeling that his curiosity and worry would get the best of him, and he’d end up at T.K.’s mansion that was far too large for just one person. T.K. was difficult, but there was also something infectious about him. You couldn’t help but root for him or worry that he might not be okay.

He’s drunk and high. He shouldn’t be alone.

Please, just stay with him. He hates being alone.

I would but my boss is an asshole.

Please. Judd is away, and there’s no one else to call. He doesn’t have a lot of real friends.

He doesn’t even like me.

There was a thirty-minute delay before another text came in, and Carlos sat in suspense, worrying about all the things that can happen in thirty minutes.

Sorry. I was going to work. He likes you fine, and even if he didn’t, he’ll let you in because I told him to.

You’ve got blackmail on him or something? I barely know him, but I know T.K. doesn’t like being told what to do.

What you need to know about T.K. is that he doesn’t give a damn about himself, but he’d throw himself in a fire after taking a bath in gasoline to make sure the people he loves aren’t hurt.

Well, damn, he couldn’t argue that. Couldn’t say no to someone who clearly loved her friend so much. Couldn’t say no to T.K.

It would send the wrong message to spend his time off with T.K., but he hated the thought of T.K. overdosing or going out to find assholes to hang out with. He hated the thought of T.K. hooking up with some man who would take advantage of him. T.K. was a pain in the ass, but he was also a national treasure. Fangirls would never forgive Carlos if he let something happen to T.K. (He would never forgive himself.) This job is getting too messy. For whatever reason, I’m already too far in. Captivated by those green eyes and that lopsided smiled. I need distance because T.K. Strand is doing his best not to stay alive, and getting too close will set me up for a world or hurt.

He sighed, grabbing his keys from the hook by his door and heading out to his car. He sent Marjan a quick text.

Fine, I’m going over.

Good. I have to go. My bad boss is calling.

Keep him safe.

Carlos wasn’t sure if that last part was a best friend’s threat or a desperate plea, but either way, he didn’t want to screw this assignment up. I’ll keep him safe. But he couldn’t make promises because he couldn’t save T.K. from himself no matter how much he wanted to.

I’ll do my best.

Putting his car into gear, Carlos back out and zoomed down the highway until he got to a mansion set apart from the other houses. He wouldn’t admit to anyone how much over the speed limit he had gone. If he’d had sirens, he would have used them. Fuck T.K. for being such an endearing jackass.

He entered the code at the gate and haphazardly parked his car in the first place he could find. It wasn’t like him to be so impulsive. He liked order and control, and any lack of those things made him antsy, but he didn’t even notice that his car was 1 inch into the grass. He rushed up to the door, thoughts of T.K. being hurt or dead rising into a heart-pounding climax. What if I’m too late? What if I was too slow? What if I’m powerless to save him? What if I fail at this job?

The tension dropped from Carlos’ shoulders as he heard the deadbolt click open and saw T.K.’s head when the door swung open and Carlos was instantly relieved to see that T.K. wasn’t unconscious on the floor. In fact, T.K. mostly seemed fine.

T.K. gave a long, exaggerated sigh, and Carlos felt his breath momentarily constrict again. He looked good. Anyone with eyes could see that, but Carlos had self-control. He didn’t act like an animal just because he spotted a pretty person. He’s a ten, but he’s also off limits. He’s narcissistic and obnoxious. Maybe a little sweet, but he’s not good for me. He’s danger, and I had enough of that when I was a cop. I flew too close too the sun, but this guy, he’s flying in the center of the sun.

For someone who was supposedly in danger, T.K. looked like he had complete command over his situation. He wore a hot pink and baby blue striped button down with black skinny jeans that hugged his lean legs in ways Carlos didn’t allow himself to think about too much. He averted his eyes, being sure to look at T.K.’s face, which was just as overwhelming. Carlos noticed T.K.’s eyes were bloodshot with deep bags underneath. A person can hide under clothes, but the eyes, those emerald eyes, always tell the truth.

T.K. looked markedly too nice for a night in, looking and smelling like he was about to go on a date. Freshly misted cologne hitting Carlos’ nose— vanilla, cinnamon, and sandalwood. There was an underlying bitterness to his scent—cloves— but it was just enough to offset what would be otherwise cloying. “Are you okay?” Carlos finally asked.

“Yeah, but I have a little alcohol and Marjan thinks I’ve gone off the deep end.” That’s a can of worms that I am not even going to begin to unpack. “I’m obviously fine.”

“Fine or not, I’m here now. Might be nice to have a little company.” The more Carlos looked at T.K., the less fine he seemed to be. He didn’t seem as outwardly wasted as when they first met, but T.K.’s uncontrollable smile and aimless eyes told Carlos all he needed to know. The blissed-out look was chillingly familiar to him, so much so that he had the instinct to get in his car and speed away, but his sense of duty was too strong, and even as his past chased him, Carlos couldn’t look away from T.K. Maybe things can be different than they were with Taylor. Maybe not, but how can I in good conscience give up before I try? “I’m here,” Carlos reiterated. And I’m not going anywhere.

“I see that.” T.K. gave him a once over, licking his lips. “And you look very good doing it.” He’s just a flirt. I can’t let it get to my head. I have to protect him. Not fuck him. T.K.’s words were dripping with forced pleasantness, and Carlos couldn’t quite figure out what T.K. was really feeling beyond the happy highness. Silence fell between them.

T.K. bit his lip, looking down a little. The mood shifted. “I know you don’t want to be here. Don’t worry, Judd will pay you for your babysitting.” Carlos wanted to argue that he wasn’t here for the money or insist that he did care, but the air between him and T.K. had turned so suddenly sour that words swirled in his head with nothing to ground them into cohesive sentences. The smell of cloves was trapped in his nose and he tried to search for the vanilla and cinnamon, warm and pleasantly biting. “I’m sure Marjan will report back to him when he gets back from his trip. He’ll fret over me because it would be such a shame if I died and couldn’t make him any more money.” T.K. cracked a mechanical grin that clashed with the bitter tone in his voice. “He’d probably be relieved not to have me bothering him.” He’s got it all wrong, but I can’t tell him that. I barely even know him.

Carlos wanted to shake T.K. and tell him that Judd would be devastated if something happened to him, but he knew if he was too sincere, T.K. would retreat into the safety of humor and lightheartedness. He would become the happy and carefree T.K. that substances created to hide the sorrow. I have to learn to roll with his jokes and self-deprecation, even hearing it horrifies me. “I’ve heard that posthumous sales aren’t half bad. The initial spike… might be something to consider,” Carlos replied wryly. When there was more silence, Carlos wondered if he’d made a fatal misstep. Maybe I don’t have as good of a grasp on the situation as I thought. What if I’m losing him?

A flash of shock came over T.K.’s face before his lips upturned slightly and his head tilted to the side with curiosity. “You really busting my balls right now?”

Carlos kept the impassive look on his face, forcing his lips not to turn up. “I suppose I am.”

T.K. shook his head, the dark cloud lifting from his features just a little. Back to carefree T.K., and Carlos wasn’t sure if it was for the best or the worse. I can’t tell if he’s genuinely happy. “I can’t believe that of all the bodyguards in the bodyguard factory, you’re the one they sent me.” Back to joking, the cold tone dissipated in the early evening air.

“And I can’t believe that of all the popstars in the popstar factory, you’re the one I got sent to,” Carlos countered. He could keep up with banter if he needed to. He could even throw in some harmless flirting if it helped get through to T.K., but he couldn’t cross any lines beyond that. I know all about how crossing one line can lead to crossing more. I need boundaries if this is going to work. I must be careful for T.K.’s sake and mine.

“Rockstar,” T.K. corrected.

“You don’t sing rock music, popstar,” Carlos reminded him.

“It’s a—”

“State of mind. I know. Now, are you going to let me in? Or do I have to stand out here all evening fighting with you about the definition of a rockstar?”

T.K.’s head tilted again, this time in thought. “I don’t think I have much of a choice. Marjan will kill me if I make you stand on the porch,” T.K. answered, opening the door wider and leading Carlos into the living room. The stench of alcohol immediately hit Carlos’ nose and bottles were sprawled on a chair.

“That’s a lot of bottles,” Carlos commented.

“Some of them are old.” Some, not all. Not even most. Some. “It’s funny because sometimes when it’s dark, there’s so many of them there that it almost looks like a person sitting in the chair. I’ve gotten startled a couple times by it. Sometimes, though, it’s nice not to feel alone.” The honesty of the words struck Carlos. He’s got so many demons I haven’t even seen yet. He opened his mouth but quickly closed it again in the absence of having a meaningful response. T.K. caught on to what he had said and backtracked. “I didn’t mean that seriously, you know. It was just a joke. I mean, there’s always people around me. Celebrities can’t escape people. I’m not really lonely.” The only people who feel the need to insist they are not lonely are the ones who are, in fact, lonely.

Carlos forced a laugh. “Right, a joke. You tell a lot of those.”

“Maybe. It’s more fun that way. I’m really funny when I’m not sober, so funny that people think I’m serious. It makes me a man of mystery I guess.” Oh yes, a mystery I’m afraid to investigate but desperate to know.

“Speaking of not sober, how much alcohol did you have?” He wanted a grasp on how bad the situation was.

“I’m fine.” Carlos had been a cop. He was used to dodgy answers, but they still frustrated the hell out of him. He’s testing me. Trying to see if he can make me mad. I won’t let him. I have to be patient and keep my temper in check.

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

“Fewer than all the bottles on that chair.” T.K. added, “A lot fewer. I’m not trying to die tonight.” Tonight, that’s what I’m worried about. What about the other nights?

“How much?” Carlos asked with his no nonsense cop voice. It’s been a while since I’ve used that.

T.K. looked unimpressed at the question. “Several shots. I didn’t even have a full bottle of tequila. But shots are just bad if you only do one, so you have to keep going until you feel something. By the time the first one kicks in, you realize that the rest will be by shortly to hit you with a fucking hammer.” Carlos fought the headache that T.K.’s drunken logic was creating. He rubbed a hand across his temple, wiping the sweat and stress from his brow. He forced his facial features to relax. I need to keep those emotions in their place or else I won’t be able to understand what he’s saying. I have to listen.

“Pills?”

T.K. shrugged, looking at his hands cagily, which gave Carlos a pretty good idea of what he was dealing with. An addict who will try getting high on pretty much anything.

“T.K., I need to know.” He wasn’t quite sure what he’d do with the information, but it seemed like something he should know in case anything happened.

T.K.’s voice was quiet, and Carlos barely heard it over the murmuring of the central air working hard to cool the huge house. “Some Oxy. My favorite.” Carlos would put that piece of information into the T.K. file that he was compiling in his head, all the things that might come in handy someday when the inevitably awful stuff happened.

Yawning, T.K. plopped down onto the couch, and Carlos went to the kitchen and grabbed a recycling bin. He began loading the empty bottles into it. “You don’t have to do that,” T.K. protested. “It’s not your job.”

“I know, but it doesn’t help you to keep these here,” and to be honest, they were driving Carlos a little crazy.

“Why are you so nice?” It sounded like an accusation, skeptical and angry.

“I’m not.” I’m just bad at sitting around helplessly. I need something to keep me busy, and I hate looking at all those bottles and seeing him like this. “I like to keep my hands busy.”

T.K. winked, a sloppy wink. “I can think of a better use for those hands.” Oh, no. He did not just go there.

Carlos panicked. His jaw clenching. “Do not do that.”

“Do what?” T.K. asked as if he was completely innocent.

“Hit on me.”

“You weren’t supposed to be so hot.” Shut him up. Shut him up!

“I’m not hot. I’m just a guy, okay? Just a normal guy.”

“Normal, yeah, okay. Did you know that I’m really good with my mouth? I mean more than singing and stuff. I put enough junk in it to know how to use it.” T.K.’s eyes filled with hunger. He’s not thinking clearly. He doesn’t actually want me. He’s just horny. Carlos felt like putting his fingers in his ears and screaming “la, la, la, la, la.”

“Stop it. You’re not thinking clearly.”

“But if it was sober? Would you be interested?” He’s so desperate to be wanted. He doesn’t even care who wants him.

“It would still be a no.”

“Why? Aren’t I attractive?” Oh yes, far too attractive for your own good.

“It doesn’t matter. I’m your bodyguard. I can’t be blurring those lines.”

T.K. raised his eyebrows. “The more you know my body, the better you can guard it.”

“I said no. You can respect that, can’t you?” Carlos’ voice was agitated. His anger radiated through the room and spread to T.K.

“I don’t force anything on anyone,” T.K.’s voice was sharp. “I wouldn’t want to fuck someone with a stick up his ass anyways.”

“You don’t get to be an asshole just because things don’t go your way. Maybe try facing your feelings instead of getting mad and acting like a diva when any semblance of a bad feeling enters your mind.” So much for containing my temper.

“Wow, Mr. Nice Guy does have a backbone, after all.”

“I know what you’re doing.”

“Being an asshole?”

“You’re trying to see how many buttons you can push before I get up, leave, and never come back.”

T.K.’s face fell. “Why does everyone think they have fucking psychology degrees?”

“What?” What in the world is he talking about?

T.K. didn’t explain. “You don’t have to stay. I don’t care either way. I’m happy enough alone. Just leave me alone.”

“I don’t have to leave.” He took a breath. It’d been a long time since he had tried to handle someone so self-defeating and so scared to let anyone get too close. “I don’t want to leave.” Part of him wanted to run for the hills and stop the attachment he was feeling for T.K. Like T.K., Carlos was scared of letting anyone get too close. He was scared of knowing people too well, which was why he’d planned on spending his Friday alone. But I don’t want to be alone.

“You should want to leave.”

“But I don’t want to.” If only I could get it through his thick skull that some people just want him around. They don’t care if he is a singer or famous or a party boy. They just want to have him. Judd, Marjan, even me. We want him to be the person he’s happiest being and not this person who can’t stand to look himself in the mirror or the person who never shows the real him because he’s afraid no one will like it.

“What made you so stubborn?” T.K. paused to think. “Or should I say who?” Don’t think about Taylor. Now’s not the time. No need to make unnecessary comparisons.

Carlos crossed his arms as if it would help him keep all the feelings rushing through his body contained. “I was born a week late and put my mom through eight hours of labor. I was born stubborn.”

“Yeah, well, I was born a good person. Now, I’m a piece of shit, so how we come into this world doesn’t have much to do with how we go out.” Hopefully, we won’t be going out any time soon. Hopefully, he doesn’t want to.

“What do you like most about yourself?” Carlos asked, and it felt abrupt, but he had wanted to catch T.K. off guard.

“Why does it matter?” T.K. was already defensive, and the question made him more resistant.

“No questions, just tell me.”

“Oh, bossy. I like it,” T.K. said more biting than flirty.

“Favorite part of yourself?” Carlos pushed.

T.K. was quiet for a few moments. His tone softened. “Hard choice there’s so much to like,” he tried to act confident, but Carlos could hear his voice cracking. “but I guess the thing people like most about me is that I’m fun, the life of the party.” Is that all he’s got?

“Why is it that you love to talk about yourself until I actually ask you to tell me something about yourself and then all you can talk about is what other people think.”

“Here’s the thing, Carlos. Contrary to popular opinion, I’m not that interesting. I’m not that deep either. I’m just a vapid popstar who people like to think they know.” It sounded like defeat, and Carlos didn’t think the word popstar could ever sound so sad.

“You know what,” Carlos concluded. “Maybe you’re a rockstar after all.” T.K. looked up from his hands, eyes looking hopeful. Then, to make it sound less serious Carlos added, “Rockstar is a state of mind, after all.”

T.K. grinned at the inside joke, perking up a bit and letting a tentative grin appear on his face. “But I do play pop music,” he said. “So, maybe I’d rather be a popstar.” His eyes lingered on Carlos, “That stays between us, though.”

“Okay, popstar,” Carlos said clapping T.K. on the shoulder, and T.K.’s eyes flickered with something Carlos couldn’t quite make out. There’s so much to learn about T.K. Strand, so much that even his most devoted fans have even discovered. There’s a good person in there beneath all the layers of bravado. You don’t even have to dig that far to find them, but I want to bring that person out. I want to show him that there’s a place for the T.K. who can be happy.

#My Stuff #911 Lone Star #911 Lone Star Fics #my writing #Elise writes #fics #holding out for a hero #Season 1

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uozlulu · 5 years

Text

Not sure how long Viz had this offer up but I’ve got until tomorrow to read all of this for free so here we go~

BnHA/MHA chapters 122 – 162 reaction and spoilers. I also eluded to some Black Clover manga spoilers but I tried to be vague about it. I also mentioned One Piece once but nothing actually spoilers I don't think

I sorted everything by chapter under the read more cut

Chapter 122

This chapter appears to pick up towards the end of season three. Present Mic being hyped to teach the kids still gives me life

If Hound Dog loves soccer does he play it like a guy or like a dog or does it like all depend on his mood?

Chapter 123

Must be awkward knowing you’ve seen your senpai naked on national TV

lol “His [Mirio’s] face is a good one. Easy to draw.”

Chapter 125

I like that Overhaul is kind of a look at what Crazy Diamond could be if it was wielded by a proper villain and not just some chaotic teenager

Chapter 126

Yagi’s got some solid reasons for not being on board with this whole let’s send the sixteen-year-olds to war idea, but it also cracks me up we’re getting peanut gallery commentary from the other teachers in the teachers’ office in the background of the panels.

lol “Three, it’d be awkward for me” but also another solid reason

”..you’ve got to make him smile” “He’s got a lot of respect for humor” something something King Kai

Tickle Hell. Why WHY are you like this, Horokoshi?

Of course Sir Nighteye’s a Capricorn. Of course he is.

Chapter 131

Let’s be perfectly honest here, with Yagi’s body the way it is, an early death is inevitable. The gruesome part though makes me curious how an upcoming event in the manga is going to pass and if maybe that will be when Sir Nighteye’s foresight will come to pass. It would also make sense since the manga feels currently (in the 240’s) like it’s about to shift and evolve as a story, like a potential half way point is looming

Also, this chapter lends insight into why Midoriya is telling us this story as a narrator. Given whatever’s about to happen it makes sense that he would want to lay everything out to the next successor of One for All. It only strengthens my theory that the end of the manga is Midoriya looking at the reader and offering us a chance to become his successor in some manner.

Chapter 132

Tamaki’s quirk is basically you are what you eat. I’m screaming. lol

Chisaki’s plan kind of reminds me how in a way Black Clover and BnHA are tackling some similar questions and themes. There’s a hierarchy that’s existed for generations and there are people who want to upend it. However a key difference is Asta is a driving force for changing the system, which he begins to understand more and more as he goes along, which is I think why we’re starting to see a shift in narrative with the story’s current arc. Meanwhile, Midoriya is trying to preserve the current hierarchy, which while being questioned by the villains, is not really questioned by the heroes (at least not yet). It’s interesting to watch the similarities and differences in Tabata and Horokoshi’s approaches to questioning and challenging concepts like tradition, system, structure, and inequality.

I already know what Eri’s power does and how she’s basically the X-Men mutation cure plot point, so that actually kind of helps here I think. Thank goodness Kirishima’s quirk is basically a defense against needles (that must have been a pain at the doctor’s office for all adults involved as a kid)

Chapter 135

I love Tamaki ngl

Chapter 136

Even though they’re being more blatant in this chapter, I do like that once it’s revealed that Sir Nighteye saw how Yagi will die, it’s part of the motivation for why he does some of what he does like being on the fence at first with Midoriya in terms of acceptance, calling Midoriya’s desire to want to do more for Eri when he met her arrogance, trying to play things as safe as possible, etc…etc… and now he’s reluctant to use his quirk and it all comes back to foreseeing his good friend/mentor/hero’s death even if it’s been six years since

I like that Aizawa is taking the track of basically he knows Midoriya is a hero of a Jump manga so they might as well work together on this because he already knows Midoriya will just run off and try to solve this problem since it’s personal for him. I also kind of hope letting Aizawa help is part of the track the narrative takes because I think actually Midoriya could learn a lot from observing Aisawa up close in a non-school setting about patience, strategy, and timing as well. It might even help Midoriya with his quirk problems.

Chapter 137

Actually enlisting Kirishima, Uraraka, Asui, and Midoriya to help retrieve Eri is probably a good idea considering what the kids were able to do when it was time to rescue Bakugou a while back. While it isn’t ideal asking sixteen-year-olds to take on responsibilities of adults, this is a task this group of kids has shown they are well suited to. Even Asui who was not a direct participant in the rescue but could size up the situation for what it was and make sure the adults knew what was about it happen. Knowing when to go for help is as important as being a helper. The group can benefit from her maturity.

I like that Nejire is using her hair as a scarf

Chapter 138

Gung Ho! Pretty Yure 10! Sure sounds like a play on Futari wa Pretty Cure

Chapter 139

I wonder if Mirio had to get in contact with someone whose quirk increased hair growth so they could get enough hair to make that fabric.

Chapter 141

I can’t wait to see Tamaki’s quirk animated. I want to see this kraken thing in all its glory

I like how in the story about why the underlings joined Hassaikai it continues the theme of how there’s so much wrong with the structure of the world. Like these guys, just like a few others from season three, found themselves sliding down the hierarchy until they were on the streets and at the bottom. Then comes Chisaki who gives them what the hero and common world won’t provide. Of course they will be loyal to him. It also illustrates why Tamaki can’t understand it. It’s not brain washing, Chisaki saved them from the streets in a society that doesn’t care once you hit rock bottom. It reminds me of that guy who could copy himself last season who didn’t realize he was damaging himself mentally in the process until he created an irreversible mental illness. The heroes would want nothing to do with that and so he had no logical place to go but villainy. The way the villains are going about fixing the situation is of course villainous, but I like that the narrative keeps showing us that the villains do have appoint, that their society is indeed broken and in need of some kind of repair. It’ll be interesting to see if the story gets to a point in which the heroes in turn begin to realize this. Or perhaps they won’t be able to realize it until the tables turn since they’re on the top of the hierarchy and don’t really analyze what’s in the shadows. It’s like I was saying a few chapters ago. While Midoriya, like Asta in Black Clover starts out as an outsider who wishes he could be on the inside, Midoriya as he becomes an insider, loses some of that outside perspective while Asta retains it. Even after meeting Endeavor and learning of his hidden villany, Midoriya doesn’t really question if other Endeavors exist in the hero world and the narrative doesn’t really go there either whereas in Black Clover there’s a constant theme of the nobility having a lot of problems and while some are starting to come around, there’s always another asshole to uncover, to challenge. One Piece does this too. There’s the Celestial Dragons and the Marines and once one problematic person gets their just deserts five more show up, but One Piece always tries to kill the evil dream rather than the bad guy for the most part and try to have them learn something if possible, and show that growth and change in society is a multi-level, multi-person effort. Anyway, it’s interesting how these manga all kind of tackle similar things in different ways and this is getting to be too big of a bullet point, but I should expand on this thought sometime properly.

Chapter 142

I think it’s interesting when we run into linguistic nuance in this series. Like for example the yakuza guys from the previous boss’ era clarifying that there are villains that have come into their yakuza group since Chisaki took over and started using the name Overhaul. Even though yakuza do bad things, there’s a distinction, at least to them, between themselves and villains.

Chapter 151

Honestly I would be the threat of STDs and STIs would put Chisaki off sex entirely come to think of it

Chapter 158

The thing is even if you destroy the quirk factor humans will still find yet another hierarchy to create. It’s what we do.

Chapter 159

Then again now that we’ve proven that Sir Nighteye’s quirk can be wrong (which honestly makes sense since the future should be fluid like time) then maybe I was wrong earlier in thinking that Yagi might just die coming up here sooner than later. Though I do know he will eventually die. Because he’s the mentor and because he’s probably like 50 years old anyway so by the time Midoriya gets to a point in which he’s passing on One for All, it’s probably unlikely that Yagi’s still living. Unless I’m wrong about that too and the manga isn’t ending on Midoriya telling his successor enough information to make an informed decision of course.

Chapter 160

Oh good. Spinner learned how to drive from video games.

Honestly surprised Chisaki didn’t consider the fact that when he talked about getting rid of all quirks he was basically threatening the League of Villains with possibly the biggest possible threat out there so of course Tomura was going to neutralize him instead of make him some kind of weirdo martyr.

Chapter 161

I love how Rock Lock’s baby has such a Rock Lock expression their face

Chapter 162

Mirio mentions being the “final hero” and it makes me wonder since Yagi gave Midoriya his quirk instead of Mirio if perhaps that shifted things so Midoriya will be this final hero. Or perhaps Final Hero is idek Mirio’s eventually vigilante name or something. Lots of options

#liveblog #manga liveblog #bnha manga liveblog #mha manga liveblog #bnha manga spoilers #mha manga spoilers #i read a lot of chapters #boku no hero academia #my hero academia

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three-seas-writes · 4 years

Text

Captain Wonder Backstory!!

There’s no pain in this one! I promise

Captain Wonder doesn’t mess with romance. It’s one of his rules, he doesn’t meddle with other peoples love and he doesn’t waste time looking for his own. Not that he thinks it’s wrong or anything, he just doesn’t understand it. He’s never wanted what people idealize as romance, or even the unidealized versions he sees his teammates live through. Hand holding sounds embarrassing and kissing sounds gross. He doesn’t even want to think about sex.

It makes him a freak for most of his life. He gets used to the teasing from teammates, even misses it when some of them die too young. But then, about the time he’s turning 30, things start changing. More and more “freaks” start standing up, demanding respect and rights and change. And it happens. Acceptance comes so quickly it’s a wonder this didn’t happen earlier. There’s so many words he’s never heard of, and the world expects him to be resistant. Captain Wonder stands for good old-fashioned values of freedom and justice, hundreds of thousands of bigoted people believe he’s on their side. He goes to his first pride at 36, picks up two flags, and comes out to the world as aro-ace and proud. The bigots shut up after that.

It keeps him happy for years, until he enlists as a mentor at 41. It’s later than most heroes, but he’s respected and well-known for his calm and serious personality, so he gets assigned a reckless upstart of a kid and a deadly partner named Ibis.

Ibis is 38, and incredible. She fights with long, sweeping blades and a silent demeanor that puts most people on edge, heroes and villains alike. She’s tall and angular, sharp features and piercing eyes. She’s a good match for Captain Wonder, and they’re both good for Harvey. The kid is chaos incarnate, his weather powers routinely spiral out of control and into tornadoes, and he firmly believes that he should be risking his life from the moment he steps into the Association. Captain Wonder thinks he’s a fool.

He keeps that opinion long after Harvey leaves his mentorship. He’s headstrong and careless like only a child can be, 16, because the enlisting age gets higher every year as the public decides super are humans, not fighting machines, and isn’t that something. But working with Harvey begins to reveal bright streaks in his personality. A genuine need to help others. The desire to protect, and be looked up to. A rock-solid resolve. Captain Wonder meets Ibis for meetings once a week to gauge Harvey’s progress, meetings that turn into lunch breaks as their schedules fill.

It takes a year for him to call Harvey by his name, and they grow close quickly after that. At a year and a half a conversation about meal and sleep habits turns into Harvey holding back tears as he explains why he lives alone in Hero Housing, and Captain Wonder spends three hours that night filling out paperwork for him to move in. Harvey starts calling him Cap, and they have Ibis over for dinner twice a week. On his 43rd birthday Harvey enlists Ibis’ help to throw him a surprise party, and it’s the first time in years that he’s enjoyed celebrating. Harvey begins combat training at the two-year mark and everything is better than it’s been for a long time.

It’s been two years, nine months, and six days when he realizes he’d like to hold her hand. He and Ibis are walking to his home from the Association for the bi-weekly dinner when it happens. He thinks about it until Harvey goes to bed at ten, and then pulls out his computer to figure things out the same way he did eleven years ago. It takes far less time than it did back then, mostly due to better internet he’s sure, but after looking through many sweet and well-meaning blog posts about how normal it is to change he finally finds a word he likes. Grey aro-ace. It fits, and he thinks it sounds cool.

He informs Harvey that his labels have changed over breakfast, and is a bit surprised to learn that he didn’t know. Or, to be specific, he’d “figured, but I didn’t know if you knew, y’know?” They miss an hour of morning lessons having a discussion, about the rights movement and the assholes, Harvey talks about being demi-pan and Captain Wonder mentions the teasing from his teammates and they feel closer than he’d ever thought possible.

The first step, he supposes, is actually holding her hand. It’s not something he’s ever had to consider, so it takes about a month before he decides he ought to watch some romantic films. For research. Harvey has lots of suggestions, and they waste a few months on romantic comedies and romantic tragedies and romantic action adventures and romantic buddy-cop movies, which might be his favorite, and in the end he’s a little overwhelmed.

Typically his next step for something this big would be to plan obsessively for months, but he doesn’t get the chance. At three years and two months a villain targets Harvey, supposedly his powers will be perfect to fuel her plans once she’s drained them from him and left him a lifeless husk, and it’s fair to say that Captain Wonder loses his shit. It’s been nearly two decades since he’s been seen seriously fighting a villain, and it seems a bit like people forgot how freaking good at it he was. The villainess is so surprised when he makes it through her traps that it’s almost easy taking her down. Harvey is okay, mostly, and it’s terrifying in a way that Captain Wonder is not comfortable with. He hovers, he knows he’s hovering, but he still hovers the whole time in the ambulance to the Heroes Hospital, in the hospital room as a doctor checks them both over, he even insists on sharing a hospital room with Harvey- with his kid - for the week he’s there. And he is his kid and Captain Wonder spends most of the time worrying and the rest of it wondering how it only took three years for him to emotionally adopt someone when it had never happened in any of the forty other years of his life. They celebrate Harvey’s 20th birthday on his last day in the hospital and Captain Wonder debates whether you can even adopt an adult. They take him home the next day, him and Ibis, and when Harvey passes out Captain Wonder pulls out the dusty wine he never drinks and they each have a glass. It’s the calmest he’s felt all week, sitting here silently drinking wine with good company, and he almost says something. But he likes this moment as it is, and maybe the perfect time to say it passes, but then when he eventually walks Ibis to the door she leans in to kiss his cheek and smiles softly at him, and isn’t that something. The next time they have dinner he ditches a supportive Harvey at home and takes her to a sky-high restaurant and he gets to see that soft smile illuminated by distant city lights.

They take it slow. There are movie nights and dinner dates, and the bi-weekly family dinners. One year, Ibis moves in. Three years, Harvey moves out. Five years, the mentorship ends and he and Ibis register as a couple. They talk about marriage. No papers are ever signed, but they call Harvey their son. Six years, they get a cat. Ibis names her Georgie.

Captain Wonder is 52 when he opens his door on a cold night to find his son carrying an injured supervillain. Alastair’s face is pale and Harvey’s eyes are wet, and it’s only hours later, watching Harvey sleep in a chair next to his old bed and the unconscious villain in it, that he lets himself think about how lucky his son is to find love so young. Three weeks later, watching his son and Alastair interact, he thanks the gods that Harvey’s not such a fool to love someone who wouldn’t love him back.

See! No pain! And this might be the longest short I’ve written, its about three pages in MS Word! This is a backstory piece for the story, and is entirely canon, as well as the first m/f couple I’ve ever written. It’s also pretty special to me because it’s the first time I’ve written a character who is asexual like I am, and when I was asking a friend for feedback it started a great conversation about our sexualities and she discovered she’s demi!! Which was really awesome and a wonderful conversation to have! Anyways I’ll stop rambling now, thanks for reading!

#my writing #my characters #Captain Wonder #Harvey #Ibis #Alastair

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rorynne · 5 years

Text

Time Lost Prologue

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/OC

Summary: An accident during a mission sends Shield agent Victoria Taylor back in in time to the second world war. There she enlists the help of Peggy Carter, Steve Rogers, and Bucky Barnes to find the object that can send her back.

Warnings: Nothing much in this one, No bucky in the prologue, Nazis are mentioned

Word count: 1.8k

A/N: This is my first go at a series in a long time, dunno how regularly it will be updated but im trying. It will end up being very canon divergent in later chapters most likely ignoring civil war onwards.

Tori adjusted her dress slightly as she watched the party from her perch atop a high bar stool. Who would have thought that experimental arms dealers liked 40’s themed parties? Apparently other arms dealers by the looks of it. “This place is a real who's who of people you don't want to fuck with, isn't it?” She stated more than asked as she stirred her drink with a mixing straw.

“Yeah, unless you’re us.” Clint's voice said through the communication device in her ear.

She chuckled, taking a sip of her drink. “Unless you're us. How is setting up that distraction going?” She peeked down the hall where two guards stood watch over the entrance to another corridor. “Macho Man and Biceps Mcgee don’t look apt to let me through.”

“Patience Tay-tay, patience.” She rolled her eyes as he continued. “The Blues Brothers should be off your back in a few minutes.”

“Stop calling me that. I didn't need to help you with this mission, remember?” She said, leaning against the bar. This was not how she intended to spend her day off. “Why did I agree to this again?”

“Because I’m your best friend and you love me?” He offered as the lights flickered. Tori looked down the hall again to see the two guards moving to investigate. Bingo.

“Oh, right.” She said as she slid off the stool. “You wouldn't stop begging me until I caved.” Head held high, she walked into the hallway as if she owned the place. “You owe me an introduction to Captain America when this is done.”

“You know, I wouldn't need to introduce the two of you if you just joined the avengers.” He said as she turned down the now unguarded corridor. “The door you're looking for should be on your left.”

“I don't like the limelight.” She defended, “Remember the entire reason why your asking me to do this is because you can't walk into a room without being recognized anymore. Not after what happened in New York.”

“Yeah, yeah. You would think people would have forgotten by now.” Clint grumbled making Tori stifle a laugh. Forget the people that saved New York from giant space whales? As if. She tried the door Clint had directed her to and found it locked. She sighed. “Probably should have expected that.” She pulled a bobby pin out of her hair and started to pick the lock. “So what exactly am I looking for here? Just some files?”

“That's what Hill said.” He confirmed. “Probably something on the tech they are trying to sell, you know, arms dealery stuff.” The lock clicked and the door swung open. Tori quickly slipped inside, closing the door behind her.

Wasting no time, she immediately started pilfering the desk in front of her, looking for anything that might be of note. “This guys desk is a fucking mess. Do you have any clue what I’m looking for specifically?”

“Uhhh.” Clint replied, making Tori groan.

“You didn't think to ask for specifics?” Jesus Christ, half of these documents are in German, do you even kn-” Her eyes went wide as she looked up. She didn't know how she managed to miss the giant, bell-shaped, hunk of metal with a fucking swastika in the middle of it, when she entered the room, but she did. Especially since, now that she noticed it, the thing seemed to produce a low, unnatural hum. “Uh, Clint?”

“What is it? Did you find something? You gotta hurry up the guards are on their way back.” Clint urged as she approached the Nazi bell.

“Are you sure Maria only said anything about files?” The bell seemed to grow more agitated as she stepped closer, vibrating strongly enough that its edges seemed to blur. “What the hell is this thing?” As she reached out, the door crashed open. She whipped around to see the two guards from earlier, their guns aimed directly at her. Thinking fast, she dove towards the desk as the guns fired. The bullets hit the bell with a thundering clang, causing the bell to go deathly silent before emitting a dull blue glow. The glow quickly intensified into a blinding blue-white light until a shock wave of energy exploded from the bell with a deafening gong.

Tori was thrown against the back wall with such force she saw stars. Groaning, she stumbled to her fee as alarms started blaring. Swearing to herself, she blindly grabbed a handful of loose papers, and ran out of the room, jumping over the two, now unconscious, guards in the process. Glancing both ways down the hall, she swore again as she saw a swarm of guards running down the way she came. Papers in hand, she sprinted down the corridor away from the guards.

“Clint? I could use a little back up right about now!” She hollered but got no response. “Clint!” she said again, raising a hand to her ear. Her heart dropped when she felt no communicator. “Son of a bitch.” Hooking a right down another hallway, she stumbled as the building shook, another loud gong ripping from the bell now rooms away. Damn that thing was loud. The walls began to crack from the force of the shock waves. It didn't take a rocket scientist to realize that bell was going to bring the entire building down.

Tori looked over her shoulder, the guards were nowhere to be seen. God only knew if they were going to come back or if they had decided to save themselves. With the noises the building was making, Tori honestly couldn't blame them if they chose the second option. The reg glint of an exit sign caught her eye as she turned down yet another hall. “Thank god.” She gasped, forcing herself to run just a little faster. She lunged at the exit as a third gong tore through the building.

She fell out of the emergency exit gasping for breath as the sound of sirens screeched over head. She froze as she took in her surroundings. Why was it so dark? Pulling her phone out of her bra, she checked the time. 5:36 pm glowed up at her brightly. She shook her head, that was impossible. It was far far too dark. She looked back at the building she escaped from, only to find it completely restored to its original state. Except, she noticed, there was no door for her to exit out of. “What the fuck is going on here?”

The sirens continued as she turned on her phone’s flashlight. No signal, she noticed, great. She walked out of the alley and down the street, not a single light was on anywhere, not even streetlights. Did that bell have something to do with this? She looked down at the papers she managed to grab as the sound of planes roared overhead. ‘Die Glocke’ was all she was able to read before being unceremoniously dragged into the shop next to her.

“What the bloody hell do you think you're doing? Walking around with a torch in the middle of an air raid? Are you mad?” The woman scolded, Tori’s phone in her hand. Tori’s jaw dropped as the woman fumbled with her phone: Peggy Carter. The Peggy Carter. The same one whose picture Tori passed every day walking into the shield offices. That Peggy Carter was now standing in front of her, trying to figure out how a cell phone worked. “How do you turn this bloody thing-”

An explosion rocked the street, shattering the glass of the shop they were in. Both women dove to the floor on instinct. Tori took the phone from Peggy and turned off the light. She popped her head up and peeked through the broken window. The building she had just escaped from was now reduced to a pile of rubble. Holy shit, she realized, That bell has sent her back in time. She had no chance to rationalize this information when she heard the signature sound of a gun being cocked. She turned to see Peggy pointing a pistol at Tori’s head.

“Who are you, what are you doing here, and what is that?” Peggy gestured to Tori’s phone. Oh god, how does someone even begin to explain time travel via Nazi bell.

Tori took a deep breath. “Do you want the answer that make me look like a nutcase? Or the quickly cobbled together lie you probably won't believe?”

“I want the truth” Peggy answered firmly, making Tori feel very much like a scolded child.

“My name is Victoria Taylor. I am here because of an accident.” She said slowly, trying to give herself time to plan out how to explain time travel. “I, well, I was sent back in time by a giant Nazi bell.” Tori glanced at the crumpled papers still in her hand. “Here!” She shoved the papers towards Peggy. “Die glocke, the bell! Maybe this can help explain it.” Peggy eyed her warily before taking the papers. Peggy squinted at them, reading slowly with the lack of light. Slowly, she lowered her gun, instead focusing on the documents.

Peggy sighed, “You're right. Your story does make you sound like a nutter, but these documents…” her voice trailed off as another bomb rocked the street. “It isn’t safe up here.” She said simply, grabbing Tori by the arm and pulling her towards the back of the building. “How did you get into this situation Victoria?”

Tori stumbled, trying to keep up with Peggy, as she dragged Tori through the shop. “I’m an agent of shield.” She paused for a moment, should she really be saying this? “An organization you help form after the war.”

“At this point the war doesn't feel like it will ever be over.” Peggy sighed again, stopping in front of a blank wall. She stepped forward and pressed an unseen switch. The wall opened up to reveal a small elevator.

Tori stopped just short of following Peggy inside. “Are you sure this is a good idea during an air raid?”

“We don't have time for this nonsense.” Peggy said, rolling her eyes and pulling Tori in by the collar just as the doors began to close. Peggy looked over the papers again in the dim light of the elevator. “You said you were an agent Victoria?”

“Yes.”

“And no doubt you want to get back to your time.”

“Well, yeah, that would be preferable.”

Peggy nodded. “Then I supposed, you would have no issue helping us find this bell HYDRA created.”

Tori looked at her, “Who is ‘us’ in this equation?”

“The Strategic Scientific Reserve. SSR for short. Have you heard of it Agent Taylor?” The elevator rattled as more bombs exploded above.

Tori scoffed, “Heard of it? I was named after one of the agents. Yeah, I’ll be glad to help, especially if it gets me home.”

Peggy furrowed her brow, “What agent were you named after?”

“Agent Victoria Rose Taylor? My family has been in shield since its inception, I grew up hearing all the stories about her.”

Peggy shook her head as the elevator stopped. “There is no Agent Victoria Taylor. Unless you count yourself.” She said before stepping out into the hall.

Tori went wide eyed as Peggy’s words sank in. “Oh my god. I was named after myself.”

#bucky barnes #bucky #bucky x original female character #bucky fanfic #marvel fic #avengers fanfiction

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hippychick006 · 5 years

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4.15 - Death takes a holiday

Another one under the cut. This is why Season 4 is taking me so long to get through, there’s a lot going on in each episode. Overall another good episode that starts out as a MOTW but turns out to be stopping one of the seals.

It’s been a long time since I learned first aid, but I don’t think CPR is the right approach for someone shot point blank range in the heart.

Oh, he came back to life. Well what do I know. Carry on.

Sam and Dean are pretending that the angst of the previous case hasn’t affected them so I guess I’ll go along with it too.

Bobby found the case this time. People are not dying - along with our buddy shot in the heart, a terminal cancer patient walked out of a cancer hospice so it sounds like their kind of case.

Oh, I was also wrong about Sam and Dean pretending that everything is okay. Dean’s holding a grudge. Siblings! In fairness to Dean, I’ve been holding a grudge with my sibling since I was 3 year old.

They are interviewing the guy shot in the heart, posing as bloggers “floored by the lord dot com”. Sam’s taken over from Dean in asking the weird questions department. “You wouldn't have happened to have swung by a crossroads in the past week or so?” and “Maybe you met someone? With black eyes? Or red?” They leave pretty quickly after that line of questioning.

They figure out that reapers aren’t taking souls for some reason so decide to talk to the last person who died to see if they can tell them what’s going on. This involves holding a seance at the grave.

While Sam’s setting up, Dean argues about whether they should be doing this, since what’s the problem if good people don’t die. Sam responds that it’s the natural order.

DEAN: You don't see the irony in that? I mean, you and me, we're like the poster boys of the unnatural order. All we do is ditch death.

SAM: Yeah, but the normal rules don't really apply to us, do they?

Dean laughs, then realises Sam is being serious: “We’re no different than anybody else!” Sam disagrees and says they are.

They get interrupted and awkwardly try to explain they are not devil worshippers, but luckily it’s just Alastair in a different meat suit. He TK’s Dean who goes flying into a grave and gets knocked out, and tries the same with Sam who doesn’t move. Sam TK’s Alastair and presumably goes to exorcise him but Alastair nopes right on out of there. Wuss.

Back at the motel, Dean’s got a headache from his head connecting with a gravestone. He asks why Alastair couldn’t fling Sam and Sam acts shifty. Dean says, “Sam, do me a favor. If you're gonna keep your little secrets, I can't really stop you, but just don't treat me like an idiot, okay?” Sam tries to deny it, but he’s a terrible liar where Dean is concerned.

Bobby keeps getting mentioned on the cases now and I might have to go back and look at when that started in earnest, because it’s actually annoying now. Anyway, they figure out they are dealing with one of the seals. Kill a reaper under the solstice moon which is the following night.

DEAN: How do you ice a reaper? You can't kill death. Oh Dean, in Season 10, it’ll be as easy as just grabbing his scythe.

Dean comes up with the plan to become ghosts so they can talk to the reapers (who can only see dead people or those near death). Sam says it’s crazy but goes along with it.

Cue Pamela Barnes for the third time this season. She seems a little grumpy this time around though. Can’t say I blame her, do they ever visit just for a beer?

They have an argument with Pamela about the crazy plan, and I’m surprised she didn’t already have this with Dean when he went to pick her up. After the “end of the world” speech though, she agrees to help and performs the required spell.

She whispers the incantation to bring them back in Sam’s ear. I’m not sure how legit it is since it’s “You have got a great ass.” Sam laughs and Dean wants in on the joke.

Poor boys, you can tell it’s freezing weather filming this one and Sam’s in just a hoody and t-shirt. They almost get run over by a jogger and that’s when Dean decides to see if he can get inside Sam (don’t @ me because that’s what he does, I’m only typing what I see). Sam however is not in the mood - presumably due to the whole mission thing - so tells Dean to get out of him (again Sam’s words, not mine). Oh show.

They stumble across the house of the last kid to die in the town who appears to be the only person that can see them so they decide to pay him a visit.

Sam tries to tell the kid, Cole, as nicely as possible that he’s dead, and Cole responds with “no shit Sherlock” - not his exact words since he’s 12, but near enough.

They find out the reaper did visit but was taken by black smoke. At that point another reaper appears and it’s Tessa from In My Time of Dying, but Dean can’t remember her. One random kiss later and he has his memories back. Sam seems a little cold to Tessa, but she did almost take his brother away so I think he can be forgiven.

Dean stays with Tessa while Sam goes to find Cole, who ran away when Tess appeared. Sam lies to the kid and tells him he can keep the reapers away if Cole will help them. It’s interesting that Sam can lie with absolute coldness to someone else but not Dean. The scene between them is heartbreaking, kudos on them both.

Meanwhile, Dean and Tessa have a talk. The important point of which is that Dean thinks the angels have given him a second chance. Tessa responds mmm hmmm.

Tessa’s grabbed by the black smoke. They enlist the help of Cole to help them learn how to physically move things and fight so they can go after the demons. Cole punches them and at first they aren’t going to fight a 12 year old, but after one punch too many, Sam soon forgets that shit and goes in for the hit. Luckily Cole knows how to doge by becoming invisible and appearing somewhere else, so they ask him to show them that too.

They turn up at the funeral home (where Cole says he first saw the black smoke). Somebody has went crazy with glow in the dark sigils, which they presume no one else can see. They tag team a demon and think they’ve got the upper hand, but other demons rush in and surround them with a chain of iron. And if that works, why don’t they use them instead of rings of salt which blow away in the wind? I’m confused.

Anyway, it was a trap and Alastair appears (in a different meat suit again) so he has to do the diva eye roll so we know it’s him. Why can’t he just say “It’s me!” Alastair.” He shoots Dean with rock salt. He disappears for a few seconds. When he reappears, Alastair is taunting Sam, about his mojo not working anymore since Sam’s not in his meat suit. This news receives a glare at Sam from Dean. Alastair then shoots Sam this time.

Dean says, “You can shoot us all you want, but you can’t kill us.”

Except Alastair didn’t move up the ranks to become a white eyed demon for nothing. Cue back to Pamela and she hears a noise. She gets up to lock the door and realises the window is open when she can feel a breeze.

While Alastair kills the reapers, Sam sees a light fitting above the trap the reapers are held in. He indicates to Dean and they both concentrate on moving it with their mind.

Cue back to Pamela again who gets attacked by a demon and tries to wake Sam up.

Back at the funeral home, the light finally falls and breaks the trap and Sam, Dean and Tessa disappear, though only Dean and Tessa reappear outside.

Sam has woken up in time to see Pamela get stabbed in the gut and he’s pissed. The demon is impressively TK’d against the motel door and swiftly exorcised. Again, I think we’re supposed to see this as a bad thing. All I see is a dead demon and you’re welcome world.

Sam tries to help Pamela but she can’t die right now due to the reaper situation.

Dean looks for Sam (as he has no idea he’s woken up) and comes across Alastair again who monologues for a minute and then is zapped by lightning. Dean’s suitably confused until Mr Cryptic in a trench coat appears and explains this was a win because they stopped a seal being broken and captured Alastair.

I was about to start calling Castiel out for being useless and not telling them what they were dealing with the moment they hit town, but Dean’s doing that for me right now. Turns out, it wasn’t Bobby that gave them the case, it was Castiel pretending to be Bobby. He didn’t ask directly because they usually do the opposite of what he asks. And he couldn’t help them in the funeral home because the place is warded against angels. Fine, I’ll give a free pass this time.

Dean asks that an exception be made to the people that had escaped death and Cass says “To everything there is a season.” Dean responds that they made an exception for him. Cass says, “You’re different.” This echoes what Sam said earlier in the episode, that they weren’t normal, they are different. Cass disappears in a flash of wings and Tessa appears again asking for Dean’s help.

They go back to Cole’s house where his mother is upset looking through his baby album. Cole realises they are there for him and that Sam lied about stopping the reapers. He tells Dean, “Tell your brother, thanks for nothing.” But between Dean and Tessa, they persuade Cole to move on.

After Cole disappears, Tessa tells Dean to stop lying to himself that the angels have something good in store for him. She says he should trust his instincts. She disappears and Pamela wakes him up.

Pamela’s rightly pissed that she’s dying and regrets ever being introduced to them. She beckons Sam over and whispers to him, “I know what you did to that demon, Sam. I can feel what’s inside of you. If you think you have good intentions, think again,” Sam’s poor face at this, because he wants to believe so much that he can use his tainted blood to do something good.

Pamela dies and Dean asks what she said to Sam. He looks away.

Well, that was traumatic, and On the Head of a Pin is up next. Torturer Dean and super powers Sam. Bring it.

#supernatural #season 4 #rewatch #4.15 #death takes a holiday #episode review

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myouki · 6 years

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Royal Pain: Chapter 4

Credits:

Goth: @nekophy

Palette: @angeutblogo

Ink: @comyet

***

"... H......ould b......ne. Go.........nt in... ock ......... let h......st..."

...wh...wha...?

The high pitched voice from before was speaking. Goth's mind struggled to process what he was hearing and feeling as the fog slowly lifted. His body felt heavy and there was a pool of warmth around his right arm. He groaned, willing his eye sockets to open.

"He... ...ing up!"

Finally winning the fight, Goth's hazy eye light took in the dimly lit room, Palette and an armored woman sitting on his left side with Meryl on the right. A small green glow surrounded the girl's hands, which were pressed against his arm... healing magic.

"Goth, you're okay!" Palette cried, throwing himself on top of the skeleton. The warm feeling on his arm vanished.

"S... space...," the small monster gasped, clenching his socket shut against the excess weight pressing down on him. The prince jumped off as if he'd been shocked, briskly apologizing as he did so.

Goth took a shuddering breath as he replied, "s'fine... what happened?"

The woman next to his friend spoke up, "The assassin was apprehended and taken into custody after being removed from the prince's bedchamber. We believe the man was part of the group that attacked the queen and the prince's carriage over three months ago.

"After we arrived, you went into shock from your injury. The healer here arrived as you fainted, and you were moved to the sick bay to recover after she stopped the bleeding."

Her brown eyes took on a hard edge, "I was notified by Prince Palette that you took on the assassin by yourself." Goth nodded slowly, wondering where she was going with this.

Am I in trouble?

"That's admirable. You seem to have the kind of loyalty and grit I like to see in my soldiers," she stood, thumping her hand against the metal plate covering her chest, "My name is Helleia, Captain of the Royal Guard. I wish to proposition you for an apprenticeship to become one of our soldiers. With enough training, you might even be able to become the prince's personal bodyguard."

Goth played with the idea.

While I'm not a physically oriented monster and I'm pretty small, letting Palette get hurt because of a threat... or worse...

What would have happened if the guards hadn't arrived when they did?

"I'll do it," the small skeleton responded, his expression set.

The woman grinned, "I like that look. We'll begin your training once that arm's fixed up. I'll warn you though, I don't pull punches. You'll be training to defend the royal family with your very life, so you better come prepared." Goth nodded, and the woman turned with a satisfied smile, leaving the room.

"Goth... are you sure you're okay?" Palette questioned, tears still lining his sockets.

"Yeah, my arm doesn't even hurt anymore," the other reassured him, lightly raising the arm that had been placed in a crude sling while he'd been unconscious.

"Why did you stand in front of me like that?" Palette murmured, almost at a whisper, wavering eye lights cast down with his hands bunching up his marrow-stained gown.

Goth's mouth open and shut, as if he were a stranded fish trying to take in air, "Because... I... you... you're important... you're... ah..."

The small skeleton desperately wished he had his scarf so he could hide his face, unable to evade the prince's expectant stare.

What am I supposed to say? I can't say how I really feel! Palette's a prince and I'm... I'm a mere servant. I have no status, no one would ever accept that kind of relationship... and even if the people did accept it, there was no way Palette would reciprocate those feelings! I'm just a friend to him...

"You like him," Meryl announced. Goth's eye light shrunk to a pinprick.

"...Is that true?" the prince asked, the room becoming deathly silent in the wake of his question, "Goth?"

The smaller skeleton's eye light flicked over to Palette. His expression was unreadable.

How does she know? Better question, how could she out me like that!?

Goth's face burned traitorously as he struggled to avoid the words that would undoubtedly shatter his soul once he spoke them aloud, "... I... well... maybe... but I... um...I-"

Every retort in his mind died in away at the feeling of Palette's mouth on his. Time seemed to blur, Goth's disbelief dissolving into joy as he arched up into the kiss. His sockets sliding shut, left hand grasping the taller skeleton's sleeve to pull him deeper into the kiss.

This... this is...

When they finally pulled away Goth laid back against the pillow, gasping for breath in a daze while Palette's starry eye lights locked onto the monster in front of him with stony determination, "What you did earlier was reckless and scared me half to death. When you fainted... I thought I was losing you. I never want that to happen again.

"If you plan on fighting for me, then you better become the strongest so you can win for me because I like you too and I'll never forgive you if you die for me."

Warmth filled Goth's chest as he nodded his skull numbly in response.

"I can get on board with this," both blushing skeletons jumped at Meryl's voice, belatedly remembering she was still in the room, a sly grin plastered across her face.

Goth managed to find his voice first, "But I thought you liked him."

"I did," she shrugged, "I'd be lying if I said I didn't have a crush on him... but I've seen how the prince acts around you. He never acted that way with me, or anyone else for that matter, even before he lost his memories.

"I knew on top of being a servant, I would never be able to hold a candle to the connection you two have... so I gave up. Plus, you both make a ridiculously adorable couple."

The pair blushed brighter. Goth countered, "But I'm a servant, too... the king and his people would never accept-"

"Then don't tell them," she said in a matter-of-fact tone, "At least, not until Prince Palette succeeds the throne. At that point, he'll be the final authority. No one will be able to counter his decision even if they object. I can even help you keep it a secret until then."

She focused on Palette, "Also, Goth's smart and picks things up quickly. I know since I guided him on becoming a servant. You've been learning what it takes to become a king. If you help him learn about the politics of being a ruler as well, the people won't be able to deny his worth and it will ease them into the idea if you decide to make your relationship public."

The taller skeleton gulped, nodding his skull, "I'm willing to give it a shot.... as long as Goth wants to, that is."

The monster in question was faced with two pairs of eyes awaiting his choice. "I...," Goth steeled his resolve, "I know it'll probably be hard, but I want to have a future beside you, Palette. Let's do it."

---

From that point on, Goth spent his mornings and afternoons training as a royal guard and his free time studying with Palette to be a ruler.

Meryl covered for Goth's study sessions with Palette, enlisting the help of the other servants of the castle to covertly take over the small skeleton's chores so he could focus on assisting his prince around his studies.

Goth was glad to have her on their side given her flair for persuasion, rallying everyone to their cause easily. Before long, their relationship became a closely guarded secret among the staff, all silently rooting for the young couple that inspired the hope of one day breaking the status barrier.

Goth had a sneaking suspicion his mentor Helleia actually knew something was going on as well, but she never hinted at the topic if she did.

Their training each day was hard, but effective in teaching the small skeleton how to defend himself and his kingdom, especially once he learned to summon a scythe as his weapon. His small size was actually a boon in combat, allowing him to get around his opponents quickly for sneak attacks and dodging. It also let him continue using his servant's uniform with some extra protection hidden underneath since he too small for the standard metal armor.

Helleia was rather taken with the idea of Goth being a guard in disguise.

The assassin's attack on Palette had also managed to rattle some memories loose, allowing the prince to remember some of the more recent events prior to his arrival at the orphanage. He was most happy about remembering what his mom looked like. He made sure to draw a picture straight away so he wouldn't forget again.

Despite everyone's worries about the repercussions of regaining the lost memories, overall nothing really changed as far as Palette was concerned. He was still the same cheerful skeleton he always was, just with a bit more peace of mind.

King Ink attempted to find his son a suitor throughout the years, but every lady that came to call was politely refused. Palette only held eyes for Goth, even if he couldn't say it aloud.

Though he still made sure to show the smaller skeleton in subtle ways every chance he got.

Years later, about a week after Palette's twenty-fifth birthday, King Ink found he no longer had the soul to rule on his own without his late wife by his side. This led to a ceremony where he abdicated the throne to Palette, making him the new king.

It was during Palette's coronation speech that he announced his desire to take Goth, now second in command of the royal guard and Palette's personal bodyguard, as his queen.

Meryl, appointed to Chief Advisor a few years ago, grinned like a maniac as Helleia let out an amused huff. The former king expressed shock at his son's announcement, but quickly realized this was probably the reason behind Palette's constant refusal to take a bride and gave the pair his blessing.

He knew times were changing.

Through the first week, there was some skepticism and outcry among the people... but as Meryl said so many years ago, Palette's passion and kindness combined with Goth's wisdom and strength was a combination no one could deny.

#Poth #Goth #Palette Roller #Ink #MyWriting

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littlelieshq · 3 years

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hey my loyal readers, ALISE here, your one and only source of gosan’s finest. aren’t you curious about what i have in store for you today? don’t lie, of course you are! well, today’s highlight happens to be the one and only MOON YOHAN. the moon yohan? yes, that’s right, him. you know him, don’t you? TWENTY-FIVE, PROGRAMMER? no? well—i don’t blame you if you don’t, if you’ve seen one gosaner, you’ve seen them all. but this one, he’s a little special—not everyone steals their college’s roommate idea to establish their own startup, after all.

interested? well why wouldn’t you be?

lucky for you i always deliver.

30 UNDER 30 - FORBES KOREA NUMBER 18: MOON YOHAN

( “You went to school here in Gosan, right?” the reporter asks. Yohan nods. “On a scholarship.” )

He always starts with the scholarship.

Sure, Yohan existed before this, but nowadays he controls the narrative, so he starts with the scholarship. It’s best to start this way, keep his family life out of the picture because honestly, it’s quite boring and boring doesn’t go well with the perfect profile he crafted for himself. So, the scholarship.

There are two Gosans: the one he knows, from his parents’ modest restaurant and their modest house in the most modest neighborhood on the island – the servants have to live somewhere, after all, and it’s not like the rich people will do their own laundry, pick their own trash, raise their own kids.

And the one he gets to know after the scholarship: stinking of privilege, of expensive clothes, cars, people. Shining and polished. And fake. ( “It must have been hard to adapt,” the report says. “Being…” “Poor?” Yohan chuckles. “You can say it. Yes, I was poor. It wasn’t easy and I can’t say I have many good memories, but it wasn’t too hard either. It just was.” )

He is smart – hence the scholarship – so he knows he’ll be an easy prey for the rich kids. Except Yohan doesn’t intend on letting any dumbass iljin take advantage of him, so he makes himself useful by offering his services. Math, science, chemistry and physics homeworks at a very fair price. The students flock to him, open their wallets for good grades to please their parents. The teachers pretend they don’t know, not wanting to fail any important student and quite honestly, happy to not spend too much time correcting abysmal homeworks. This is the first thing Yohan learns: rich people can treat you well if they need you.

( “And after this Korea University,” the reporter raises her eyebrows, impressed. “Also on a scholarship. You must have studied a lot.” “Yes, I did.” Yohan shrugs. “But there’s no reward without sacrifice, right?” )

He always leaves this part out because it isn’t pretty. It’s not ugly either, it’s just… uninteresting. Yohan sells homeworks, makes bank, lies to his parents and his older sister that he has friends and all they expect of the teen life, but the truth is, Yohan doesn’t care about those things. He is a genius, with an intellect so developed he graduates high school a year earlier. And now that Yohan has tasted privilege he knows he can’t go back to his modest life, he needs to have that for himself.

Yohan is good with computers, too good, actually. So good he lands yet another scholarship, this time one for Korea University. His family is happy, but for Yohan this is nothing but the natural course of life. Of course he would get a scholarship for a prestigious university, he is a genius.

( “The marines?” Once again the reporter seems impressed. Maybe a bit too much. “Any reason why you chose them instead of something else?” “I was never a physical person, so I thought it would be a good challenge.” Yohan replies, his PR approved answer on the tip of his tongue. “I’m not going to lie, I thought I was going to die.” he chuckles. “But I did it anyway.” )

Yohan knows that in this life it’s not about who you are, but who you seem to be, and he is a man with a vision, one that leads to pausing college after one year to join the marines for his enlistment. He has to do it anyway, might as well get it out of the way and prove himself to be a great man by joining the hardest corporation. It will look great on his resume, he knows.

( “And then at the young age of…” the reporter checks her notes, “twenty one you had the idea that changed not only your life but communication as we know it.” “I wouldn’t go so far, but it was a good idea, wasn’t it?” Yohan asks, a charming smile on his lips. )

He goes back to university, rooms with a foreigner guy who has dreams. One of those stupid idealistic types Yohan believed only exists in dramas. Except this guy is real and he has a very good idea for one of his projects: an AI that can understand spoken language and simultaneously translate the speech into subtitles. The guy intends to use to help education around the world or some other stupid idea. Yohan intends to help himself and no one else.

Yohan is smart enough to know how to manipulate his roommate into walking him through the early stages of development, from there he takes matters into his own hands: starts coding the prototype of the app, learns how to build the algorithm from scratch. Three months later Yohan is taking the project to investors, showing how profitable the idea can be in the right hands. AIs are the future and Yohan already started it. Well, his roommate started it for him, but honestly, who is going to believe him?

So this is how the story goes:

Moon Yohan, a man born in a working class family, invents all by himself an AI that will revolutionize communications around the world. The investors love the idea, their PR people love that Yohan looks good enough that even people outside of the tech environment will want to know more about him.

( “And what exactly does pyxis mean?” the reporter asks. “Why did you choose this name for your startup and the name lyra for your AI?” Yohan smiles. “They are constellations names. My father always told me to shoot for the stars, so it sounded fitting, don’t you think?” )

He signs the papers to found PYXIS a day after he graduates. The startup is located at the top of a commercial building in Gosan, two small rooms and Yohan plus four other employees. Sure, he has an initial investment of a few million won, but this part doesn’t look very good when people write his profile, so he keeps it out. People love an underdog, so Yohan gives that to him, the boy who had a dream and worked hard towards it.

Soon PYXIS is signing contracts with entertainment and video companies, the company going from a small startup to a medium sized company to something so big Yohan needs to hire a juridic department, HR and marketing, the one he leaves on his sister’s hands. LYRA, his AI, is on k-pop concerts, cellphones and soon even governmental programs.

Yohan is on the cover of magazines, giving TED talks, meeting creators and CEOs of other technology companies, politicians, mingling with celebrities. Three years and more, now overseas, investments after, PYXIS grows and Yohan doesn’t see it ever stopping. Sometimes he thinks about his roommate, wonders what he is doing and if he knows, but those thoughts never stay in his mind for too long, he has better things to think about.

( “It’s a very incredible career for such a young person. You truly are impressive, Moon-ssi.” the reporter smiles when they end the interview. “Am I?” Yohan chuckles, but he knows he is. “I don’t know about that, but that’s not too bad for a poor kid, right?” No, not too bad. )

#ll:accepted #krp

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sinrau · 4 years

Link

Clint Lorance had been in charge of his platoon for only three days when he ordered his men to kill three Afghans stopped on a dirt road.

A second-degree murder conviction and pardon followed.

Today, Lorance is hailed as a hero by President Trump.

His troops have suffered a very different fate.

Depression

Fatal car crash

Shooting death

Cancer

Hospitalizations

Drug abuse

PTSD

Arrests

Alcoholism

Suicide

‘The Cursed Platoon’

By Greg Jaffe

James O. Twist poses with local children during his deployment in Afghanistan in 2012. (Courtesy of the Twist family)

They thought of the calls and texts from him that they didn’t answer because they were too busy with their own lives — and Twist, who had a caring wife, a good job and a nice house — seemed like he was doing far better than most. They didn’t know that behind closed doors he was at times verbally abusive, ashamed of his inner torment and, like so many of them, unable to articulate his pain.By November 2019, Twist, a man the soldiers of 1st Platoon loved, was gone and Lorance was free from prison and headed for New York City, a new life and a star turn on Fox News.This story is based on a transcript of Lorance’s 2013 court-martial at Fort Bragg, N.C., and on-the-record interviews with 15 members of 1st Platoon, as well as family members of the soldiers, including Twist’s father and wife. The soldiers also shared texts and emails they exchanged over the past several years. Twist’s family provided his journal entries from his time in the Army. Lorance declined to be interviewed.In New York, Sean Hannity, Lorance’s biggest champion and the man most responsible for persuading Trump to pardon him, asked Lorance about the shooting and soldiers under his command.Lorance had traded in his Army uniform for a blazer and red tie. He leaned in to the microphone. “I don’t know any of these guys. None of them know me,” Lorance said of his former troops. “To be honest with you, I can’t even remember most of their names.”

The soldiers of 1st Platoon tell their story

An ‘entire month of despair’

Soldiers from the 1st Platoon fire a mortar during a firefight with Taliban in April 2012 in Kandahar province, southern Afghanistan. (Baz Ratner/Reuters)

The 1st Platoon soldiers came to the Army and the war from all over the country: Maryland, California, Pennsylvania, Oregon, Indiana and Texas to name just a few. They joined for all the usual reasons: “To keep my parents off my a–,” said one soldier.

“I just needed a change,” said another.

A few had tried college but quit because they were bored or failing their classes. “I didn’t know how to handle it,” Gray said of college. “I was really immature.”

Others joined right out of high school propelled by romantic notions, inherited from veteran fathers, grandfathers and great-grandfathers, of service and duty. Twist’s father served in Vietnam as a clerk in an air-conditioned office before coming back to Michigan and opening a garage. In his spare time Twist Sr. was a military history buff, a passion that rubbed off on his son, who visited World War II battle sites in Europe with his dad. Twist was just 16 when he started badgering his parents to sign his enlistment papers and barely 18 when he left for basic training. His mother had died of cancer only a few months earlier.

“I got pictures of him the day we dropped him off, and he didn’t even wave goodbye,” his father recalled. “He was in pig heaven.”

Members of the 1st Platoon James O. Twist, Reyler Leon, Joe Morrissey, Andy Lehrer, Mike McGuinness, Dallas Haggard (kneeling) and Brandon Krebs pose with a flag in Afghanistan in 2012. (Courtesy of the Twist family)

Several of the 1st Platoon soldiers enlisted in search of a steady paycheck and the promise of health insurance and a middle-class life. “I needed to get out of northeast Ohio,” McGuinness said. “There wasn’t anything there.”

In 1999, he was set to pay his first union dues and go to work alongside his steelworker grandfather when the plant closed. So he became a paratrooper instead, eventually deploying three times to Afghanistan.

McGuinness didn’t look much like a paratrooper with his thick, squat body. But he liked being a soldier, jumping out of planes, firing weapons and drinking with his Army buddies. After a while the war didn’t make much sense, but he took pride in knowing that his soldiers trusted him and that he was good at his job.

Nine months before 1st Platoon landed in rural southern Afghanistan, a team of Navy SEALs killed Osama bin Laden.

Jarred Ruhl, Dallas Haggard and Mike McGuinness in Afghanistan in June 2012. (Courtesy of the Carson family)

Samuel Walley, the badly wounded soldier Twist pulled from the blast crater, wondered if they might be spared combat. “Wasn’t that the goal to kill bin Laden?” he recalled thinking. “Isn’t that checkmate?”

Around the same time, Twist was trying to make sense of what was to come. “I feel like the Army was a good decision, but also in my mind is a lot of dark thoughts,” he wrote in a spiral notebook. “I could die. I could come back with PTSD. I could be massively injured.”

“Maybe,” he hoped, “it will start winding down soon.”

But the decade-long war continued, driven by new, largely unattainable goals. When McGuinness saw where the platoon was headed — just 15 or so miles from the spot in southern Afghanistan where he had spent his second tour — he warned the new soldiers they were going to be “fighting against dudes who just really f—ing hate you.”

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They were told by commanders they were waging a counterinsurgency war in which their top priority was winning the support of the people and protecting them from the Taliban. But no one seemed entirely sure how to accomplish that goal. They helped build a school that never opened because of a lack of teachers and willing students. They met with village elders who insisted they knew nothing about the Taliban’s operations or plans.

An Afghan girl watches as soldiers from the 1st Platoon walk by during a mission in April 2012, in the Zhary district of Kandahar province, southern Afghanistan. (Baz Ratner/Reuters)

In May 2012, they moved to a new compound near Payenzai, a remote Afghan village west of Kandahar, which consisted of little more than mud-walled houses, hardscrabble farmers and the Taliban.

So began what Twist described, in a blog post written years later, as an “entire month of despair.”

Four soldiers were severely wounded in quick succession. On June 6, Walley lost his leg and arm to a Taliban bomb. Eight days later, yet another enemy mine wounded Mark Kerner and 1st Lt. Dominic Latino, the platoon leader. Then, on June 23, a sniper’s bullet tore through Matthew Hanes’s neck, leaving him paralyzed.

The platoon was briefly sent back to a larger base a few miles away to shower, meet with mental-health counselors and pick up their new platoon leader. Lorance had served a tour as an enlisted prison guard in Iraq before attending college and becoming an infantry officer. He had spent the first five months of his Afghanistan tour as a staff officer on a fortified base.

This was his first time in combat.

1st Lt. Clint Lorance during training at Fort Bragg before the deployment to Afghanistan in 2012. (Photo by Alan Gladney)

“We’re not going to lose any more men to injuries in this platoon,” he told then-Sgt. 1st Class Keith Ayres, his platoon sergeant, shortly after taking over on June 29, according to Ayres’s testimony.

His strategy, he said, was a “shock and awe” campaign designed to cow the enemy and intimidate villagers into coughing up valuable intelligence. When an Afghan farmer and his young son approached the outpost’s front gate and asked permission to move a section of razor wire a few feet so that the farmer could get into his field, Lorance threatened to have Twist and the other soldiers on guard duty kill him and his boy.

“He pointed at the child . . . at the little, tiny kid,” Twist testified. He estimated the child was 3 or 4 years old.

On Lorance’s second day, he ordered two of his sharpshooters to fire within 10 to 12 inches of unarmed villagers. His goal was to make the Afghans wonder why the Americans were shooting at them and motivate them to attend a village meeting that Lorance had scheduled for later in the week, his soldiers testified.

His real motive, though, seems to have been cruelty. “It’s funny watching those f—ers dance,” Lorance said, according to the testimony of one of his soldiers. Lorance didn’t pull the trigger. Instead, he stood by his men in the guard towers, picked the targets and issued orders. His troops finally balked when he told them to shoot near children. They refused again a few hours later when he ordered them to file a false report saying that they had taken fire from the village.

“If I don’t have the support of my NCOs then I’ll f—ing do it myself,” Lorance exclaimed, according to testimony, referring to noncommissioned officers.

Sgt. 1st Class Keith Ayres looks over maps with other soldiers from the 82nd Airborne Division in April 2012, before a joint mission with the Afghan army in Kandahar province. (Baz Ratner/Reuters)

On the day of the killings for which he would be convicted, Lorance posted a sign in the platoon headquarters stating that no motorcycles would be permitted in his unit’s sector. The platoon’s soldiers were falsely told before the day’s patrol that motorcycles should be considered “hostile and engaged on sight.” Several soldiers testified that Lorance told them that senior U.S. officials had ordered the change. At least two sergeants recalled the guidance had come from the Afghans and did not apply to U.S. forces. Due to the conflicting testimony, the jury of Army officers acquitted Lorance of changing the rules of engagement. Still, Lorance’s actions left soldiers confused on the critical, life-or-death question of when they were authorized to open fire.

The mission that day was a foot patrol into a nearby village to meet the elders.

Less than 30 minutes after they rolled out of the gate, three men on a motorcycle approached a cluster of Afghan National Army troops at the front of their formation. Lorance and his troops were standing about 150 to 200 yards away in an orchard, tucked behind a series of five-foot-high mud walls on which the Afghans grew grapes.

At the trial, Lorance’s soldiers recalled how he had ordered them to fire.

“Why aren’t you shooting?” he demanded.

A U.S. soldier fired and missed. The motorcycle carrying the three men, none of whom appeared to be armed, came to a stop. Upon hearing the shots, McGuinness began running toward Lorance, who was closer to the front of the U.S. patrol, to see why they were shooting.

The puzzled Afghans were now standing next to the stopped motorcycle, “trying to figure out what had happened,” according to one soldier’s testimony. Gray, who was watching from a nearby armored vehicle, recognized the eldest of the three men as someone the Americans regularly met with in the village. He recalled the Afghans waving at them.

Todd Fitzgerald testifies during Clint Lorance’s 2013 court-martial at Fort Bragg, N.C.

“Smoke ’em,” Lorance ordered over the radio.

At first Gray and the other soldiers in the armored vehicle weren’t sure whom Lorance wanted them to shoot. “There was a back and forth with the three of us in the vehicle,” Gray recalled in an interview.

Then Pvt. David Shilo, who was in the turret of the armored vehicle just inches from Gray, fired, striking one of the men, who fell into a drainage ditch. Because the platoon had been told that morning that motorcycles weren’t allowed in their sector, Shilo testified that he thought he was acting on a lawful order. Shilo declined to be interviewed.

The two surviving Afghan men bent to retrieve their dead colleague when Shilo cleared his weapon and shot again, killing a second Afghan. The third man ran away. Two U.S. soldiers testified that it was possible that an Afghan soldier also fired.

A few minutes later, a boy approached the dead men and the motorcycle, which was standing on the side of the road with its kickstand still down. Lorance ordered Shilo to fire a third time and disable the bike. This time he refused.

“I wasn’t going to shoot a 12-year-old boy,” Shilo testified.

David Shilo testifies during Clint Lorance’s 2013 trial at Fort Bragg, N.C.

Relatives of the dead were now on the scene screaming and crying. Lorance’s immediate superior officer, Capt. Patrick Swanson, who was two miles away and couldn’t see what was happening, ordered him over the radio to search the bodies.

Lorance was convicted of lying to Swanson, telling him that villagers had carried off the corpses before his men could examine them. In fact, Lorance’s troops searched the bodies of the dead Afghans and found ID cards, scissors, some pens and three cucumbers, but no weapons, according to testimony.

The troops continued their patrol into the village while McGuinness and a small team of soldiers provided cover from a nearby roof. About 30 minutes after the first shooting, McGuinness spotted two Afghan men talking on radios.

“We have to do something to the Americans,” one of the men was saying, according to U.S. intercepts. McGuinness and his troops received permission from the company headquarters to fire and killed the two men. The platoon cut short the patrol and returned to the base.

At the outpost the soldiers were shaken. “This doesn’t feel right,” Gray said.

“It’s not f—ing right at all,” McGuinness replied.

Lucas Gray, Joe Fjeldheim and Mike McGuinness in Afghanistan 2012. (Courtesy of the Carson family)

A few minutes later Lorance burst into the platoon’s headquarters ebullient. “That was f—ing awesome,” he exclaimed, according to court testimony.

“Ayres looked sick,” one of the platoon’s soldiers testified. McGuinness was furious.

The lieutenant tried to reassure his sergeants. “I know how to report it up [so] nobody gets in trouble,” he said, according to testimony.

Lorance’s soldiers turned him in that evening, and at the July 2013 trial, 14 of his men testified under oath against him. Four of those soldiers received immunity in exchange for their testimony. Lorance did not appear on the stand, and not one of his former 1st Platoon soldiers spoke in his defense. The trial lasted three days. It took the jury of Army officers three hours to find him guilty of second-degree murder, making false statements and ordering his men to fire at Afghan civilians. The jury handed down a 20-year sentence.

In response to a Lorance clemency request, an Army general reviewed the conviction and reduced the sentence by one year.

‘Why do you care so much?’

Dave Zettel reveals a tattoo of a lighter to represent the 82nd deployment outside his home in Blythewood, S.C. (Bonnie Jo Mount/The Washington Post)

The war crimes and their aftermath followed Lorance’s soldiers home to Fort Bragg and, in some cases, into their nightmares. On many nights Gray woke up to the image of a group of Afghan soldiers surrounding his cot and emptying their rifles into his sleeping body in retaliation for the murders.

“I dreamed it,” he said, “because I thought that’s what would happen.”

Dave Zettel wasn’t on the patrol when the killings were committed but was in the guard tower when Lorance ordered him and another soldier to fire harassing shots into the neighboring village. On his first full day back in the States, Zettel went out to a dinner with a large group from the platoon and their families.

By the end of the night, the soldiers, rattled from the tour, the stress of Lorance’s upcoming trial and the return home, were intoxicated and emotionally falling apart. Zettel held it together until he was alone in a taxi with his wife and brother. In the quiet of the cab, he felt a crushing guilt that he had made it home unscathed.

“I just lost my s—. I felt like a failure,” he said. “I felt abandoned and so f—ing angry.”

In Afghanistan, Army investigators, who were primarily pursuing Lorance, threatened Zettel with aggravated assault charges for the shootings in the tower. And they showed McGuinness a charge sheet accusing him of murder for killing the Afghans who were talking on the radios about targeting Americans.

The threats of prosecution hung over them for months. Eventually, the Army concluded that McGuinness’s actions were justified. Prosecutors never pursued charges against Zettel.

Instead the Army issued administrative letters of reprimand to Zettel and Matthew Rush, the soldier who fired the rounds at the civilians from the tower. Zettel had watched from the tower but did not shoot.

The 1st Platoon leadership team in Afghanistan in May 2012. From left: Dan Williams, Mike McGuinness, Chris Murray (sitting), Keith Ayres, Dominic Latino and Jace Myers (sitting, right). (Courtesy of the Carson family)

Ayres and McGuinness — the senior sergeants in the platoon — received disciplinary letters, which can hinder or delay promotions, for their failure to turn Lorance in sooner or stop the killings on the third day.

McGuinness legally changed his surname, which had been Herrmann, in an effort to shed the stigma of the crimes. “I wanted to get away from the entire situation and I thought I’ll change units and no one will know,” he said. But, because of the investigation and trial, McGuinness’s orders to report to an airborne unit in Italy were canceled. “I ended up staying. People didn’t forget,” he said. “It was awful.”

Shilo, who fired the fatal shots at the men on the motorcycle, was granted immunity and left the Army not long after the trial.

Lucas Gray and James O. Twist in Afghanistan in 2012. (Courtesy of the Twist family)

Even those who weren’t punished or even on the patrol that day felt tainted. To some of their fellow troops they were the “murder platoon,” a bunch of out-of-control soldiers who had wantonly killed Afghans. To others they were turncoats who had flipped on their commander. Gray was waiting for a parachute jump at Fort Bragg when he overheard a lieutenant colonel deride the platoon as nothing but a bunch of “traitors and cowards.” Gray was just a low-ranking specialist, so he kept his mouth shut.

The unit had seen some of the heaviest fighting of the long Afghanistan war, but received no awards for valor. There was no recognition for Twist, who had pulled Walley from a blast crater and applied a tourniquet to the remains of his arm and leg. No one acknowledged Joe Fjeldheim, the platoon medic, who had cut a hole in Hanes’s neck and inserted a breathing tube after a sniper’s bullet left him paralyzed and choking for air.

“Not a single write up. The only thing we received were Purple Hearts for the guys that got messed up,” Zettel said. “We were treated like we had an infectious disease. The Lorance issue evaporated any support from the Army when we got back, and it was absolutely crushing to those who needed help.”

“I think when you see stuff like that sometimes it just flips a switch in some people and you’re just not the same. … I almost drank myself to death for two years,” said Lucas Gray at home in Pulaski, Va. (Bonnie Jo Mount/The Washington Post)

A group from the unit gathered regularly at Zettel’s apartment off post to drink. Some Saturdays Fjeldheim would show up at 9:30 a.m. with booze and a plan to stay numb through the weekend. When the troops were too hung over to make it to mandatory morning formation and training, he would administer intravenous drips in the barracks.

“I was working at Macy’s, and I’d dread coming home because someone was doing something stupid or crying in the bathroom,” said Zettel’s wife, Kim. Often, it fell to her to offer a bit of empathy.

The soldiers blamed the killings when they were passed over for promotions or stripped of rank for drinking too much or missing formations. In early 2014, Gray was hospitalized for alcohol withdrawal and put on suicide watch. He had been drinking a half-gallon of whiskey each night to fall asleep. “It was my off switch,” he said. A few days into his hospital stay, when he was still dosed up on Valium, an officer visited him.

“Why are you like this?” the officer pressed. “They are just dead Afghans. Why do you care so much?”

The question infuriated Gray. Before the war crimes, he had believed he was helping Afghans and defending his country. “It’s like you’re this hardcore Christian and some entity drops from the ceiling and says it’s a sham,” he said. “That’s how it was for me. I thought of the Army as this altruistic thing. I thought it was perfect and honorable. It pains me to tell you how stupid and naive I was. The Lorance stuff just broke my faith. . . . And once you lose your values and your faith, the Army is just another job you hate.”

‘You need to stop running your mouth’

Mike McGuinness at home in Raeford, N.C. McGuinness legally changed his surname, which had been Herrmann, in an effort to shed the stigma of the crimes. (Bonnie Jo Mount/The Washington Post)

McGuinness tried to intervene on behalf of his soldiers. He talked to Gray’s new commanders, who McGuinness said wanted to run him out of the Army for being drunk.

“Did you ask him why he’s drinking too much?” McGuinness pressed them.

Zettel asked McGuinness to meet with his new platoon sergeant when the Army, without explanation, blocked him from attending Ranger School.

McGuinness also spoke up for Jarred Ruhl, who had been one of his best soldiers in combat. Ruhl came home from Afghanistan with orders for Hawaii and a promotion to sergeant. But he soon began skipping morning formation, was demoted twice to private first class and forced from the Army.

“I just don’t know how to deal with everything that happened,” Ruhl told him. He had been standing next to Lorance when the lieutenant gave the orders to kill the Afghan men.

Jarred Ruhl holds an M203 grenade launcher mounted on his rifle as Dallas Haggard works the M240B machine gun while on duty in Afghanistan in June 2012. (Courtesy of the Carson family)

McGuinness, who said he felt like a failure for not stopping the killings or shielding his men from the fallout, was also self-destructing. “I was mouthy and insubordinate,” he said. He felt distant from his two young children and said he was drunk “six days a week.”

When conservatives rushed to turn Lorance into a hero, McGuinness felt as though the last shreds of his integrity were under assault. Former Lt. Col. Allen West, who had been relieved of command in 2003 for staging a mock execution of an Iraqi prisoner and was later elected to Congress in the tea party wave, blasted Lorance’s conviction in a Washington Times op-ed as a product of the Army’s “appalling” rules of engagement.

The rules were drafted by generals who worried that high civilian casualty rates were driving Afghans to support the Taliban. But West insisted that the rules put U.S. troops at undue risk and reflected President Barack Obama’s “outrageous contempt for the military.” West didn’t respond to a request for comment.

Fox News’s Sean Hannity took up Lorance’s case, calling the conviction a “national disgrace.”

In 2014, McGuinness was out drinking with an Army friend, and when the friend went home, stayed at the bar until he had downed enough booze to “sedate a rhino.” A military police officer found him later that night, sitting in his truck on All American Parkway, the main drag through Fort Bragg, with a gun in his mouth.

A nurse in the psychiatric ward at Womack Army Medical Center asked him if he really wanted help. “If you tell me that to get better, I’ve got to eat a 100-pound bag of gummy bears, then I’m going to eat 100 pounds of gummy bears,” he recalled telling her. “I just can’t do this s— any more.”

It was the end of a 16-year Army career.

Matthew Hanes during his deployment in Afghanistan in May 2012. (Photo by Dave Zettel)

Soon the platoon began to suffer losses at home. First Kerner, who was wounded in a bomb blast with the unit’s first platoon leader, died in March 2015 of cancer at age 23. Doctors discovered the malignancy when they were treating his combat wounds. Five months later Hanes, who was paralyzed by the bullet he took to his neck, died of a blood clot at age 24.

“Saying I love you doesn’t even scratch the surface of how much you truly mean to me,” he wrote in a note to the platoon three months before he fell into a coma. His closest friends from the unit — Zettel, Dallas Haggard and Fjeldheim, the medic who saved his life — were at his bedside in York, Pa., during his final unconscious hours.

At the funeral there was heavy drinking, just like at Bragg, but now that many in the platoon were out of the Army and no longer had to worry about drug tests, there was also cocaine to numb the pain.

Wives traded tips about how to persuade their husbands to go to therapy and talked about hiding their guns when they grew too depressed.

Ruhl complained to McGuinness that life at home felt empty. “Are you in therapy?” asked McGuinness, who was seeing a therapist and getting ready to start college at age 33.

“I don’t know if I can do it,” Ruhl said.

“It doesn’t f—ing matter what you think you can do,” he pressed. “It can’t make things worse.”

Dallas Haggard and Jarred Ruhl while on a long patrol in Afghanistan in June 2012. (Courtesy of the Carson family)

A few months later Zettel, who had finished college and was commissioned as an officer, stopped in to see Ruhl at his home in Fort Wayne, Ind. Zettel was on his way to a leadership course for new Army officers in Missouri.

Ruhl’s stepbrother told him that Ruhl had pulled a gun on a woman in a traffic dispute just days earlier. “Take his gun,” Zettel advised Ruhl’s stepbrother. “Take it apart and hide the pieces so that he can’t get it.” It was impossible, the stepbrother said. Ruhl took his gun everywhere.

Ruhl confided to Zettel that there were days when he couldn’t stop thinking about killing himself.

“How are we going to fix this?” asked Zettel, who helped Ruhl sign up for counseling at a VA hospital.

Before he could start, Ruhl pulled his gun on an acquaintance at a party. His stepbrother tried to wrestle it away and the firearm discharged, severing Ruhl’s femoral artery. He died before paramedics arrived.

“We kind of got betrayed,” said Dave Zettel outside his home in Blythewood, S.C. “We were pegged as if we were like a rogue unit. Which we clearly weren’t. It was kind of disheartening.” (Bonnie Jo Mount/The Washington Post)

Zettel came back for the funeral, then returned to Missouri to finish his five-month leadership course. Four years had passed since the war crimes, but the murders and their aftermath still seemed inescapable. A captain teaching Zettel’s class on rules of engagement used Lorance as a case study, telling the new officers that Lorance had been trying to impose discipline on a platoon that had lost control after one of its soldiers was shot in the neck. The captain was referring to Hanes, who had given Zettel his first salute when he was commissioned as an officer.

Lorance’s soldiers, the captain continued, had violated the rules of engagement and now Lorance, who hadn’t fired a shot, was serving a 19-year prison sentence.

Zettel blew up. “I was there and you need to stop running your mouth,” he recalled shouting at the instructor.

The instructor suggested they step out of the classroom. Zettel grew angrier.

“If I ever see Lorance on the street,” he said. “I am going to rip his f—ing throat out.”

‘Y’all are being led the wrong way’

Sean Hannity of Fox News arrives in National Harbor, Md., on March 4, 2016. (Carolyn Kaster/AP)

Six days after Trump was inaugurated as president, Hannity asked him in a White House interview about pardoning Lorance. “He got 30 years,” Hannity said incorrectly. “He was doing his job, protecting his team in Afghanistan.”

“We’re looking at a few of them,” said Trump of the case.

In the months after his conviction, Lorance had begun to receive support from United American Patriots ( UAP ), a nonprofit group that represents soldiers accused of war crimes. UAP helped Lorance find new lawyers who claimed in an appeals court filing that they had uncovered evidence showing that the younger victim was “biometrically linked” to a roadside bomb blast that occurred before his death. The sole survivor, the lawyers said, took part in attacks on U.S. forces after the Americans tried to kill him.

“The Afghan men were not civilian casualties . . . but were actually combatant bombmakers who intended to harm or kill American soldiers,” the lawyers wrote in their appeal.

In 2017, a military appeals court dismissed the biometric data as irrelevant because Lorance had “no indications that the victims posed any threat at the time of the shootings.” The judges found that the surviving victim’s decision to join the Taliban after the platoon tried to kill him probably would have helped prosecutors by demonstrating “the direct impact on U.S. forces when the local population believe they are being indiscriminately killed.”

But the biometric evidence and support from UAP helped Lorance’s mother and his legal team get on Trump’s favorite television shows — “Fox & Friends” and “Hannity” — where they offered a new account of the killings that differed dramatically from the sworn testimony. In their telling, the motorcycle wasn’t stopped on the side of the road with its kickstand down, as testimony and photos from the trial demonstrated, but was speeding toward Lorance and his men when he ordered them to fire.

“He’s got to make a split-second decision in a war zone,” Hannity said on his television show. “How did it get to the point where he got prosecuted for this?”

“I feel if he had not made that call,” Lorance’s mother replied, “my son today would be called a hero, killed in action.”

Hannity turned to Lorance’s lawyer, John Maher. “Was there anybody in the platoon that was with Clint that said that was the wrong decision?” he asked.

“That I don’t rightly know,” replied Maher, who had reviewed the platoon’s testimony.

“Then who made the determination that this was the wrong thing to do?” Hannity pressed.

“The chain of command,” Maher said.

“People that weren’t there,” Hannity concluded. Hannity and a Fox News spokeswoman did not respond to multiple requests for comment.

In a recent interview, Maher said his response to Hannity’s question had been “potentially inartful.” Lorance was in prison because the 1st Platoon soldiers turned him in and testified against him.

But Maher maintained that Lorance had made a split-second decision to protect his men from an enemy ambush. Some of the 1st Platoon soldiers said that the Afghan men had been standing on the side of the road for as long as two minutes before the U.S. gun truck opened fire on Lorance’s orders. Others, including Lorance, estimated they had been stopped for only a few seconds.

“That’s probably an eternity sitting here in the safety of this environment,” Maher said. “But I assure you that it’s not like that under volatile, uncertain, unforgiving conditions where life and death are right around the corner and a tardy decision results in death or dismemberment.”

The Afghan men were about 150 to 200 yards from the U.S. position when they were killed. To reach Lorance and his troops, they would have had to scale multiple shoulder-high mud walls.

Aaron Deamron, right, and Zach Thomas run for cover as they are fired upon by Taliban fighters during a mission in Zhary district of Kandahar province, southern Afghanistan in April 2012. Thomas would receive a concussion in the incident. (Baz Ratner/Reuters)

Zach Thomas, who had been standing just yards from Lorance when he gave the order to fire, was driving to community college in 2017 when he heard Hannity talking about the Lorance case on the radio.

“My blood just started boiling,” he recalled.

Thomas had spent his last day in the Army testifying against his former platoon leader. He was just 18 when he left for Afghanistan, and like many in the unit, his return home had been difficult. He drank to blunt his PTSD and depression. Two of his sergeants were so worried about him that they let him move out of the barracks and spend his last two months living at their house. His plan after the Army was to forget about Afghanistan and start a new life in his hometown of Crosby, Tex.

Zach Thomas and Jake Jensen before their deployment at Fort Bragg. (Courtesy of Zach Thomas)

Thomas pulled over on the side of the road and looked up the number for Hannity’s radio show in New York City on his cellphone.

“I’m a big fan, but y’all are being led the wrong way,” he told a producer for the show. “This isn’t some innocent guy.” The producer asked him if he knew about the biometric data Lorance’s lawyers had uncovered.

“I don’t know about any of that information, but I was there and these people were not enemy combatants,” he said. He could tell he wasn’t convincing the producer so he gave her McGuinness’s cellphone number and urged her to call him. She talked with McGuinness as well but never invited him on the show.

A handful of other soldiers from the platoon did their best to counter Lorance’s story. Todd Fitzgerald, who was also standing near Lorance when he ordered the killings, took to Reddit to defend the unit. He and several other soldiers spoke to the New York Times for a story that detailed the inaccuracies in Lorance’s defense. Fitzgerald, McGuinness and Gray were interviewed for a documentary about the case, “Leavenworth,” that aired on the Starz Network.

In April 2018, the platoon suffered its fourth death since returning home when Nick Carson, 26, crashed his car late at night.

Carson had been with McGuinness in Afghanistan on the day of the killings, and like his squad leader had been threatened with war crimes charges.

“I don’t know what’s fixing to happen, but our platoon leader is making us all out to be murderers,” he told his parents in a 2012 phone call from Afghanistan. “Just know, I am not a murderer.”

Nick Carson eats a meal during his deployment in Afghanistan in May 2012. (Photo by Dave Zettel)

Carson’s mother and stepfather were at Fort Bragg a few months later when he returned from the war. “He got off that big plane, hugged us and cried and then he said, ‘I love y’all but I need to be by myself. I just need to go,’ ” recalled his stepfather.

Carson stayed in the Army after the combat tour, but he struggled with PTSD, depression and anger. He and Ruhl had been best friends and were supposed to go to Hawaii together when they returned from Afghanistan. After Ruhl’s death, Carson tried to explain on the platoon’s private Facebook page why he was skipping his friend’s funeral. “It’s not that I can’t physically be there,” he wrote. “I won’t let my last memory of Jarred be at his funeral. I am sorry for that. Most of you know how close Jarred and I were, so this has been extremely difficult to accept.”

On the night of the car accident that killed him, Carson had been drinking and wasn’t wearing a seat belt. His parents said he may have fallen asleep while driving. The platoon blamed the war crimes and the deployment.

In Afghanistan, the platoon had dubbed themselves the “Honey Badgers” after the fearless carnivore.

Back home, they began to refer to themselves as “the cursed platoon.”

‘Who is it this time?’

A loaded pistol on a side table in the home of Lucas Gray in Pulaski, Va. (Bonnie Jo Mount/The Washington Post)

On October 23rd at 2:44 a.m., Twist’s wife, Emalyn, messaged Sgt. 1st Class Joe Morrissey, who had been Twist’s team leader with the platoon in Afghanistan.

“James committed suicide tonight,” she wrote from the hospital where the doctors were preparing to harvest his organs. “Could you let his other Army friends know. . . . This is a fucking living nightmare.” It was the platoon’s fifth death since returning home four years earlier.

Morrissey woke to the message at Fort Bragg and began sobbing. His soon-to-be ex-wife knew immediately that another member of the platoon was gone. His first call was to McGuinness, who was returning home from a late-night shift as a bouncer at a Fayetteville bar. The two immediately began calling the rest of the platoon, which was scattered across the country.

The deaths had imbued them with a grim fatalism. “Who is it this time?�� a few answered when they saw the 5 a.m. calls from Morrissey’s phone.

“It’s James,” Morrissey said again and again.

At Fort Jackson, Zettel was administering a predawn fitness test to recruits when he got the call. He punched a fence and rushed back to his office so the new soldiers wouldn’t see him fall apart. Alone at his desk, Zettel thought about the steady stream of calls and texts Twist had sent him over the past five years, and he wondered if the messages were an indirect way of asking for help.

McGuinness caught Gray as he headed off to his job at a weapons arsenal in southwest Virginia. His wallpaper on his work computer was a photo of Twist and him in Afghanistan, their rifles slung across their chests. “Back when we were cool,” Twist had written when he texted it to Gray.

The hardest call was to Walley, the soldier Twist had dragged from the blast crater. “What’s wrong?” his fiancee asked him when he got the call. “It’s Twist,” Walley told her. She tried to hug him, but he pushed her away. “I need to take this in alone,” he said.

Samuel Walley with his fiancee Hannah Smallwood in their garage in Buford, Ga. Walley lost his right leg and part of his left arm in Afghanistan. (Bonnie Jo Mount/The Washington Post)

At the funeral, Walley spoke first for the platoon, rocking back and forth on his prosthetic leg. Walley was wounded a month before the murders, but they had affected him too. At times, he felt abandoned by those who had tried to distance themselves from the unit, the murders and the war. “I have to wake up every single day and look in the mirror. Every single day I am hopping in a wheelchair,” he often thought. “I don’t get to forget.”

In January 2016, he was drunk and despondent in his apartment outside Atlanta and accidentally fired his pistol through the ceiling and into the apartment above him. After the shooting, Walley cut back on his drinking and returned to college. He was just one semester from graduating.

He stared out at the packed and silent church.

“Twist would probably give me a little bit of crap right now for having not wrote a speech,” he began. “But I figured I’d just tell a story. It’s a little bit of a harsh story, but I think it needs to be told.”

Members of the 1st Platoon at James O. Twist’s funeral in Grand Rapids, Mich., in November 2019. From left: Joe Fjeldheim, Jake Jensen, John Twist, Zach Thomas, Dan Williams (holding left side of flag), Alan Gladney (wearing glasses), Lucas Gray (partially visible), Reyler Leon, Samuel Walley, and slightly behind him is Dave Zettel, Brandon Krebs, and Mike McGuinness (in sunglasses), Brandon Kargol, Joe Morrissey, Dom Latino, Dallas Haggard, Brett Frace and Zach Nelson at the far right. (Courtesy of the Twist family)

Walley had spent dozens of hours reconstructing every second of the day he was injured. Eight years after the blast, he and his fellow soldiers would still argue over the smallest details: What kind of bomb had caused his wounds? Was it a pressure plate or remote-detonated? What exactly did Morrissey say as he and Carson lifted Walley into the helicopter? For Walley, the details were sacred. Remembering brought him comfort.

He took a breath and described the explosion and its aftermath. “My right leg was about 20 feet away. It was completely removed. My left leg, the tibia ripped through the [skin]; my foot was facing toward my butt,” he said. His right arm was mangled.

“Twist ended up coming through this cloudy haze,” Walley continued. “He was the most selfless man that I ever knew on this planet. He did not care if he died. He did not care if his limbs were to get ripped off. He didn’t care. He just cared that his guys were okay.”

A few minutes in a combat zone can define a life for good or for ill. “I believe that 10 minutes defined Twist,” Walley said.

Morrissey spoke next of Twist’s successes as a soldier, state trooper and father. “Those of us who knew Twist were extremely proud,” he said. “Unfortunately . . . underneath it all, the demons are still there, still tearing away at us day in and day out.”

‘The men and women in the mud and dirt’

President Trump welcomes Army 1st Lt. Clint Lorance and Army Maj. Mathew Golsteyn, left, at the Republican Party of Florida’s Statesman Dinner in December 2019, in Aventura, Fla. Both soldiers were granted full pardons by Trump. (Joyce N. Boghosian/The White House)

The 1st Platoon soldiers were still filtering home from Twist’s funeral when Pete Hegseth, a “Fox & Friends” co-anchor who had advocated on Lorance’s behalf, tweeted that Lorance’s pardon was “imminent.”

The actual release came two weeks later on Nov. 15.

“It’s done. It’s a political move,” one of the 1st Platoon soldiers wrote on the group’s private Facebook page. “Time to move on.”

Ayres, who had skipped all five of the platoon’s funerals, agreed. “Not worth any of our time,” he wrote. “What matters is that everyone that matters knows he is a piece of s—. Let’s move on and enjoy life.”

For McGuinness it wasn’t an option. He couldn’t bear the thought that Lorance was being hailed as a hero by Trump and others, while soldiers like Twist were being forgotten. “I’ve buried people that struggled with what happened, and whether through their own hands or their actions, they’re gone,” he said. “I’m not going to sit quietly while he gets paraded around and they’re not recognized.”

He texted with Gray, who wasn’t on Facebook.

Lucas Gray

Fuck it all. The one reprieve we had is gone.

Mike McGuinness

I feel so shitty right now.

Lucas Gray

I’m going to drink until I can sleep.

Mike McGuinness

I might do the same.

Others in the platoon argued on social media with pro-Trump friends, who insisted Lorance was innocent. “You realize I was f—ing THERE, right?” one soldier wrote to a fellow veteran. “Like you realize I was one of the godd— WITNESSES who testified, right?!”

Later that evening, Twist’s father, John, called McGuinness, hoping to talk about his son and the pardon. McGuinness shared his memories of Twist, who came to the platoon when he was just 19. “We put so much work into him,” McGuinness said. He talked about Twist’s quirks — his irritating tendency to correct McGuinness when he got a minor fact wrong about a weapons system.

Twist’s father asked whether the murders and the trial might have contributed to his son’s torment. Twist wasn’t on patrol the day of the killings, but McGuinness believed that what had happened with Lorance had wounded him too. “Twist had a big heart. He was like Gray. He wanted to do good,” McGuinness said. “When Lorance took that away, he took a little part of Jimmy, too.”

“You don’t go into the military thinking you are going to be part of a war crimes case,” said Mike McGuinness at his home in Raeford, N.C. (Bonnie Jo Mount/The Washington Post)

“This is absolutely amazing,” Lorance said as his car, escorted by the county constable, rolled to a stop in the high school parking lot.

“It’s a hometown hero’s welcome,” said his cousin from the back seat.

Lorance climbed atop a flatbed trailer. Someone from the crowd gave him an American flag. The vice commander of the local VFW handed him a microphone.

“God Bless Texas!” Lorance yelled. “God Bless America!”

At his side was the head of UAP, the group that had worked to free him. Lorance’s case and the publicity generated helped the group boost annual donations by about 150 percent, from $1.8 million in 2015 to more than $4.5 million in 2018.

Lorance, who was wearing his crisp, blue Army uniform — his pants tucked into his boots, paratrooper style — knew exactly what his backers wanted to hear. “We finally have a president who understands that when we send our troops to fight impossible wars, we must stand behind them,” he told the crowd.

“Amen!” cried a voice from the high school parking lot.

“Amen is right!” Lorance answered.

Former 1st Lt. Clint Lorance addresses a crowd as he returns home to Merit, Tex., on Nov. 16, 2019, after he was pardoned by President Trump. (Courtesy of Farmersville Fire Department)

For those in the parking lot that night, Lorance’s freedom was proof that Trump would stand up for them and their town, population 215, at a moment when large swaths of the country seemed to hold them and their way of life in contempt. “You know how many people just want to see that someone cares,” said Tiffany West, 37, who was standing feet from the stage.

Lorance thanked his family and the lawmakers who pressed for his release. He talked about Trump and Vice President Pence, who had called him at the penitentiary to tell him that they were setting him free. “We had a nine-minute conversation,” Lorance said. “Yeah, I was timing it. . . . They took time out of their busy day to ask me what I was going to do with the rest of my life.”

He blasted the craven “deep state” military officers he blamed for his conviction. “That’s not really the military. That’s the politicians who run the thing,” he said. “The men and women in the mud and dirt. That’s the real U.S. military.”

He was still talking nearly an hour later when the television news crews from Dallas, about 60 miles away, began packing up their equipment.

“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “I know it’s cold.”

“Go ahead!” a voice shouted.

“You’re home!” added another.

Soon the crowd began drifting away for the night, past Merit’s post office, its volunteer fire department, its recently shuttered convenience store, and the decaying wood clapboard building that once held its cotton gin. Lorance handed the microphone back to the local VFW’s vice commander, a Gulf War veteran who had organized the gathering and would now get the final word.

“There’s going to be people out there that are going to try to use this against Trump,” he warned. “Well, we’re going to throw it right back in their faces!”

Lorance visits the set of “Fox & Friends” in New York on Nov. 18, 2019, after receiving a presidential pardon. (Mark Lennihan/AP)

The next morning Lorance boarded a plane for New York City, where he appeared on “Fox & Friends” and Hannity’s radio show. In December, he joined Trump onstage at a GOP fundraiser.

In interviews after his release, Lorance insisted that the soldiers who testified against him were pressured by the Army or had turned on him because he was an exacting commander and they lacked discipline. “When I walked into the guard tower and the soldiers didn’t have their helmet or body armor on, I told them to put it on,” he told Blue Magazine, which advocates on behalf of police officers. “And they didn’t like that, they didn’t like taking orders like that, but I was brought in there to enforce the standard.”

‘There’s almost always more to every story than we know’

John Twist created a wall in his living room memorializing James and other family members who served in the military at his home in Grand Rapids, Mich. The flag was signed by members of James’s platoon after his funeral. (Bonnie Jo Mount/The Washington Post)

In Grand Rapids, Twist’s father spent much of the winter trying to unravel the mystery of his son’s death. His dining room table was covered with foot-high piles of papers from James’s life.

There were old report cards, passports and programs from high school wrestling matches. A second pile from the Army included a spiral notebook that his son had used as a diary when he was going through basic training. A third pile contained a printout of the essay — “The Invisible War Inside My Head” — that his son wrote the day before he died.

In it, Twist wrote briefly about the killings that had “rocked and split up” his platoon. The longest section of the essay recounted the day Walley lost his arm and leg. “I found Sam in a small crater,” he wrote. “He was missing his right foot and all the muscle and skin around his right tibia/fibula.” That image, he said, played again and again in his head when he returned from the war.

“I really don’t understand what PTSD is,” his father said. “You can read about it, but I don’t get it. So far the only thing I can get is that it’s like having . . . poor Sam Walley getting blown up” playing in your head over and over. “And how do you get rid of that?”

James O. Twist with his son Ben, celebrating his first birthday in August 2019. (Courtesy of the Twist family)

Twist’s wife, Emalyn, 27, also had been thinking about the meaning of her husband’s life and sudden, violent death. In early March she was sitting alone in the parking lot of a nearby Target. Her three children — ages 1, 3 and 5 — were with a friend. She balanced a Starbucks coffee in one hand and hit record on her cellphone camera.

“It has been kind of a bad week, filled with a lot of ‘it shouldn’t have to be that way’ kind of moments,” she said. Earlier that morning, she had turned over their house keys to the new owners. Her 5-year-old son spotted the family’s moving trucks in the driveway and panicked, yelling for her to “stop them.”

Twist’s children remembered their father as a dad who liked to wrestle and sing them to sleep. Emalyn couldn’t forget her husband’s insecurity, bouts of self-loathing and verbal abuse. On the night her husband took his life he was upset with her for going to see a therapist and terrified that she was going to divorce him. In a blog post, Emalyn described him slamming his head into the kitchen counter until blood was running down his face. Then he stormed to their bedroom and shot himself.

Emalyn pressed a pair of leggings to her husband’s head in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding. With her other hand, she dialed 911. As she listened for the sound of approaching sirens, she stifled the urge to vomit and prayed that their children would not wake.

Emalyn Twist writes about her experience following Twist’s death in Emalyn’s Blog: Words of a Young Widow. (Bonnie Jo Mount/The Washington Post)

“I couldn’t stand to live in that house or sleep in that bedroom when I had seen so much in there, and that just makes me mad, because I loved that house and I loved that neighborhood,” she said to her cellphone camera. “And I shouldn’t have had to leave. I shouldn’t have had to pull my kids out of their little social circle and all those people who loved them. It shouldn’t have to be that way.”

For years she had helped her husband hide his pain from family, friends and even his fellow soldiers. Now she was determined to be honest. “I just don’t have to keep up this facade of the grieving widow all the time, even though that’s also what I am,” she said. “There’s almost always more to every story than we know. It’s important to pay attention to that.”

She stopped recording, turned on the ignition and picked up with her day.

‘I love you’

Dave Zettel at home with his wife, Kim, in Blythewood, S.C. The couple are expecting their first child. (Bonnie Jo Mount/The Washington Post)

In April with the country locked down by the coronavirus, McGuinness arranged for a dozen of the guys from the platoon to get together on a video call for beers. He and Walley were finishing up their last few college courses before they graduated. A couple of the soldiers and wives were expecting their first children. Two were in the early days of divorces.

An hour into the call almost everyone was drunk or stoned — except for the pregnant wives. One soldier kept streaming as he sat on the toilet. When he was done everyone screamed at him to wash his hands. Another soldier vomited and curled up on the floor.

“This is better than getting together at funerals,” McGuinness said cheerily.

The troops talked about their plans for the future. Morrissey was just back from another tour in Afghanistan, where he mostly sat on base while the Afghans fought each other. “There’s no war left there anymore,” he said.

“What are you going to do when you retire?” McGuinness asked him.

“Let me finish, before you laugh,” Morrissey replied. “I’m going to go to school to be a barber and open one of those high end barber shops where you can get a drink, a real gentleman’s haircut and shave with a straight razor.”

Walley tried to talk, but everyone was talking over him. “No one listens to me,” he joked. “Everyone just stares at the guy with two limbs.” He and his fiancee were planning their wedding for the spring of 2021. They had already reserved a “mansion where we can fit the whole platoon,” he said.

“Just tell me the day and I’ll be there,” McGuinness promised.

Zettel and his wife were expecting their first child on Aug. 10. He was planning on leaving the Army for good in October. “It’s not going to join the Army,” Zettel said of his unborn child. “I’m going to burn everything so it doesn’t even know I was in the f—ing Army.”

The soldiers talked about the guys they had lost to suicide and self-destructive behavior. And they spoke briefly about Lorance, who has a memoir titled “Stolen Valor” that is going to be published by Hachette Book Group in the fall, when Lorance has said he is planning to start law school. A blurb for the book, posted by the publisher, calls Lorance “a scapegoat for a corrupt military” and asserts that “his unit turned on him because of his homosexuality.” Lorance’s lawyer said there was no evidence that homophobia played a role in conviction.

“We looked,” Maher said, “and we came up with nothing.”

In interviews, troops said that in Afghanistan they didn’t know Lorance was gay and wouldn’t have cared.

“We took s— from so many people for so long,” McGuinness said. “I’m not letting that happen anymore. I’m going to fight back.”

The soldiers shared tips about how to find a good therapist and promised to look out for one another so that there would be no more funerals.

“You guys mean everything to me,” McGuinness said. “We have to do this more often. We have to look after each other. If you guys are hurting, hit me up. We can do this instead of just letting things fester.”

He rose from his desk chair — a little wobbly from all the beer. It was 2:30 a.m., and they had been talking for more than four hours. “I love you a–holes,” he said, and signed off the call.

An American flag decorates a roof along a country road in North Carolina. (Bonnie Jo Mount/The Washington Post)

[ Are you a veteran? We want to hear your response to this story. ]

Under the current administration, the Office of the Pardon Attorney has become a bureaucratic way station, data and interviews show.

#IFTTT #WordPress

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mst3kproject · 6 years

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The Capture of Bigfoot

Yep, another Bigfoot movie, this one written and directed by Bill 'Giant Spider Invasion' Rebane. As far as I can tell, nobody in it was ever on MST3K, but for some reason it does have a whole bunch of people who were in Ilsa, She-Wolf of the SS, along with George 'Buck' Flower, whom you may remember (if you remember him at all) as the park bench bum in the Back to the Future movies. Above and beyond that, it's just intensely riffable. There's barely a shot that doesn't invite comment, and should you watch it, you'll be hearing the bots' voices the whole time. What do you think: would it be Crow or Tom who would draw our attention to the gas pumps that look like a snow Ku Klux Klan in the background of one scene?

A couple of trappers have captured a baby Bigfoot, which naturally pisses off its mother – it kills one of the trappers and injures the other, fortunately without hurting any of the adorable samoyeds pulling their sled. The dogs take the injured trapper home, where he dies without revealing what happened to him, but Harvey Olson thinks he knows. He's been hunting Bigfoot for twenty years, and now that he's sure the creature is in the area, he hires every hunter in town to try to catch the beast. Bigfoot, however, is also the protector of the local native people, who call it Arak (the SOL crew would have made so many jokes about 'the Legend of a Rock'), and they enlist Forest Ranger Garrett to foil Olson's plans.

Samoyeds are my favourite dog. They look like somebody blow-dried a polar bear.

This movie's Bigfoot also looks like somebody blow-dried a polar bear, but it is marginally better than the one in Shriek of the Mutilated. Seeing as Shriek of the Mutilated's Bigfoot was literally a guy in a furry costume in the movie, that is not a compliment. Capture's creature is even worse than Cry Wilderness', never believable as anything but a guy in a Hallowe'en costume. Of some note is that the costume department gave Bigfoot white fur, when almost everybody who actually claims to have seen the creature has supposedly said it was black or brown, but perhaps we're meant to think they turn white in the winter like rabbits do. The beast's call is just somebody yelling “BLEAAAAAAAAAGH!”

While The Capture of Bigfoot does ostensibly have a plot, it's mostly just a monster movie – people wander around the woods, and Bigfoot kills them. It kills the two trappers that captured the baby. A third trapper sits down in his tent after collecting the day's game, and Bigfoot bashes his head in. Two tourists leave the hotel to either have sex or go skiing, and Bigfoot mauls the guy while the girl screams. The only slightly interesting thing that's done with the formula is that when it becomes clear that the creature has a grudge against the pair of hunters who shot at its offspring, Olson decides to use them as bait to trap it... but even that's pretty lame.

The characters are a collection of clichés. There's a precocious kid who makes friends with the creature (perhaps this is a prequel to Cry Wilderness?). There's ranger Dave Garrett, who's well-meaning but kind of a putz and nobody listens to him. There's Jake the Trapper, an old drunk everybody laughs at but really the only guy who knows the truth. The Sheriff is a dim bulb whose 'quirk' is that he does a Humphrey Bogart impression. Daniels is a Wise Old Indian. Olson is a rich ugly guy who makes weird faces when he talks, which makes him a very early entry in the Donald Trump School of Movie Villainy.

For all the talk about how the creature is the protector of the local tribe's dead and must not be captured or killed for this reason, there is only one ostensible Native in the movie, Daniels. His function in the plot is to give Garrett some information and a talisman that will prevent Bigfoot from harming him. That's really all the entire concept of 'Native Americans' represents in this movie: a source of legend and magic, not allowed to actually do anything because action is for white guys (as I mentioned, even Bigfoot is white in this movie). It's also really weird how the script can't decide if Daniels speaks English. He and Garrett appear to have a conversation alone at one point, though we don't hear any of it, but when he turns up later in the film he speaks his own language and Jake the trapper has to translate. In this same scene, Jake remarks that it would be 'more like an Indian' for Daniels to have shot them both rather than to sneak up and rescue them, which seems very distasteful coming from somebody who is supposedly Daniels' only friend.

Although Garrett is technically our protagonist, he's really a very reactive character – things happen, and he responds to them. This was probably unavoidable, since it is his job to respond to animal issues in the area, but it makes him seem passive and uninteresting. The proactive character is the villain, Mr. Olson. His quest to find proof of Bigfoot, dead or alive, is what moves the story along. He states over and over that he's been hunting the beast for years, and yet we never find out why. His stated reason is that it will make him rich, but this seems like only a justification for his obsession. If he'd seen it and was disbelieved, or if it killed somebody he knew, that would make sense, but we don't get any backstory for him. Outside of this, however, he is probably the person we get to know best, and he’s the one who has an arc. He starts off as the type of villain who thinks he's not being villainous if he has other people do things for him.

Olson does not go out to look for Bigfoot himself – he hires others to do that for him, even as they laugh at him in the belief that they're ripping him off by accepting his money to hunt something that doesn't exist. Although it seems at first that he plans to shoot Jake and Garrett for following him, he does not have the stomach to commit or order a murder, and has them tied to a tree to freeze to death instead. The only thing he does himself is spring the trap he's had set for the creature, as his monomania would not allow somebody else to do that. It must be he, and he alone, who 'captures' it, no matter how much help he had in setting up the trap.

But once he has the creature in a cage, Olson goes, as one of the hunters observes, completely over the edge. His success seems to have made him feel invincible, and while earlier he was cautious about both the law and the wilderness, he now does things like run Jake down with his car. He would not murder this man a few hours earlier, but now he no longer cares. Shortly thereafter he attempts to form an armed posse to murder Garrett, too, and runs off to do it himself when this plan fails. Now that he's in this position of power, Olson cannot tolerate anybody who might knock him down from it.

There is one weird scene that doesn't seem to have a place in this arc, when early in the movie Olson literally throws a man who has displeased him out a window. I think this is supposed to establish him as physically formidable, but considering his age and the shape he's in, it's merely ludicrous. Besides, what idiot throws a man through a window in the middle of what a radio broadcast claims is one of the coldest winters on record? I guess the answer is 'a rich idiot', but the whole thing is still really, really dumb.

Also a little odd is Olson's death. In a movie like this you would probably expect him to be killed by the creature, as nature and legend take revenge on an arrogant human who failed to respect them. Or maybe he'd be arrested and thrown in jail for all the crimes his arrogance led him to commit, both by proxy and, at this point, in person. Instead, however, Olson accidentally shoots a barrel of gasoline that, as far as I can tell, was only in the room so that this could happen, and dies in the resulting explosion. This is the sort of thing that makes me think Bill Rebane has no idea how stuff like character arcs work... he just throws together whatever he thinks is cool and films it.

I spent most of my review of Cry Wilderness pondering the mythical versus real status of Bigfoot, and what it was supposed to represent in that movie. The Capture of Bigfoot does kind of the same thing. Its Bigfoot is at once a real animal that eats and reproduces, and a spirit being that leads souls to the afterlife. Daniels, the last of his people, is unable to die until Bigfoot is free to take him away. The creature must not be captured because that would bring it out of this ambiguous space into the real world, where it does not belong. I wish the movie had expanded on these ideas a little... what happens, for example, once Daniels is dead? The mythical aspect of Bigfoot then has no more purpose. Does the creature, too, simply disappear? Does it become nothing but an animal? At the end Bigfoot and its offspring just wander off into the woods and the credits roll.

All things considered, with its stereotyped characters, its dumb plot, and its racism, Capture of Bigfoot is pretty dull. Most of the movie is just people crunching around in the snow. There's a ski race that has no bearing on the plot, and a similarly pointless party scene that serves to show us a woman in a skin-baring outfit shakin' her stuff to an appallingly awful disco song called Sensuous Tiger. Nothing here is half as much fun as the spidermobile or the over-the-top rednecks of The Giant Spider Invasion, and like that movie, Capture of Bigfoot ends pretty much immediately after the threat is defeated. No denoument, no closure of subplots.

It's cheap. It sucks. It'd be good for an MST3K episode, but not for much else.

#mst3k #reviews #episodes that never were #the capture of bigfoot #all these movies have bigfoot in them #70s #cryptid cinema

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minifiction · 6 years

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filthy, filled up with woes

Fandom: Bungou to Alchemist

Characters/Pairings: Ango, Chuuya, Dazai, Kenji, others; Ango/Chuuya

Genre: Angst

Rating: PG-13

Summary: Today is the third day that Chuuya has refused to come out of his room.

Today is the third day that Chuuya has refused to come out of his room, and it doesn’t seem like any progress is being made.

To be more specific, he locked himself in his room after returning to the library late on Christmas evening. That in itself was a little concerning, but Chuuya is always a little concerning.

Him not coming out for breakfast the next day, even when given extra time to account for hangovers, was more concerning than usual. By the time lunch rolled around and there was still no sign of him, people were worried enough to knock on his door.

Niimi was first. “Chuuya-san, it’s time for lunch.”

No answer. Only a very quiet shuffling sound was proof that Chuuya was inside.

“They made beef tongue, and it’s really good, and you’ll miss it if you don’t come out…”

No answer.

Wakayama tried later that day. “Hey, man. Wanna have a drink together? It’ll be on me.”

No answer for that. No answer for Kenji asking nicely if he would come out because everyone was worried. No answer for Dazai offering to drink with him. No answer for Mori telling him that staying inside with no food or drink for days at a time would only make things worse for himself.

Hagiwara, after returning from Chuuya’s door, said, “I thought that perhaps I heard him crying, but I could have been wrong…”

It’s the third day that Chuuya has refused to come out, and at this point more drastic measures are being brought up.

“He’ll still die if he doesn’t get any water,” Kenji says, wringing his hands together. “We have to do something.”

Dazai shakes his head. “There’s bathrooms attached to our rooms. He could get it from the sink, the water’s safe.”

“What makes you think he’s taking care of himself enough to remember to drink water from the sink?” Ango asks.

Dazai doesn’t seem able to answer that question in a way that he can accept. Instead he asks, “…Hey, Ango, when was the last time you talked to him?”

Of course it’s a question he’d be asked. Everyone knows that Ango and Chuuya are dating and have been dating for some time. If there’s anyone who could be asked about Chuuya’s behavior, Ango would be the natural first choice.

It doesn’t mean he likes answering, but he won’t lie. Not about this.

“Christmas night, before we came back to the library.”

“Did you go on a date?” Kenji asks. “That’s what people do on Christmas now.”

Ango nods silently.

“…Ango,” Dazai says. He’s looking at Ango, and Ango is the first one to cast his eyes away. “Did something happen?”

“It was mostly a normal date and we had a good time. At the end…” There isn’t any talking around it now. “I proposed to him.”

Kenji’s eyes go wide. “What did he say?”

“He told me that was a shitty prank to pull and stormed off before I could stop him.”

Of the many reactions to marriage proposals Ango’s seen - shock, overwhelming joy, nervousness - the sheer hurt on Chuuya’s face stands out as one he’d never seen before and never, ever wants to see again.

”Pulling this kind of shitty prank on somebody, what the hell is wrong with you?”

“No, I really-”

“Shut up! This isn’t funny! I thought you of all people wouldn’t make fun of me like this…!”

“Chuuya - Chuuya, wait!”

Dazai winces. “Have you tried talking to him after that?”

“I think that might just make it worse,” Ango says with a sigh. “Apologizing would mean it was a joke in the first place, trying to convince him I was serious and failing would just upset him more… Normally I’d talk to him anyway, but normally things aren’t this bad with him. I usually only have to worry about you trying to die.”

While Dazai grumbles to himself, Kenji speaks up. “But we can’t just leave him alone. Maybe we could break down the door?”

It’s a plan that has some merits. They run it by the alchemist librarian, who nods and tells them not to worry about the cost of repairs: this is more important.

Rather than try to cut the door open, they enlist Rohan’s help, since he’s been anxiously jiggling the handle of Chuuya’s door every few hours. The door isn’t wide enough for more than one person to ram it, but it doesn’t matter: after a few attempts, Rohan breaks through.

Ango’s eyes are immediately drawn to Chuuya lying on his bed. He looks ghastly; his earlier assumptions that Chuuya wasn’t bothering to drink water were probably correct, or at least not near as much water as he should have. His chest is barely moving, and only that his eyes track Rohan’s entrance shows that he’s alive and awake.

The words Chuuya barely manages to croak with a dry throat, the first words he’s spoken in days: “Go away.”

“No.” Rohan scoops Chuuya up in his arms, ignoring a barely audible sound of protest. Ango reminds himself that it would have been effortless for him even with Chuuya at full health.

Chuuya’s eyes are shut when Rohan carries him out of his room. It’s for the best that he doesn’t see Ango standing there. Kenji is following them, and Kenji will have an easier time talking to Chuuya when he’s convinced to talk.

Dazai stays close to Ango’s side. He’s quiet until the others are out of sight, and then asks, “So… now what do we do, Ango?”

“Wish I knew.”

Breaking things down is always much easier than fixing things up.

#bungou to alchemist #sakaguchi ango #nakahara chuuya #dazai osamu #miyazawa kenji #pairing: nakahara chuuya/sakaguchi ango #starvation tw

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theglitchedworld · 6 years

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Glitched - Chapter Eight

Thankfully, the room over the small inn's stable that we'd managed to trade rat killing services for - though I'd far prefer to have coin next time given Crysal's idea of bait was apparently me - included use of the inn's bathhouse. Well, I say thankfully, but the only ones appreciative of it was probably Crysal and myself. Tomy and Shel's idea of fully bathed were definitely informed by the setting and resulted in both of them being sent back in more than once before they finally met with Crysal's standards of cleanliness.

Scrubbing that much couldn't have been fun, but it had given me enough time to go out. Turning up a clean change of clothes for the kids and dinner for the four of us from the innkeep took what few coins were in the pouch I'd taken from the guard. Looking back, the money I'd lifted from the guard probably hadn't been as meager as it seemed so much as I just sucked at bargaining. Crysal likely would have been the better person to go out, but she was so dead set on the kids being clean before dinner that I had a feeling it'd be an even worse idea to point out the obviously bad idea of sending me to buy things.

The kids cleaned up pretty well though, much to Crysal's satisfaction, and were more than willing to dig into the food the innkeep's son brought up. Well, they were once we tried a bit of everything to prove it wasn't poisoned or something, I guess. Which probably should have clued either of us in that something was really off with the city, but I hate to admit we missed it. To be honest, I was more interested in the fact that the thick brown stew and black bread we were served didn't smell like it'd taken a dip in a sewer first.

"So why does the army want little kids?" Crysal asked once the initial eating frenzy had died down. "You can't be as much help as an adult or even a teen."

"I'm almost fourteen," Tomy snapped, his brows furrowing as he glared across the table at her. "And I'm big as her." He pointed a finger over at where I was ladelling more stew into my bowl. "So stop calling me a little kid."

"Being big as a midget is hardly proof of not being a little kid," Crysal said under her breath as she glanced at me.

"Keep it up, Crysal. Go ahead." I said, rolling my eyes as I tore a fresh chunk off the loaf of bread. "Your obsession with my appearance is really cute. Super mature too."

"Whatever," she said, shrugging before turning her attention back to the kids across from her. "But seriously, why are they after you? That was hardly a recruitment drive. Looked more like you were getting kidnapped."

Tomy shrugged, handing Shel a chunk of bread. "We don't usually go out during the day. Kids, I mean. The guards like to grab us and make us enlist. Especially since we ain't got a ma or da anymore to pay 'em off. Rich families ain't gotta worry about that stuff cause they got money to buy people to join for 'em."

My eyes narrowed and I set my spoon down. "Wait. Forced enlistment?" I looked at Crysal. "Is this place at war or something?"

She shook her head, spooning a thick chunk of vegetable into her mouth and eating it before replying. "Not as far as I know. But I spend most of my time in the survival zones hunting. I suppose it's possible."

"Da always said we're not," Tomy said, stabbing at a hunk of meat in his bowl. "But the criers all says we gotta keep a big army to keep other places from attacking us."

"That sounds like bullshit." Worse, it sounded like an excuse to keep the populace in check. Like something right out of one of those poli-sci books I had to study in school. "A big army is just a drain on the economy. It's not bad to have an army for defense, but there shouldn't be a reason for it to be so big that they have to force people to join. Especially not kids."

"What happened to your Da?" Crysal asked gently. "You said he was taken to the army, but he should have been allowed to visit right?"

Tomy shrugged and put and arm around Shel's shoulders. "Don't know. Lots of people who go to the army don't come back. Criers never talk about fighting or nothing. They're just gone."

"I don't like it," Crysal whispered, shaking her head. "Sounds bad."

"Told you there was something wrong here," I said, sighing. "Being right sucks sometimes."

"See? This is why you should listen when I tell you to wait." She elbowed me in the arm, which irritated the wrapped cut I'd gotten earlier.

It hurt, a bright sting that made my eyes water even as I grabbed my arm. "Dammit, Crys! Why'd you have to do that?"

"Sorry." She didn't look sorry despite her words, smirking at me like that. "I'll make a point of hitting harder next time just to make sure you remember how much it sucks to get hurt." Nope. Not sorry at all.

"Oh!" Tomy sat up a little straighter as if the injury had reminded him of something. "That reminds me! How'd you do that?"

"Do what? Elbow her? It was easy."

"No! Not that. I mean earlier. Back there. How'd you fight like that?" He stared at me fixedly enough to bring a blush to my cheeks.

"Uh..." I scratched my head trying to figure out how to explain that I'd learned how to fight in an entirely different body.

"This should be good," Crysal said, propping her head on one fist and watching me. "I'd love to hear how a no skills noob managed to pull that off myself."

I grimaced, reaching up with both hands to scrub at my scalp. "It's not a big deal..."

"Oh, it's a big deal," she said, nodding towards the kids. "They're pretty impressed after all. So regale us, wonder tyke."

"It's called arnis," I said, shrugging as I looked away. The way the focus on me seemed to get even more intense made me even more uncomfortable. "It's just... you know. It's something I learned as a kid. Back, uh, where I came from."

Crysal's eyes widened as she realized what I was trying to say. "Oh! So from..."

"Yeah." I nodded, shrugging again. "It's... I used to practice with my sister a lot. It's kind of instinct more than anything by now, I guess."

The chair Tomy had been sitting in clattered to the ground as he bolted to his feet, hands planted on the table. "Can you teach me?!"

I almost fell over in surprise at the sudden move. "What?"

"That... Arny. Arnose. That whatever you called it." He trembled as he stared at me, his nostrils flaring slightly. "Can you teach me that?"

"I-" I looked over at Crysal, but found no help there. I reached up and scratched the bridge of my nose. "I'm not... I'm really not good enough to be a teacher though. I only know what I learned in school a long time ago..."

"But-!" I cut him off with a chop of my hand.

"No way. I'm not a teacher. I don't know enough to teach anything properly." I sighed, shaking my head as I ran a hand through my hair. "Besides I'd probably end up teaching wrong anyway."

"You know more than pretty much anyone here," Crysal said, shrugging one shoulder. "What could it hurt?"

"What could it hurt?!" I gaped at her. That had to be the most idiotic thing I'd heard in a while. "Jesus, Crys! It's a martial art! People here kill each other with that shit! If I screw up teaching it and someone relies on that bad teaching in a fight, they could die! Hell, someone could get bad hurt just in training if I don't teach it right!"

"Hey, calm down," she said, sitting up and holding her hands up defensively. "It was just a suggestion-"

"A stupid suggestion!"

She sighed, rolling her eyes. "Alright, fine. It was stupid. But all I'm saying is you can let the kid copy the way you practice, right? You were pretty good out there. You've got to at least know the basic stuff, right?"

"I'm not a master," I said, folding my arms over my chest and hunching my shoulders.

It should have been obvious. Of course it was obvious. All I knew was what I'd learned as a kid. The basic basics. Nothing that a real teacher would know. Every time I looked at the hopeful expression on Tomy's face, I reminded myself again that I couldn't teach him.

He wanted to use it to fight. Even an idiot could see that. Maybe he was just an NPC, but the NPCs were... strange here. They responded better than NPCs in other games I'd played. Definitely better than The Bested World's NPCs which were little more than signposts for the next quest.

But more than that, as I'd learned back in Gallador, they could die here.

Not just lose all their HP and derez before respawning a little while later in the same place, but actually die. They didn't derez. Their bodies stayed where they fell. Their blood stained the surfaces it pooled on. Graves had to be dug and they had to be lowered into them. Other NPCs mourned them for God's sake!

It was either the most realistic programming I'd ever seen or even heard of in the history of gaming or... it was something else. I wasn't sure what that something else was exactly, but it made me almost as uncomfortable as the lack of kids running around the city had made me earlier. I didn't want to think about it too hard either at the time.

But I could imagine Tomy learning the bastardized version of Arnis I'd be able to teach all the same. And worse, I could imagine what would happen if I did. My stomach churned as my mind twisted my memory of finding the murdered barmaid into Tomy laying there on the bloodstained floor. His arms and legs slashed like mine after the fight with the guards. His brown eyes dull and blank, staring sightless at things I could never see.

I shuddered, chafing my arms at the sudden chill the vision invoked in me. I didn't want to see that. I might have only met the kid, but I didn't want him to die. Not because of me.

"Theron," Crysal said softly, reaching out to grip my shoulder. My arms twitched, but I managed to suppress my first instinct to knock her hand away. "It's ok to not be a master. No one's expecting you to be. Tomy just wants to learn what you do know. That's all."

"I don't want it to be my fault," I muttered, shaking my head. "If I screw it up, he could die-"

"If I gotta die," Tomy broke in, his voice hard with determination, "then I want it to be cause something I did."

"I don't want you to die at all!" I yelled, my hand lashing out to smack the table's surface hard enough to cause the crockery to rattle and Shel to jump back in alarm. "You shouldn't trust your life to something I barely remember how I learned!"

"I'm gonna die anyway!" He yelled back, nails scraping on the table's surface as his hands curled into fists. Shel grabbed onto his tunic, her eyes full of fear. "Maybe not now, but someday. They almost dragged me off to the army today. They would've if you hadn't shown up. I don't even know what would've happened to Shel if you hadn't come. And I couldn't do anything. I couldn't even protect my little sister!"

"Tomy, listen-" I started, only to be cut off.

"No! You listen! I saw you fighting," he said, his eyes suspiciously bright as he looked up at me again, his lips a tight line. "I saw you get hurt. I know it's dangerous. But so is everything else! I want you to teach me how to do what you did."

"But I-"

"I don't care!" His shoulders trembled, but he didn't look away. "I don't care if you're a teacher or a master or whatever! You can do something I can't and I want to learn how! I gotta look out for my sister! I can't do that with how I am now!"

Something snapped deep inside me with his words. I remembered that feeling. That need to look out for my family. Of wanting to protect my sister no matter what. My head dropped to my chest, a tight band squeezing my heart as I took one shaky breath after another.

"Ok." The word barely made it out of my mouth and I didn't raise my head as I nodded. I didn't want anyone to see my face. "Ok. I'll teach you what I know. But you don't fight unless I say you can or you have no other choice." I finally felt confident enough in my expression to raise my face and meet his gaze with a hard one of my own. "And if Crysal or I say to run, you run."

He colored at my last statement, male ego wounded at the idea of being made to run away. "But-"

"No buts." My hand chopped the air between us. "You want me to teach you, that's my requirements. No fighting unless either I say or there's no other choice and if Crysal or I tell you to run then you run and you do not look back."

"I'm not a child-!"

"I didn't say you were. But your job is to protect your little sister. Which means if you need to run away, you run away. Understand?"

I could feel Crysal's gaze on me as I spoke, fully aware of how hypocritical I probably sounded in that moment. But, in my defense, I hadn't been trying to get her to be my teacher at the time. Not that it changed how stupid I'd been running into a fight that I had no business jumping into with the abilities I had. Hell, jumping into the fight with the guards had been beyond stupid all by itself. But I prayed for her to be quiet even as I could feel my cheeks heating slightly under her steady gaze.

Tomy struggled with my demands. You could see it in every line of his body. I knew it would be hard for a guy, especially a teenaged boy, to accept having to run away from a fight. Not fighting unless you had to was probably a common demand, but running away would be a blow to his ego.

"Tomy..." Shel's soft voice broke the silence as she tugged on his shirt. "Tomy, please?"

His shoulders slumped suddenly. "Alright," he said, shaking his head. "Fine. If that's what it takes, then fine. I agree."

My eyes widened slightly before I could stop myself from reacting. I hadn't really expected him to agree, though the twinge of relief calming the roiling of my stomach was certainly a grateful outcome. "Ok. Then you two should get some sleep. We'll start first-"

The door slamming open with a thunderous crash interrupted before I could say anything else. Beneath us, horses screamed in alarm as men in grey armor poured into the stable. Our chairs clattered to the ground as we lunged for our feet, getting tangled in the simple furniture in the chaos.

"City guard!" The man in the front yelled, brandishing a long pole with what looked for all the world like an iron omega symbol attached to the end. "You're under arrest for assaulting a patrol! Surrender now!"

"Tomy, remember what I said about running away?" I asked as we backed towards the room's one window that looked out over the stable's roof.

"Yeah, what about it?" he asked, his wide eyed gaze fixed on the men beginning to fill the room, Shel cowering under his arm as they backed away together.

"She's telling you to run, idiot!" Crysal yelled, turning to give the two of them a shove towards the window. "Get out of here!"

"But-" He stumbled when she pushed him, his hip hitting the sill of the window as Shel fumbled the latch holding the shutters closed open.

"No buts!" I yelled, turning my attention away from the guards to glare at him. If they hadn't been so focused on capturing us, it would have been a fatal mistake. "Run!"

The last thing I remembered before that weird pole slid around my neck and a burst of blue lightning drowned my consciousness was the sight of his scared face as he picked his sister up and jumped out the window.

#theglitchedworld #book1:glitched #chapter 8 #litrpg #original fiction

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