#[ he AGONIZES over the past--no not the 40s past his *personal* past ]

[shieldslinger]

any time someone says steve rogers/captain america is unrelatable, i wanna just be like

oh so you don't have a complex relationship with your country where you both love it but struggle with it's flaws and sins and the genuine wrongs it's done and pain it's caused and yet still know it's full of genuinely good, fantastic people that you want to protect and inspire even if it also means protecting people who whole-heartedly disagree with

and you somehow don't struggle with what does "doing good" and "helping people" actually mean and look like when there's so many people now and what helps one group might inevitably be at the detraction of another, that with every step forward, there's two steps back and the fact that there's so many people out there who need help and your heart hurts because you know you can't possibly help them all even though you'd love nothing more than to spend your time all day every day doing that

and you don't ever think back on the things you've done and wonder if it was the right decision, you don't hold yourself to a higher standard of performance and morality, that you wonder if you were too mean or too unrealistic, if there was something, anything you could have done in that moment to be kinder, better, more just and fair to prevent the bad outcomes from happening

sounds fake but okay

[toniko]

choshimdol (초심돌) 417 thoughts/diary entry from me

first off I took an agonizing 40 minutes to read and now is spending the past hour agonizing over it

it’s crazy in fact that (1) the big ‘breakdown’ happens not across the 3 forgotten years but all within 1 year before death

(2) at death, it seems he was watching the ost of the film Hajun was in, the one he wasn’t picked for 😭 … (his greatest regret ? )

but (3) that Hajun was the one who cut Eden off after all, with just a voicemail at that (after Eden was pestering for a callback, message or to talk for a long time) and possibly, because he could recognize Eden’s music immediately that he was a part of rejecting that song for the ost

now the friends on KakaoPage are saying Hajun ran from the funeral because he couldn’t handle the guilt of being a part of Eden’s death (possible suicide…?)

(this is a relationship that says they’re best friends on the outside but has so many extra layers of emotional debt, burden and guilt that they keep hurting each other without realizing until it finally dies with a whimper pre-regression…)

(4) we recontextualize the very basis of the Jaehee & Hajun relationships today, that the initial impression at the start of regression was because of repressed memories. it didn’t make sense with the original regression context but now it’s been explained

(5) reader theory that Jaehee, who we confirm to have been there until the end, is the system. a logical person but also couldn’t give Eden up…?

(6) last line implies memory manipulation may be a result of escapism/Yoon Eden burying his own memories because it’s difficult to face them… there are some trauma responses already so it isn’t far fetched…. (sleeping pill)

(7) reader theory that the real purpose Eden was sent back is because he’s the one capable of fixing Reve compared to the other members…… (we fix your personality on the way + regress to save your life (?))

there were so many heartbreaking reveals this chapter… my heart my heart… I really didn’t cry but I have to go to sleep instead of reading other webnovels because of how much it hurts my heart…

[surviving-cptsd]

Current Events before we get into the Early Years - Part 1

So I promised to start with my early years in this post but before I get started I wanted to share more current updates that may help explain why I'm choosing to come forward now. I'm nearly 40 years old and I was born in the mid 1980s so I've had plenty of time to talk about all this and to be completely honest, I have spoke about it, but never this streamlined. I had often spoke to therapists about writing a book (which I did start to do a few years ago), but I found that every time I'd write a chapter, I would almost relive the events and need a cool down period. These cool down periods could take months and then of coarse I got sidetracked and now here we are, 5 years later from when I started writing and I literally only have 3 chapters fully written down. I find myself in my Facebook groups instead writing down bits and pieces, however those 'bits and pieces' can be several paragraphs long. Writing all that can even be more discouraging at times because I tend to get the same reaction where people say, "I'm not reading all that," or I'll get the people who pick the information apart just because it doesn't match what they believe reality should be. Most times the only reason I even write on these Facebook groups and share with them is because I'm listening to other parents who are in a crisis and I don't want them to feel alone. So, I begin to share my personal experience with them to show them that I support them and their choices and provide advice without judgement. Something I've learned through EMDR therapy, that I'm actually seeking myself. Which brings me to the 'current events': My step kids. You will hear me refer to my step kids as my step kids a lot but I may slip and call them my kids because I care about them just the same as my own flesh and blood. I see no difference between them and my biological children, but for the purposes of information and avoiding confusion, I have to point out they're my step, although it pains me to do so. So all that said, my current event happening has to do with my youngest stepson. He will be 17 years old this coming weekend and before he turns 17, I will be transporting him to a Residential Treatment Facility up in Erie, PA (tomorrow). It has been an agonizing choice but I left it up to his therapists in the end to make this decision. I've been trying to avoid it for the last 3 years since he came into my custody. I am his sole custodian, he suffers from C-PTSD, RAD (Reactive Attachment Disorder) and ADHD (Attention Deficient Hyperactivity Disorder) along with some anxiety and depression from his upbringing by his biological mother, my husband's ex-wife (I promise, you will hear all about it in future posts). A month ago he was charged with a first degree felony of aggravated assault after he attempted to attack a peer at his alternative school. The resource officer and several staff members got between him and the other students and he attacked the resource officer instead, which lead to the charges. My stepson is about 6'2" and over 200lbs. He's physically fit and can do incredible amounts of damage with little effort. Unfortunately his mental capacity is well below his actual age level due to his traumatic events so he is like an adult throwing temper tantrums at times over small things. This also isn't his first rodeo of being charged, it's his 3rd assault charge in the past year and given his age and how the level of violence is escalating, not to mention these charges would almost guarantee some kind of incarceration somewhere, the therapists wanted to be proactive and find a suitable place that will help him work through his traumatic past without the courts imposing it on us first. The one in Erie is a trauma focused RTF and has promising results so we are hopeful he will come out a much different person. But it doesn't stop me from feeling like a failure inside.

[the-firebird69]

Not 2 minutes into it I already started the crap up and sitting there being huge ass holes with the stinking fat b****. She thinks she's getting something by threatEning her son so we're going through her stuff. Jason rolled up and did donuts almost and then circled the stupid drive and was a huge dick now they have to take the coins out of the machines he's using like any old idiot would it's an agonizing event every few seconds they don't respect his personal space and they don't do things that are normal it's ridiculous. We're going to have a huge manufacturing base shortly and the question is what are we going to do with it and the idiots are demanding that we build vehicles so we won't have equipment it's kind of cute because they have absolutely nothing to me saying they want cars terrible. Some of them are not doing anything here they pulled up and they just sit here others are working here and there's no work still others bring a mountain of smelly smelly laundry and it's ridiculous so I don't know when this is going straight now it's like a bunch of bums.

-the max have rounded up about 65% of the people they wanted to grab today thus far we have an outstanding warrant list that is now tripled in size over the past few minutes and it's going to quadruple shortly. There's a huge number of people who really need to do their laundry and most laundromats have these imbeciles in it saying they're doing something somewhere when it's heinous. You know they pulled in and didn't do anything and drove off has Jason is threatening our son this morning send it by identifying encountered it and all this other crap which is not really true

-it's a huge number of people who are convicts meaning that they're escapes from prison around their son all the time and it's deplorable we're going after the causation and we're deleting it tons of people and they're completely wrong

-it's also huge problem here with hearing and things like that he understands what we're seeing we don't want to be abused and we're not going to get you anything or let you have stuff cuz we're sitting here being abused some really stinky stupid plan of letting idiots take over and some art mentality and westborough it's a terrible terrible act and it didn't work and really it was not working back then and it was horrendously stinky and a lot of people say it now they're saying it back then

-play now we're focusing on what's happening here there are a huge number of people who are clamoring to get into Port Charlotte there's a giant contingent of people who are going to the back side probably about 500,000 people and there's going to be 10 more households with them I'm going to probably try and fight all day long and just keep calling people and we don't really expect them to return they bring the number of households down to 40

-we are going ahead and purchasing land and I think that we won't occupy it or can't or won't be able to develop it but we have a plan and it's set in motion and we're already doing three projects in Charlotte county successfully. We have two more lots of land to buy after the three that we purchased today and we're not going to dispose where.

-you did a review of The towers project and it is a stinker nobody wants to renovate it or rebuild it or rejuvenate it you know I want to tear it down and everybody in town has a problem with that and it's a disgusting building it's not even that old it's about 15 years old we discovered that there's too many losers on the board that want to sit there and just talk about it and not do anything more or less ever and they say they don't want to care about the country and they want to destroy it so I escorting them out of the building as we're talking about it today and the same thing and so on and we said no you don't it's illegal to conspire against the United States to destroy it is illegal and it should be fairly obvious but a lot of you are very dumb and we're saying things like that because they're very stupid ignorance of the law doesn't mean that you don't have to adhere to it and they scream you're making it up and we say no we're not and it's terrible they're very very dumb people more shortly

Thor Freya

This is the part where I come in now they're pestering him a lot and I mean Franklin or pestering him Non-Stop with just about every pestering thing that you can think of so I put in for hours to stop them from pestering him and they've been doing it and it's been working but it did slow down a bit and he says the pestering has increased and the number of idiots encircling him is increased and I knew that and I'm testing is talk it really is pretty good he's accurate and he knows what I'm saying there's a lot of people doing it and there's less of them it's an important mental no it's been going on for you pretty long time so we're trying to cut it out but it doesn't seem to be working that much

Hera

We're increasing the presence and we must and we have to talk is getting horrendous

Olympus

[dutchforstrangers]

Taichi Yagami week 2022 Day 3 - Mentor

[1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7]

@taichiyagamiweek

For context see this post here. Content warning: mentions of persons who have passed away

Day 3: Mentor | Characters: Taichi Yagami & Souta Yagami (mentions of Susumu Yagami, Gennai and Daigo Nishijima) | Wordcount: 503

'The map doesn't tell me where to go,' Little Dragon said. 'The journey isn't visible on any map' Big Panda said. 'You've got to find your own path.' - Page 40

Dream big

...

“Daddy?”

Taichi’s head turned to his son.

“What is it like to not have a dad anymore?”

The unexpected question struck him. Although, it wasn’t that suddenly taking how things had gone the past month. He was aware of the death of his own father, but he never thought about being fatherless because of it. Why though?

Images of himself passing away and leaving behind Souta flooded Taichi’s mind followed by a shiver along his spine. Of course his motherless son wanted to know what living without a father would be like, since a father as a parental figure was all he knew.

“Well… ehm…”

He thought about his old man, how his own father had guided and mentored him through life whenever he could. But in times that he couldn’t guide, Taichi was reminded by his own memories of the many other mentor-like figures he had.

His football coach telling him to run and attack.

Gennai explaining to him about the potential he had and could have.

Nishijima-sensei giving him the strength to dream big.

He remembered how the latter had already left him behind in the most agonizing way. Taichi had to bite his lip, swallowing away the forming lump in his throat as a single tear rolled down over his cheek to the floor below.

These mentors had all made him suffer in one way or another, including his own father. He could never pinpoint why they had done that, but looking at his son, looking at the father and mentor he had become, he could see now.

In the end he had to score the goal on his own.

In the end he had to find out where his potential lay and what it meant.

In the end he had to live his dream himself, because no one could do that for him.

Taichi nodded and laughed to himself, smiling through the pain, feeling how the hands on his shoulder encouraged him to continue and struggle, walk and run over the path he paved for himself.

“You know, Souta, I might not have a physical dad anymore, but I was lucky to have more than one.”

“How?”

“You’ve got to figure that out yourself. But just remember, you will always take them with you in ways you can’t understand now.”

Souta cringed his eyebrows, tilting his head slightly just like a puppy who tried to understand life. “Just like mommy?”

Taichi softly smiled. “Yeah,” he nodded.

The bright smile on his son’s face was like the sun to Taichi. And through the rays of light he could not only see Rei, but also his own father. Or fathers. “Dad, I’ve got to keep dreaming big!” Souta exclaimed enthusiastically as he jumped on the couch, one hand above his eyes as if he was searching for that big dream in an imaginary distance. Taichi laughed with him, silently promising he would be the guide to his own son the way his handful of father-like figures had been mentors to him.

...

[tabloidtoc]

National Examiner, April 12

You can buy a copy of this issue for your very own at my eBay store: https://www.ebay.com/str/bradentonbooks

Cover: Mark Harmon quitting NCIS

Page 2: Stars Who Rock Around the Clock -- they believe in the healing power of crystals -- Naomi Campbell, Shirley MacLaine, Adele, Mary-Kate and Ashley Olsen, Uma Thurman

Page 3: Debra Messing, Goldie Hawn and Kate Hudson, Megan Fox, Katy Perry, Gisele Bundchen

Page 4: Eddie Murphy's roles and costumes

Page 6: George Clooney is turning 60 in May, and he says being an older dad to toddlers has its benefits -- his son isn't ever going to feel competitive with him and he'll be gumming his bread by the time he'd feel competitive with him, jokes the Oscar-winning actor, whose twins Ella and Alexander turn 4 in June -- George is well aware that growing up with two highly accomplished parents (his wife Amal Clooney is a successful human rights lawyer) can put a lot of pressure on a kid and that's why the couple is already guiding Ella and Alexander with strong values and kind hearts because George says it's their job to make sure that they care about people and that they challenge people in power and look out for people who don't have power and those are the things he was raised with -- the known prankster is also passing the practical joke tradition down to the next generation and he taught Alexander to take a piece of banana, chew it up and then spit it into a napkin, then stand next to him mom, pretend to blow his nose into it and look down until Mama looks at it, then eat it

Page 7: Partridge Family star Shirley Jones turned 87, and she's brimming over with gratitude for her wonderful life that's been chock-full of extraordinary experiences -- she says you have to have a good time and enjoy life to the fullest and before you know it you'll be 87 -- Shirley has three sons (her stepson David Cassidy died in 2017) and 13 grandchildren

Page 8: Take your etiquette test for tea with Queen Elizabeth

Page 9: Brain foods that may help prevent dementia

* Study says new drug slows Alzheimer's

Page 10: Jennifer Garner recently opened up about her real feelings on her body -- she's 48 and single and has three children with ex-husband Ben Affleck: daughters Violet and Seraphina and son Samuel -- in a recent interview, she admitted that her body has changed a lot since having three kids and she doesn't mind one little bit, even though she was hurt when a friend hinted she may be expecting again, saying there are some women whose bodies just, no matter how many babies they have, they bounce right back to that slim-hipped, no stomach and she has so many girlfriends who have that physique and she's so happy for them, but she's not one of them and she can work really hard and she can be really fit and she will still look like a woman who's had three babies and she always will

Page 11: 6 stomach symptoms you should never ignore -- catch problems before the become deadly

Page 12: After more than two decades, James Brolin says he's discovered the way to keep his marriage to Barbra Streisand going strong: negotiation -- it's taken two marriages and 22 years for him to figure it out and he and his wife have gotten so close being locked down together -- his mother was the sweetest person so he never really learned to negotiate with women but now he knows if you sit down and talk about a situation, you can work it out

Page 14: Dear Tony, America's Top Psychic Healer -- don't make snap judgments; you may lose the perfect mate -- Tony predicts a very hot summer coming and a lot more street crime

Page 15: Folks getting their COVID-19 vaccinations at the Berkshire Community College in Massachusetts got a shocking treat: a mini-concert from world-famous cellist Yo-Yo Ma -- while waiting out his 15-minute observation period, the musician sat down to play a socially distant symphony for his fellow inoculees

Page 16: Duchess Kate is never seen without a purse, but what exactly does she keep inside it? There's quite a history between royal women and their handbags: Princess Diana used her clutch bag to cover her cleavage from prying photographers, Queen Elizabeth moves her handbag from one arm to the other to signal to her staff when she's bored of chatting with someone, and Kate carries her bag in her left hand so she can keep her right hand free to greet and shake hands with guests and she holds her bag in front of her when shaking hands might be awkward -- according to royal protocol pre-pandemic, Kate must extend her hand first for another person to shake hands with her, so if she prefers to just smile instead of touching other folks, she uses her clutch to do that -- author Marcia Moody who wrote Kate: A Biography, says the duchess always carries four must-have items: in her small clutch, she carries a compact mirror, a handkerchief, blotting paper and lip balm and every now and then, if she's going to attend a tennis match, for example, Kate will carry a pair of sunglasses -- unlike Queen Elizabeth, whose purses come from a company called Launer, the duchess favors different brands, but mostly a company called Mulberry -- nowadays with three small children, the mom gravitates toward midsize bags with handles because she's got to take more items with her like a handy bunch of tissues, good for wiping little noses and faces, and also takes her camera along

Page 18: William Shatner confesses that when he starred in Star Trek during the mid-60s, he had no idea it would become a worldwide phenomenon still popular today -- Shatner, who turned 90 in March, says it's unimaginable and it's all beyond anybody's imagination or ability to repeat and the greatest thing about being the captain of the Enterprise for three years was his relationship with the cast and the roles were written so well

Page 19: Brandy is a one-in-a million cat because those are the odds she'd ever be found again after she went missing 15 years ago -- when Charles got the phone call from a California animal shelter that his missing pet has been found, he could scarcely believe his ears and the Los Angeles man was skeptical and thought it must be a mistake but he had made sure the two-month-old kitten had a microchip and sure enough, the malnourished stray they found was his Brandy -- Charles did break down and cry because he thought about all of the years he lost from her and when he picked her up, she started to purr and it was very emotional

Page 20: Mark Harmon finally lured wife Pam Dawber out of retirement to star alongside him on NCIS, but the pairing will be short-lived because he's leaving the show after 18 hit seasons -- the 69-year-old star is finally fed up with the backbreaking hours, endless rehearsals, and feuds with cast and crew, and plans to ride off into the sunset with Pam and retire to the couple's Montana Ranch -- Mark's contract is up after season 18, and he's agonized over whether to sign a new one and he's being offered the moon and the stars to come back for a few more seasons, but he says his heart just isn't in it and Mark has faced problems on the set over the past few years and he feels his age, he just doesn't need the aggravation anymore -- NCIS recently teased a possible departure of his character Leroy Gibbs when the special agent commander was suspended for assaulting and nearly killing a suspect but despite that, Harmon insists Gibbs not be killed off so he can leave the door open for a possible return

Page 22: Legendary actor Michael Caine just turned 88 and he's still going strong, starring in an upcoming comedy Best Sellers and says he knows he's old but he doesn't feel old, not in his head, where it matters

Page 24: They say money doesn't buy happiness, but what do people spend their money on that can buy happiness? You don't need millions of dollars to afford the things that happy people buy to stay that way and studies show that anything over $75,000 a year in income is gravy, which means yachts, jewels, second homes and art collections are not at all required -- the best thing to drop your cash on is experiences and doing is better than having and in other words, an object you own will never give you the consistent pleasure of an experience that creates good memories that live on forever -- also the best experiences are the ones that involve other people like having a picnic with family, going rafting with pals, or even just walking and talking with an exercise buddy

Page 25: Freshen Your Fridge -- make a clean start with this 5-step plan

Page 26: Tony's Mystic World -- may the force be with you -- the life force can be drained out of you by fear or worry

Page 28: Sensational Snaps From Around the World -- photo contest captures amazing sights

Page 31: When to trash it -- the useful lifespan of refrigerated food

Page 32: It's been 40 years since Marilu Henner starred on the hit sitcom Taxi, but the great memories and wonderful co-stars are always on her mind because she's still pals with them -- they always stayed in touch with each other and never lost touch and do a Taxi Zoom every two months and they're all very current with each other and they have a text chain as well and they're in contact every week -- Marilu is close with cast members Tony Danza, Judd Hirsch, Danny DeVito, Christopher Lloyd and Carol Kane

Page 33: Garth Brooks is overjoyed wife Trisha Yearwood has finally bounced back from her bout with COVID-19 -- she seems to be 100 percent, according to Garth, and at the end there during fatigue she got real impatient, really kind of mean and sassy and he thought well, she's back to herself -- after announcing in February that Trisha had the coronavirus and Garth said he had tested negative

Page 40: The grass is always greener when you use these simple gardening tips

* Avoid cat-astrophe -- the right way to add a stray

Page 42: 10 things you never knew about Glenn Close -- the wildly successful actress turned 74 in March

Page 44: Eyes on the Stars -- Sylvester Stallone and wife Jennifer Flavin leave a Florida hotel (picture), Jane Seymour is still looking on the bright side even as the world continues to weather the pandemic, one year after the death of Kenny Rogers his family thanked fans as they honored his life, Sharon Stone is dishing dirt about her Hollywood past in her recently released memoir like one moviemaker who told her to have sex with a male co-star to improve their on-screen chemistry, 28-year-old twins Lady Amelia and Lady Eliza Spencer who are the nieces of Princess Diana recently stepped out in South Africa as bridesmaids for fellow high society girl Leila Osato, director Christopher Columbus pooh-poohed internet rumors about the existence of an NC-17 cut of Mrs. Doubtfire but he did confirm there's an unreleased R-rated version

Page 45: Good Morning America co-host Cecilia Vega mugs it up for the camera on the morning show (picture), Gretta Monahan gets out of a car (picture), longtime GMA veteran Robin Roberts displays her ever-present sunny side on the set (picture), the Hollywood Hills home of Johnny Depp recently had some uninvited guests when a man was spotted loitering by the property's pool but ran off after being confronted by a neighbor and not much later Johnny's security team called police about another unwanted visitor who had taken a shower and helped himself to the actor's booze, Elsa Pataky has been married to Chris Hemsworth for 10 years and says patience and communication and understanding are what help their relationship be successful

Page 46: A Texas man has helped thousands of people by donating his blood platelets a staggering 962 times over the past 37 years

Page 47: Celebrity Weddings Gone Wrong -- Ryan Reynolds and Blake Lively, Cameron Diaz and Benji Madden, Nicky Hilton and James Rothschild, Chrissy Teigen and John Legend, Jessica Simpson and Eric Johnson, Freddie Prinze Jr. and Sarah Michelle Gellar, Katherine Heigl and Josh Kelley

[universal-casey]

This is the story I was talking about earlier that my anon Phoenix wrote!!! It’s so good and I’m sure you all will love it too!

He didn’t know how it started. They were fighting, fighting half the world, and they were losing. Then Soviet said something, an order from his position on the ground where he had been put by an angered, hurt and grief-stricken father... his father. A word, in that language he cursed to hear from that monster’s mouth. But that word, that single word ignited something in him, and all he saw afterwards was red and all he heard was screaming. Then they went from losing, to red-painted winning. He tore the man he called father once so long ago off his master with a cry full of blind rage. What was he even angry at? He should have been happy that his family was finally coming to help him, and he was at one point, but he was also saddened at how brutal the battle became as Soviet tried so hard to keep him under his grasp. But those feelings were gone now, buried under the blinding anger he felt. 

He tore through more people he cared about, watching the crimson from their veins flood and stain his hands. At some point, his blindfold fell off. He could hear his mother’s strangled cry of horror at the sight of his missing eye as he wrapped his hands around her throat. The cry triggered something small in him, but it wasn’t enough to overcome the fury in his head. France fell unconscious and he moved on. He moved on… Why had he stopped moving? The red cleared enough for him to see why. His sweet little brother, Canada was next. The younger man stared into his older brother’s single eye with horror, grief, and compassion? This confused America, did his brother, even in face of such horrendous crimes and empty movements, still love him? Even as he hurt their mother and father to the point they could die? Why hadn’t he killed them? He realized he hadn’t killed any of the countries he had attacked for some unknown reason.

He could hear Soviet screaming orders at him, commanding that he kill one of the people he was closest with. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. As the red cleared more, Soviet’s words began to fall on deaf ears as a rhythmic pounding resounded through the country’s body. It only took a moment for him to realize that it was his heart, singing its song of lament and love to him. Something he hadn’t heard in years. Something that broke down all of the walls he had built to keep himself together. Because somehow, someway, even when battered, bruised, bleeding, even broken at points, it had stayed intact. As he focused on Canada again, looking into the other’s wide eyes, his heart quickened as the tears began to run out. Unable to stop them, or the pent up pain that consumed his body, all America could do was let out an agonizing scream that one could swear was heard all over the globe. A scream so heart wrenching and gut turning as his mind and heart battled within him, fighting each other in a twisted tangle for dominance. 

Covering his eyes in a vain attempt to stop the jumbled overflow of everything, he fell to his knees as the deafening sound continued to tear at his windpipe. An overflow of pent up emotion of all kinds; overflow of his senses, the salty taste of tears and burning smell of smoke and iron cutting through dragging guilt and depression through his shattered soul. The overflow of just pain. The pain of loss, the pain he felt when his body bled, the pain in his heart that took over and infected every vein. He… He couldn’t focus, and all he could do was scream into the darkness he had enveloped himself into, the sound blocking out every other sound in the torn battlefield around him as all people could do was watch. All there was, outside of him, was silence. A cold dead silence. 

But even if he wanted to, even if he tried, he couldn’t stop screaming. He couldn’t stop letting out all the pain. He felt a pair of thin, but strong arms wrap around his body as he continued to let out everything. Those arms held something he hadn’t felt in a long long time. Love. Something he had craved. Something he yearned to have… and here it was. So he took it, even if there was a promise it wouldn't last. Wrapping his arms around a person he couldn’t see, he buried his face into the shoulder, squeezing them tightly and he sobs. Finding some small comfort in the darkness of the world around him. A different scent flooded his nose, pine trees, and the sweet scent of maple. It was a welcome break from the wartime smells he had before, and he embraced his brother a little tighter. 

Canada didn’t care that he was having difficulty breathing due to his brother hugging him too tight. He understood that he was in a lot of pain and needed someone to be there. He understood that long before this mess, even when America would smile that bright signature beam and say he was alright. But he was also angry. Angry at himself for not being there to help his brother when he needed him, angry at Soviet for hurting him so deeply, and so very angry that this had happened in the first place. Maybe there was a world somewhere, someplace where this had never happened, and he would be able to see his brother as fine as he could be and happy. But if it did exist, it wasn’t here. So Canada just hugged his brother tighter, rubbing a circle on his back just like how their Mother showed them when they were young and innocent.

***

As for Soviet? Oh he was pissed. He didn’t spend years breaking that striped freak down into being the perfect weapon for him to become so useless! Soviet picked himself off the ground, grunting in pain as he put his arm back into its socket. Growling in frustration, he dislodged his weapon from Britain's hands, unaware that the other was still alive, even with bones peeking through his flesh. Dragging himself, and preparing his SVT-40 to fire-- but not unlocking the safety just yet-- and to get rid of the nuisance once and for all. Not before getting some last insults, curses and a proper beating, of course

***

As America’s heart rate began to slow, he became aware of his surroundings once more, the crackle of the fires around him, the steady but strained breathing of his brother and the silence. But in that silence, he heard a familiar sound of heavy boots hit the ground, the subtle click of metal, coming towards him, gripping him in the vice of fear, cold but homely. Canada noted this, looking up and seeing Soviet coming towards them. The tall, bloodied man, imposing in the flame-lit dark of night, his eye empty but filled with the intent to kill as he held his rifle in his hands. Letting go of his brother, and twisting himself out of his grip, he decided that he would make up for not being there in the past, by being there now.

Canada put himself between America and the Soviet Union, preparing himself to die if he must. Soviet smiled at him, amused by this, that crazed look of murder not changing. America perked his head up, and began to process what his brother was doing. He turned, and tried to speak out, to tell his brother no, but his voice failed him: catching in his throat and choking him. He could only watch as the man that had tortured him for so long began to hurt his brother. As he watched the life-giving crimson begin to pour and the screams start again, something in him snapped.

What happened next was a blur, but to an outsider, they would see the smaller man spring from where he had fallen to his knees, grabbing the barrel and the stock of the union’s gun. It was torn out of the gloves of the larger communist as a cry of defiance and rage ripped itself from America’s dry windpipe, a fire once seen only 200 years before lit in his eyes as both glowed with a small pinprick of light.

***

Elsewhere, a group of people on a fleet of ships awaited the signal from the mainland as their king watched the shore. Then the signal was seen, a simple raising of a flag. The flag’s fifty stars and thirteen stripes raised high in the wind, flapping greatly. With that, two hundred thousand soldiers joined several million on land in a fight for something so simple, yet so great. Freedom. Not just any freedom, no. Freedom to themselves, freedom in love and life. A freedom that would sound so simple and so human, and yet wasn’t seen so very often. The freedom of choice. As they fought, pushing towards a capital once held in such high regard, they raised their flag of freedom. As they fought for that simple freedom to be human in all aspects.

***

This freedom and the constant battles made for it, pushed that fire to burn brighter and more powerful than ever before. So bright that it was almost blinding, as a different type of tear rolled gently down his cheeks. He wasn’t fighting for himself. In all of his battles, he never was just fighting for him. Here, now, he was fighting for the world and its freedom from the tyrant before him. Glancing at his injured sibling, he issued one single request of him as his eyes swept over the landscape, “Get them all out of here,” was all he said, before shoving Soviet back. The larger man pulled out a pistol and started shooting at Canada as he moved to evacuate the area, but America stepped between them, taking each bullet and not flinching even as the wounds burned.  

Another roar of rage, fueled solely on his true anger now, led him to spring at Soviet as the planes, tanks and trucks that weren’t damaged began to leave the two behind. Using his bare hands, he wrapped one around the other’s neck, squeezing it tightly. The other curled into a fist as he punched the face that had taunted and pained him. Soviet was no longer smiling, especially not as he felt the crack that had formed on his cheek begin to grow. Using his empty hand, he hit back, managing to throw the other off of him. Raising his pistol, he fired, but America moved, so it only grazed his cheek. America moved in closer, twisting his body in a kick that knocked the weapon from the other’s hand. 

Surrounded by a ring of fire, the two took a few steps back and circled, breathing heavily. Both were aiming to kill, and they may as well kill each other in this. But that was okay with America. If he was going to go down, he sure as hell would bring this bastard of a human with him. Hatred and animosity reached a boiling point and they clashed again, Soviet aiming a punch at the smaller man’s head, leading the man to dodge and kick his knee to the side, bringing the taller down so he could reach his head. America punched, but Soviet moved his head, grabbing the arm and twisting it behind America. Still facing each other, America bashed his skull against the other’s and used his still propped up leg to leverage himself into a back flip over Soviet’s arm, twisting himself out of his grasp.

Grunting and rubbing his forehead, Soviet stumbled back before growling at America who returned the noise, the two pacing around the other in the fiery cage like two tigers. Soviet saw something glint out of the corner of his eye. His pistol flashed in the dancing scarlet. He reached for it as America ran at him again, firing and boring another hole in the country's body. This didn’t stop him, though. America tackled him, wrapping both hands around Soviet’s windpipe. The man choked, his mind losing focus as he struggled for air, as he tried to aim at the other’s head. Shooting again, he caught America’s left shoulder, easing the grip as one hand went to cover the wound. Regaining air, Soviet kicked America in his chest, winding him and getting him off. 

The two stared at each other, breathing heavily and grunting like animals as they glared into each other's souls. Soviet raised his gun, aiming for the hole he had made, knowing that since there was no eye, the bullet would likely go directly into America’s brain. America ran at him again, the middle three fingers of his right hand curling slightly. A gunshot rang out.

***

Several hours later, the chopping of a helicopter was heard, as a bright light shined down. Something on the ground moved slightly, and the people on board landed to investigate. They found a messy scene: one body and a charred jacket of a smaller person was found. The body was unrecognizable due to being burned by the flames and was noted to have the throat ripped out. “Over here!” came a cry, as the team rushed over to find a survivor, barely breathing, half hidden by the charred grass. Blood was pouring from the right eye, but they were still alive. But for how much longer? Quickly and carefully they got the person on a stretcher and took off.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep.

Beep. A blinding white light flooded his vision. Was he dead? Somehow, even with all he had done, he made it into heaven? Does heaven even smell like birch pines, roses and… wait is that a crepe? Processing this for a moment, he realized he somehow wasn’t dead. His sight finally adjusted to the light, and he could see three people in the bright hospital room. The two sat, clearly conked out in the chairs, were Great Britain and France, his parents clearly exhausted: his father’s brow crinkled in a worried crease that hadn’t yet softened, a few emptied plates on the table next to them. Next to him, in the chair directly by the bed, hand locked within his own, was his brother Canada. All of them were still bandaged, he noted his father didn't have his usual top coat over his button up, leading him to believe that he was still admitted, but allowed to be here. It was peaceful, other than the steady noises of the machines that told he was still alive. 

The peace he felt didn’t last as his cranium was slammed with a pounding headache. Groaning, he brought his free hand up to his head, and rubbed it, noting a large bandage was wrapped around where his right eye had been.

…

Oh right. The events of yesterday flooded back to him, making his headache worse. Another groan was heard as Canada woke up, rubbing his eyes, and readjusting himself to the light. Seeing his brother was awake, he beamed, months of waiting finally over. “America! You’re awake!” He whisper-shouted excitedly.

“Yeah, but I feel like death. How long was I out?”

“6 months.” At this, America gawked at him, appalled. In his mind, that battle-to-the-death was only yesterday. 

“6 months?!”

“Yep. Also, not too long after the doctors let you out of surgery, your flag changed. It actually looks really cool.” Canada went over to where France was and pulled a mirror out of her purse. Bringing it up to America’s face, he saw that he kept his stars and his stripes, but the stars were now in the middle of his face, over a pale red center, with the stripes circling out from around them. Similar to the bands of the milky way, curving out from the center. The stars that didn’t fit in the middle dotted along the dark navy lines that contrasted the white ones. Bringing a hand to his face, he saw the new look for his hands. For the most part it was the same as before, with the blue and the big star. But the stripes on his fingers, he had three on each finger now, and went red, orange and yellow.  He didn't have to go far to find the green, blue and purple lining his wrists where the dark navy ended. He actually found it pretty cool, he had always loved the rainbow from since he was child, the colors meaning the duality and diversity of life to him, and how it all fits together,  and how it wouldn't be complete if you removed any color.

[pamphletstoinspire]

December 20, 2020 - Today Is The Fourth Sunday of Advent

The First Epistle of St. Paul to the Corinthians, iv. 1-5.

Brethren: Let a man so account of us as of the ministers of Christ, and the dispensers of the mysteries of God. Here now it is required among the dispensers, that a man be found faithful. But to me it is a very small thing to be judged by you, or by man’s day; but neither do I judge my own self. For I am not conscious to myself of any thing, yet am I not hereby justified; but He that judgeth me, is the Lord. Therefore judge not before the time; until the Lord come, who both will bring to light the hidden things of darkness, and will make manifest the counsels of the hearts; and then shall every man have praise from God. - by Bishop Ehrler, 1891

“Prepare ye the way of the Lord.” (Luke 3: 4).

The whole season of Advent is a time of preparation for the coming of our Redeemer. “Prepare ye the way of the Lord!” It is divine faith, my dear brethren, which prompts this preparation; and heavenly hope, which encourages us to keep the Commandments, in spite of all obstacles which our evil inclinations oppose thereto; and to walk steadfastly in the way of salvation. But, since this path is, for the most part, rough, difficult, and repulsive to our natural desires, it is the all-powerful love of God alone, which can make all the crooked paths straight, and all the rough ways plain. If men would but love the Lord, their highest Good, with all their hearts, with all their souls, and with all their minds, they would easily overcome all obstacles, here below, and without doubt, would hereafter, “see the salvation of God;” that is, they would enjoy for all eternity, the Beatific Vision of Him Who is the delight of heaven and earth, our first beginning and our last end. My dearest Christians, I implore you, then, to love this Holy One Who is most loving, most lovely, and most perfect in all His attributes. Love the Lord, your God,

I. With your whole hearts, that is, with your whole understanding; II. With your whole souls, that is, with your whole will; and III. With your whole minds, that is, with all your memory. I. Human understanding acknowledges that God is most worthy of our love:

1. Because He is the essence of all good; and 2. Because all His works are infinitely great. 1. Knowledge of a good is essential to a love of it. No matter how precious a thing may be, if we do not know its value, we do not love it. God, it is true, is so far above us, my brethren, that we cannot fully comprehend His being or perfections. “What do you imagine God to be?” asks St. Augustine. “Whatever image you form of Him, is not correct; for He would not be God, if you could comprehend Him.” Nevertheless, the knowledge of Himself which God imparts to His creatures, is in proportion to their love for Him. No truer conception can be formed of the Deity, than that which regards and worships Him as the highest, most desirable, and everlasting Good; a good which may be, indeed, admired, but never comprehended by any of His creatures.

2. Man has been favored from the beginning, with the most wonderful revelations of the Deity. “The heavens show forth the glory of God (Ps. 18: 2).” He, it is, of Whom the Apostle says, “Of Him, and by Him, and in Him, are all things (Rom. 11: 36).” When we contemplate this great universe in which we live, we may form some idea of the majesty and grandeur of the Creator. “He manifests His inestimable power,” says St. Bernard, “in the creation of such numerous, great, various, and splendid things.” His marvelous wisdom is displayed in that matchless order which regulates everything above, below, and in the center of the earth. When we reflect upon the aim and exalted destiny of all created things, we can not sufficiently admire the goodness of God nor the wonderful beauties and benefits of creation in which even the most ungrateful have a share. By these, and similar considerations, we must endeavor as much as possible, my brethren, to grow in the knowledge of God. And this knowledge must certainly beget in our souls, a true and lasting love of God.

II. To love God with our whole souls, the will must be ready.

1. To fulfill all the commandments of God, and 2. To do this in adverse, as well as in agreeable, circumstances. 1. God says to man; “My son give Me thy heart (Prov. 23: 26).” What does this mean, dear Christians? Nothing else but to do God’s will, as He Himself explains: “I have found David, the son of Jesse, a man according to my own heart, who shall do all my will (Acts 13: 22).” “Remain in My love,” says our Saviour to His disciples; “If you keep my commandments, you will remain in my love; as I always have kept my Father’s commandments, and do remain in His love (John 15: 9, 10).” The commandment of love, “is the greatest and first commandment of the law (Matth. 22: 38),” yea, it is, as St. Paul declares it to be, “the fulfilling of the law (Rom. 13: 10).” He that truly loves God will certainly keep His commandments; but he that does not keep his commandments, shows thereby that he has no love for God. If divine love is present in a soul, it is sufficient; but if every thing else is present, except charity, all else is of no account.

2. It is not enough to perform the will of God or obey His commands in certain circumstances agreeable to the Christian. Man’s will must be submissive to that of God in all circumstances. “Who then shall separate us from the love of Christ? shall tribulation? or distress? or famine? or nakedness? or danger? or persecution? or the sword? In all these things, we overcome, because of Him that hath loved us (Rom. 8: 35, 37).” What did not St. Paul, in common with all the other Apostles, suffer for Christ? Love assuaged all their pains, and sweetened all their tribulations. “Jacob served seven years for Rachel: and they seemed but a few days, because of the greatness of his love (Gen. 29:20)”; although that ancient patriarch acknowledges himself that: “Day and night was I parched with heat, and with frost, and sleep departed from my eyes (Gen. 31: 40).” According to the testimony of St. Bernard, “where true love exists, labor ceases to be a burden, and the lover finds a joy in the severest toil.” St. Chrysostom says, that an ardent lover often dies for his beloved, although, after death, he can expect no return from her. O, what an outrage! Man is willing and eager to do more for the love of a miserable, perishable creature, than for the love of his living God! How often, alas! my brethren, do we voluntarily turn our backs upon Him without even the excuse of a fear of death!

III. We love God with our memory

1. When we constantly recall the recollection of His past graces and benefits, and 2. When we occupy our thoughts with those which we yet hope to receive from Him in the future. 1. Love always demands a return of love. “I have loved thee with an everlasting love; therefore have I drawn thee, taking pity on thee (Jerem. 31: 3).” Mighty and manifold are the evidences of His love which God has manifested in His works. “Remember, man!” says St. Augustine, “that once thou hadst no being, but that now thou hast begun to live; and for this, thou hast to thank God.” “Thy hands have made me and formed me,” says the Psalmist (Ps. 118: 73). “Yes, thou hast made me,” man might exclaim, “only a little less than the Angels!” “Thou hast crowned him with glory and honor; and hast set him over the works of Thy hands (Ps. 8: 6, 7).” And St. Paul adds his testimony to this universal chorus of divine praise and love: “But God commendeth His charity toward us: because when as yet we were sinners, according to the time, Christ died for us (Rom. 5: 8, 9).” Let us not ask, dear Christians, with the ancient Prophet: “Why then is Thy apparel red, and thy garments like theirs that tread in the wine-press?”–for Christ answers, with a pathos and tenderness that might melt the very hardest heart: “‘I have trodden the wine-press alone (Isai. 63 : 2, 4).’ I have suffered for you, I have agonized for you, I have shed the last drop of my blood, all out of pure love for you, my poor unworthy children!” Does not such love deserve–shall it not, this day, elicit an ardent and sincere return of love?

2. What shall I render to the Lord, for all the things that He hath rendered to me?” cries the grateful Psalmist (Ps. 115: 12). To me! You see, my dear brethren, that here there is question of personal favors done the royal David. Apart from all those past benefits which are common to the whole human race, let us, (following his example), consider those particular blessings which we daily receive; the grace of Baptism and faith, the grace of vocation, the grace of God’s longsuffering patience in our regard, the grace of conversion, of the frequent remission of our sins, all our daily inspirations from heaven, etc. O, Lord! what shall I render to Thee for all these things? “He hath not done in like manner to every nation (Ps. 147: 20).” “He hath set me in a place of pasture. He hath brought me up on the water of refreshment (Ps. 22: 2).” “Unless the Lord had been my helper; my soul had almost dwelt in hell (Ps. 93: 17).” Ask yourselves, this hour, my brethren,–each one of you in the secret of your soul: What return can I make for all these benefits? And I will reply to you in the name of God: The only acceptable one of love. He requires nothing but what He Himself has commanded: Thou shall love the Lord thy God.”

Peroration.–Knowing clearly this commandment and the most perfect method of fulfilling it, let us, therefore, love the Lord our God with our whole heart, with our whole soul, and with all our mind. The very thought of such a precept should overwhelm us with humility and reverential gratitude. “My God!” exclaims St. Augustine, “who am I in comparison to thee, that thou shouldst command me to love Thee? Thou threatenest, and art angry when I do not love Thee! Thou promisest me a great reward for loving thee. Where, then, is my love for thee? What pleasure or gratification dost thou find in me?” What king says to his subject: “Let us be friends, and, as a reward, I will give you a whole province?” Not to our own merits, but to the ineffable goodness of God, are we indebted for all our blessings. He wishes to be loved, and He, alone, is most worthy of our love. How foolish then, are we, when we do not love Him! O most amiable God! from this time forward, we will love thee with our whole heart, and with our whole soul, and with our whole mind. By this love, shall we overcome all the difficulties of this life; all that is crooked in us shall be made straight, all that is rough in us shall be made plain. And, in the end, we “shall see the salvation of God,” and love and praise thee for all eternity! Amen. 

[daintysailor]

How to partake in current political matters, care about the thousands of issues continuing to be brought to light, and not get overwelled by it all:

I know this is a block of text, so if this is something you struggle with, please read. If it isn't, don't bother and just skip this lol.

I grew up in an incredibly conservative household, sheltered from the existence of social issues or different points of view. As a teenager, once I learned of social issues, I seemed learn about them all at once. Then in college I was disowned, making me poor for the first time, and all of these social issues suddenly started effecting my life personally.

I definitely had to learn empathy that I wasn't taught as a child, and this newfound empathy overwelled my constantly. I started to feel burned out from constantly seeing more new and continuing issues that were so inhumane that I couldn't believe they existed. I know this is a common experience for many people who followed nearly the same life path. And then all of a sudden something changed. I could get fiery passionate about issues and keep it up. My attention on issues didn't fizzle out, but I also didn't burn out. I got angry for blm, and I could keep it up. I could take the criticism telling me the changes I needed to make on myself, and I could also handle debating racists.

At first I didn't notice because it was a growth separate from my political views. I learned how to expend my energy separately from my passion. It became an emotional issue rather than a political one. I was disowned by my family, but they refused to admit that's what they were doing. My mom wouldn't let me see or even talk to my brothers, and then she would turn around and ask why I didn't care enough about them to talk to them. I stressed about how I could help my brothers while they were still stuck with my parents far away from me. It was agonizing. And then one day I had to come to terms with the fact that it was not my responsibility to get my brothers out. I know that sounds harsh, but stick with me. The realization came from listening to an r/aita story. A kid's dad walked out on him when he was like 3 or something. His dad then cut all contact and made a new life for himself. The kid tried to reach out a couple of times, and the dad responded by saying "I want to pretend to that part of my life never existed, please respect my wishes." And so the kid grew up without that man in his life. In the kids 40s or something, the kid's dad reaches out to him out of the blue to ask for the kid's kidney for the dad's new family's daughter. The kid pointed out that this man was a stranger to him. This was a stranger asking for a kidney. The kid didn't want to have surgery, so he said no. The dad got angry. He said the kid was responsible if his daughter couldn't get a kidney. Except he isn't. Neither that man nor his daughter are entitled to that kidney. Now you might say "Well I would give up my kidney to save a girl's life," and that's cool, but you're still not obligated to do that. Sure, if you want to be nice or whatever, you totally can still do that, but it. is. not. your. responsibility. I might want to still do what I can to help my brothers, but it is not my responsibility. It's not fair to put that weight on myself. What about caring about them? What about worrying about them? I can still think of them and check in with them, but I don't stress myself out with things that I can't control. I still feel bad that my brothers are stuck at home, and I'll do what I can to help them, but my care for them doesn't keep me up at night. I have not started caring less about them or thinking of them less, I just don't put unnecessary stress on myself.

I do the most I can to be a good person. I educate myself and make sure I am aware of current-day affairs. I practice self-introspection, to make sure I am not putting more negativity out there. I don't beat myself up over past decisions because my goal is to just be a good person. I know that when I look back, I can say I made the best decision I could with the information I had at the time. I've said bad things in the past, but I didn't have the perspective or knowledge that I have now. Now I can stop myself from saying bad things. Now I can help someone who is where I was in the past by explain things from the way I learned to change.

BLM still matters. I still support the protests. I still talk to people about what is going on. I still post and read new stories. I still cry at every story of a death, and ever experience. I still donate, go to protests, stand up where I can, discover new racial injustice, share more stories, discover new solutions to issues. I still feel ever single one of those emotions, but I remember that I'm doing what I can. Yes our world is in shambles. That sucks, but I AM DOING WHAT I CAN. Yes, there are tons of issues, but if you are doing the most you can, you are good!

Before I end, I just want to remind you, the gist is to do what you can and wipe your hands clean of things you can't do anything about, but remember to still practice self-reflection. Don't negate criticism by saying "I've done what I can." As much as my parents cut me off, I cut them off. My parents were emotionally abusive. I tried to talk to my dad about the terrible things he was saying in hopes to show him how his hurtful words with effect my brothers. My sister left home as well and also tried to address the exact same concerns. My dad responded back by saying "Daintysailor already called my abusive. Your lies can't effect me anymore." My sister and I didn't want to make my dad feel guilty, we wanted to get him to see the error in his ways so he could change for the future. If you get outside feedback, someone telling an issue they have with you, sometimes it is an attempt to just make you feel bad. But sometimes it is an attempt to get you to see something you're doing wrong. Don't bother with guilt or stress, but don't become blind. Learn to control your emotions, and turn your energy towards loving the person you are trying to become.

Take pride in wanting to be a good person.

[bdgthinks]

The Two Sides of “The Two Sides of Singapore, As Seen By A Food Delivery Rider”, As Seen By A Food Delivery Rider

https://medium.com/@bdgthinksShort pre-amble: Just as how the original Rice article is just the opinion of one writer, what I’m writing below is likewise, just the opinion of mine alone. Also, my opinions are based on my experience working with Deliveroo while Yusuf worked for Grab Food so there may be some differences between the pay structure, zone distances and other company-specific policies.

I was clicking past Instagram stories yesterday afternoon, about to take a nap, when I saw a friend share this recently posted Rice Media article. Part photo journal, part commentary on the gig economy, Singapore’s class divide, and how income inequality is growing more apparent as we adapt to the ever-evolving Covid-19 situation? Sign me the hell up. 

All images courtesy of Ricemedia.co, Yusuf Abdol Hamid, or myself

20 minutes, a few raised eyebrows, and many heated texts later – I reluctantly abandoned my plans to nap because I read some many things in this article (which I highly recommend you read first before reading on!) that I disagree with profoundly. 

Before I start, I want to offer my appreciation to Yusuf (the narrator), Boon Ping (the editor/author), and Rice Media for publishing this piece that will help many understand the oft-overlooked issue of social/income inequality in an engaging and accessible manner. My misgivings towards some of Yusuf’s opinions notwithstanding, the general sentiment towards this article is extremely positive and has done what I believe every great article should do, provoke thought and inspire critical thinking towards the status quo! 

A smattering of positive feedback to the original article 

What I appreciated most about the article is encapsulated by joce_zhang’s comment, that it’s an important reminder to be kinder to people – regardless. 

 However, I couldn’t help but find it slightly troubling that Yusuf and Boon Ping (the editor) seemed to have oversimplified these issues and reduced the stakeholders to caricatures: the rich as the Monopoly Man; and the tireless ‘seen by many as a dead-end job’ delivery couriers as a Dickensian orphan, counting pennies and agonizing over whether they ‘deserve’ a Zinger. 

I worry that one unintended consequence of this article is that some ways social inequality is highlighted may lead to reinforcement of the divide rather than dissolution. 

During my Summer holidays in 2018, I became attracted to the idea of working part-time as a food courier cyclist as in my mind I saw it as being paid to just cycle and listen to podcasts. Since then, I’ve been an on-off Deliveroo cyclist during the shorter holidays or whenever I needed a little bit of extra pocket money. 

In past the two years, I’ve earned exactly $4081.63 from making deliveries (inclusive of bonuses) and dividing it by a conservative $15/h rate, I’ve worked for around 272 hours or about 700 deliveries. split about 60/40 between private properties and HDB flats.

And I guess it’s also partly because of my different experience working in food couriering the past two years that made me feel so much discontent while reading Yusuf’s article. In these 400-odd deliveries to private residences (or heck, in any of my deliveries), I don’t recall having once been treated unnecessarily rudely, aggressively or dismissively by any of the stakeholders I interact with in the job – restaurant servers and managers, condo security management and customers alike. 

What I have experienced actually are customers that have tipped me for my efforts - especially ones who live in fairly inaccessible areas, and (during this circuit breaker period) offered me a snack or a cold drink to drop off their deliveries; security guards who ask me how my day was and if I’ve had my lunch or dinner; and restaurant staff who invite me to have a seat in the restaurant while I wait for my order. 

Some treats from kind customers 

Even when I had made a mess of the customer’s order from their order roiling around during a bumpy 15-minute bike ride (entirely my fault of course!), I’ve never heard anything more than an entirely deserved ‘tsk’ at the disappointment of having half of their pho soup ending up in the plastic bag instead of the bowl – and even then these tsk’s are far and few between! 

And it is (again, solely from my own personal experience) where I felt that Yusuf could have been cherry-picking the worst examples from his own experience to make a point. While service industry personnel are no doubt severely underappreciated and that should be improved as a whole, I feel that such blatant incidents are the exception rather than the rule. 

My point is: the world isn’t binary. Heck, even up to a year ago I was still echoing Yusuf’s entire argument and ranting rather colorfully about the injustice and discrimination of it all. Who are YOU to tell me which lift I can and cannot use? 

In the pursuit of delivering a commentary on some really important social issues, I feel that it fell short by over-emphasizing the ludicrousness of the elite and failing to consider the many other factors that contributes to this problem. 

For one, I thought that the annoyance projected to security guards seeing themselves as ‘a barrier between the riff-raff and their diamond-encrusted residents’ was a bit uncalled for – painting a picture of the fearsome guard – in employ of the up-in-the-air bourgeois hiding in their ivory tower, assailing an innocent courier who had the audacity to think that he had the right to take the same elevator as the residents? 

But then… when we consider that most lift lobbies are a good distance from the security guard posts where the guards are stationed, it doesn’t seem so unreasonable for a guard to have to raise his voice to get his point across, right? 

Being fortunate enough to live in a condo myself, I’ve sometimes felt unease in the duality that security guards experience every single day: faithful bastions in keeping residents safe, spending their days patrolling the lush, landscaped gardens and expansive feature infinity pools, but never once stepping foot into the houses they loyally guard.

And at the end of the day, clocking out to return home to an environment I assume is much less luxurious. 

So why then, do Yusuf and Boon Ping deign to foster an us vs them divide, arbitrarily placing one occupation on one side of the line and another on the opposite?

How about the incredulousness towards the guy who orders a stupid $11 Dal.komm latte every day, or the Grange Road resident who only orders a single scoop of Haagen-Dazs ice cream? 

Like I said, caricatures that highlight and reinforce the rich-poor divide.

Cherry-picking prevents the reader from seeing the single cups of coffee that I’ve delivered from Common Man Coffee Roasters to Tenteram Peak, the eight egg tarts from Whampoa Hawker Center to Toa Payoh. Or my dad, who lives a one-minute walk from the hawker center but still chooses to order through Grabfood because he paid for a subscription service that offers 50 free deliveries for just $10? 

All these customers lived in HDB units. 

As a courier, there’s nothing I appreciate more than collecting an order to find out I’m being paid $5 to cycle one block away, or reaching the restaurant to find out that a customer only ordered an easy-to-transport wrap instead of say, twelve packets of chicken rice – I’m getting paid the same amount anyway. 

So yes, they’re paying our salary, so thank you. 

Juxtaposition is also good and all for making a point, but is it truly accurate and representative? 

The word exclusive is used a lot by Yusuf - but are those who live in a smelly HDB with the pee smell in the corridor exclusively nice, and the expat who lives in the Ardmore Park condo with the super high ceiling exclusively mean? Is it wrong to live (or aspire to live) in an exclusive private property? These are questions to be stimulated, not answers to be given. 

There’s so much to pick apart, but my goal isn’t to say: I’m Right, You’re Wrong, it’s just that say that There Are Two Sides to Everything. 

A brief aside on ‘fulfillment’ 

While I love my part-time job – paying me upwards of $20 an hour to keep fit and listen to podcasts, I’m entirely cognizant that while I’m privileged that it’s a side-hustle, a side-gig, a part-time job to me; it’s also a livelihood to tens of thousands of hardworking people out there. 

Where I could turn off the app and head home when I decided I’ve earned enough in the week to eat at a new restaurant I’ve been eyeing or if it was too hot in the afternoon, most other people working my job can’t – if not, the lights may not turn on the next day. 

In a comment to an earlier draft of this piece, a friend shared that it’s a privilege to be able to separate your social identities. I think it’s also a privilege to have the choice of perspective. We exercise when we’re healthy, as a hobby, or a passion. Deliverymen don’t see it that way. There is no ‘good to do’, there is only ‘must do’. 

At the end of the day when the world starts to recover from Covid-19, you’re going to start getting photo and videography gigs and transition back to the white-collar world. 

As for the security guard and domestic helper at Ardmore Park, the server at the Grange Road Haagen-Dazs, and the tens of thousands of for-hire drivers and delivery couriers? There’s no ‘back to normal’ – this is their normal. 

In a discussion post on Yusuf’s article, a redditor referenced Maslow’s hierarchy of needs:

In the blue-collar normal, where every day is a struggle to meet the needs of financial safety and security, maybe fulfilment isn’t really an aspiration for most. In an article calling for empathy, I feel the quality slightly lacking in my reading. 

A few months back I began my education into inequality in Singapore with Teo You Yenn’s seminal This Is What Inequality Looks Like. In it, the title of one of her essays especially stood out to me: Dignity Is Like Clean Air. She describes, like Yusuf does, that many blue-collar workers in the service industry always feel invisible, that people don’t respect them, that it makes them feel small. I’d like to add on to** Dignity Is Like Clean Air** with the caveat: Segregation Is Not Necessarily Dirty. 

Going back to the ‘fucked up service lifts at the back for the smelly people, the non-residents and stuff’, how about we just call a spade a spade?

In restaurants, servers and chefs who have their meals there usually sit at tables near the kitchen (or even in the kitchen itself). 

In airplanes, consumers have the choice to pay a much higher premium for more leg room and a more gourmet selection of food. In fancy hotels, bellboys and concierge staff have to wear stiff suits – there’s usually a dress code for guests to enter certain areas. 

So, is it really that unfair, for someone who’s had the means to pay for the privilege of living in luxury, to not really want to share a lift with someone who might smell unpleasant from having spent hours cycling under the hot sun? 

The service lift provides the same functionality – no one’s saying that couriers are ‘lesser people’, we’re not being asked to walk up the stairs while the ‘masters’ take the magic moving box. It wasn’t created to separate the ‘undesirables’ from the ‘desirables’ like a pre-Rosa Parks bus, and it’ll be unhealthy to think of it as such – even worse to let it fester. 

To package my views into a neatly categorized box – When I’m Brandon the Deliveryman, it’s perfectly fine for a guard to request for me to take the service lift, but when I’m Brandon the Guest attending a dinner party at the same condo, no one is stopping me from taking the resident lift right? 

Different day, Different fit, Same me 

I still think that it’s incredibly fucked up that some employers make their helpers take a separate lift though. 

But in delivering the core message – is it more helpful to frame your reflection as ‘why do some people treat their subordinates with such contempt and how can we as society hope to change it’, or to just resent the fact that ‘rich people like that la’ – and laugh and pretend we’re friends. 

I guess what I’m most frustrated with about the article is that it had the potential to be so much more. It occasionally flirts with the possibility of going deeper into one issue or the other but ultimately ends up being a reflection of one privileged dude’s brief foray into an industry that many of us often take for granted. 

And because there are so many issues at play, people often fall into the trap of distilling extremely complicated issues into dangerous sweeping statements, which eventually does very little for the problem in question. 

Another frustration I often have towards the discourse towards social issues is that they often fail to carry a call-to-action. Okay, I’ve checked my privilege, I’ve understood that my successes in life is partly a byproduct of the wealthy family I was fortunate to being born into – now what? 

A good rule of thumb that I’ve been trying to implement into my life recently is to think about the net positive or net negative an action has onto society. And hence: 

To the fortunate: While it is important to understand your privilege and not take things for granted, you also don’t have to be ashamed of it. Every dollar you spend goes into the economy and is earned by someone else. So, what can you do to influence a net positive? 

Be kind to everyone, be kind to everyone, be kind to everyone. 

If you can, have the moral courage to call out undesirable behavior – especially if it’s someone close to you. But if you can’t – it’s okay too. Start with yourself. The world could do with less ‘you should do more’ and more ‘thank you for what you did’. 

This is not exclusive to tipping service staff or offering couriers a cold drink (although it is always really welcome!). Offer a kind word to anyone you interact with. Ask the office or school janitor if they’ve had their meal yet, wish your security guard a good morning/good evening when you pass them by, clear your tray when you’re at a fast food restaurant and smile and thank the servers if you pass them by. 

I promise you - these little acts of kindness will go a much longer way received than it takes you to give them. 

To our everyday heroes: Your intrinsic self worth is by no means defined by how an asshole treats you. You are so, so, so much more important.

You are somebody, you are somebody, you are somebody. 

In this essay, my intention is to extend the net positive that Yusuf and Rice has already generated while minimizing the net negatives it may unintentionally create by framing the issue as ‘us vs them’. 

I hope that it will be seen as an addendum to Yusuf’s original piece instead of a correction. To build up on the important issues that **each and every one of us **should acknowledge and then go one step further to see how we can resolve them. I hope that reading this has provoked more questions than it gives answers. I hope that we don’t see the world as black-and-white but how things can move to a more palatable shade of grey. 

Of course, my thoughts, beliefs, and assumptions here could be (and probably are) wildly ignorant and myopic, and I still have so much more to learn. So please confront me, dispute me and tell me where I’m wrong and what I don’t know. 

If I have to leave you with just one takeaway, I hope everyone remembers to be kinder to people – regardless.

(You can also find me at https://medium.com/@bdgthinks!)

[tsushimanoonryo]

Character Solidifying pt. 2

The second half of this.

26. What does your character’s home look like? Personal taste? Clothing? Hair? Appearance?

The Dawn Refuge is pretty run-down. It’s a shack that Jin has repurposed into a safe house. However, he does his best to keep it liveable. He keeps a number of sentimental items there, and each item has its own place. As for his personal appearance, he tries to maintain a certain level of cleanliness. He’s always going to be covered in mud, sweat, and blood, but he does his best to bathe as often as he can. Whenever his clothing starts to get frayed, he’ll patronize someone at a local village to mend it. He always keeps his armored oiled, lacquered, and ready for battle. He’ll try to shave when he can and he keeps his hair pulled back in a haphazard bun so it isn’t in his face. He certainly doesn’t look like a lord anymore, but he maintains a sense of nobility in his demeanor and personal hygiene.

27. How do they relate to their appearance? How do they wear their clothing? Style? Quality?

He prizes functionality over form these days. He will try to personalize when he can, but it is never as ostentatious as it was when he was Lord Sakai. What he wears is very similar to the peasants of Tsushima because he needs to blend in with them to a point. Can’t have the Shogun’s men or the Khan’s stragglers recognizing him on sight.

28. Who is your character’s mate? How do they relate to him or her? How did they make their choice?

Canonically, no one. In my heart (and Jin’s), it’s Yuna. He literally would not be alive because of her. She saved his life on three separate occasions and is responsible for the legend of The Ghost. She is a thief, true, but she’s a survivor. Jin respects her so much and has learned a great deal from her. He would give his life for the people of Tsushima, and he would give his life for her especially. Neither has blood relations any more, but Jin considers Yuna to be closer than family. He would do anything she asked of him, including running away from all this. All she has to do is ask. She won’t, though, which is why he loves her so much. She understands and accepts his drive to protect his people. He trusts her with everything and would die for her sake.

29. What is your character’s weaknesses? Hubris? Pride? Controlling?

His weakness is also his strength: Jin feels everything. He is ruled by his emotions. This is a good and bad thing. He cares very deeply and will fight hard because of it. But he also can sometimes let his emotions overwhelm him. This leads to stupid things like trying to fight the Khan alone on a bridge with broken armor. He’s getting better at using his emotions as a tool, but he still can sometimes let them overwhelm him.

30. Are they holding on to something in the past? Can he or she forgive?

He’s holding on to a lot of guilt and regret. Pretty much everyone he loves died. Some by his own hand, some because of mistakes he’s made. He will always feel like he could have done more for his father, even though logically he knows he was still a child and probably would have died had he tried to come to his aide. Killing Ryuzo was a result of Ryuzo’s pride and unwillingness to work with Jin, but he still hates that he had to do it. And his uncle asked to be killed, and honoring that wish was the hardest thing he ever had to do in his life. In idle moments, Jin replays these scenes and scans his memory for anything he might have done for these outcomes to have ended differently. He’s yet to come up with anything.

31. Does your character have children? How do they feel about their parental role? About the children? How do the children relate?

He does not. He’s never had a strong desire to be a parent. Rather, he wanted to pass on his family name (through either the Sakai or Shimura line) and ensure the survival of his clan. However, that is no longer an option. Sometimes, in his weaker moments, he imagines running off with Yuna to the mainland to start a family and disappear into anonymity, but he would never actually do it. The guilt for abandoning his people would nag at him for the rest of his life. So he probably won’t ever have children of his own. The closest he will get to ever being a parent is being a role model for aimless young men who want to join in The Ghost’s fight. He wouldn’t quite be comfortable with it, but he would do his best to guide them when the time comes.

32. How does your character react to stress situations? Defensively? Aggressively? Evasively?

He tries to remain stoic outwardly, but inwardly he is a storm of emotions. Worry, anger, fear, regret… Just a big mess. However, he will try to channel these emotions into finding a solution to the cause of his stress. He will try to face everything head-on and, failing that, will come at it from a different angle. Anything to find a solution and return to inner peace. If it doesn’t work out, he’ll doggedly try again until he either solves the problem or runs out of options.

33. Do they drink? Take drugs? What about their health? 

He doesn’t drink heavily, but one of his close friends is a sake merchant who has no problem letting him sample his wares for free. Aside from regularly taking a beating and getting hurt with swords, arrows, and bombs, his health is relatively okay. He’s survived multiple situations that should have killed him, so his constitution is pretty strong.

34. Does your character feel self-righteous? Revengeful? Contemptuous?

He’s basically a medieval Japanese Batman. He knows what he is doing is right, but he’s frustrated at the powers that be for not listening to him in regards to fighting the Mongols. He’s also got a (not so) healthy dose of vengeance making up his driving force. He tries to keep it in check, but a part of him does enjoy being The Ghost.

35. Do they always rationalize errors? How do they accept disasters and failures?

Jin does not handle his own failure well at all. He’ll silently agonize over it and keep himself up with guilt and regret. He’s much better at dealing with the failure of others. In that case, he’ll just get extremely annoyed and fix it himself. He holds himself to a much higher standard than everyone else.

36. Do they like to suffer? Like to see other people suffering?

Absolutely not. Jin can’t abide anyone suffering. Unless they’re a Mongol. Even then, he wants to know they suffered, but doesn’t want to watch it.

37. How is your character’s imagination? Daydreaming a lot? Worried most of the time? Living in memories?

Jin spends a lot of time in his own memories. He is constantly reliving his past to see if there’s anything at all he could have done to change the outcome or learn from his mistakes. He is constantly trying to glean any insights from the lessons of his past.

38. Are they basically negative when facing new things? Suspicious? Hostile? Scared? Enthusiastic?

Jin tries to keep an open mind when facing new things. He is guarded until he sees how things are going to turn out, but he isn’t going to be afraid to try a new way of doing things. Jin’s not so arrogant that he doesn’t realize someone else’s way of doing things might not be better than his.

39. What do they like to ridicule? What do they find stupid?

He doesn’t like to ridicule anyone or anything. However, he does find a lot of things stupid. He hates when people are so blinded by tradition or their own sense of self-importance that they won’t even consider that they might be wrong. He thinks that is the most ignorant, foolish way to live.

40. How is their sense of humor? Do they have one?

Jin has a great sense of humor under the right circumstances. When he doesn’t have the weight of saving all of Japan from the Mongols on his shoulders, he likes to cut loose. He does know how to have a good time. It’s just that he hasn’t been having a very good time as of late.

41. Is your character aware of who they are? Strengths? Weaknesses? Idiosyncrasies? Capable of self-irony?

He is very aware of who he is. Growing up, no one ever let him forget he was the jito’s nephew. Now that he’s distanced himself from that, no one lets him forget that he is The Ghost. However, he does still feel some insecurities over how well suited he is to these different mantles. He knows his own strengths, but he is hyper aware of his weaknesses too. He will sometimes try to joke about them, but it belies a very real sense of disappointment in himself.

42. What does your character want most? What do they need really badly, compulsively? What are they willing to do, to sacrifice, to obtain?

A god damn nap. But on a more serious note, he mostly wants a family and sense of belonging. He also wants very badly to not disappoint the people he loves best. They all want different things from him and he wants to be able to deliver on all fronts. He will run himself ragged trying to do so, sacrificing his own happiness at times so that his loved ones can be happy. 

43. Does your character have any secrets? If so, are they holding them back?

Jin is sort of bad at keeping secrets. For example: everyone fucking knows he’s The Ghost. He tends to wear his heart on his sleeve and is a bad liar, so he doesn’t keep a lot of secrets.

44. How badly do they want to obtain their life objectives? How do they pursue them?

Badly enough to be declared a traitor to the Shogun. He wants to live by his own personal code of honor, helping those who cannot help themselves, so he’ll do whatever it takes to achieve this. Even if it means going against hundreds of years of tradition or using underhanded tactics. If it means more people will survive and be safe, Jin will do it.

45. Is your character pragmatic? Think first? Responsible? All action? A visionary? Passionate? Quixotic?

Jin feels responsible for everyone and everything. He is extremely reliable. If there’s even the tiniest chance he can take care of something, he’ll promise to do it and he’ll get it done. He would like to think that he is pragmatic, as that is how his uncle raised him to be, but Jin is quite emotional. He just hides it very well. He is a man of action, but he doesn’t rush into things half-cocked anymore. He’ll sit and strategize, trying to find the best plan of attack that will have the least amount of fallout damage.

46. Is your character tall? Short? What about size? Weight? Posture? How do they feel about their physical body?

Jin is short by modern standards, standing at only 5’2’’. However, that was on the tallish side for men in feudal Japan. He has a lithe, muscular build and he carries himself with the poise and dignity required of a samurai. He is quite proud of his body, less for how it looks and more for how powerful it is. He’s accomplished numerous feats of physical prowess, including surviving things that should have killed him. So yes. He’s proud of what his body has been through and what it can do. It just also happens to look nice.

47. Do they want to project an image of a younger, older, more important person? Do they want to be visible or invisible?

When he was younger, he wanted people to notice him. He wanted them to see him as a brave warrior because he thought that might make him feel less guilt about watching his father die and doing nothing. However, he’s done a complete 180. He wants to blend in and remain unseen. This way, he can work more efficiently. Of course, everyone knows he’s The Ghost, but it’s the principle of the matter. He’s not going to draw any extra attention to himself if he doesn’t have to.

48. How are your character’s gestures? Vigorous? Weak? Controlled? Compulsive? Energetic? Sluggish?

Very restrained. He generally does not use his hands when he talks and he tries to keep his face neutral save for when he is out carousing. But he rarely ever does that anymore.

49. What about voice? Pitch? Strength? Tempo and rhythm of speech? Pronunciation? Accent?

He’s got a soft, gentle voice. Most people don’t expect that from The Ghost. It’s smooth, like brandy. He was schooled in proper speech and grammar ever since he was a child, so you wouldn’t notice anything other than eloquence from him. When he’s speaking English in the yakuza verse, he speaks with a Japanese accent. It isn’t heavily accented, English, however; you’re not going to have trouble understanding him.

50. What are the prevailing facial expressions? Sour? Cheerful? Dominating?

Jin has trained himself to keep a neutral face for most of the time. However, he isn’t always great at hiding his emotions. He’ll frown and furrow his brow quite a bit when he’s unhappy. He rarely smiles with his teeth, but he does smile. It’s just very restrained. My boy needs to loosen up.

[yfere]

Shipping Calculus! Live Updates from C2E65

Why no one started singing the K-I-S-S-I-N-G tree song during this episode, I have no idea. Thank you to @alarnia and @softazelma for helping with data entry. Masterpost here.

+500 to Liam O’Brien/The Sympathy Vote If anything, the investigative report humanized the man, what with his agonized expressions, the hard choices he’s making, the deals, trying desperately to hold onto his friendships. Sam Riegel seems like a robot in comparison, with very long bits. #VoteWithYourJohnson #LiamForPresident

-100 to Marisha Ray/Trustworthiness as the person in charge of the investigation into Liam O’Brien’s campaign, we expect a certain amount of clearheadedness and integrity, which does not include getting high before giving testimony. Fire her from the case! #VoteWithYourJohnson #LiamForPresident

+23 to Jester/Yasha for an adorkable conversation about Yasha’s hard rock harping career, using the imagination to handle hard feelings together, as all good Jester ships should. The offer to wipe Yasha’s memory again if there’s anything she doesn’t want to know or remember #ThatsLove, and Yasha channeling Jester’s slightly unhinged love of animals and peacemaking by speculating they could offer the udak some scritches to quell its murderous impulses. Yasha quoting Jester only about 500 times a day, worshipping the ground she walks on, believing she has the power to heal the grass, and then placing that grass into her pressed flower book to remember the moment with #ArtisticSolidarity.

+31 to Beau/Yasha, with a few Battle Aftercare Points for Yasha helping up Beau after the fight, and for an even more emotionally charged watch conversation that resulted in a Ljore Drop from Beau. Talking about past loves and betrayals, the “types” that Beau prefers. Yasha appreciating Beau’s lack of judgment, Beau only slightly ineffectively wielding her I’m-Horrible-Too trump card, Yasha saying she’s “seen” Beau “a lot.” Floating the idea that it is actually possible to move on from Zuala’s death. Beau offering to help Yasha dig up the body, because that’s not weird at all, That’s Love. Darlings. Points taken away because the focus of the conversation was almost entirely on other people they love and have loved, and Jester, which brings us to…

+10 to Beau/Yasha/Jester, as in the launch of the second major intra-party poly ship in the shipping calculus lab, we have two wlw who spend a substantial amount of their Lesbian Bonding Time just talking about how beautiful and perfect and incredible Jester Lavorre is. Fuck Caduceus, this Literal Saint walking amongst them can heal grass with her spit and her “radiant glow”. With the same logic, we can expect that her toenails cure poison, her kiss brings you back from the brink of death…Also, Jester lending Verbal Support to Yasha’s physical support after the gloomstalker battle, as Beau wrestles with embarrassment over not having done anything

+10 to Caleb/Fjord/Jester as our second poly ship gains points with Caleb saving both Fjord and Jester from plummeting to their deaths and Fjord taking the chance to thunderstep them both up the tree again!

+17 to Jester/Fjord but as usual, Fjord’s contribution to the Rescue-the-Jester operation looks a lot flashier, so he gets more of the Romance Credit. Not only that, but many points for a competitive tree-climbing adventure straight out of a romance novel where Fjord’s Need To Impress The Love Interest gives him enough adrenaline to actually beat out Jester on athletics, swinging her up safely into the branches like a magical green Tarzan. Fjord (and Beau) being lovingly sketched in Jester’s book so she can remember the moment forever. Excellent Battle Couple vibes in distracting and shooting down gloomstalkers while on the moorbounders, not once but twice. Fjord also made an admirable attempt to Rescue-the-Jester during the first gloomstalker attack, but Caduceus got +6 to Cockblocking for immediately assassinating the charmed gloomstalker before Fjord’s spell did any good. Fjord yelling at Nott for not listening to Jester. Plenty of point loss, however, because Fjord is never going to learn to love Jester’s animals, losing his cool and yelling about what her “fucking animal is doing” STOP, Fjord.

+5 to Jester/Caduceus, for the aforementioned gloomstalker assassination, and being #Blessed alongside Yasha and Fjord, but point loss for Caduceus rolling his eyes at Jester’s well-meaning attempt to spit the grass to life and saying “that’s not how it works,” saying “that’s not how it works” about the scrying despite having never succeeded in doing it himself, and for Jester insisting that the massive tree is an evil “vampire tree,” much to Caduceus’ dismay.

+15 to Caduceus/Arts-n-Crafts for sweetly weaving a sunhat for Yasha while everyone else does dumb shit like nearly getting themselves killed, damaging a holy tree and antagonizing the largest bird of prey in  several miles’ radius. He’ll probably sit through whatever encounter happens next week continuing to weave that hat.

+20 to Sam Riegel/Heatstroke as he responds to Concerns over his sweating and over-warm getup by putting on more layers. I’d expect a President with some more self-preservation in him, but if he offs himself with poor costuming choices at least he’ll be taken out of the running, am I right? #VoteWithYourJohnson #LiamForPresident

+16 to Beau/Jester They also earn many Battle Points, as Jester sends her nastiest Guiding Bolts (according to Sam Riegel, an expression of love) rocketing towards the gloomstalker attacking Beau. Beau instantly thinking of Jester’s skill with art and asking her to copy the map, and Jester adorably sketching Beau as one of her favorite people up in the tree, besides thinking that Beau’s tree climbing skills are Incredibly Impressive, and sneaking alongside her and Fjord to get a better look at the roc nest. Point loss for Beau saying Jester’s map was “garbage” which, even though Beau meant the map itself and not Jester’s skill in copying it, Jester still took personally.

-10 to Caleb/The Mission as he confesses to “losing faith” during watch with Nott, feeling like they’re failing and they don’t know what they’re doing.

+25 to Caduceus/The Mission as despite the Wildmother telling him Things He Did Not Want To Hear during his Communing session, Caduceus gets a massive, massive sign he’s going in the right direction in the form of Melora’s tree, and a detailed vision of all the places he’s expected to go to when he sleeps that night.

+19 to Caduceus/Nature as Caduceus plays around in the dirt, pokes at some interesting moss for several minutes, and gets to hang out, utterly smitten with a massive tree that is the best thing ever look at it.

+4 to Caleb/Fjord as no one listens to Fjord’s desire for a short rest, and even his puppy eyes directed at Jester is not enough to sway them, until Caleb catches on to Fjord’s plight and uses his #ItPaysToBeADamselInDistress power to say he wants a short rest, and shift the party to his favor. Caleb wanting some light to read his now-apparently-waterproof book for the Tiny Hut, and Fjord eagerly offering to cast a spell to make Caleb and everything around him darker. It’s the thought that counts? Point loss for Fjord ignoring Caleb’s advice against antagonizing the chasing gloomstalkers.

-2 to Caleb/Cat-Shaped Creatures as asking Frumpkin-the-Vulture with his razor claws to knead and drape himself on people is not nearly as comforting as actually having a real-life cat do it. However, +10 to Caleb/Vulture Culture for that and for turning himself into a huge bird of prey to cart Nott around.

-5 to Jester/Cat-Shaped Creatures (also -5 to Jester/Pets) as despite attempting to comfort Yarnball after the first gloomstalker fight, Yarnball remains spooked enough to break formation when they encounter them again, at which point Jester channels Alison Hargreeves vibes by lying and using mind control to get the poor thing back in line.

-4 to Fjord/Caduceus as Fjord gets a special, potentially life-saving visit from the Wildmother in his dreams, delivering him for the moment from Uk’otoa….and repays her by fucking up one of her most sacred places on the planet with repeated wood-shattering Thundersteps. Caduceus can’t watch.

-40 to Fjord/Uk’otoa as Uk’otoa now has a schedule of bothering Fjord every one to two weeks. I shudder to think how Uk’otoa is going to react once the Wildmother can’t protect Fjord anymore, now that he’s escaped from their clutches once.

+1 to Fjord/His Inner Bard for motivational rapping of...questionable quality

+3 to Caleb/Caduceus as Caleb very sweetly refuses Caduceus “wasting” his light spells on him, asks him about his feelings towards the tree. Caduceus looking to Caleb before anyone else to see if investigating the turtle shell is a good idea.

+4 to Nott/Jester as Nott offers some excellent advice on how to get ones’ way—ask the same question over and over again until you get the answer you want, and if that fails, do what you want anyway. Jester being the Most Concerned with Nott’s drinking, and alongside Caleb successfully steering her away from a suicidal (though heroically romantic) standoff against the gloomstalkers. Nott helping Jester and the others float safely down, and instinctively trying to save Jester and Fjord during their first fall. Bonding over an appreciation for big square dicks, which would only, and I mean only count for point gains between these two individuals. Point loss for Nott calling Jester “crazy” and saying she’ll scar Luke for life, which is probably just a deflection but a hurtful one. Jester catching Nott after she fails to climb the tree and just barely managing to stop herself from being negative and saying “Good effort!” instead, because Jester can’t help but feel like it’s her job to Be Encouraging.

+30 to Nott/Keeping It Together Maybe as she’s totally fine, she’s just going to drink a lot and nearly kill herself trying to stand off against the gloomstalkers and go stealthing alone in the middle of the night and rip the heart out of her enemies—she’s fine guys. It’s all under control

+2 to Clerics/Loneliness, as both Jester and Caduceus are abandoned to take a watch alone. Even so, their love for the others shines through, with Jester phoning up Kiri, and Caduceus preparing breakfast for everyone.

+1 to Caleb/Jester as Caleb tries to gently defend Jester to Nott, a few different times—a difficult thing, to dissuade Nott of anything!

+25 to Nott the Best Detective Agency/Detective Work and Beau/Nerdom as Beau is the one to find the map of the area to have Jester copy, alongside Nott’s excellent vision catching Melora’s tree at a distance. Then, Nott’s investigation of the tree alone demonstrating Admirable Detective Curiosity, while Beau is the only person to recall exactly what the tree is and its significance to the Wildmother and the Calamity. Jester finding their target running his hands along some mountain in the Prenumbra Range, looking for the correct place to put the emblem that he bought from the scout courier.

+3 to Essik/The Mighty Nein as he is “proud” that they’re hanging out cheerfully in the middle of the Badlands. At this point Essik seems to have just accepted that they’re a dumpster fire and has resolved to pat them on the head so long as they do the bare minimum and keep themselves alive. A few days from now they’ll give him a call from the bottom of the ocean, yes yes that’s very good children, we’re very proud of you here and that’s what I’ll tell anyone who asks because it’s not like I staked any part of my reputation on backing you to the Bright Queen or anything.

[otp-armada]

I am not looking forward to these flashbacks. 

To date, we’ve had four onscreen kisses shared between Bellamy and Echo with additional, smaller moments of other forms of intimacy. I’d rather the show refrain from adding more tally marks to the count. 

If humans were gifted with the capacity for purging unwanted memories, then all this discomfort would be a moot point. I suppose there’s always alcohol as a fallback option, but not even the prospect of temporary amnesia is worth destroying my liver. Turning to alcohol to drown my B/E-related sorrows would probably qualify more as self-harm than self-help.

I’d much prefer to cut directly to an imminent breakup scene without the pomp and circumstance of an agonized Echo’s trip down memory lane. 

If anything, supplying us with visual evidence on how happy they were together is an even sadder remark on the state of B/E’s fragility, knowing it took 0.001 seconds for the mere mention of Clarke’s name to bring it all to ruin. No collection of past happy moments shared on the Ring erases the fractures in their relationship that occur between them afterward, originating with the revelation of a still-living Clarke. I'd be an absolute fool to believe otherwise. 

But if Jason deems a tour of their greatest hits as necessary to the story, I trust his judgment. Showing us B/E's origins as their romantic relationship begins to fall apart in real-time brings it full circle, and it lends gravitas to the story he's telling with Echo. With this particular arc, the bigger picture is still Echo's evolution. It's not about B/E.  

Once season 7 started, there was a visible shift in how Jason utilized B/E.  Whereas seasons 5 and 6 primarily used B/E as the third leg in a love triangle designed to keep a pining Bellarke apart, season 7 uses their master-spy dynamic to bolster Echo's development almost exclusively. Post-season 6, Bellarke is so primed to get together, one honest admission of mutual feelings without Echo as an obstacle and BOOM. Canon couple. 

Echo has a more extensive role than girl-to-be-dumped, and I'm not upset over it. She gets to stand up as a character after the majority of her life has been marked by slavery for her crown, and I'm not upset over it. As indemnification for the loss of her relationship, this orphan-turned-soldier is finding her place in a supportive, loving family while developing a sense of identity and independence, and I'm not upset over it.

I would’ve preferred Jason found a way to take her on this path without B/E remaining intact this far into the final season and theoretically for the foreseeable episodes. I would always choose to end them sooner rather than later, given a choice. But I understand why Jason didn't. 

Echo can’t very well outgrow a master-spy complex if there is no master to her spy. And as much as I hate it, the romantic aspect of B/E is a believable, convenient tool to keep this complex in place until her story comes to fruition. Would Echo act so extremely in service to a recent ex-boyfriend who left her for another woman? Probably not. As far as I can tell, the pinnacle of her arc is the moment she realizes she has to break free from Bellamy. So narrative structure demands B/E stay together, however technically, long enough for her to break those chains. 

I was initially excited about the flashbacks, if only because I took them as a sign of an impending breakup. But the timing doesn't pan out. Aside from the logistics of Echo and Bellamy presumably on separate worlds, and with her thinking him dead, we've only just reached the point where Echo might start to ask herself those hard questions she's been avoiding. She must have noticed a change in her relationship. Between Psychosis!Emori, B/E's 6x04 fight, and Anomaly!Roan, she's had enough cause for doubt. But I think she's suppressed any urge to reflect upon it for a number of reasons. Love. Continued hope they'll last. War. A mission to save him. It took a lot of meticulous maneuvering to corner Echo to this point. Now that we're here, I don't think Jason would pull a reverse Uno card in a 40-minute episode. It seems more likely that he will let her continue to stew in her emotions. Either she'll keep sinking until she hits rock bottom, or she'll start learning how to swim. 

Jason could always prove me wrong. And if I am, I'd never be happier for him to do so. If I'm not? It's at times like this when I am reminded of the resolution I made at the end of season 6- rest easy in the comfort of knowing B/E will meet its inevitable end but do not try to speculate when that might be. Attempting to discern the specifics of "when" brings one only misery. 

Jason’s signature sometimes-too-fast, other-times-too-slow pacing, is often liable to tempt one into ripping their own hair out. That being said, I’ve seen enough of this show to trust in his ability to tell a damn good story. Faith in his competency for the craft just requires on our part, the patience of a saint. 

If nothing else, it isn’t my story to tell, so I’ll just have to suck it up and find a way to deal with any disappointments I may feel. Or I can try to find the value within the story told. It's a better alternative than to be left bitter. No promises, though.

Maybe Echo’s actions against the Disciples aren’t reprehensible, considering the people she’s killing are those complicit in kidnapping and torturing her people. But Orlando was a good, honorable man whose naïveté convinced him to play for the wrong team, yet helped our heroes when he didn’t have to. Not unlike Shaw, whom Echo sold to Diyoza to fulfill her mission. But I assume “We are not his people” is residual mistrust leftover from Ryker’s betrayal of her. She miscalculated the feelings of one possible defector before, she won’t make the same mistake twice. 

If she was able to save Bellamy in the end, I’m sure she’d be able to justify the spilled blood it took to get there. But Orlando suffered at her hands for nothing, and she may not be overly concerned with morality, but she cares for the people she grows close to. Unless the episode proves otherwise, I’d like to think Orlando’s fate will weigh heavily on her. 

They may not have been close. But five years in close quarters with only a few people akin to friends for comfort, it'd be hard not to feel the slightest bit attached.

Those of us who believe in Bellarke know Echo is the third-party obstacle in a love triangle. But what is far more interesting is the role she played in the seasons-long Blake siblings struggle. 

Echo was persona non grata to both siblings following her and Octavia's mountaintop fight. Six years later, she highlights the difference in the siblings' maturities. Whereas Bellamy has learned to embrace empathy and forgiveness with open arms, Octavia is cold and unyielding. On a more personal note, B/E represents Octavia's persistent unwillingness to respect Bellamy as his own person, with needs and wants independent of her. 

After her soul searching on Skyring, I thought she had buried the hatchet, as per her lack of vitriol in her 6x12 conversation with Bellamy, and enthusiastically joining forces with Echo in 6x13. Maybe she did. But Octavia has also proven herself an unreliable narrator, and Hope feels indignation on her aunt's behalf. Whatever the case, there's a reason why the dialogue keeps referencing Echo and Octavia's hostile history. And I think it's building to a head in 7x07. 

I think mutual love for Bellamy is healing the divide between them when Echo is at her most fractured. She's isolated from Bellamy and the rest of Spacekru. Left in pain and seeking retribution as Octavia did, which, as we know, is where it all went wrong for the latter. Octavia, more than most, is in the best position to empathize with what Echo is currently feeling and how pain can destroy her if she lets it consume her. 

If Octavia can remind Echo she's not alone, if a former enemy can convince her she belongs and welcome her with open arms- as her brother did before her- it might do well in healing some broken piece inside of her. And it would be a roundabout display of Octavia's newfound maturity. This is good for both of them. This spiral she is in will require her to look inward. Since her fixation with Bellamy is partly what landed her in this mess, absolution cannot come from him. She can only find it in herself if she wants it. But I'd be glad if Octavia can help see her through it. This is what I mean about seeking value in the story told. We're so concerned about Octavia calling Echo family, about the possibility of it legitimizing B/E, it doesn't occur to us that it's about the characters themselves. And B/E is only a vehicle used to bring us there. It's easier to see when not consumed by automatic seething rage, as typical of our fellow Bellarke compatriots, for anything remotely associated with Echo.

If my heart and mind weren’t chanting “BELLARKEBELLARKEBELLARKE,” there’s a good chance I’d be able to better appreciate the complexities B/E gives to the development of the four characters it directly impacts. 

Our side of fandom has made lots of accusations about B/E since 5x01. It’s a forgettable, physical relationship worth little to Bellamy. B/E is unhealthy for reasons x, y, and z. We generate a different example in every episode. Click slideshow for more details. But the fact of the matter is, much of this isn't true. Until Echo went postal, B/E wasn’t unhealthy. Bellamy just had a greater love for Clarke. Up until their ending scene in 6x04, there was nothing they couldn’t come back from together, if both committed themselves fully, no more walls. It's not a particularly popular train of thought among us, but Jason absolutely could've written B/E as an endgame pairing. And all it would take to deliver a final killing blow is the inclusion of a single damning scene.

We can gripe over the length of time they've stayed together. But, in spite of what most people think about every new B/E development and Bellarke separation, Jason has never actually dropped an ax on Bellarke. Hope persists.

Jason is responsible for the development of dozens of characters, major plots, and dozens of smaller subplots. But our fandom reduced the story chiefly to Bellarke's romance. Our villains are those who stand in their way. Namely Echo, the only outside love interest to be an official obstacle. We fashioned Echo as our enemy. In lieu of removing her from the narrative (which is not in our power to do), we've done everything within our purview to diminish her. If Jason won't treat B/E and Echo as the jokes we know they are, we'll do it ourselves. Minimizing her role in the story makes it a hell of a lot easier to erase a character we'd rather didn't exist for our preferred ship to advance.

Lord knows how many times we've claimed she has no story. That absent relevance or substantial bearing, she's there simply because Jason is partial to her for some elusive reason. But the reality is, we never looked for her story because we wanted to be able to claim its inexistence. We wanted to be able to say she's frivolous to the story, and by extension, to Bellamy. We want to be able to dismantle B/E when it appears Jason doesn't. Except he is and has been doing so since day one. 

Months ago, on a whim, when I was feeling benevolent towards Echo, I wrote a long post HERE giving her the benefit of the doubt, and I said:

In the grand scheme of the story, I think this is the purpose Echo serves, to represent the part that says, “We’re all human. No matter what tribe we belong to, we fight for the same reasons. We love the same way. When you leave allegiances aside, when you see someone for who they are at their core, an enemy today can become a friend tomorrow.”

True peace, a series-long running theme for our heroes, begins with embracing former outsiders like Echo and Emori. Easy to lose sight of this when focused on ship wars. 

It is perfectly acceptable not to love all the components of a story. It is understandable to focus your attention on those select segments you find appealing. But a tunnel-visioned mindset lands you in trouble when you become resentful at the reminders that a story is a composite of more moving pieces than just the parts you like. And when you forget that screentime allotted to developing those pieces ahead of what you favor is permissible. Everything on a show has its time, all in due course. 

On the other hand, B/E shippers overinflate their ship's significance. They take canon and twist it to say, "Look at how strong B/E is, Bellarke could never. B/E is endgame, and Blorkes are delusional." Their conclusion of an epic love is another bias-based fandom interpretation that doesn’t hold water, either. 

I think the reality of B/E lies somewhere in a muddled middle of these two extremes. 

One last point, and I'll get off my soapbox. Despite what the melodramatic diatribe in my opening paragraph suggests, B/E is never as atrocious as fandom makes them out to be. Greater fandom treats anything remotely associated with B/E as the next great catastrophe. And as it turns out, it never really is.  

 Tagging @sometimesrosy, because I think, after years of combating opinions you don’t agree with, it might be a refreshing change of pace to know some of us do have more balanced views regarding B/E. If I do say so myself.

[rorynne]

Time Lost (Rewrite) Ch 2

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader

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

Warnings:  Alcohol, Drinking, Implied sexual harassment, Face punching.

Word count: 2.8k

A/N: This is a rewrite of an OC fic that I have been writing and been wanting to turn into a reader Fic. Im unsure if I will be continuing the OC fic currently, I may just transfer it completely to my reader Fic. Currently 6 chapters are up of the OC fic, and I shall be posting a rewritten chapter every few days on here.

Masterlist

Prologue Ch 1

Being back in London was almost nostalgic to you now. It felt like so long ago that you took your first trip down the elevator to the SSR base. You looked over the maps Steve drew looking for any hint of where the bell might be. Everyone else’s focus may have been on wiping out hydra, but you wanted to go home. Living through the ’40s might be good fun, but you had no intention of living through the ’50s.

You sighed, sitting back in your chair. Your notes and documents had led you to Paris, so logically, it would be best to try the French hydra base first. But your gut said it should be somewhere more defendable, pointing towards a German base. Especially after Steve took down the facility in Austria. You knew that they were going to take down every base, history told you that, so it didn't truly matter. but damn it, you wanted progress on the Bell.

Peggy watched you agonize over the documents for the umpteenth time. The way you threw yourself into your work always worried Peggy. You were rash and quick to act, and combining that with your tendency towards workaholism, you were either going to work yourself sick, or get yourself killed. Or both. You worked like you were running out of time. Only Col. Phillips seemed to have any power to slow you down. “Well?” Peggy finally broke the silence.

“Logically, France is out best bet. I could have myself planted into that town in a week. But if the Captain’s team is going to be shipped out any time soon, then I should be sent to Germany, they’ll probably take down the French and Italian bases before I’m even able to get settled.” You said, poking at the map.

Peggy crossed her arms, “Captain Rogers’ team won't be shipped out for a few months yet.”

You looked up at Peggy, “What?”

“They need to be trained before we send them anywhere,” Peggy said, looking over the maps and documents on your desk.

You shook your head, brows knitted together. “What the hell do you mean they need to be trained? I thought Phillips was sending his best.”

“The Captian requested that he choose his men himself.”

You blinked at Peggy dumbly as the words sank in. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” You stood up, chair screeching behind you, and stormed off to find Col. Phillips. “We don't have fucking time for this.” You growled to yourself as you pushed various SSR agents out of your way. It would take at least two months to train new agents, soldiers, commandoes, whatever the hell they were intending to call themselves. Ant that wasn't even accounting for any mishaps that might happen during training. Officers moved out of your way as you charged up to Phillips. “Colonel Phillips.”

“Agent Taylor, I was wondering when you would be gracing me with your presence,” Phillips said sardonically.

“You can't be serious about making a team of completely untrained personnel.” You huffed, stopping in front of him.

“I am absolutely serious Agent Taylor. You,” He pointed at you, “Don’t get to question that.”

“It will take months. We’ll be wasting time!” You argued, gesturing wildly with your hands.

“Then I suppose you should be doing everything in your power to ensure their training goes as smoothly as possible.” He countered, handing a folder to a secretary and walking away.

You stared at him wide-eyed for a moment before chasing after him. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

Phillips stopped abruptly and turned to face you. “What I mean is, you are in charge of their training. Congratulations Agent Taylor, you ship out to Scotland with them first thing Monday.”

You scowled, “I'm a spy, not a soldier. I should be working on worming my way into one of the hydra bases to-”

“That’s exactly why I’m assigning you to their training.” Phillips interrupted. “You understand what they are getting themselves into. And as much as I hate to admit it, you get results. Until further notice, you are to join and aid Captain Rogers’ commandoes.” He finished, mumbling “And maybe, it will keep you out of trouble.” as he left, leaving you at a loss for words.

You growled, stomping back to your desk where Peggy was waiting. No doubt she already knew the Colonel’s decision. “Are you done stomping around like a child?”

“Absolutely not!” You threw yourself into your chair, nearly tipping it. “Fuck!” You said as you steadied yourself. You took a deep breath, burying your face in your hands. “How the hell am I supposed to make sure these men are ready to storm hydra bases? I’ve never stormed a hydra base in my life Peg.”

Peggy leaned against your desk. “That's never stopped you in the past. Why is it stopping you now?”

You gapped for a moment. “I've only had to worry about myself in the past. Maybe one other person. Not an entire team of people.”

“Well now you do,” Peggy said. “Are you going to manage? Or are you just going to give up?”

“Give up?” You sneered at the idea. “Of course I’m not going to give up. Too many lives are at stake if they aren’t prepared.”

Peggy smiled at you, “Well then, what do you intend to do?”

You sighed, “I intend to get a drink.” You rubbed your temples. Peggy was right, Peggy was always bloody right. You were beginning to wonder if you were the one from the future, or if Peggy was. “I should also have Steve introduce me to his guys.”

Peggy stood up, smoothing out her red dress. “Well, you could kill two birds with one stone.” You looked up at her with an eyebrow raised. “I need to let Captain Rogers know that Howard needs him in the lab tomorrow morning. So I was going to go looking for him in the pub. If you would like to join me.”

You smirked, “I was wondering why you were all dressed up.”

Bucky sat at the bar waiting for Steve to return. He sighed as he took in the sounds of the bar, he needed this. After going through that hell, being tortured, feeling like he was going to lose his damn mind, he needed this leave more than anything. Hell, the entire 107th needed it. He sure as hell didn't want to go back any time soon either.

But he knew better. He knew Steve needed him. He knew that even with that serum making his best friend into a super-soldier, Steve was still that bull-headed idiot ready to jump into any fight. Steve needed his help, his strength, and Bucky was damned if he was going to let Steve down. So, as much as he didn't want to go back, he knew he had to.

Bucky smiled as Steve appeared through the bar room’s doors, the look on his face telling Bucky all he needed to know. “See?” Bucky said. “Told you, they're all idiots.” He sipped his drink as Steve sat down. They were all idiots, and at this point, Bucky was sure that he and Steve were the biggest idiots of all.

“How 'bout you? You ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?” A slight smile played on Steve’s lips as he asked.

“Hell no,” Bucky said, voice tired. “That little guy from Brooklyn that was too dumb not to run from a fight, I’m following him.” He looked at Steve and smiled before taking another drink and adding, “But you're keeping the outfit right?”

Steve turned and looked back at the Captain America tour poster, Bucky was never going to let him live this down. “You know what? It's kinda growing on me.”

The singing in the other room stopped, causing the pair to more to investigate as a woman in a red dress walked into the room. “Captain.” She said. Bucky looked her up and down as she walked up to Steve, he would be a liar if he said she wasn’t beautiful.

“Agent Carter.” Steve greeted and Bucky nodded a hello to her.

“Howard has some equipment for you to try. Tomorrow morning?” She said.

Steve nodded, “Sounds good.”

There was a moment of awkward silence before she spoke again. “I see your top squad is prepping for duty.”

Her comment bothered Bucky slightly, were they not allowed to enjoy themselves? “You don't like music?” He asked.

“I do, actually. I might, even, when this is all over, go dancing.” She answered, focusing solely on Steve.

“Then what are we waiting for?” Bucky said, mildly annoyed at her refusal to even look at him.

“The right partner.” She smiled at Steve, “0800, Captain.”

“Yes, ma’am. I’ll be there.” He nodded as she left.

Bucky huffed in shock at her rejection. “I’m invisible. I’m… I’m turning into you. It’s like some horrible dream.”

Steve chuckled, clapping Bucky on the shoulder. “Don’t take it too hard, I hear she’s got a friend.”

As if on cue, a loud crash came from the other room. All music and singing stopped as a woman's voice yelled, “Touch me again and you’ll get more than a broken nose asshole!” The two men rushed into the room to find a woman in an SSR uniform standing over a soldier bleeding profusely from the face. From the looks of it, you did indeed manage to break his nose. You tucked a bit of disheveled hair behind your ear and straightened your coat with a huff.

You were the woman with the beautiful smile Bucky had seen when he first got back to the camp he realized. He didn't know you had gone on leave with the 107th. “That is Agent Carter’s friend,” Steve whispered in Bucky’s ear. He couldn't help but laugh. Yes, of course, the one that just broke a man’s nose was Agent Carter’s friend. At the very least, he was impressed. It wasn't every day that you meet a woman that knows how to break a man’s nose.

Hearing his laughter, you turned to look at them as the man scrambled away in shame. “Captain Rogers.” Unlike Agent Carter, You didn’t seem happy to see him. “I was hoping to be able to finish my drink before I found you.” You picked a glass up off the bar and downed it.

Steve scoffed and crossed his arms. “Is everything alright Agent Taylor?”

“Besides being groped by drunk soldiers that don't know the meaning of ‘leave me alone’?” You glanced back at the two soldiers nearest to you. The men paled noticeably and took a step back. Bucky frowned at them, who paled even further when they noticed his glare, they knew Bucky wasn't going to let them get away with that. They were going to wish they had walked away with broken noses. “No, Actually, I’m here to meet your team.” You sighed, clearly not wanting to be there.

Steve looked at you for a moment before nodding, “This is Sergeant James Barnes” He said, gesturing to Bucky. You smiled at him in a way that made Bucky wonder if you recognized him from Italy. “He’s my-”

“Best friend?” You asked, an eyebrow raised and a playful smile on your lips. “I assumed as much considering I was nearly court-martialed trying to help you save him. Or, were you going to say second in command?” You teased as you held your hand out to him. “I’m Agent Y/N L/N.” He smiled as he shook your hand, you certainly weren't afraid to speak your mind. “Who are the others?” You asked, suddenly more serious.

Steve gestured towards the table of men nearest to the trio, eyeing them cautiously. Or more specifically, they were eyeing you cautiously. You took a deep breath and mumbled something Bucky couldn't hear before approaching the table. “Hello men,” You said as you sat down with them.

Steve and Bucky followed you but remained standing. The other men grunted hellos before Steve spoke up. “With all due respect Agent Taylor. What is this all about?”

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. “Col. Phillips, in his infinite wisdom, decided to place me in charge of ensuring your men are properly prepared and trained to take down hydra.” You couldn’t sound more sarcastic if you tried.

“Phillips is sending his secretaries to train us?” Dum Dum gruffed, clearly unsure of what to make of the situation.

“Spy, actually.” Falsworth corrected before you could. “Though, I thought you were with MI6”

You looked at Falsworth for a moment before recognition bloomed on your face. “You're that paratrooper I helped in Russia.” You shook your finger at him, “Falsworth, wasn't it?”

“Its good to see you again Agent Taylor. I never did get to thank you for saving my hide.” He nodded, raising his glass to you. You nodded in response.

Bucky grabbed the back of a chair, looking at you incredulously, “You don’t seem to be particularly enthused about this.” You looked up at him, and he swore he saw the ghost of a smile flash on your lips before you glanced away.

“You're absolutely right.” You said. “If I had my way, I would be halfway to fucking Germany right now.” Bucky’s lip curled upward, that was the second time he heard you curse, you really didn't give a damn what any of them though, did you?

“It’s not very ladylike to swear like that you know.” Dum Dum said, a twinkle in his eye as he took a drink of his stout.

You looked taken aback at his comment. Your eyebrow quirked upward as you nodded your head. “My apologies.” You said, “I didn't realize I was supposed to conform myself to your ideals of a lady. I’ll be sure to do that when I remember to give a damn.”

The table was silent for a beat before bursting into laughter. “Alright,” Dum Dum said, wiping tears from his eyes. “You've made a fair point there.”

“I’m glad,” You said, “I already went over my daily allowance of broken noses.”

“You know Doll if more dames could punch like that, we might have already won the war,” Bucky said, finally sitting down.

You looked at him, scoffing slightly, “Well, Sergeant Barnes, That's something you should take up with your superiors. I know plenty of nurses that would have rathered guns over bandages.”

“I’ll be sure to get right on that,” He said. He liked your attitude, your willingness to speak your mind, and your wit. “And you can call me Bucky. Everyone else here does.”

You smiled that smile Bucky was already starting to like a bit too much. “I think you’ll find that I don’t do things just because everyone else does, Sarge.” Bucky was left speechless as the men around him laughed. He had honest to god, no damn clue how to respond to that.

Steve laughed at his friend’s silence. “You may just be the first woman that managed to make Buck speechless.” He said. Bucky’s cheeks warmed and he elbowed Steve in the side.

You laughed, it was a nice laugh almost giggly, “If that’s all it takes then you must not talk to many girls.”

Bucky feigned offense, “I’ll have you know, Brooklyn’s gals were heartbroken when I was shipped out.”

You hummed, unconvinced, “Guess you must talk and never listen then.”

“I’m listenin’ to ya now, ain’t I Doll?” He shot back.

“There's a first for everything.” You grinned.

“Doll, I’m starting to think you're tryin’ to hurt my feelings.”

You gasped, placing a hand on your chest, “Me? Never.” You looked over the men once more before drumming your hands on the table. “As much fun as I’m having boys, I still have work to do. I also regret to inform you all, that your leave ends Monday. You are all expected to be on the train to Inverness at 0600 Monday morning.” The men groaned.

“You're killin’ us!” Morita said, “We only just got here. We need a break!”

“Sucks for you.” You said with a shrug. “I haven't had a break in two years, I’m sure you’ll survive.” You stood up with a stretch. “I’ll see you all on the train. Cap.” You nodded to Steve, then gave Bucky a mischevious smile, “Sergeant Barnes.” You said with a casual salute.

Bucky watched you intently as you left. He found himself far more excited about the end of leave than he was just a few hours ago. Steve grabbing his shoulder pulled Bucky’s attention away from you. “And you said you were turning into me.”

Bucky rolled his eyes as the men teased him, “Yeah yeah. Laugh it up. We’ll see how much you assholes are laughing on the train at six in the morning.”

“Whatever you say, Sergeant Barnes.” Dum Dum teased, downing the last of his pint.

Time lost Taglist (If you want to be added, ask. if you don’t see your name here, I probably tagged you in the OC version)

@henderwhore4life

[ampharos-writes]

Welcome Home

Statement #0160604 Author’s Name: Andrea Roberson Nature of Incident: The death of her childhood friend Apollo Byrne Date and Location: June 21, 2010, Casper, Wyoming, USA Date of Statement: September 19th, 2014

Statement

First of, no, of COURSE that wasn’t his real name. We were from… well, anywhere in Wyoming is “small town” Wyoming, but you get the picture. No, his real name was Ezekiel Jones. Frankly, I don’t think he even really needed to change it in the first place - Zeke Jones is pretty punchy, ZJ are cool initials for an autograph, stuff like that - but I’m pretty sure he hated being reminded of where he came from. Of who he was.

See, Zeke… Apollo, rather, was Mormon by birth. His parents had migrated up from Utah when their fortunes went down and their rent went up, and they’d been living just outside of Casper for something like 30 or 40 years when Apollo came around. The Joneses were simple folk. They had a small farm, just enough to make a living off of, and they kept to themselves. Quiet family. Not like Apollo. He was always loud, in-your-face, always fired up about something-or-other, always looking to live life as largely as he could possibly muster.

I’m not even sure how we became friends, really. We didn’t have that much in common. But there was something so… warm about him, so congenial, so inviting. He was easy to talk to. He was fun. And believe me, fun was hard to come by in Casper, but Apollo found a way. We found a way. For basically the entirety of our school days, we were best friends… and occasionally more than that, though in the end we mutually decided that wasn’t gonna work out.

I still remember the day he left. It was the summer after our senior year of college. I was planning on heading down to Boulder to study Biochem, and Apollo was… well, I don’t think he was quite sure what he wanted to do with his life. He had big dreams, that was for sure, but they were always just that, and I think I always kind of suspected that he would eventually settle down into that farm life he had always hated so much. I didn’t WANT him to, but I thought he would.

He didn’t, though. When he came to our usual meetup spot that day, it was hot enough that I was sweating through my t-shirt, but it was the only time I had seen Apollo look… cold. He didn’t say a word to me, just leaned against the wall and pulled out a cigarette, gaze fixed hard on something in the distance, something only he could see. I didn’t say anything either. We just sat there, frozen in time and space.

Eventually, he did speak, in a hoarse whisper almost too soft for me to hear. “I’m leaving,” he said. “California.”

We both knew he didn’t have the money to go to California. We both knew it didn’t matter. He’d find a way.

He threw his cigarette on the ground, stomped it out, then suddenly pulled me in hard for a hug. I couldn’t say how long it lasted. All I remember was the stillness of the moment, the warmth of the tears running down his cheeks. It was an instant, and it was an eternity.

And then he left. He walked away, and that was the last that I - or anyone - ever saw of Ezekiel Jones.

It certainly wasn’t the end of Apollo Byrne, of course. Everyone knows HIS story by now - one day he’s nobody, the next he’s got his big break in that one indie flick, and suddenly he’s Hollywood’s new heartthrob. A world renowned partier, philanthropist, and flirt - though he always stopped short of actually engaging in romantic contact with another person, so much so that he never even so much as kissed another actress on screen. I always thought that was somewhat odd. So yeah, the story of Apollo Byrne the movie star’s been done to death, but here’s the thing: I’m the only one who knows how it ends. How it [i]really[/i] ends.

ET did an interview with him, right before he… yknow. It was after they wrapped filming on his last flick, some action movie or other. They asked him what he was gonna do between then and the premiere, and he said that he had some things to sort out. That he was going home. I’m not much of an ET watcher, but I happened to have it on in the background the night that it aired. I was living in Denver at the time, and my parents were still in Casper, so it wasn’t that big a hassle to take some time off work and stay with them for a week or two. I told them I wanted to see them, of course, but also that I wanted to catch up with old friends. I didn’t mention Apollo by name. I’m still not sure why.

It was on the morning of my second day in Casper that I realized I didn’t actually know how I was gonna track Apollo down. He had to deal with paparazzi all the time, of course, but he had always been coy about which small town he was really from, so it was unlikely they’d track him this far, which meant I was on my own. Would he go to his parents? Something about the thought made me uneasy. He hadn’t complained about them [i]that[/i] much when we were kids, but he always seemed… disdainful, I think, of them and their lifestyle. Still, it wasn’t like I had any other leads, and I figured maybe they had at least kept in touch to SOME degree.

The fire had already started by the time I got there.

There was a stiff prairie breeze pushing the smoke steadily out into the open country, so it wasn’t a surprise that I was the first one on the scene, but the fact that there was a scene at all sent me into immediate shock. I had only been over here two or three times before, but it was so strongly associated with someone I had once cared so deeply about that to see it going up in flames was like a red-hot poker straight to my gut. I didn’t even think to call 911. I might have dropped my phone, I’m not even sure. All I know is that all of a sudden my legs were moving of their own volition, carrying me towards the roiling inferno, desperate to discover and rescue whoever might be inside.

The heat hit me before I was even inside, like opening an oven to check the readiness of the contents, but growing steadily more persistent, more intolerable, with each step I took towards the house. The acrid stench of smoke filled my nostrils as I slipped through the warped entryway, and I quickly wrapped my shirt around my face. Time was not on my side, and I quickly maneuvered past embers and debris, calling out when I dared, searching for anyone who might be trapped inside. 

Finding nobody on the first floor, I sprinted up the stairs, taking them two at a time to minimize my chances of stepping on the wrong one in the wrong way. As I rose, so did the temperature, growing hotter than I had previously thought possible. I recall thinking vaguely that the fire must have started on the second floor, but I quickly cleared the thought from my brain. It wasn’t important at the moment. What was important was making sure that whoever was in here (and for some reason, I was convinced that SOMEONE must be in here) would be OK. I moved down the hallway one room at a time, peeking through doorways when I was able, kicking down doors when I was not. Each room I checked was empty, and eventually I found myself face to face with the only unexamined room in the house: the master bedroom at the end of the hall. The doorframe was warped, blackened, and cracking under the pressure, with the interior of the cracks glowing the same angry red as the handle of the door. I ignored it, of course, and kicked it down.

Inside the room stood Apollo Byrne.

He stood shirtless, with his back to me. A thin sheen of sweat covered the tanned flesh, though it was somewhat… less than I would expect, given the conditions. His normally perfectly-coiffed hair was damp. He wasn’t doing anything. He was just… standing there. This was odd, of course, but my brain wasn’t quite processing on that level, and instinct took over as I called out to him, part of me relieved to see him and part of me rapidly panicking as I realized that he was in imminent danger.

He stiffened as he heard me call, and for a moment did nothing, but then he began to turn, and as he did so I was struck by the odd realization that I hadn’t seen him shirtless since high school, even amidst all the action films he had been involved in throughout the years. And when he finally turned around I saw why.

Exactly centered on his stomach, burned into the flesh, were the letters “J. F. F.” Jones Family Farms. His father’s personal brand.

That was, of course, the first thing I noticed. The second thing I noticed was his face. He didn’t look flushed, didn’t look like he had been exerting himself, didn’t expect to look anything like you would expect someone who had been trapped in a house fire to look. His mouth was grinning, his teeth that Hollywood white, unblemished by plaque nor ash nor soot. His eyes were crying, the tears turning to steam on his cheeks.

The third thing I noticed were the charred and blackened corpses at his feet. I didn’t recognize them. Even the greatest medical examiner on the planet wouldn’t have been able to recognize them. But I didn’t have to be able to recognize them to know them.

Apollo was still looking at me as my eyes drifted back up to return his gaze. After a moment, he reached into his pocket, pulled out a cigarette, and took a puff. I hadn’t seen him take out a light.

Still grinning, still crying, he looked me dead in the eye and said, “You should go.” And I did.

I didn’t look back as I walked away from the Jones family homestead, but I did listen. I listened to the crackle of flames as they licked at the aging wood of the well-loved home. I listened to the occasional crash of a piece of the second floor falling to the first, or of a door finally losing the battle against its own frame. I listened to the dull roar of the thick black smoke as it trailed off into the clear blue sky. And I listened to the long, terrible, agonizing scream as for the final time in his life, Apollo burned.

Supplementary Comments

Well this is… interesting, to say the least. Receiving statements about celebrities always is, and it happens more frequently than one would think.

Apollo Byrne, born Ezekiel Jones, famously perished in a fire while visiting his family home in Casper on June 21st 2010, alongside both of his parents. He was an only child, and left behind no romantic partner or children of his own. The fire was discovered late in the day by a USPS driver come to deliver the day’s mail, and by then it was far too late to save the house or anyone inside.

Mrs. Andrea Roberson bears no apparent connection to Mr. Byrne save for their shared origin in Casper. At no point in the immediate aftermath of the events described did she attempt to take her story public, and at no point prior did she confide in anyone about her past relationship with Mr. Byrne. We can assume that a possible exception was her wife, one Shirley Chau, but she passed away in late 2012, apparently after a mishap in the kitchen of the restaurant she worked at.

Ara is attempting to secure permission for us to interview Mrs. Roberson, but doing so may be tricky, as the latter is currently serving a 30 year sentence in the Colorado State Penitentiary after multiple felony arson convictions.

-Amy A. Ampharos, Head Archivist February 21st, 2017

[stardust-and-blades]

Bloody Violets

A hanahaki story bc what writer hasn’t done one of these

as always, it’s klance :3 -------------------------

To most, it is slow. Painful. A long process of weighing the pros and cons of treatment, continuous nights of rolling around in the sheets plagued by insomnia and anxiety, a fine cocktail fit for one destined to be heartbroken to the point of death, to becoming a mindless zombie in the emotions department. 

To most, it is an unfortunate occurrence, but one people usually extract from their lungs because they would rather fall in love with someone else than die for a person who may never love them back.

But Keith is not like most. Keith is his own person. That kid who kicked ass in the garrison despite being told otherwise. The mystery boy who blew the desert ground to bits in order to reach Shiro. The reluctant soul of the black lion, wishing to stay in the past but forced into the future.

The angry, frustrated, annoyed child of earth who was deemed to never love someone outside of a platonic setting. 

Yet, here he was, doubled down a toilet coughing out bloody violets. 

He did not think this would happen. Sure he had some feelings living inside him, but he never thought it would get this bad. This...life threatening. Who would have thought love--something covered in chocolate hearts and sweet embraces--would be tinged with crimson-stained thorns. 

Keith rested his head against the porcelain, sweat coating his forehead and neck.

God. What is he going to do?

Yes, there is a procedure. A way of extracting the deadly vines and flowers from his suffocating lungs. But with it they would take his actual love. His feelings and memories, thrusting them into a fire and permanently extinguishing what gave him life. Even though it was physically harming him, even though it made breathing difficult and coughing agonizing, the worst pain Keith could imagine is a part of him being stripped away. A natural part of his life; the essence of what made him smile at the boy who goofily told many stories of his family back in Cuba. What caused his steely indigo eyes melt into adoration as the boy’s lanky arms fly up in a gesture of success over beating another level on his and Pidge’s video game. 

What made him laugh full heartedly, bathing in the shock of the other for Keith’s easy-going attitude when, in the past, they butted heads almost every day.

He did not want that taken away from him. He did not want that yanked out of his grasp, his hands reaching out for what was destroyed. 

Just like when the fires consumed the one parent who smothered him in parental love.

Just like the stars sucked in the brother he grew to trust and acknowledge, and the mother he never got the chance to meet until he was already carved out of stone. 

He could tell him. Tell the man of his affection, but with his consistent hitting on Allura, Keith would rather not advance the progress of his affliction. It would give him away. Would expose what he is riddled with and no doubt be shoved onto a table for them to extract the seeds and vines.

No, this is his. His little secret. His treasure, for while it caused him great pain, dreaming of the boy he loved every night was worth the strenuous days of him jolting awake and running to his bathroom.

It may kill him. But at least he would die happy.

So he got up, wiped the blood from his lips, and put on his gloves. He is a soldier, and he will handle this like a soldier.

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

A month later, the disease has drastically progressed. And it did not help it acted up on a mission.

The alarm blared that morning, Keith being forced awake from his safe haven that eased the ache in his chest and the tickle in his throat, his limbs acting on impulse and shooting up to put on his armor. Everything hurt, but not to the point where he couldn’t function. He was able to plaster on a brave face, fly the black lion, and sneak into the base where they were to gather intel on some prisoners to free for the voltron coalition.

It wasn’t until Lance, Hunk, and him were facing off some sentries did it severely act up, Keith’s lungs taking on a new branch of pain. He tried to ignore it; tried to focus on the enemies and cut them down. But it only grew worse, never subsiding into a dull ache. It was as if someone cranked the pain meter to 100 rather than the normal 40. 

He was breathing hard. Hard enough Hunk asked if he was okay. 

“I’m...fine...” Keith pushed out. Was the room always this fuzzy?

He felt a hand on his shoulder. Purple met concerned blue, Lance’s brows furrowed deep enough Keith could make out his features through the dumb helmet.

“Hey man, you don’t look so good. We can handle the rest of the mission if you need to head back.” Lance said, gentle and kind.

Keith weakly shook his head. “No its oka--”

Just then he noticed a sentry pointing a gun at Lance’s head, the robot’s body shielded by the wall but his weapon in full view. If Keith weren’t standing where he was, no one would have seen the red light zoom in on the center of Lance’s clueless head.

“Look out!” Keith cried, tackling the new appointed red paladin to the ground. A shot is fired, hitting Keith’s shoulder but definitely missing its kill shot. With all his strength, Keith chucked his sword bayard at the sentry and hit him square in the head, its gun clattering to the ground with its body. It didn’t move again.

“Holy shit!” Lance yelled, looking behind him. “He came out of nowhere. Thanks Keith--buddy? Keith? Keith!?”

Keith was on his knees, coughing up a storm. His hands circled around his neck, as if he could staunch the coughing with sheer force. It is useless. He coughed and he coughed, bundles of flowers overflowing his helmet to the point where he couldn’t breathe past the petals. Violets covered his vision, tears swimming in his eyes. It hurts. It hurts so bad he doesn’t know what to do. He has been stabbed, crashed into a planet, broken bones, electrocuted, and beaten the shit out of by an altean robot. Yet here he was, being taken down by flowers.

He didn’t feel it, but his body collapsed on the floor, still clawing at his throat but also attempting to hide what is clearly shown in his helmet. Against his wishes, Hunk yanked it off and Lance bent to his level, moving Keith’s hair from his face to get a better view at what is causing Keith’s state.

No. No do not look. DO NOT--

“Oh my God.” Lance said, sounding as if the air left him. As soon as they got the helmet off, he was covered in violet petals, the blue and purple combination painting parts of Keith’s face and suit red. Knowing the jig was up, Keith gave into the coughing, not bothering to suppress it anymore.

Keith couldn’t see anything since his eyes were closed, but he felt Lance’s hands on him, Keith’s body being shifted onto what he assumed were someone’s lap. Lance’s lap most likely, since Hunk was standing in blatant horror a few seconds ago.

“Oh my God oh my--Hang in there buddy. We will get you back to the castle.” Lance said shakily. Keith peaked up at Lance to see his panicked expression move to Hunk. “Did you have any idea about this? Did the team?”

Hunk shook his head. “No, I’m just as shocked as you are. He-he seemed alright the past few nights, albite a little pale. But he is usually pale. He’s a pale guy--oh no oh no what are we going to do?” 

Hunk also got on his knees to talk to Keith.

“Stay awake, Keith. Don’t die on us, we are going to help you.”

“He’s not going to die.” Lance said all too defensively. A hand moved to the comms, contacting the rest of the team. “Pidge. Allura. Do you copy?”

“Yeah, I’m almost done downloading the information we need. We stumbled into a few Galra but Allura handled it.” Pidge replied. “What’s up?”

“It’s Keith. He...” Lance opened and closed his mouth, the shock of what he was witnessing not settling well. “He...”

“Lance?” Allura said. “What’s wrong? Is Keith alright?”

“You...You know that disease that was plaguing the last planet we visited? The flower disease?”

There is a pause. Allura spoke slow, steady. As if she too were beside them and knew first hand what Lance is getting at. “Yes. Hanahaki disease. It drastically decreased their population in a matter of months.”

“I think...I think he has it.” Lance’s voice was a ghost of a whisper, his throat closing up at Keith’s body is wracked with incredibly violent and hoarse coughs. Blood leaked from his lips, the petals thinning out for the red tear drops. Keith wanted to talk, but the sensation was sharp needles against tender flesh. “Blue-ish purple flower petals. I don’t know for sure how long it has been going on, but Keith can’t breathe well. He can hardly move.”

Allura swore in Altean. She called for Pidge to wrap up, boots and metal echoing through the speakers. “He is in the final stage. If we don’t take out the seeds and thorns as soon as possible, there will be no saving him.”

Keith’s senses had been dulled, but the part about the surgery zapped him from his despondency.

“NO!” He screamed, the black paladin raising himself on his elbows before he collapsed again, he strength nonexistent.

“Don’t move!” Hunk ordered by Lance. “You’re going to hurt yourself further.”

“I don’t--I don’t care!” Keith said, glaring up at Hunk. “I’m not having the surgery. You cannot make me--”

“If you don’t you’ll die, you stupid mullet!” Lance seethed, forcing the other to look at him. If Keith wasn’t so weak, he would have jumped from Lance cupping his face just to make eye contact. There is cold fury in his eyes, the calming waves of the ocean swirling into a storm of wrecked ships and destroyed homes. “You’ve made some really shitty decisions, but this is by far the top of the list. No one is worth this outcome!”

“I. Said. No.” Keith enunciated the syllables to prove his point. Just as Lance’s storm thrashed and drowned its victims, Keith’s glare was all fire, burning everything in its wake. Covering the atmosphere with ash, leaving nothing behind for the birds to pick at. 

And Keith was about to flick another match.

“As your leader, as your black paladin, I order you all to stand down.”

Once the words left his mouth, he succumbed to the darkness feathering him with temptation. He doesn’t hear anything else besides the intake of a sharp breath and Hunk calling his name.

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

Keith was out cold. No doubt from the stress of the mission and the fact a literal flower bush was growing inside him, piercing his lungs and destined the puncture his heart. Lance nearly threw his bayard at the wall, choosing instead to hit oncoming sentries from the distance. Hunk did not think he would have the strength to fling his paladin bayard so easily, especially when it turned into a sword. Lance was the sharpshooter, not the samurai. But then again, everyone has evolved through time.

They had to think fast. While they were conflicted on the choice Keith made abundantly clear, they had no time to mule over it where they stood. Hunk picked up Keith’s limp form and told Lance to cover him, the two dashing for their lions, as well as Allura and Pidge. Since Allura stated they had to act fast, Lance took Keith in the red lion to meet Coran in time. 

Coran took him to the med bay, Lance carrying him to a bed as Coran hooked him up to altean machines and an oxygen mask. He injected some sort of serum Lance cannot pronounce, but it seemed to have taken the edge off of Keith’s groans of pain. His grimace smooths out after the liquid enters his bloodstream, Coran patting his head like a father and turning a grim expression to the team.

“I gave him a sedative that will stop the progress of the disease in its tracks temporarily. 72 hours I give it. But if he does not confess his feelings and continues to reject the procedure, there is no saving him.”

Allura hummed in thought, frowning. Her arms are crossed, shoulders tense and white hair in a loose, messy heap. “There has to be another way. It has been 10,000 years. Surely there has been progress in the treatment of the disease.”

Coran gave her a sad smile, but nevertheless, did not change his intel.

“I’ve scoured as many archives as I could on surrounding planets. Nothing. Not even the galra have a better cure.”

“There must.” She turned away from him, no doubt heading to the control room. “Coran, come. We have some research to do.”

“But princess--”

She stopped in the doorway, her hand resting on the cool exterior. She did not look at Coran, but he and everyone else could see her shoulders trembling. “Please, Coran. I cannot stand by and lose another friend.”

They left, hearts breaking in two, plastering a facade of hope and determination to counterattack the demand they wanted to dismiss, but were bound by honor. By respect. Though Keith’s wish and the team’s do not align, they were raised to honor a dying person’s last request. Even if that request is destructive in all senses. Hunk and Pidge watched them go, sincerely wishing Shiro were around to guide them. To tell them what to do about Keith. Maybe if he were around he would be able to speak reason to Keith.

But he isn’t. It is only them. 

They felt so helpless.

“Where is Lance?” Pidge hesitantly asked. Hunk pulled out a chair to sit by Keith. Lance had ran off as soon as he laid Keith down, Hunk noticing him hold onto Keith’s hand seconds too long and, as if it physically hurt him to do so, ripping himself away and left. 

Hunk couldn’t read him perfectly, yet a hunch told him he was the most emotionally affected by the turn of events and Keith’s choice. His face may have been blank, but his eyes screamed the opposite.

“He is doing what Allura is doing.”

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

Who would have thought Lance would be angry enough to break down a door.

Normally one to open at its owner’s command or handprint, Lance pried at the door until his fingernails bled, him ultimately giving into temptation and shooting the damn system with his bayard. 

It worked. But Lance did not dally about and dance around at his success. Rather, he stormed in Keith’s too clean room. From a first glance, there really wasn’t much. A bed. A closet with his earth clothes. A bathroom with the bare essentials for a shower. a desk. A pouch thrown to the side, the only indication of Keith being some semblance of a slob.

“As your leader, as your black paladin, I order you to stand down.”

Lance clenched his teeth so hard, he was sure they would crack.

With a flick of his wrist he overturned the mattress, the blanket and sheets fluttering about. The soft cushion landed with a dull thud, Lance throwing the pillow next. Seeing nothing beside the floor, he moved to the pouch. He ripped it open, anger and frustration tearing at the zipper’s seems. He flipped through random scrawls of paper to earth receipts, nothing of vital information popping up on who Keith loves. On who Lance could track them and convince them to help Keith. Yeah Lance and him butted heads in the past, but that doesn’t mean he wants him dead.

He’s his friend.

He’s...He’s one of his close friends. Though he hasn’t said it out loud. He has a temper and can make terrible decisions, who doesn’t? They are kids, for crying out loud. They are just teenagers trying to get by. Trying to LIVE.

His eyes began to sting, Lance working to shake it off and focus on the objective. Nothing in the damn pouch. Desk, maybe? A journal of some kind? He wasn’t one to peak in on someone’s private thoughts but this is a legitimate emergency. 

He lifted the top of the desk, the hinges creaking from the lack of use. There was stacks of papers with haphazard scribbles, many with only notes on what Keith needs to improve on in terms on combat and crumbled pieces of his search for Shiro. There was one slip with a doodle of the team members, yet as Lance sifted and threw them all around, he couldn’t find some type of entry elaborating on the mystery person.

Keith took the expression "take the secret to your grave” too literal. 

Lance was practically pulling his hair out by this point. There is nothing. Nothing to indicate who it is. Nothing for him to do. Nothing for him to fucking act upon and save his friend’s life.

Was he really this goddamn useless? Was all he could do is stand by and watch as his leader--his teammate--be swallowed up and suffocated by unrequited love?

Would he have to stand by and watch as his heart monitor go straight, unleashing the monotonous, infinite screech of death’s timestamp?

“Come on...Give me something. Anything...” He said to himself. Begging the universe in some way. “Give me a clue. We already lost Shiro. We can’t lose anyone else. Please.”

His knees buckled, a hand flying to his eyes as he physically pushed the tears away. Shoved the heel of his palm against the onslaught of emotions, it gushing out in slow currents. He wasn’t sobbing--wasn’t wracked with grief, but stressed. Stressed and upset enough to start crying, remembering the last time he did it was when he failed to become a fighter pilot the first time. 

At the time, he lost something so trivial. Now, he was about to lose someone he considered family.

He was surrounded by Keith’s few belongings, but Keith left nothing for the team to find. Similar to how he disappeared from the garrison, talk of a legend, absence of a fact. It was like the desert whisked him away into a far away land, never to be heard from again like his mother.

If nothing is done, this will be what remains of him.

Lance sniffed, ready to get up and see with Allura if she had any luck when, form the corner of his eye, he saw a cylinder basket.

There was hardly anything in the trash can except a crumbled piece of paper.

Intrigued, Lanced wiped his eyes and walked over, gingerly picking up the wrinkled paper and unfurled it.

To the boy I love, was written in small cursive letters at the top. The rest of the page was a drawing. A sketch not old enough to be withered with time; the fine paper crisp and new. There was no color, but that didn’t matter. The drawing itself was a masterpiece in of itself, Lance having no idea Keith was an inner artist.

That isn’t what causes his mouth to hang open. What does is who the boy is.

It was Lance. Lance with his signature, happy-go-lucky grin, his eyes crinkled in glee and eyes lit up by a faint blue pencil. It was as if he were peering into a photograph, not a flaw in sight. Lance is speechless. Absolutely speechless. He never--when did he--what--

As he he mulled over the sudden realization he was the object of Keith’s affections, he noticed another feature. Something he would have missed if he wasn’t staring for so long.

It was dated a couple days ago. Judging from how the paper was the one thing in the trash, Keith most likely chucked it yesterday. But why--

It hits him like a truck.

“Another mission tomorrow?”

“Yes. Word from the blade there is intel at this facility detrimental to taking down Zarkon’s empire and finding Pidge’s family.” Allura said. “Keith, Lance, you will be partnering up.”

“Ugh, really?” Lance griped. “I have to work with our crappy leader again? I hate this.”

Keith stopped drawing what he had in his hand, his whole body covering the sketch book. He stilled, glanced at Lance with a blank stare, got up and left. As he did, a hand went up to his chest, Lance noting how he rubbed the area as if to alleviate it.

Keith wasn’t seen until the next day, skipped dinner from the night before and late to breakfast.

Moving with break neck speed, Lance long legs scampered to the bathroom and shoved the shower curtain aside. 

Lance let go of the drawing as he slid to the floor.

It was covered in copious amounts of dried blood and shriveled violet petals. 

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

Allura slammed her hands against the monitor, the screen floating above her head glitching from the assault.

“By the goddess, how is there no advancement after the fall of Altea? We awaken thousands of years later, yet we might as well still be in the pods.”

“There are a couple more planets who were afflicted by the disease we can look at, but princess,” Coran said, a tone of fatherhood and concern for her well being. “You can only do so much. I do not like Keith’s decision either, but we must honor him as a soldier and a friend.”

Allura whipped around, ice fury meeting reserved orange. “Honor? There is no honor in this. There is nothing honorable about throwing your life away for something so...so...”

“Heartbreaking?”

Allura didn’t reply. She moved her attention back on the screen, rapidly typing and deleting pieces of her research, analyzing every detail until she was out of clues and had to move on to the next. Coran watched, reflecting on the time long in the depths of time where a similar person was doing the same for a friend, searching countless of galaxies before he shut down the operation upon their death.

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

Keith didn’t wake up until the 24 hour mark, his consciousness gradually rising to the surface. There was still an ache in his chest. Like a snake constricting his chest until it was bound to break. But it wasn’t so bad he couldn’t stay awake. 

His eyes glazed over his surroundings. He couldn’t get up, he was at that stage in his disease. Moving would make it worse. The tickling in his throat subsided, save for the couple of petals slipping through his lips every few minutes. His eyes are tired and foggy, seeing nothing but white walls and white sheets. 

He spat out another flower and debated on going back to sleep. Sleep was nice. Sleep was endless and tolerable. The sheets over him were usually scratchy and uncomfortable, yet at the moment they were fluffy clouds tempting him into closing his eyes once more.

“Hey, bud.” A voice said beside him, quiet. Keith looked over and saw Lance sitting on a stool, mirroring Keith’s exhaustion. When was the last time he rested?

“Hey.” Keith said. His throat was torn apart, his speech shattered glass and loose gravel. 

“How are you feeling?”

Keith shrugged. Kind of. “like shit.”

Lance’s mouth twitched. “Yeah. Coran had to give you a sedative to help. It’s temporary, though.”

“Mmm.”

Lance poked his cheek. “Hey, no falling asleep. I’m talking.”

“I’m tired.”

“That’s because you have been coughing your lungs out.”

“That’s what happens when you have a literal flower bush growing in your body.” Keith commented, not fully aware of the impact they had.

It went quiet, Keith closing his eyes and taking slow, even breathes, ignoring the thorn really digging into his left side and listening to the beeping drone of his heart monitor. His heart rate was slower than a normal beat, most likely due to the branches at the point where they are wrapping around his heart. Keith should care more. Should be freaking out. But he was so tired.

“Keith.”

“...”

“Keith.”

“What?”

Lance fiddled with a folded up paper, eyes in any other world but this one. “Why don’t you want the surgery?”

“Reasons.”

“Can you elaborate?”

Nothing.

Lance set his head in his hands. “Keith, please tell me why. Explain to me why you would rather refuse both methods of helping you. I know this may sound hard to believe, but we care about you. Including me. Allura is running herself ragged on finding a different cure, Pidge and Hunk are breaking into galra tech, and I...I’m trying to work with you. It’s hard to do that when you keep shutting me out.”

“It’s...It’s complicated.” Keith rasped, hesitating on his answer. He doesn’t want to die, but to Lance he might as well be signing his death wish in ink right in front of him.

“Try me.”

Keith let out a pained sigh. He fought down the cough scratching at his mangled throat, choosing his words carefully.

“It’s not because I want to die, it’s actually the opposite.” He said, soft. “You know how when they do the surgery, you come out of it...different?”

“Yeah. Most of the time you lose your feelings for the person, but in rare cases you can lose all your emotions.”

He did know. Good. “Well, to me I’d be killing what I value in myself. I know you see me as nothing but a hotheaded idiot who runs us head first into trouble. And you’re right, that is me. It’s the reason I didn’t want to be the leader of voltron. To be honest, Allura should have been the leader. Or you.”

“You’re not that bad...” Lance said. “I mean, we are still alive.” Lance made to joke, but it fell flat. Strangely though, Keith chuckled.

“Thanks.” He had a coughing fit for a couple of minutes, Lance running to grab water and giving it to him straight away. As he finished, he settled back down and picked up where he left off.

“Anyway...That spark in me, the part of me making me human, those are my emotions. Not just my love for the person, but the thing known to make me laugh, cry, scream, fight, hope. All those pieces come together to form a picture. To create someone who is real and genuine, and if those pieces are taken away, the puzzle defining me falls apart. I lose what I value the most: my humanity. my soul. I lose what makes me, me. Yes, it sucks knowing the person you love doesn’t love you back, but what is worse is losing yourself just for the sake of survival. The surgery is not a means of going back to how things were in my mind, but a way of keeping a broken being in commission.”

Keith turned his shining eyes to Lance, the indigo irises wet with either sadness or acceptance of his fate. “Lance, I don’t want to be a husk of who I was. I want to be me. If that means dying to stay true to who I am, then it’s okay. I know the team took a blow when Shiro disappeared, and I know this is no different. But you guys will manage.”

Lance understood, yet at the same time the mention of Shiro and the fact they would be left with four paladins rather than five awakened the storm brewing in his belly. Manage? MANAGE? They did not just lose a black paladin, but a hero on earth. Lance’s hero and a mentor they all cherished close to their hearts. And Keith wanted them to simply “manage” his death, throwing care to the wind and go out scouring for another black paladin. As if it were some sort of job title they could advertise on a newspaper. As if he were as disposable as the broken castle parts Coran threw in a random bin. As if he had no effect on the team whatsoever, assumed to be hated when really, really he--

“How can we manage when we are seeing a friend kill himself and there is nothing we can do?” Lance snapped, casting away the tears for white hot anger. “Do you not realize how important you are to the team? We would be crippled; feeding fodder to Zarkon and his army. Play toys for Lotor and his generals. I know I have said some pretty shitty things in the past, but please believe me when I say we cannot lose another paladin. We can’t...we can’t lose another team member.”

“Lance...”

“Allura and Coran lost their family and species. Pidge lost her father and brother. Hunk never wanted to be a pilot, and I--” His head bent down low, his body losing its stance as he slumped and breathed a sigh. “I lost earth. Now I’m about to lose more.”

Keith took a few seconds to respond, coughing into his fist but suppressing it when he wanted to talk. He wondered how much time he has left. 

“What do you mean by that?”

“By what?”

“You...losing more. You hate me, don’t you?”

Lance felt as if he had been electrocuted. “W-Hate? I don’t hate you! What gave you that idea?” 

Keith gave him a look.

Lance scratched his neck. “Okay, so I haven’t been good with our relationship. I just...I do this thing where I get jealous of someone cooler than me and find reasons to see them in a negative light. I keep doing it. But...I don’t want to anymore. Not as I realize your as normal as the rest of us. Minus the whole galra part.”

“Being galra threw me for a loop too.”

“No shit.”

The two laughed, their inner walls crumbling to bits as they came to a mutual understanding. It was nice. Sweet even. Something Keith didn’t think he would be able to experience, and Lance relieved to see Keith isn’t a God or a demon. He is a boy. A regular boy thrown into a random war as much as Lance and the others. If Lance could pick a moment and stay there for an indefinite amount of time, it would be this. Because it is where they meet each other half way, extending their hands to conjoin an alliance Lance had been throwing away. One Keith kept working to ignore. 

But as the distance closed, Keith’s outstretched palm turned to stone and crumbled. For Keith’s serene expression twisted into agony. Coming out of nowhere, the branches and thorns and flowers shot up through his ribcage, his heart monitor going off the charts as he is flung into a violent coughing fit. Specks of blood turned into puddles, crimson flushing away the clean white sheets. Keith held his hands against his mouth, as if it could ward away the blood and pain. It spewed from the cracks, his fingers dripping with purple and red. 

Lance stood to go run and grab Allura and Coran. Keith stretched out and seized Lance’s wrist, a gesture expressing he desired not to be alone. Lance stayed, rubbing soothing circles on his back and gathering some Altean paper towels to capture the blood. For a good moment Lance thought he was going to die right there, but Keith’s coughing eventually stopped. When it did, he leaned back against the bed, aging a couple of years by the exhausting action.

“Keith--”

“Lance?” Keith said through a raw throat. He looked so tired, it twisted Lance’s chest. “Will you...will you tell me a story? About your family in Cuba?”

Lance blinked. “Why?”

Keith smiled weakly at him. “Because it makes you happy. And I always wanted to hear one of your stories. You make earth sound so...loving.”

Lance didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, because not only did he sound so quiet and fleeting, but he was asking something from the person who put him here in the first place.

“But--”

“Please? You are sad. I want you to smile at least once before I fall asleep.”

Lance bit down on his wobbling lip. Why did it hurt so much to see Keith smile like that? Why did his heart skip a beat, bleeding for someone he didn’t expect to effect him in his life? Why did he stare at the bloody bathtub for hours on end, telling himself he could fix this. Why does he care so fucking much if he has another day with the person he deemed his rival; his enemy.

Why did he feel his own thorns grow inside him?

Shoving his feelings aside, he hung a mask of happy and opened up a time in his life where he smiled the most. 

“Okay. So it was my first trip the Varadero beach, and my cousins were scared of water...”

By the end, Keith had fallen asleep peacefully. Lance rested his arms on top of the small slip of the bed Keith did not take up and joined him in slumber, knowing he wouldn’t be able to be content in his room. For if he stayed by Keith, maybe he won’t wake up to the sheets being empty and a lion asking for another paladin.

By morning, it clicked.

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

Lance was awakened by harsh whispers and ragged breathing.

He stretched out, his back and neck aching from the position he allowed himself to sleep in. He was pretty sure he heard a few pops and wondered if he snapped his back. It didn’t help he took the brunt of an explosion in the past. 

“The serum isn’t working as well as it should. It’s growing at a rapid rate.”

“Can’t you give him another dose? Twenty-four hours should be enough for it to leave his system.”

“Not this kind of medicine. If we give it before 72 hours he could go into cardiac arrest. It affects the heart as much as the disease.”

“Lets say fuck it to his stupid fucking order and give him the surgery. He’s too stubborn to be convinced otherwise!”

“Pidge!” Hunk admonished. “What would we do once he wakes up from the surgery? He will be angry. That’s if he still has any emotions left.”

“So he throws a temper tantrum.” Pidge cracked back. “Better than finding a grave sight.”

“This isn’s about you, Pidge!”

“And this isn’t about doing what he wants, but what is right!”

“For the love of--”

Lance was still trying to distinguish the developing voices as he wiped sleep from his eyes when there is a sudden crack and a high pitched scream. Lance jumped up, fully awake and looking at the source.

Pidge, Hunk, and Coran went silent as they followed Allura, who ran to Keith’s side. Keith was writhing and squirming, his arms surrounding his middle as worked to turn himself into a ball. Screams and howls of pain ripped through his throat, more blood bursting from his lips as full flowers followed one after the other. Allura grappled with Keith’s arms, snatching the restraints connected to the bed so he would stop flailing. If he moved too much he could puncture and collapse a lung.

But Keith rivaled Allura’s strength, Altean and Galra blood near similar in combat and physical force. She managed to seal the restraints around his ankles and wrists, but it did little to ease his wails.

Lance, finally processing everything, picked himself up and worked to make Keith look at him.

“Keith, Keith I need you to look at me. I need you to open your eyes and stop moving, you’re going to worsen your condition.”

Barely hearing him through his screams, Keith made his body still little by little, his eyes squeezing shut as tears leaked from the corners of his eyes and his hands balled into fists. He moved his head away from Lance’s grasp, needing to vomit out more flowers and blood on the floor. The branches coursed past his ribs and up his throat, tearing open new wounds. Beautiful flowers withered into deformity, blood and fragile petals breaking as soon as they reached the surface, sapped of its water and aged from grief. They were no longer a vibrant color, but dried brown mixed with blue. 

Lance angled his head to the side so he doesn’t choke from his own blood.

“Keith, please look at me. I need you to see how serious I am.” Now was not the time to have a breakdown. Now was the time to get through to Keith and fix this.

Keith, fighting the impossible, opened his eyes, trying to keep somewhat still as the dead flowers built on one another.

“I know about the picture. I know the person you love is me. I know this and I need you to hear me out when I say I feel the same.”

There are gasps from the others, but Lance paid them no mind.

“I know you were hiding it because you thought I hated you. Let’s face it, I wasn’t aware myself on how I felt about you. All I could comprehend is it was passionate and fiery. I thought it was jealousy, and for a time it was. But now I’m sure of how I feel.”

Keith pulled away from his grasp, violently heaving out worse dead flowers on the other side, the hue a light brown and the stems breaking off into dust. 

“You...Lie. You love...Allura.” Keith said, gruff and waves of flowers wracking his body as the branches around his heart tightened.

Lance followed Keith’s gaze, Keith unable to turn away because of the pain rendering him immobile. His eyes began to take up a sheen of dullness, Lance fearing he was reaching his breaking point.

I know, I thought so too. I told myself it was Allura I loved, told myself she was the one. But I love Allura like I love the others: as a friend.”

A lung was punctured.

Keith gasped, his movement ceasing all together. His heartbeat monitor went from crazy beeping to a slowing pulse, the lines taking longer to show a spike. Lance glanced at it, panicked, and turned back to Keith. He was so pale. He was fighting to breathe and keep their eyes interlocked, but the shine in his eyes seemed to be flickering out by the seconds.

Why wasn’t it working? If the feelings were mutual, shouldn’t the flowers and branches dissipate and go away on their own? Wasn’t the third option actually loving the person back, ending the nightmare both parties were experiencing? 

Can’t Keith see Lance is genuine?

Lance grabbed his hand, attempting to tether Keith back to him. It was limp; clammy, his skin cold to the touch. 

He brushed the bangs out of Keith’s eyes, wanting to at least see those dark eyes one last time if it meant his wish was not met. This as the least he can do.

“Hey samurai,” Lance spoke, gentle as droplets of tears kissed his cheeks. “Remember the first time you jumped from the cliff as we were being chased down by the garrison? Remember when you fought Zarkon by yourself, despite Coran advising you not to do it? Remember when we scoured the galaxy for Shiro, you never giving up even when you were tired and dehydrated? Remember how determined you were to find out about your mother and who you are? You made countless leaps of faith. So many I thought you were invincible, regardless of the moment you returned from the blades with a concussion and many bruises. You took those leaps of faith and whether you succeeded or not, you never backed down. And you didn’t back down from trusting me when you realized you messed up with the Lotor mission. Now I need you to make one last leap of faith and please, please for the love of all you hold dear, believe me when I say I am just as in love with you as you are with me.”

Lance rested his forehead against Keith’s. “I love you. Now, come back to me. Come back to me so we can look at the stars together. So I can take you to Varadero beach when we return to Earth. Come back.”

The monitor flatlined.

But in mere moments after Lance bore his heart and soul to Keith in the last seconds of his life, and as Lance began to take in the continuous screech of the machine, it stopped. stopped, then a beep happened. A second beep. A third. A fourth and a fifth and a sixth and--

Keith gasped for air, gulping down oxygen as if it were water and he had been left on a desert without any for days. The branches and flowers subsided, the grip on his heart loosening and the remaining lung freed from its prison. They grew smaller and smaller, going back in time to when they were seeds, and soon enough those too were gone. 

Keith stared back up at Lance in awe. He didn’t pull away, but neither did he lean in, waiting for the illusion to shatter. Waiting for him to wake up and find himself back to square one, still coughing up petals.

But it didn’t happen. 

“You...Love me?”

Lance, after what seemed like a lifetime of stress and misery, smiled big, his cheeks pink and his eyes flooding with relieved tears.

“Yes. Wholly and unconditionally.”

Everyone cheered in the background, Hunk lifting Pidge up and spinning her around while she screamed for him to put her down. Allura sniffed and dried up her tears, happy to see her newfound family not to be consumed by grief a second time. And Coran, being Coran, whipped out a bottle of nunvill to celebrate.

Allura used her Altean powers to heal the puncture in Keith’s other lung, and after he was discharged from the bed, took a shower to wash off all the blood (as well as the room he was stuck in), and everyone retreated to their bedrooms for a well earned nap, Lance and Keith gathered some blankets and pillows and set up in one of the vast rooms overlooking the stars. 

All night they stayed up, pointing out constellations and making up stories, sometimes talking about home.

When they had nothing else to say after long hours of talking and Lance keeping Keith close a to make sure he really was there, they leaned on each other. For the first time they were alone together, happy and content.

And for the first time, the two kissed, sweet and soft. Glad to be in a reality where all was well, glad to know the universe had blessed them in the end.

“Oh, about that picture. You can throw it away. It really...It isn’t exactly done.”

“Are you kidding? It’s a masterpiece. And mine now, no take backs!”

Keith laughed. “Alright, goofball.”

Lance rested his head on Keith’s, the picture in his pocket, the boy planning to frame it when he is able. 

It’s important to him. Just like the dark haired boy beside him.