#{also i can almost guarantee these kinds of people dont say a single word against the shitshow of netflixvania which is LOLLLLL}

[nightslain]

Send me a ☕️ and a topic and I’ll talk about how I feel about it lol: People hating Leon because he is a crusader. Or other reasons people hate Leon. (I had no idea people hated him. Also, can I be an emoji anon with a tag? I want to be 📈 anon.)

Send me a ☕️ and a topic and I’ll talk about how I feel about it lol

This is a multi-layered topic if there ever was one because I have observed so many hateful, vindictive and downright petty remarks about Leon as a character that consistently drain me of all will and life since most of which are not even deserved or educated for that matter. So let’s tackle with the complaint that you’ve actually emphasised and the one that holds some considerable water--the fact that Leon was supposed to be a part of the crusades.

This is was obviously a pretty profound historical event that should NOT be swept under the rug, ignored or excused by any means, and truly I do understand people’s discontent with this aspect of his character and the connotations of a person involved with these events being portrayed as a protagonist of all things. However, my usual rebuttal to this complaint when raised in context with Leon is threefold. Firstly, the game got its dates confused and actually placed the events of Lament of Innocence in the year 1094 whereas the crusades didn’t begin until a year later, at which point Leon had already abandoned the church and set down another path entirely. 

While the game claimed it was taking place during the era of the crusades, their dates were a little out of whack (along with numerous other factual inconsistencies, though it’s not like I was expecting exact historical accuracy from my campy vampire fantasy games where women’s souls turn into whips and everyone is unbearably beautiful.) In my canon especially, I do not play Leon as ever having been part of the crusades when they were actually in full swing because of this fact, even if he has been an integral component to numerous wars in Europe and beyond.

And secondly, everyone seems to conveniently forget a large part of Leon’s character arc is abandoning the church and its self-serving behaviours in the game’s opening act, and with this Leon was stripped of his ancestral home, his title, his wealth, everything that he had accrued for himself in the course of his life and everything that has quite literally defined him since the day he was born. As soon as the church proved themselves to be more concerned with vapid, intangible ideas of moral purity instead of actually protecting the citizens from literal monsters, Leon abandoned their path to instead set out and accomplish what they were too cowardly and too selfish to; devoting his entire life--nay, his entire bloodline to that cause henceforth. Yes, Sara’s kidnapping was part of the driving force behind this conflict, so I don’t claim that his intentions were entirely philanthropic and unselfish, but I find it difficult to believe he would be this willing to openly disown the church and all the privileges he enjoyed as their most valued and decorated pawn if he did not also fundamentally disagree with the way they conducted themselves at this point. I also find the fact that he took on this massive burden of protecting humanity instead of being a part of its ugliest problems to suggest an act of penance for the lives he has taken as much as it is to honour Sara’s wish.

Leon wants to protect people. He was raised to believe that what he was doing was good and just and for the protection of his people, indoctrinated with the beliefs of the greater systems of power of the time and was reared to serve the needs of which at threat of punishment and consequences for failure to comply. He is not a vindictive, cruel or bloodthirsty murderer contrary to what some people like to believe. He did not kill people for honest-to-God hatred and malice. He does not enjoy killing, nor celebrate it, and speaking from my interpretation, he never enjoyed it even when he was a soldier--it was just a grim and necessary evil he was expected and conditioned to carry out (I have many headcanons about how he would pray even for his enemies and had engravings on his sword related to this.)

And lastly, do you ever notice how people love to complain about Leon being a crusader, but not a word of that same criticism is launched against Mathias/Dracula even though he too would have been a crusader by that logic? I don’t see a word raised about a literal genocidal monster being “problematic” to the degree that Leon is positively crucified for this online, even as a very vocally repentant man whereas Mathias becomes wholly unrepentant and kills even more people than he would have as a crusader after the fact; this telegraphs to me at least that people just don’t have the faintest idea what they’re talking about or otherwise are singling Leon out for clout to join in with the constant shitting on his character people love to do.

This though leads me into another point of contention in that I always see people on twitter and tumblr making their snarky comments about the fact Leon must be a horrible person because he was a church-serving knight and must be the kind of hateful individual that would use derogatory slurs, despise other races and likewise bear an inherent disgust for LGBT+ people. This in particular grates deeply on my nerves for the simple fact that it’s beyond me how people can look at Leon, his speech, his behaviour and his actions in the course of the game and assume he would be a man of so much pure vitriol and intolerance for other people, especially when he literally abandoned the church and their extreme beliefs guys would you just fucking FOCUS YOU ABSOLUTE DUNCES. I do strongly believe the people spitting this kind of rhetoric are just ignorant sheeple following the trend of whatever’s popular to clown on for clout, because even with his christian roots, people conveniently always forget that Leon takes his life into his own hands and rebels against the primary oppressors involved in which that would have enforced those beliefs and behaviours. Needless to say, I wouldn’t be surprised if these people didn’t even read the wiki or play the game and are getting their information from other people with their heads stuck up their ass putting this false information into circulation. Leon is so sorely, wrongly characterised by the fandom at times it physically pains me.

Speaking of, can we talk about the people who love to headcanon Leon as being stupid and illiterate? I cannot stand these ignorant, unfunny, uneducated fucks who constantly bark about this opinion unironically, because as a knight of all things, Leon would have been subjected to a very rigorous system of education, including writing and reading (among many other miscellaneous and desired abilities) as well as performing academic studies beneath chaplains and priests--for the standards of the time, knights were very well educated, and Leon is no exception. The game is perhaps to blame in part for this for scripting Leon to sound very naive and bumbling to a degree, which I believe was an attempt at imparting the quality of purity and innocence that was intended for his character (which also lmao is at odds with people’s desire to shit on him for being a bad person.) But people just take that at face value and assume Leon is a complete idiot when he is quite the opposite and would have to be to even ascend to his position of knighthood as it is. Let’s not forget he would have to be incredibly exceptional too to have ascended to knighthood five years too early! Leon is not stupid, and I will fight anyone in the pit who tries to tell me that he is, you absolute imbeciles.

[ohheyitsokay]

slowly

Pairing: Jack Daniels (Agent Whiskey) x  (f) ace!reader

Wordcount: 2.2k

Warnings: discussions of sex and related topics, maybe some angst? a lot more analogies than actual descriptions 

Summary: a drive in theatre, a budding relationship, and a whole lot of mutual support

Notes: okay obviously this is a wildly personal topic - I fully understand that asexuality looks different for everyone. For full disclosure, in this story, the reader knows they are somewhere on the asexuality spectrum, but is not aromantic. They are also are on a path of self discovery and are open to learning about themselves. This IS NOT saying asexuals who are like this are growing "better" than those who are not interested. Asexuals who do know what they do and dont want are perfect and do not need to change or compromise as part of their personal growth.

There will be an optional part 2 where they have more conversations about intimacy and explore together what works for them, but again, this is not everyone's story, or the "right" way, it's just... one story.

That being said, I genuinely hope yall enjoy!

>>

You stared at the bashful man in front of you openly, your hands stilling on the groceries you were halfway done unloading.

Even the slightest rustle of the cloth bags was painfully loud in the silence that stretched between you.

Jack had burst through your door, confident as always, but it was a thin layer over his anxious heart. With two long strides, he was pulling you into his arms, almost crushing you against his chest.

Arms winding around his middle, you held him just as tightly before you found your voice again.

“You’re back,” you said, simply amazed that he was a whole week early from the long mission. “When did you get back?”

You hadn’t realized he had picked you up until your feet were on solid ground again, and he was pulling away.

“Just a few hours ago, I had to make it back in time for opening night, right?” he grinned winningly.

You tried not to overthink, feeling a jolt of excitement that he remembered – tonight. The drive-in theatre in town was opening for the season and you had been more than excited. As one of your most consistent movie night friends, Jack had promised to take you, full of butterflies and subtext.

For as close as you’d gotten over the past few months, you weren’t sure what to make of his expression.

“If that’s okay? I should’ve double checked,” you hadn’t responded and it was apparently making him nervous.

“Yeah, Jack, that sounds great,” you reassured him, turning back to your groceries, equally nervous.

If you were being honest, you hadn’t expected him to remember because it had almost felt like an off-hand comment at the time, and you hadn’t wanted to get your hope up to much.

Something was welling in your stomach as you turned away from him fully, putting each item in its respective home in your kitchen. You liked him, of course you liked him. He was bold and kind and passionate, and more handsome than seemed reasonable for a single person. And… and when he was nearby, there was a feeling of safety, just out of reach, like water lapping at your feet at the beach.

It was more than tempting but, same as the ocean, there was also an uneasiness in the unknown. The same uneasiness was present in every relationship you’d ever had – because you had a secret.

Well, it was less of a secret and more… something you were figuring out that you hadn’t talked about much. Despite long late night talks and months of growing close and even slowly falling for each other, you hadn’t quite found the courage to talk to Jack about it yet. The more real the soft, sweet moments between you got, the more the unease filled your bones. You knew how he was with other women, and each time his hand lingered on your hip, your shoulder, your cheek, a quiet voice whispered that he deserved better.

Jack was staring at you, lost in your thoughts as you mechanically worked your way through the bags. His heart ached for you, and he wished more than anything that you trusted him with whatever you were holding back. But he was a determined man – he would do whatever he could to show you that no matter what, he wasn’t going anywhere.

 -

After awhile, Jack coaxed you back to your normal self, telling you as much of his mission as he could and helping you cook dinner. Moving around your kitchen was wonderfully peaceful, a little bubble of intimacy. Food was great for neutralizing anxious thoughts.

The feeling continued into his truck as you excitedly packed blankets and he fought the urge to kiss your adorable face when you found the snacks he’d picked up. Even before he left, in anticipation for tonight, he cleaned the front seat thoroughly, and made sure his radio was in good condition.

The movie went well too, but as much as he wanted to pull you into his arms, press you into his side, be the warmth against the cool night air, there was a hesitation that held him at bay.

Every time he’d reach for you, cautious and gentle, your skin would twitch, almost jumping away before you’d smile at him and lean into it. You seemed happy, but part of your mind was holding you back. As friends, you two were relatively physically affectionate, so he made a mental note to tread light and watch for more cues. Jack never wanted to impose himself on anyone but with you, even less.

So he waited. He had no doubt you’d talk to him when you were ready, and heavens knows that he had plenty of things he had kept buried. It was still nice, hearing you laugh next to him - just him – and seeing the light reflecting off the movie dance across your skin. Talking with you was always easy, even more so without friends or family around and it made Jack ache with eagerness.

As he pulled up to your home, he gently took your hand.

“Darlin, it was plum delightful to take you out tonight,” he said, cursing himself internally for how nervous he sounded. You looked his, eyes catching the streetlight like magic and your gentle squeeze gave him courage.

“I really would like to take you out again, on a proper date,” he couldn’t look away from your eyes, trying to read them through the murkiness. “I really like you,” Jack added, quieter, “but you don’t have to respond right now.”

You nodded, your eyes closing tight as though you were at war with yourself.

You think you like me, but I’m not the type of girl you want to date.

“You don’t have to… tell me, if you’re not ready, but,” he offered after a long moment, his free hand flexing on the steering wheel as he forced himself to examine the bushes on the side of the parking lot. “But I’m listening.”

You felt both hot and cold at the same time. All evening you could feel it coming, knew it was going to happen, knew it had to. He deserved this conversation, and honestly, if there was anyone who made you feel like you did, too, it was Jack.

Inhale, exhale. 

Inhale -

“Okay,” - exhale. 

Remembering that neither of you had work the next day helped. Slowly you let go of your hand and unbuckled your seatbelt, shifting to get comfortable again, the actions thick with significance. He returned it, unbuckling too, and killing the engine.

Jack was so respectful you could cry, his obvious anxiety under control enough not to jump to conclusions – to wait for you.

“I like you, too, Jack, but I don’t think we can ever date,” you forced the words out and his heart nearly shattered, confusion barely holding it together.

Eyebrows so drawn in they almost looked like a solid line, he waited, unable to stop a small shake of his head.

Why not? His entire being screamed. With each second that passed, more and more determination seeped into the cracks of his heart, sticking it together. If you liked him as he liked you, it seemed impossible there was anything between you that couldn’t be overcome.

You saw the question in his eyes and the explanation tumbled out.

“It’s just, I know you – I know the girls you go after and the type of relationships most men want. And,” you were sucking in air, the vulnerability raking through your lungs. “And I don’t know if I can ever give you that.”

He started to protest before his hand covered his mouth, irritated movements over his mustache, his jaw working. What he wanted was you. But he needed to let you keep talking. If he interrupted you now, he might never understand what you meant.

You watched his movements, desperation to give him the explanation he deserved growing in you.

“I’ve had people break up with me because I wont sleep with them,” you shoved the words into the space, the most honest you’d maybe ever been.

Whatever he had been expecting, it wasn’t that. Your voice was trembling and so quiet only your moving lips confirmed the words as you continued.

“For me, it’s not something I need, or am particularly comfortable with. You,” you swallowed hard, unable to look at the man beside you. “You deserve someone you can be with, however you want.”

You took another deep breath, feeling light and surprisingly at peace with your honesty. Even the impending rejection felt less scary, now that you had said it all out loud. The trembles settled as you concluded, “I’m still figuring myself out and I just cant guarantee I’ll ever give you what you deserve.”

Of all the conversations with all the others before this, this moment felt the most freeing. It was wild to have such an intimate conversation before you even kissed, but… the foundation of trust that Jack had given you had not been lost on you. You found yourself smiling, looking at him, finally.

His expression had loosened, processing and connecting the dots, his deep eyes unfocused before they slid closed.

Now it was your turn to wait, to be patient, and listen.

Part of him wanted to yell that he wasn’t like the others, that he didn’t care and even that he would wait and work until you were ready. But that wasn’t right, and he knew it.

Inside him, deep, deep down, there was a small light. A candle of flame underneath a glacier: a touch of hope slowly warming its way through layers and layers and centuries of expectations, fear, confusion, and chaos. It was going strong, it just need more time.

“Darlin,” he looked at you, finally, meeting your eyes and feeling for the first time that they were a clear window into your soul. “You are… everything, to me. So… so let’s just take some time to process this. Would that be okay, sweetheart?”

That was the first time anyone had ever responded that way. It was the scariest thing, but it was perfect. You were overwhelmed with the rawness and a glance at the radio told you it was 2 am. Not a time to be making life altering decisions, anyway. Nodding, you pressed a chaste kiss to his cheek. The movement was intimate and confident – something that shouldn’t have been possible, but it was.

Jack’s large hand grasped at your neck and jaw, pulling you into him, pressing his forehead on yours. The hairs of his mustache just ticked your lip, but he made no move, respecting one final boundary for the night.

With a squeeze, he let you go, watching with longing eyes as you hopped out of his truck and ran to your front door. The smile you gave him before you slipped inside was the seal, engraving tonight into his memories forever.

And he drove home, his thoughts louder than the wind and the crickets and his pounding heart.

-

Jack invited you over a few days later, a Sunday afternoon. It would be the first time you’d talked, and you were surprisingly calm. For some reason, you felt like you’d be closer to him no matter what happened.

He heard your car on the long gravel driveway and greeted you with an all-encompassing hug. You held each other, like lifelines, for long moments before he pulled you inside.

“My mama sent cookies,” he said, motioning for you to sit at the tall table he had as he set down the plate. You couldn’t help but smile, knowing their Sunday lunches and her beloved baking well. He remained standing across from you, aware of the awkwardness, but eager to get his words right.

“This is all new to me,” he said, wishing suddenly that he’d made tea so his throat wouldn’t feel so dry. “If you really don’t wanna be with me, that’s your choice,” he said, knowing it was right and hating the option, “but I really – you’re just so – I can’t let you go,” his thoughts were jumbling together on his tongue.

It was grounding, when your hands found his, reaching across the table as you sat forward on your stool.

“What if we just took it slow?” you said, and his heart stopped.

“Please,” he managed, and your own chest felt like it would burst. “Would it be alright, darlin?” Jack’s hands held yours, his expression eager.

“Could – could we figure out what works for us? Figure this all out together?” You were close to crying, you wanted that so bad.

“I can’t promise I’ll change or… or what direction I’ll grow,” you said, needing to say it again, needing to be sure.

“I can’t, either, darlin,” he said, and you realized he was right and you would support each other, no matter what.

“But all I need is you. Whatever and however much you’ll give me. That’s more than enough.”

He didn’t say for now.

And you believed him.

Since he was still standing, it made it easy for you to tug him around the table, and you leaned into his chest. It felt safe, safer than you had ever thought was possible for you.

“Okay,” you told the flannel he was wearing, “Let’s figure it out together.” And even though you couldn’t see him, you knew he was smiling, too.

<<

Taglist:

@fangirl-316 @0celestialbitch0 @scribbledghost

[youvebeenlivingfictional]

Love Isn’t Always On Time Part Thirty Eight

Previous Part | Next Part | Masterlist Notes: Not Beta-Read.  I hope everyone’s doing well :) Warnings: Canon-typical violence; some cursing Summary: I turned my head, looking through the glass to a feed of Bucky in a holding cell, strapped into a seat. He looked calm, settled, almost. Resigned.

“Am I allowed to use a phone or what?” I asked Natasha as she led us down the hall toward a conference room. Natasha cast me a look over her shoulder, brow raised. “Why wouldn’t you be?” She asked. “You mean apart from the fact that we’re technically war criminals now?” I pointed out. “You can use a phone,” Natasha said, nodding me into a small phone room, “We’ll be down the hall.” Sam and Steve cast me curious looks and I mouthed ‘Wanda’. I hadn’t checked in with her in the last day and I wanted to keep her in the loop. --

“But do you think he did it?” Wanda pressed. I pursed my lips. I didn’t like talking about this now, I was sure the call was being monitored, but I wasn’t sure when we’d be able to. “No,” I said honestly, “But I also don’t know what happened when Steve went in to talk to him, we haven’t had a chance to talk about that. Things have been... Volatile. How are you doing over there?” I asked. Wanda hummed disinterestedly; I heard her shifting on the other end of the phone and imagined her wandering around the complex without much to do but train or watch tv or talk to Vision. Though, she did really like talking to Vision. “Fine, I guess. I’ve been keeping up with everything going on on the news. I wish I’d gone with you guys, I saw the chase.” “It’s safer for you to be at the complex for the time being,” I said, sitting on the edge of the desk in the phone room, resting one of my feet on the chair. “I know, I know,” Wanda grumbled. I smiled. “If you were here, you would’ve been nothing but the help you always are,” I tacked on. Wanda didn’t answer for a few moments, and when she did, she said, “I should get going. I can smell something weird coming from the kitchen.” “Weird how? Are you baking?” “No, I think it’s Viz.” “’Viz’?” I repeated, unable to keep the amusement from seeping into my voice. “Shut up,” Wanda muttered, “Be careful, and keep me updated.” “Will do. Bye,” I tacked on before hanging up. I sighed, looking down at the receiver before I set it back in the cradle. There was a pulsing headache pressing up behind my temples, the kind that made your head feel like it was going to explode if you blinked too hard. As badly as I wanted to flick the lights off and stay in the room to ride it out, I knew that that wasn’t an option. -- “Where’s Steve?” I asked Sam, sitting down beside him. Sam jerked his thumb over his shoulder to where Steve and Tony were talking in a conference room. It looked amiable enough... For now, at least. “That’s gonna be a good time,” I mumbled, sliding down in my seat. I turned my head, looking through the glass to a feed of Bucky in a holding cell, strapped into a seat. He looked calm, settled, almost. Resigned. I hated it, I almost wanted to see him with the spark in his eyes he had when he was on the run before. I shook my head, resting my head in my hands and resting my elbows on the table. “You alright?” Sam asked lightly. “Headache,” I mumbled. I jumped at the sound of Steve barging into the conference room, the glass door slamming into the table. “Wanda alright?” He asked. There was a fire behind his eyes that I hadn’t seen before. “I-- She’s fine. What’s wrong?” I asked. “Tony’s got her confined to the goddamn compound and she doesn’t even know it. She doesn’t know she can’t leave,” Steve grumbled, resting his hands on his hips as he paced. “What?” Sam asked. “He’s got Vision babysitting her,” Steve tacked on, stopping by the tv in the conference room. It was broadcasting the news, still, muted. Sharon came in a few moments later, passing Sam a slip of paper. “Receipt for your gear,” She said. Sam scanned it, frown deepening to a scowl. “’Bird costume’? Come on.” “I didn’t write it,” Sharon excused. She glanced around before she reached out, tapping the phone and changing the television feed to Bucky’s interrogation. I glanced back at her, giving her a grateful smile before turning by eyes to the screen. “I'm not here to judge you. I just want to ask you a few questions... Do you know where you are, James?... I can't help you if you don't talk to me, James,” The doctor’s voice crackled through the screen. “My name is Bucky,” Bucky’s retort was firm, flat. He wasn’t saying any more than he absolutely had to. Steve sighed, turning to the file that Sharon had given us earlier and flipping it open, looking over the picture of Bucky that had been released to the public. “... Why would the Task Force release this photo to begin with?” He asked, setting the file back down. “Get the word out, involve as many eyes as we can?” Sharon offered. “Right. It's a good way to flush a guy out of hiding. Set off a bomb, get your picture taken. Get seven billion people looking for the Winter Soldier.” “You're saying someone framed him to find him.” “Steve, we looked for the guy for two years and found nothing,” Sam argued. "We didn't bomb the UN. That turns a lot of heads,” Steve pointed out. “...Yeah, but that doesn't guarantee that whoever framed him would get him. It guarantees that we would,” Sharon concluded. I frowned, turning my attention back to the screen, a chill running through me as the doctor went on, “Tell me, Bucky. You've seen a great deal, haven't you?“ “Where’s Bucky being held?” I asked, looking back at Sharon. “I don’t wanna talk about it.” “Within the facility,” She reassured me. “You fear that… if you open your mouth, the horrors might never stop. Don't worry... We only have to talk about one.“ “Right, but how long would it take for us to get down there?” "Three minutes, maybe four--” As she said so, the power cut. “Sub-level 5, east wing,” Sharon tacked on before any of us could ask. We were up and out of the room without another word.

--

The headache was worse; the flashing red lights weren’t helping matters. I was having trouble focusing, but I kept my pace with Sam and Steve. When we reached sub-level 5 it was deathly quiet. Not a single walkie-talkie crackling, not the clack of a keyboard, nothing. There were people scattered, laying on the ground. I crouched beside one, checking their pulse; Steve checked another. He caught my eye and we both nodded. They were alive. “Help... Help me.” We caught the sound of the doctor’s voice nearby. Steve straightened, making his way into the room with long, steady strides and gripping the man by the collar. I glanced up and saw them move out of my sight line. “Keep an eye on them,” I nodded Sam into the room before I straightened up, looking around for any further sign of Bucky. No sooner had Sam left me than I heard the impact metal on concrete, the hydraulic hum of Bucky’s arm as he made to take another swing at Sam. “Shit,” I hissed, darting into the room as Sam was thrown and narrowly avoiding the kick aimed at me. I darted out of the way of the a punch thrown from his metal arm, then blocked on from his human one. “Bucky, stop--” I pleaded, trying to catch his eyes, but unlike that day on the river bank, there was no recognition there. He didn’t respond, he didn’t stop. For all of my training with Steve and Natasha, I wasn’t quick enough against Bucky. I managed to feint out of the way of a jab, only to be caught by an uppercut and be sent sprawling, head smacking against the wall on my way down. My vision went fuzzy, then dark. Tag list: @gloryevans @redryderdesigns @winter-scolder @aactuaaltraash @secretagentben @staplerrrr @elliee1497 @adayinmymeadow  @allonszassbutt @mannls @witch-of-letters  @niallssweetheart22 @uneniffler  @rinthehufflepuff @panic-angel3314  @firstangeldragonranch @kaetastic @mcuwillbethedeathofme @skeletoresinthebasement @i-dont-know-what-im-doing-yay @kkaos15 @iamnotoverlyfondofwhatfollows  @bassclarinety @tomshelbystits @rvgrsbrns @marvelmenarebeautiful @tenaciousperfectionunknown @intricate-melody​ @stuffandstuff-stuff​ @fanfuckingtastic04 @messybunnyartist @anescapefromtheworld  @shesa-riott​ @bihoeofmanyfandoms

[lilyharvord]

hi can you please make a fluffy fic with mare and her baby boy shade calore im begging you its for science 🥺

Who wants baby Barrow Calores? I do!!!!! So here is a fluffy lil fic. I can’t believe this didn’t devolve into angst. We got a lil bit, but it’s so fluffy I couldn’t handle ruining it. Enjoy children! (also no editing? This seems to be a theme of mine now)

@evangelineartemiasamos, @universegamer, @caven---malore, @mareshmallow, @marecal-trash, @marecalrandomstuff, @marecalforever, @scxrletguardsdawn, @redqueenetwork (yikes this isn’t exactly mission 4, but kind of? Mare’s surrounded by her friends/family) @turquoise-is-pretty (dont think I dont remember your post about them having babies), @redqueen-marecal-lover. Is anyone else here still? I feel like everyone left. ): 

Gravity 

He’s so small, that’s my first thought when the nurse finally hands him to me. My entire body trembles with exhaustion, and more than anything I just want to curl up and sleep. 

Seeing that I probably will drop him if she lets me take his full weight, the nurse passes my hands and gently sets him on my chest, letting him rest there before I rest my hands on his back. His dark eyes are already open, looking around groggily at the world around him. My face is probably barely in focus, so I crane my neck, even though it sends a spike of pain down my back, and pulls on old scars. Softly, I brush my fingers along his full head of hair. Dark, more black than brown. That ruddy color to his cheeks is unmistakably red though. The entire time I had carried him, I had been uncertain how I would feel if he was a red like me. At least as a silver he would have been guaranteed an ability, and a chance to fit into our family. He wouldn’t have been an outsider among his own parents. Now though, the odds of him having that future have increased. 

My heart already aches for a future that hasn’t even come to pass. Was this what it was going to be like? Always wishing something else had happened so that he wouldn’t have to suffer? I shift him slightly, and press a light kiss on his hairline, and a hot tear rolls down my nose to plop on his head. He registers the shift in his position with an almost imperceptible cry. Healthy, he was healthy though. That was all that mattered, after everything that had happened during my pregnancy, he was healthy. A small miracle in itself. 

Countless months of blood transfusions to combat anemia, meeting Sara almost daily, and dealing with the constant fear that I would get into this hospital and give birth to something that would never breathe. It used to wake me in the middle of the night, gasping and sweating, reaching my hands out into the darkness for a baby that was being taken away from me. He was here now though, and a small part of me wishes he was back inside of me. I could protect him so much better if he was still there. 

Cal’s hand on my neck brings me out of my thoughts, and I am surprised to feel rivers of tears running down my cheeks. I had forgotten he was next to me. His concern is in his brows, which are drawn together tightly. I give him a weak smile and then whisper, “I’m fine.” 

HIs worry barely disappears, and he slowly rises from the chair. Swinging his leg he climbs on the bed with me, even though Sara had hissed at him not to do that early on. I immediately press into his side, soaking up the warmth that is there. Now that the emotional struggle is over, I feel cold. My hair is still wet with sweat, and there is a cold draft in the room somewhere. I wrap our son tighter in my arms, worried he’s cold as well. 

Cal wraps an arm around me, and holds me closer to him, while his other hand reaches out for the baby between us. His hand hovers for a moment, as if he’s uncertain. I glance up at him, wondering what is making him hesitate. There is an emotion there that I don’t have a name for, but it is quickly replaced as he sets his hand on our son’s head. His thumb runs along the feathery hairs, and he whispers softly, “He’s beautiful, you did amazing.” 

I laugh at his words, and he chuckles. This had been both of us, two cells coming together in the perfect combination. A one in a million chance. The odds had been stacked so high against us that I began to think there would never be a moment like this. Turning my head further to rest my forehead against his jaw, I whisper, “I’m exhausted, so guess who gets to do parenting duties for the first year while I take numerous naps?” 

He laughs at my words, only to press a kiss against my temple and say, “Anything you need, I live to serve you.” 

Between us, our son yawns, opening his mouth wide enough to reveal two pinks gums. He closes his eyes and his head lolls back. Cal catches it with his hand, and gently guides it back to my chest while I lay back among the pillows. I try to keep my breathing even so that he doesn’t shift more than he needs to. 

We both watch him breathe for a few minutes, and I count every single inhale and exhale, adding them to the strange tally of firsts I am keeping in my head. “I name this one right?” I eventually ask in the silence, my thumb caressing his little back as he sleeps. Cal tilts his head to the side, his lips pulling up in a smile as he says, “Are you inferring that you will do this again? Because just an hour ago you were breaking my hand and screaming that you were going to kill me, in very colorful terms. I think Sara blushed once or twice.” 

“Heat of the moment,” I defend, with an awkward laugh, and he gives me a knowing smile. Shifting to face me on the bed, he watches my hands for a moment and then says, “You can name them all if you want.” 

“That’s not fair. I’ll name him, and you can name the next one. When we have it, ten years from now.” 

He throws his head back and laughs, before reaching a hand out and pushing the hairs sticking to my neck and chest behind my ear. His fingers trail along my cheek, and for a moment I am awed that he can love me when I look like this. My throat still hurts from screaming, and I know that I hardly look like the woman that he had rolled around with in the sheets nine months ago. I had thought that as soon as my son left my body it would at least go back to being semi-normal, but even through the sheets I can see that some of that pudge is still there. It might never go away. I remembered Farley bemoaning it for months after Clara. 

“I have never seen you smile like you did when you heard him cry for the first time.” Cal admits, his expression whimsical as he reaches out again to touch our son’s back. He trails his fingers along his arm and softly touches his hand, his fingers closing around that tiny fist. 

It’s like watching the moon orbit a planet. Gravity pulls both of us into him, just as it had done from the moment he became something tangible with the first kick.

Someone shouts outside of the door, shattering the stillness of the moment, and my head snaps up, my fingers curling around my son as I pull him tighter to my chest and away from Cal’s hand. His eyes snap to the door, the room increasing in temperature as I watch his shoulders roll into a defensive stance. So protective already, it’s not like I am any different though. I was ready to die for this baby the moment I felt him move in me for the first time. 

I catch a few words that are exchanged outside and relax before saying, “It’s just Bree.” 

Sure enough, the door opens and both of my brothers almost fall into the room. I can’t help but smile as they manage to right themselves, and almost knock Gisa over when she tries to slide between them. She glides past them and into the room, carrying a bottle of something that I vaguely recognize as champagne. She holds it up and says, “Dad has the glasses.”

“We’re drinking already? The kid isn’t even an hour old.” Bree states as he pushes Tramy away and walks to the foot of the bed. I eye them both, a growl almost rising up in my throat. They were two large animals at the best of times, and my son was still so small. They catch sight of my expression, and Bree blushes to the tips of his ears before saying, “What?”

“You two need to keep a radius of ten miles from that baby,” My mother announces as she appears at Bree’s shoulder. She moves past them, apparently not sensing my hackles rising. She edges past Gisa and presses a kiss to my hair saying, “You did so well! Seventeen hours is good, I was in labor with Bree for almost a day and half.”

“That’s because his fat head got stuck.” Tramy teases. 

I shy away from my mother a little bit, when she leans closer to see the baby, and almost press into Cal, who has shifted again to face the rest of the room. His eyes scan my family, and like me, he seems to be assess all of the risks. More people means it’s easier for something to happen that we can’t prevent. I have no idea what I am so cautious all of the sudden though. This is my family, they would never do anything to hurt this baby. 

“You guys are smothering her, give Mare room to breathe,” Gisa demands as she sets the bottle down and returns to the door to help my dad. He enters almost silently, carrying a small box of mismatches glasses. His presence seems to finally bring quiet. I relax just slightly, as he comes to the side of the bed with my mother, and says, “These people, we had to smuggle this in here.” 

“Probably for good reason,” Farley says in the doorway. I relax even further when I see her. Farley would understand what I was feeling right now. There is a squeal from near her legs though, and a second later, Clara pops into existence at the foot of the bed. I tense and pull away from her as she crawls up the bed, her bubbly laugh escaping as she says, “Can I see the baby aunt Mare?”

I almost scramble back and climb up the wall to keep her away from him. She pauses near my hip, her face falling and her eyes widening as the space between us crackles with electricity and the air picks up the scent of ozone. The room immediately goes silent, and the tension is enough to make my heart pound. I glance around hesitantly at all of them, before saying hoarsely, “He’s so small...” and so delicate goes unsaid. Cal wraps his arm around me again, sensing my need for a place to hide, and pulls me closer to him as I lean into his support. 

My mother finally seems to catch onto the mood, and she slowly pulls Clara back before saying tenderly, “Of course he is sweetheart, it’s okay though.” 

“They’re like little bouncy balls, they take hits that you’d be surprised by.” Farley assures as well, as she pulls Clara closer to her near the foot of the bed and whispers something in her ear. She puckers her lips and looks at me before saying, “You promised I could hold the baby.” 

“I bet Cal hasn’t even held him yet, and he probably wants to hold his baby.” Farley says softly to Clara who glares at her mother and says, “Aunt Mare didn’t promise him, she promised me.”

“But you are the cousin, and that is their baby.” She admonishes, and rolls her eyes in my direction before saying, “Aren’t you excited? This is what you have to look forward to.” 

I crack a small smile, and sit up a little straighter. The room shifts and relaxes in response to me. Gisa looks around the room before saying, “You know we had to draw straws to get in here? Ella, and Rafe, and Tyton are waiting in the lobby area, and being so impatient.” 

“They can wait a little while,” I whisper, as I search the hallway. My family is here, but I haven’t seen Julian. Then again, Sara was probably keeping him in the waiting room for a little bit to keep the room from getting too crowded. And I know Anabel is here. She had written to me a month ago, asking hesitantly if it would be uncomfortable and unwished, for her to come. It had taken me a few days to craft a response, but I had told her if she wished to brave my family then she would be welcome. She was a part of this baby family as much as my parents were. Besides, it wasn’t every day that someone became a great grandmother. Maybe with the Silvers it was common, but among the reds, even my parents living to see two grandchildren was a surprise. 

The room is practically filled to the brim without them though. Clara edges closer to me while I look away, and this time I don’t pull away from her when she sticks her head around my arm. She puckers her lips and then says with disgust, “It looks like an ugly tomato.” 

“Clara,” my mother admonishes, as she reaches for her. I laugh at her words though, and smiling down at her I say, “Well you looked like a tomato too when you were born.” 

She looks up at me and with narrowed eyes and says, “Did not.” 

“Did to, I remember, and Cal does too.” I say as I glance at him. He blushes for a second, when I put him on the spot. Clara looks over her shoulder at her mother and asks horrified, “I looked like a tomato?”

“Yes, but the best tomato at the market.” Farley teases, even though her eyes glint at me. We both remember that day very differently. I remember a storm and a little white pill, and she remembers excruciating pain and then inexplicable relief. 

“Walking down memory lane is great and all, but does this little guy have a name? That champagne is getting warm while we sit here talking.” Bree asks, his brows bouncing as he teases. Clara climbs up onto her knees, and using my shoulder to support herself, she looks down at my son and says, “She looks like a Arianna.” 

“She is a he, so I’m afraid that is not going to work,” Cal teases her, and Clara’s mouth falls open in horror. She looks between the two of us before saying, “You guys had a boy? You were supposed to have a girl! I can’t play with a boy!”

Cal laughs, and I smile as I reach up to tuck one of Clara’s blonde curls behind her ear. “You wont be playing with him for a few years anyway.” 

“Come on then, don’t keep us in suspense, what’s his name?” Tramy asks, while he starts drumming his hands on the end of the bed in a drumroll. I twist my lips at him only to admit softly, “I... never thought of one.” 

“Then Cal gets to name him.” Bree reasons, and next to me Cal shrugs before saying, “Next one.” 

“Oh good. It won’t be Tibarias then, because that’s an unfortunate name.” Bree snickers as he replies, and Cal’s face drops into mock annoyance. I can’t help laughing as well though. It has been years since anyone has bothered to call him that, and I know a part of him still smarts when they do, but for the most part he can laugh it off. 

I glance down at my son again who has opened his eyes with all the noise, and shifting. He blinks up at me, his eyes the color of dark honey. My heart aches for a moment as I think about that, and I trace his cheek as I follow that train of thought. I had tried to not think about my brother during this whole thing. He should have been in this room with us, teasing me and nipping at Cal. He was here though, in Clara, and in my memory of him. I chew on my lower lip for a moment, trying to keep the tears at bay as I think about that. I don’t need Bree to tease me about my emotions again. 

Cal’s forehead presses to my temple and he whispers, “Tell me.” 

I turn my head slowly and whisper it into his ear. When I pull back, I watch his face for a moment. His expression goes distant, and sad, before he turns to me and asks, “Are you sure?”

I nod, and even though my heart feels like it’s breaking all over again, it’s not in pain. This feels like breaking something down to build it back up again. To build something stronger and better than before. The future was already changing, and my son will not have to go to war, and he will not have to face the trials that I did. He wont have to make the impossible decisions that Cal made, or face the same horrors that Farley did. 

I turn back to my family and smiling, open my mouth to tell them exactly my thoughts, but my mother holds her hands out and shouts, “Wait! Not yet! We toast to the name. Bree get the glasses.”

My brother squeezes by my dad and with Gisa’s help starts pouring the champagne. Someone else appears in the doorway and I spot Sara carrying a small bundle in her arms. She glances around at everyone, and Julian is suddenly next to her, saying, “Goodness, it’s packed in here.” 

“Unfortunately, I have enough family for everyone.” I say, and Sara smiles before edging around to Cal’s side. She gives him a smile and then says, “We had to go grab your gift from Julian’s office where he left it.” She offers up the blanket in her arms, and I smile as she unfolds it and helps me wrap my son in it. He grabs a tiny fistful of it in response, and I lean back among the blankets. 

The glasses are passed around, and I even take one, with a tease from Tramy to watch my tolerance after months of not drinking. Surrounded by all of them, I glance at Cal, who tips his head to me and says, “You did all the hard work, you get to make the announcement.” 

I draw the tip of my tongue along my lips. I have never been one for standing up and making speeches, but for my son, I will try to keep my voice from wobbling. I raise my glass slowly and say, “To Shade Barrow Calore, may you always know your family loves you and stands by you, and may you enjoy the future we are building for you, my darling.” 

Farley’s intake of breath is soft as I utter his name, but still she smiles at me, as she raises her glass to answer the toast, and says softly, her words almost breaking, “To Shade Barrow Calore, happy birthday.” She brings her glass to her lips and takes a sip, hugging Clara close to her as she does. 

The rest of my family raises their glasses, echoing her words. My mother has to clear her throat before saying it, and she has tears in her eyes as she does. They fall as she takes her sip, but she still leans down and presses another kiss to my hair. 

Bree clears his throat and speaks to break the mood in the room, “It’s certainly better than Tibarias.” 

That brings a true laugh from everyone, even Cal who leans close to me and whispers, “Easier to spell too.” 

I chuckle as I press a kiss to his lips, tasting the champagne as I do. He pulls back slightly while the rest of our family finally finds each other more interesting to give us this moment. He reaches up to wipe my tears away and says, “You know that wherever he is right now, he’s puffing his chest out because you named your son after him.” 

“He wouldn’t have shut up about it if he was here.” I answer, and I am surprised that I can laugh a little bit about that comment. Maybe I will be able to laugh more about Shade in the future. My son will carry his name on, and will hopefully heal whatever part of me is still bruised and aching over my brother. 

Between us, Shade lets out a little sigh and grabs at my shirt with needing hands. Smiling down at him, I give him my finger to hold onto. He has a surprisingly strong grip, and I marvel at that, and at him. He was going to grow so fast, and I know instantly that these will be the moments I miss. For now though, I will try to not think about the future, or the past too much. I’ll let this moment own my full attention. I’ll let gravity do all the work and pull me closer and closer to my son. 

[unproduciblesmackdown]

man i've been behind on a bunch of really informative pcasts lately but i just listened to an episode of "more perfect" in the hopes that it would clear up how the concept of gun control in the u.s. went from specifically targeting the black panther party for self defense to where it is now, where the concept of the person literally/figuratively up in arms abt the second amendment is a white guy with twenty guns

anyways it did, the answer is that its kind of a serious of disconnected elements colliding in a weird way

apparently before the 1960s, the 2nd amendment was basically never relevant to anyone, not even in politics or law, it was basically ignored. probably it was largely unknown to the avg person. but huey newton used the 2ndA as a response to the current situation in oakland as a way to allow bpp members to observe the police while armed, as he maintained the 2ndA guarantees the individual a right to have a gun, and CA law allowed public carry of unconcealed weapons. but obviously the police dont like being observed or black people being armed, so the police force started making noise about it until the fact that bpp members were carrying guns became an issue in the CA govt

reagan, the gop's white jesus, was governor of ca at the time and pro-gun control. support of gun control really had nothing to do with party lines at all. but then when 30 bpp members decided to go to be present at a state session with abt 20 guns and took a wrong turn going to the spectator section so that they actually ended up walking onto the floor, things went immediately national/international. the bpp's new, unprecedented invocation of the 2ndA to resist the institution of the police force was now a matter of white lawmakers feeling directly targeted. the concept of gun control went national, and ca passed gun control legislation

then there was something of a coincidence, because the fact that almost literally overnight the federal govt had an agenda that was in opposition to an invoked individual right granted by the constitution didnt sit well with white dudes with guns who inherited the distrust of the federal govt that has been inherent since the pre-constitutional anxiety that slavery might be abolished by that central govt. but because both the concepts of the 2ndA & gun control had basically been nonexistent for the govt/legal system prior, the only relevant legal avenue for these guys to vent their drive to protect their guns was the nra.

the nra was basically focused solely on marksmanship, run by sort of like foxhunting types (rich ppl whose gun enthusiasm was sort of just a hobby), and considering dropping the "rifle" from the title and the gun angle altogether. they seemed to want to withdraw entirely from govt dealings altogether since nobody really ever expected guns to be relevant in this way, and the lobbying section wasnt even given office space in the nra's main building. but basically you had this influx of anti-govt angry white guys forming a little splinter group subsection of the nra. and basically this splinter group staged a coup (unarmed) in a meeting w the board and took over the whole organization, making it what it is today. and suddenly theres this political force where black people defending themselves from the police made white lawmakers afraid and that led to white southern gunowners getting involved in the govt b/c of how much they dont want the federal govt to take their slaves guns. leading to the juggernaut it is today of using "guns" as a stand-in for any number of other "values" and stances and being anti-federal govt trying to influence the federal govt

meanwhile also since this is a podcast abt the supreme court, the issue of gun control was still not ever discussed within the supreme court until 2008. b/c there were some libertarian lawyers who were also obviously anti-federal-govt(-infringing-on-personal-Freedoms) who were trying to find the proper plaintiff to bring the issue to the supreme court. they never found anyone good but were forced to settle on some random racist who thinks gunsmoke is a historical documentary and managed to force it into the supreme court by making him keep his damn mouth shut abt how he wanted to own a gun in dc (handguns being illegal in that city at the time) coz he didnt like that the govt said he couldnt.

what happened in the supreme court was a ton of oral argument from the lawyers and even between the justices about what the 2ndA even means, because nobody is really even sure its about an individual's right to own a weapon. on account of this is the exact text in full:

A well regulated Militia, being necessary to the security of a free State, the right of the people to keep and bear Arms, shall not be infringed.

its a grammatical nightmare, and imo the first and third commas shouldve been thrown out entirely. the third one for sure is useless. but despite the nra & most discussion of the amendment in general quoting only the second half of the sentence, the first half is definitely abt a militia. so nobody's sure if what was meant is that a militia should be armed, or an individual should be armed. "the people" is vague af and does not specify the people in aforementioned militias or the people as any individual random citizens.

the supreme court found the dc's ban unconstitutional and made the legal precedent in the highest court in the us that something is unconstitutional if it violates an "individual's right" to be armed. but they also specified that they werent saying all bans or restrictions are unconstitutional. and it also was a decision that depended on a 4-4 split along party lines in the justices that showed that supreme court decisions abt what the damn constitution means can rest on the day's take of one single rando who happened to make it to the position.

oh and i forgot to mention that the plaintiff in the supreme court case also felt like he needed to own a gun coz he lived in dc when it was undergoing its crack epidemic. a white guy's fear of an issue that largely endangered dc's black residents. and he wasnt afraid of the inanimate drug itself.

so an amendment gets written into the constitution based on the recent memory of the monarchy trying to prevent revolution by disarming colonists, two centuries later its made relevant to the us for essentially the first time by black citizens in oakland protecting themselves against an institutionalized paramilitary force that is essentially allowed to lynch, that effort is interpreted as a threat to political white power, and the white fear of the presence of armed black people makes the concept of gun control natl news. since in the natl political sphere especially, gun control legislation cannot be racially specific, white gun owners feel targeted by the federal govt, and turn an obscure, disappearing organization into the carrier for that specific pushback.

so thats how that got there. and idek abt you but it does seem like the concept of natl measures of gun control is now functionally nonexistent, as yet another record-breaking mass shooting in a decade just happened and resulted in basically no legislative response. still, nobody knows what the 2ndA means or what the political enforcement of it really looks like. there may not even be an individual right to bear arms in the first place, but it seems like one has been created thru universal interpretation. but also this whole issue shows how unpredictable these concepts are. and how much politics plays a part vs the constitution. and how weird it is that people consider the constitution to be outside the govt or inherently anti-govt when its what defines and establishes said govt. and how much the simple word of "freedom" has taken on so much encoded meaning such as when a maga nra dude yells it at protestors. and how wild it is that the concept of gun control was based on the fear of the armed black person, and the anti-gun control faction is just as racist, proven by how they dont actually care abt the right to have a gun when black people are killed for holding a toy gun or legally carrying a gun in their car or having something in their pockets or moving their hand. a tradition reaching back to the days when white plantation owners were afraid of revolt, and afraid of being outnumbered by white northerners using their greater white voting population to abolish slavery through greater representation in the federal govt. so in the end theres a podcast abt it and thats some stuff i learned abt how this switch took place.