#*salute to fallen heroes*

[tiny-space-platypus]

Half baked idea time!!

DC/dp au where it's like late teens/warily twenties punk Danny being tired as shit. Like this man just wants to sit on a roof top, patch himself up, maybe smoke then go back to having to do inner dimensional politics or another fight. But Danny can't have that instead every time he tries a hero either thinks he's going to kill himself and tries to intervene or some sort of fight breaks out and his stupid core makes him have a mighty need to assist. Also, where the hell did all these heroes come from, ancients knew they weren't there when he needed help. He's just a tad bit bitter about the only time he's getting attention from heroes is the only time he doesn't want it. He goes everywhere just trying to catch a break.

Or

Danny tries to find some peace and fucking quiet only to end up freak out the league because dear god this kid is going through it and they need to get him before he becomes a supervillain or something.

Metropolis

Chills for 5 minutes seeing Superman nopes the hell out of there cursing in kryptonian. He deals with his kind enough in the realms he doesn't want to deal with the living either. "Nope! Not today! Not dealing with you today!"

Superman is freaking out because there's a kid that was sitting on top of the daily planet only to disappear speaking his language??? He also had a really slow heart beat? Was that child alright??

Coast city

Danny's on a large skyscape sitting on the edge watching the streets below as he patches himself up and lights a smoke only to have it glow green and ripped from him.

"You know, this stuff isn't exactly good for you. Especially on skyscrapers. Besides you seem a little young to be smoking."

Danny who looks like he wants to tackle Hal pit of the god damn sky for interrupting his break. "I feel like I'm too young for a lot of things but here we are"

Hal starts some sort of space cop speech and Danny decides fuck this and jumps off the building mouthing "Acab" with a salute and disappear giving the green Lantern a heart attack. Since he thinks he's about to save a kid from falling to his death only for the kid to not be there.

Central City

Danny is yet again trying to relax on a skyscraper only to be interrupted by the flash. At least this time the hero doesn't take his smokes instead just sits next to him. It's nice actually, the quiet white noise of the city below shining how stars would in the sky. Eventually Danny would finish his smoke and put it out before shoving the bud in his pocket. (He won't litter) as soon as Danny stood up the flash grabbed him forcing him back to sitting.

"Look kid, I don't know what's going on but there's gotta be a better way than this. I'll help you if you need help just-"

Danny now staring at him. A little dumbfounded then laughed.

"I'm not trying to kill myself. Just wanted to smoke in peace." Danny looks down at the ground from 150 meters up "besides I've fallen from worse"

"Great! Wait what?" The Flash looked relieved for a second then proceeded the second part of what Danny just said. The flash only looked away for less then a second which gave Danny just enough time to disappear scaring the shit out of the hero.

Bludhaven

Danny after having a rather rough fight as phantom with his parents. Bleeding and mumbling curses as he patches himself up on another skyscraper. "Stupid ecto-gun, stupid laws, stupid, stupid"

Just as Danny started to patch a literal hole in his side Nightwing would make his appearance. "Back away-"

Danny snapped at the hero. "You've got to be fucking- I'm trying to kill myself, Yes I'm injured, no I do not want help, yes I'm fine. Will you be going now?"

Nightwing paused then sat next to the kid a little disturbed. As he watches this kid doing stitches on himself. "Bad day?"

Danny snorted as he finished stitching himself up with fishing wire. "Bad life" He then started smoking again making the vigilante frown. This kid was nowhere near old enough to smoke but the kid was also giving himself stitches on a roof so not the worst thing this kid has done so far. "Wanna tell me what happened?"

Danny shrugged. "My parents shot me again"

"I'm sorry what? Again?!"

[whetstonefires]

A LA MEME. MDZS, Really nice guy who hates only you, hate at first sight?

It was totally inappropriate for a corpse to be popular.

But there it was: the Ghost General was more well-liked every day. He seemed to spend all his time wandering around rescuing maidens from monsters and lifting wagons off of old men. In a few years he'd be a hero of the people.

Even the cultivation world didn't expect harm from him anymore. Most of Jin Ling's peers addressed the corpse as qianbei; Jin Ling didn't, but he seemed to get on with him well enough.

Jiang Cheng hadn't actually said out loud, when he saw Wen Qionglin parting ways with Sect Leader Jin with an exchange of polite salutes, he killed your father, but he'd looked it. Jin Ling, fluent in Jiang Cheng's expressions, sighed.

"It was an accident," he said. "And he's apologized. And, you know, uncle, he was held prisoner by Jin Sect almost my entire life, you can't say he hasn't paid for it. And..."

And they had killed his whole family. And his older sister.

Jiang Cheng looked away. "Huh."

When Jiang Cheng had made his first, clumsy attempt at mending a little of the gruesome breach between himself and Wei Wuxian, the Ghost General had been there, glaring daggers at him from behind the Yiling Laozu.

It had been more disconcerting than it should have been, and Jiang Cheng had stumbled, interrupted himself, and fallen silent enough times that eventually Wei Wuxian had taken pity on him, reached out, patted him on the arm one time, said, "Good talk, Jiang Cheng," and extricated them both from the situation.

Freed from the burden of conversation, he'd returned Wen Qionglin's glare, and lost. Corpses didn't need to blink.

He didn't want the bastard to like him. Which was just as well since it was out of the question. Jiang Cheng had never for a second in his life liked Wen Qionglin; from the first time he'd laid eyes on him when they were youths he'd interpreted him as a pathetic, burdensome coward, and despised him for it.

Owing the man his life had made it worse--he hadn't even wanted to be saved, and it was Wei Wuxian's stupid horrible charm and habit of interfering where he wasn't wanted that had done it, and like hell had he owed anything, when that person's family had murdered his. (I owe him nothing, he'd told himself once, because Wen Qionglin had been the reason he lost Wei Wuxian.)

Another time, he found himself in both their company and drew apart, letting the Yiling Patriarch and the Ghost General play at being mentors to the youth. Neither of you lived to see twenty-five, he wanted to shout. What do you think you have to teach them?

Even Jin Ling...it made him furious. Furious to glance over and see a corpse's stiff face conveying softness.

Furious to look past the crowd and see Lan Wangji's eyes falling on Wen Qionglin with an unmistakable resentment. And to know that it wasn't the stiff propriety of the Lan Wangji of their youths, objecting to the heresy of that fierce corpse's existence; that it was the look of a petty, jealous man resenting the way Wei Wuxian knocked his shoulder together with the Ghost General's and laughed.

"Where do you get off hating Wen Ning?" he asked the next time he found himself alone with Lan Wangji. It was a stupid thing to ask, but if he let himself think about how they were threshing through the underbrush looking for Wei Wuxian, about the last time they had looked for Wei Wuxian together...

Lan Wangji ignored him.

Jiang Cheng snorted. "Okay. So maybe you don't hate him. But he likes you! He's so deferential it makes me want to puke."

Lan Wangji favored him with the merest hint of a sneer, just enough to show he was listening to Jiang Cheng talk.

"You're disgusting," said Jiang Cheng. "Do you really think he shouldn't have anyone but you in his life? That he's your property?"

Lan Wangji's stride broke. It was a triumph, in a way--Jiang Cheng had never thrown him so badly in all the years they'd known each other.

"Each man judges others by his own heart," said Lan Wangji, thick with contempt, and then he was walking ahead with pointed rapidity, determined to separate from Jiang Cheng, until staying together would have meant chasing after him, and Jiang Cheng turned and went the other way, muttering blackly.

In the end, fittingly, neither of them caught up in time to be of use. Wen Ning, with his homing sense for Wei Wuxian, had shown up out of who the fuck knew where and bailed him out.

Jiang Cheng stumbled upon the haunted spring just in time to see a sodden, bedraggled Wei Wuxian launch himself away from his pet Wen's supportive arm and fling himself against the upright form of Hanguang-jun, which bent around him with a reverent murmur.

Jiang Cheng was already turning away in disgust to head back home, hating that he'd let himself be dragged into this, when he heard Lan Wangji say with careful, solemn deliberation: "Thank you, Wen Qionglin. For taking care of him."

Jiang Cheng glanced back against his will to see the Ghost General saluting deeply, wide-eyed, infinitely humble, his murmur that it was nothing special, Hanguang-jun, nearly drowned out by Wei Wuxian's delighted shouting about how good his Lan Zhan was and how much Wen Ning deserved to be appreciated.

Jiang Cheng walked away.

Wen Qionglin wasn't rude to him. Not in any way you could point at. And he knew full well he'd be making an ass of himself if he tried to pick a verbal fight.

After all, they had killed Wen Qionglin's older sister.

The whole cultivation world had done it, but only Jiang Cheng had done it after Wen Qionglin saved his life. He'd told himself he owed no debt for that, and perhaps he hadn't, but the fact remained: of the two of them, one had been brave and virtuous and earned the loyalty of Wei Wuxian.

And one of them had been pathetic, a coward, a burden.

Jiang Cheng could never look at the man without seeing the look in his dead eyes across the length of Suibian.

Jiang Cheng had never been good at lying to himself, especially if the lie was meant to be comforting. He always tried it anyway. Comforting lies used to sound so true, in Wei Wuxian's mouth; he should never have gotten into the habit of relying on that. To letting that person think Jiang Cheng was someone who needed to be swaddled in falsehoods to give him the strength to bear up under his own duties.

Wen Qionglin was a kind, gentle, courageous dead body, shy and courteous and increasingly appreciated for his virtues, in this strange new world created in the wake of Jin Guanyao's disgrace. And whenever his eyes fell on Jiang Cheng they were cold, hard, flat, contemptuous.

Every time he looked at him Jiang Cheng could nearly hear him thinking, like a cold wind against the back of his neck: I should have left you in that heap of corpses with the rest of your family.

What are you worth, Jiang Wanyin, that so many should be spent in saving you? That Wei Wuxian would drag us all into the shadow of death to make you whole, only for you to turn your face aside when it was me lying there, and let him die for us without lifting a finger?

Selfish, whining coward. If only I had left you there to die.

If only, Jiang Cheng imagined spitting back, anger hot and bracing in his throat. If only! I never asked for any of it! How dare you expect me to repay you!

But Wen Qionglin never spoke any of the words out loud. He only looked, cold dead flat black eyes. A frozen river. Sometimes Jiang Cheng thought that if he lashed out hard enough he would break a hole in the ice, and be devoured whole.

[drearymondays-05]

Drunken Confessions

Jily Week August Day 3: In Vino Veritas

@sunshinemarauder and @kay-elle-cee

The house remained standing in an isolated area, somewhere near the fringe of the forest. It built up the mystery and allure of that singular building which appeared to be deserted. If any person were to try and open the locked gate, it would not open up. The gate was resistant to even some of the most advanced magic. Only a handful of people knew the way in. The atmosphere inside the house was in stark contrast to the outside. Loud music, tabletops filled with foods and drinks and the merry laughter of people brought into life the worn-out walls and clipped wallpapers. Some people were drunk, some lost in thoughts.

James continued his perusal of people till he caught a corner filled with his heart. Sirius and Remus were up to their debates, Peter was looking morosely into a tumbler and Lily was about to fall if her slipping away from the sofa was any indication. He made his way to them leisurely. He was bone-tired after patrolling the entire day at the Department of Mysteries as Dumbledore had asked of him, and then there was the altercation with a small group of Death eaters. This made him late to the party at the Order safehouse.

“There comes our hero of the day”, Sirius announced when he reached there. James sent him a mock salute and proceeded to make himself comfortable. Remus started asking him about the fight. Just as he was talking with Remus, he saw Lily had fallen asleep. “She started getting drunk as she waited on you. She was worried about you,”, Sirius replied when he saw James looking at Lily. James felt a spark of hope and quashed it immediately. Of course, she was worried about him. He was her friend after all. How long till he realized that it was all he would ever be?

Once upon a time however she was his girlfriend. Few months after the beginning of their seventh year in Hogwarts, they had started dating. For James, it was a dream come true moment after fancying Lily for a really long time. He felt like winning all the Quidditch trophies at once, flying high and soaring in the air. All the things in the world could still not compete with the giddiness he felt while dating Lily.

He just did not know that those days were numbered. He could still clearly remember the doomsday. It was a Hogsmeade Saturday when the first attack near Hogwarts took place. The chaos, screams of pure agony, terror in little eyes, and weight of responsibility on his shoulders were new to him that day. He saw how ugly war could be from closer quarters. It strengthened his resolve to take the final step in their relationship by saying ‘I love you’ to Lily. He could not pretend to not love her anymore. He loved her, irreparably and irrevocably. He loved her when her green eyes would search for him across the room and smile that pretty smile of hers just for him, when she would visibly light up in his presence, when she absentmindedly ran her fingers across his palm and all the moments within and in between.

When they met after a bit of calm in the castle from the attack, Lily seemed tensed almost. He saw determination fill her as she took sure steps towards him. “We should not be together anymore”, she had said. James had felt his heart stop with those words. “This is not the time to be dating when muggle-borns around us are dying. I should have been working harder towards stopping this fight not frolicking around as if the world around is roses and sunshine. I need to do more James. I am, I am sorry I cannot continue this with you. Don’t ask me of it.”

James had not. He could not find it in himself to convince Lily to not stop living her life because of all the shit going around. He knew the impact the attack had on her. He saw the fire and thirst in her eyes to actually do something. He did not want to take that away from her. Most of all he understood she needed to fight the war on the frontlines till her need for vengeance and justice was quenched. And also, that she would feel guilty about her cause if she rather spent time with him. And James had wanted to be many things but never a page in Lily Evans’s regret diary.

Sirius had given him serious flak over the stupidity of their break up and that he should have said something. But he could not explain to Sirius that during his time with Lily he saw things he never knew of. The difficulties of just surviving as a muggle-born in their world, the smaller things, the covert judgements daily, snide remarks and the alert even an accomplished witch like Lily had to be in. So, a muggle-born fighting the war was a powerful statement to the world that they could fight their own battles and need not rely on others for it.

So, he had kept quiet and just nodded that day. His ‘I love you’ had died a swift death before even getting its voice. He had sworn Lily that they would always remain friends.

If that wasn’t the most difficult promise, he had made someone! Being Lily’s friend tested his self-control at times. Times when he wanted to kiss Lily with desperate abandon after she returned from Order missions, times when he wanted to hold her in his arms and never let go. It became increasingly difficult to keep his feelings at bay. He just wished Lily would sooner realize that falling in love during this time was not a crime.

Back to the party, James sighed and asked his friends to turn up for the night. He carried Lily up the stairs to the bunk. Once he had tucked her in, he tried getting away but a hand snaked around his wrist. As he turned, he saw Lily smiling at him dreamily. “Lils……” he tried saying but Lily sat up and put a finger on his lips. Merlin save him, that simple touch set his heart racing. “Hey, James!” “Hi”, he managed to say. Lily then went on to do a thorough survey of his face. When she returned to look back into his eyes, she panicked, “Are you hurt? Christ, why do you have to always play the hero? Did something happen?” James managed to soothe her down while murmuring, “Look who is talking.” She evidently paid that no mind as she took his hands in hers, “I am an idiot.”

She started talking to herself, “What did I even gain by pushing you away? It was so stupid. The war is still going on….. Why did I ruin the best thing that happened to me? Stupid, stupid, stupid. …………..” Then her mumble turned her incoherent. James on the other hand was undergoing a kaleidoscope of emotions as she went on. Sorrow, grief then sudden delight, and bliss were all warring inside him. Amusement took the prize whatsoever. Drunk Lily was adorable.

All of a sudden, Lily turned her ire on James, “You knew that, didn’t you? You could have stopped me from breaking up. Why didn’t you?” She pointed her accusatory fingers towards him. “Do you not fancy me anymore?”, she lamented. The corners of his lips turned up into a smile.

She was turning sleepy. He pressed her into the bed and said, “Sleep sweetheart. We will talk tomorrow.” She went to sleep obediently but asked before closing her eyes, “What if I forget?” “I will remind you”, James promised and pressed his lips to Lily’s forehead.

This time he planned on freaking following through on that promise.

[christian-oc-tournament]

Propaganda for Joy O'Connor!

Joy is an inquisitive lady, and sometimes, people wonder if she's grown up under a rock. She seems to know next to nothing about how the world works - and wants to learn it ALL! So she asks a lot of weird questions and gets really excited about mundane things, kind of like an overgrown toddler. Her husband Zac has his work cut out for him, trying to keep up with her curiosity!

To most people, Joy appears to be a hunchback, and nobody really understand why she doesn't know so much - she can't even read! But that's because she's actually from another world, and isn't even human. She's got a lot of secrets, including what's under that hump on her back....

She was raised in the other world, under the name Aileev tiz Lucard. She has powers - similar to a firebender from Avatar: The Last Airbender, and she's actually got a pair of wings folded up under her shirt. She loves being able to get out of the public eye and stretch those things out!

Above: Joy's Childhood (Joy is at the top right.)

Zac was magically and mysteriously transported to Aileev's world one day, and was trapped there for several years. She and her people took him under their wings, helped him survive, and eventually were able to salute him as a hero. Then, he finally found a way to come back to Earth... but by then they'd fallen in love. So Aileev made a tough decision, and decided to be brave and go with Zac. They got married, and she changed her name to Joy, which is what her name translated to in English.

.

[iamvegorott]

Ink Month 2024 Day 2

Sleep Deprivation - Marvelsepticeye

Marvin hummed in thought when he peeked into Jackie’s room but didn’t see him there. He could have sworn he heard him come home earlier. Had he been mistaken? 

“Have you seen Jackie?” Marvin asked Chase when they crossed paths in the hallway. 

“I thought he was still on his patrol?” Chase asked back.

“I thought I heard him come in.”

“There’s always some noise happening in this place. But if Jackie's back, he's only got so many places to hide.” 

“That’s fair.” Marvin clicked his tongue. “If he’s not back yet, I’m hunting down.” 

“I’d gladly join you if you do.” Chase gave a little two-finger salute to Marvin as he walked off, seeing Henrik at the end of the hall. Marvin waved to the other Septiceyes and went in the other direction. 

“Not in his room, I just came from my own…” Marvin said his listing out loud, going into the kitchen next. “Not getting a snack.” He continued and went to the living room. “Found him.”

Jackie was sitting on the couch, his elbow lying across the back of it, propping his head up. His mask sat beside him, and his phone was on the floor. The other hand showed that it had fallen out of it. He was fast asleep, and it likely happened while sending a text. 

Marvin slowly went to Jackie, crouching and running a hand through his messy hair, noting that he needed a haircut. The poor hero had been working beyond overtime lately, and the dark bags under his eyes hinted at how little sleep he had been getting. 

“Oh, Jackie.” Marvin sighed, hand moving to cup Jackie’s face, thumb rubbing his cheek. “Your heart is just too big for you.” 

“Huh?” Jackie's eyes fluttered as he started straightening up. “Wha-Where?” He blinked a few times, looking around, and eventually, his sight focused on Marvin. “Hey, babe, what’s up?” 

“You fell asleep on the couch. You should go to bed” 

“Nah, nah, I have stuff to do.”  

“No, you don’t.” Marvin placed his hands on Jackie’s shoulders, preventing him from getting up yet. “When was the last time you got some proper sleep?”

“I…um…” Jackie chewed his lip, unable to come up with anything since he couldn’t lie to Marvin.

“We’re going to bed.”

“We?”

“Yes, we. I’m tucking you into bed and laying on top of you so you can’t leave.” Marvin tugged on Jackie’s hoodie and made him stand up.

“But it’s really early.” Jackie’s protest was weak as he walked with Marvin to his bedroom. 

“I’ll grab one of my books. But you need to relax and catch up on the sleep you’ve been neglecting.” Marvin was now tugging on the hoodie to get it off Jackie’s body, taking his shirt along with it. “Shoes.” He instructed while he took care of his own.

“I’m not getting a choice, am I?” Jackie chuckled, kicking his shoes off. 

“Not at all,” Marvin stated, changing into some more sleep-appropriate clothing. Jackie was now just in his sweatpants, so he was fine. “In the bed.” He pointed with one hand while the other glowed with a green hue, using magic to make a book float over and rest on the bedside table. 

“Is there any way I could talk myself out of this?” Jackie joked with a weak grin.

“Jackieboyman, get in that bed and lay down.” Marvin’s ‘stern voice’ was exaggerated, and he had a hint of a smile. 

“Okay, okay, yes, sir.” Jackie laughed and crawled into the bed. 

“That’s what I thought.” Marvin playfully huffed, grabbing the TV remote before getting into the bed as well. “I give you until the intro to the show is over before you’re out cold.” He gave Jackie the remote and got himself comfortable. With a satisfied sigh, Marvin laid on his back, at a bit of an angle to tuck himself against Jackie’s side, resting his head on his chest, and then, with the snap of his fingers, his book appeared in his hands. 

“I’d give me at least an episode. I feel awake now.” Jackie pressed play and set the remote aside. 

“Five minutes at most.” Marvin smiled and decided to watch some of the show with Jackie. 

And as if Marvin could predict the future, Jackie was lightly snoring by the time the show’s intro finished. 

“Told you.” Marvin sang to himself, smiling as he opened his book and began to read. 

[astroi]

They Actually Talk About It

Synopsis: Lord Garmadon and Lady Iron Dragon talk about their son's future. Canon compliant to the Lego Ninjago Movie in this form. Thei/Them(singular pronoun)!Garm

Word Count: ~830

“What?!” Their child curled into his parent’s many arms to escape the sound.

Lady Iron Dragon twirled a curl of her hair, “I just think he should get to choose what he wants to be,”

Lord Garmadon studied her for a moment, trying to determine if she was serious, “Koko,” thei began almost sympathetically, “We’re warlords,” thei proclaimed gently as though explaining death to a child, “There’re not many choices he can have right now. He either becomes a warlord like us, or he becomes a-,” mocking condescension oozed from the word, “DipLoMaT-,” thei continued in a deadpan voice, “-and we have a second child.”

“No,”

“Face it," Garmadon persisted, "This is what you signed up for. There’s no room for him to be anything but a warrior in our schedule. From now until the end of this dynasty, there are going to be targets on all our backs. You knew about the danger when you married me,”

“I did," She bit her thumb as she stared down at her feet, her gaze angling to keep her child in her field of vision, "I just never considered what it meant until the baby.” Until just now, when their Lloyd mirrored his father by mimicking that evil laugh. This was going to be his life—forever. He was sure to be sculpted into a warlord if things stayed as they were.

“We’ll rise to the challenge, I believe that.” Thei pounded the flat side of their wrist against their heart as a salute in promise. Their fingers flexed the sharpness away as thei prepared to grab her hand.

She shook her head, bangs swaying in the breeze, “He needs to have a choice. This is wrong,”

“My Dark empress, don’t tell me your morals are coming back,” A broken compass points right once a day or however the phrase goes. Thei could save this, probably. Possibly.

“We’re the bad guys, Kokes! Dark Lords!" Thei rocked Lloyd back and forth as thei did a slight revolution, their cape swishing in a wide circle, "All the heroes that challenge us, we'll crush their bones together!” If anyone was going to conquer the realm, it would be the two of them—And it would be glorious!

“You are the dark lord. I'm not,” Everything was fine when she was still a mercenary, she could step away and uncouple herself from the moral implications of her choices.

Flattered, thei dismissed her claim, “Oh, no need to point fingers, we’re both in this together. You joined me."

Thei knelt in respect to let her look at them at eye-level, clasping her hand thei continued, "We're partners in everything: in life, in death, in war—and in peace too, I guess.” Her mournful reaction to their words screamed regret. Oh dear. Fallen 'heroes' have that pesky thing called guilt—not that thei'd know anything about that.

Koko pulled her hand free, glowing eyes skittered up and down as thei tried to understand. She- she looked devastated. Their arms sagged slightly, but- but she wanted- she took a vow too, did that mean nothing now? Suddenly, thei didn't feel so confident that they could salvage this.

She completely ignored their attempt to deflect the subject, “We have to do what’s best for him,” the baby in question was teething on one of Garmadon's fingers.

“And what would you suppose that is?” Their eyes could only widen as thei recognized her shift in stance, in body language, before thei did the only sensible thing left to do.

Her sword cut into the back plating of their armor. Thei didn't flinch. A darkness stretched over Lady Iron Dragon's crown, her posture had changed from that of an ally to something far more familiar.

“I thought-" There were many ways to finish the sentence:

I thought this wouldn’t happen anymore.

I thought you were the one.

I thought you were better than this.

A fiery tear slid down their cheek, “-I thought you loved me.” Such a wound meant nothing if it came from a stranger...

Lloyd began to wail as violet blood eroded her blade. Thei soothed Lloyd, hugging him knowing it would be the last one for a while. No length of time was truly forever for an oni, they'd meet again, that thei would make sure of.

“Garm-," Thei pushed Lloyd into her arms as the sword laid on the ashy battlefield grounds.

Hands lingering on the green fabric of the baby blanket, thei looked her in the eye, “Go, I won’t stop you. You’ve made your point clear.”

Whatever 'perfect' life she imagined was best wasn't one with them in it.

Lady Iron Dragon moved to leave, her spouse watching her boots as they dragged along the dead grass and sand towards the coast.

Wood creaked as salt replaced the scent of smoke wafting through the air.

She croaked a whisper, "I-," but, after swallowing tersely, ultimately opted to say nothing.

[starlightshadowsworld]

The thing about Dark Jason Grace is that he would never have supported Luke.

Jason's whole beef is with the God's.

In particular his father.

He owns that shit, he does not drag or bring anyone else into it.

It's why I say he gets Krios's throne.

Because no matter when or why, Jason makes it to his camp and he fights Krios.

He destroys him and shatters his throne.

That than reforms around him.

Jason may hate he's nothing but a nameless soilder to the God's, despises them for everything they've done to him.

But also what they are doing to the rest.

And he would never let his people down.

His legion recognise him.

The 5th cohort, in tears salute him.

Preator or not.

Traitor or not.

He is their leader.

And they will follow him to the ends of the earth.

And when he stands by Reyna he stands as her equal.

Even telling her he won't take this battle from her and she says don't be ridiculous, this is ours to fight.

Jason is Roman.

He is family.

And family don't leave anyone behind.

He's an enemy of Olympus and yet even some of them smile when they see him.

Hera can't go against her husband but theirs a fondness in his eyes when she lays eyes on him.

Minor deities respect him and he does in turn.

Jason bows before them, drops to his knees and uses their full titles.

Not getting up unless they allow him too.

He shows them respect they have not had for centuries.

He builds shrines and leaves offerings and only asks for safe passage through their domains.

He has won their favour time and time again and he does not exploit that.

At the same time Jason doesn't bow before his father.

He has never tried to get other demigods to join him.

He knows his very existence is a middle finger to his father.

He wears the scars of his defiance, the chains around his wrists and is branded a traitor for all to see.

Jason wouldn't wish that on anyone.

What Luke did joining Kronos infuriated Jason to end.

Athena asks why he didn't join him.

To that Jason snorts saying why would he stand against someone who only wishes to control him.

He doesn't trust the God's, why would he trust a titan?

Especially one who's lost to them.

Jsdon firmly declares that had he found him first he would have gut the son of Hermes like a fish.

Hermes says Luke died a hero and Jason just laughs.

"And that makes a life time of suffering all worth it doesn't it? His mother's sat around baking cookies, wandering when will her son come home but good for him."

"... How do you..."

"... Because that's what my mother was doing, cept the baking cookies was drinking booze."

"I'm sorry I had no idea... How is she?"

"Dead, but she's in the fields... Such a fair and righteous judgement for all the suffering in her life. Maybe we should kill Lukes mother so they can bake cookies in hell together." He says deadpanned, looking at the speechless Hermes in disgust.

"But sure no your serial killer creeper kid dies and I'm supposed to give a shit, sure."

That's not to say Jason doesn't feel sympathy for those who joined Luke.

He prayed on the lost, the weary, the vulnerable and promised them a paradise he was never going to deliver.

And so Jason sends an offering to Nemises in condolences for the loss of her son.

And the rest of the fallen, the unclaimed.

Jason admits Luke had a point in that but following Kronos was nothing short of foolish.

Jason smiles sadly at Percy's wish, he knows it won't come to fruition. He's lived too long, he's become far too jaded yo think otherwise.

But the flicker of hope burns in his eyes momentarily.

[lilpotatjj]

WATTPAD:

AN: This chapter contains death, and is the start of a bigger chapter. enjoy <3

Congratulation...Captain?

Chapter 8

"Are you ready for the funeral, Captain?" asks Maya, standing quietly in the doorway. Black is the color that is omnipresent, just not in the 19 itself. Everyone is dressed in mourning clothes. Andy turns to Maya and nods without saying a word.....

FLASHBACK

You'd think a movie was being filmed here at the sight of the 19. Andy is struck by lightning and without thinking or any protective clothing she wants to run off and smother the fire with her own hands. "Andy! No!" Vic and Travis struggle to hold Andy down. "NO! We have to put it out, it's my home, my father's home!" distraught with tears in her eyes, she watches the station burn to the ground.

"Andy we have to find a safe place!" Andy is numb, as if nothing exists around her, nothing but her and the burning station. With great effort, they drag Andy away and finally find safe shelter just before a huge tornado sweeps through the city. You yourself have also made it to safety, along with a few other strangers, neighbors and firefighters from other stations.

Andy sat curled up in one of the shelters, completely absent-minded and in shock. It was hours before the storm finally passed. The silence is so intense and weighs so heavily.

"what the...." Warren looks shocked. "who.... who did this? one of our people?" Warren and the others gradually gather in front of the 19 floor. A sad picture stretches out, but it is not completely destroyed. Someone has contained the fire and prevented the entire 19 from burning down. Andy goes closer and looks around. Almost the entire barn and the vehicles inside have burned down, but the rest has been spared by both the fire and the storm. Travis and the others look around cautiously. Andy is relieved that only the barn has been hit, but it still hurts to look at it. You join them and can't believe what you see. "Andy!" you run to her and you both start to cry, more with relief than with horror at the recent events.

"Travis? Travis, what is it?" Vic comes to him and sees his silent and empty look. "What..." Vic stops in all her movements as she also turns her gaze in the same direction Travis is looking. " oh my god..." Andy, you and the others come to see what's going on and pause as they realize who is lying there. Heavily burned, you can barely read the name written on the jacket. Vic falls to her knees and Travis hides his face under his hand as he bends down to Vic and tries to comfort her.

FLASHBACK END

Everyone is lined up in several rows, salutes, and lets the preacher speak his phases. Andy at the front as the stations captain senses everyone's tension and holds the firefighter's helmet with the name Ruiz firmly in her hands. She finally places it on his coffin and salutes him with a strength that could weather any storm. A brother has fallen, made it his mission to save his own station and had to pay for it with his own life.

It is quiet even after the funeral service. Andy is the only one who remains at his grave and pauses. You stand close behind her, but give her space. He saved the station from burning down completely. Andy can't put into words how grateful she is and yet she is shocked at the price everyone has to pay.

"you saved my home...my father's, all of us...." She lowers her head so that her hat covers her face. "it wasn't your job...I should have done it" the tears run down her face. You come to Andy, who wipes away her tears.

"hey..." you stroke her back and she smiles tightly.

"He died a hero," Andy says and swallows. "I'll never forget him. As long as I live." You smile sympathetically and take her hand. "Come on... let's go to the others and have something to eat. The funeral feast has long since begun." The two of you head off to meet up with everyone else. Chief Ross is also there to offer her condolences. Gathered around the large, long table, it suddenly becomes very quiet as Andy stands up quietly.

"The 19 is still standing largely because we lost one of our brothers, who decided with all his efforts to save our home. A place where I owe my childhood, a place where I grew up!" Andy pauses for a moment and continues. "Ruiz was a good captain for a short time, wanted to continue to be captain and did everything he could to ensure that we were always safe. His last task was to save our home!" Andy raises her glass. "He was a hero and will always be our hero.

Everyone toasts, but the sadness is written on everyone's face.

"Andy, I will do everything necessary to ensure that the station is open again as quickly as possible," said Chief Ross as she goes to Andy, hugs her and looks at her empathetically.

"Thank you chief..." You walk over to Andy and hug her too.

"Your words were very moving," you smile at her and she simply kisses you on the mouth in front of everyone, which doesn't go unnoticed by the others.

"No more secrets"

You look at her in surprise and let your gaze wander around the group, almost all of them are looking at you with a surprised smile. Chief Ross just starts to applaud and Vic comes dancing to you. "Well at least we have something positive to celebrate today" Travis raises his glass and everyone laughs at Vic's dancing.

You both smile happily. "It will take a while until the station is ready, I'll make sure that everyone stays in other stations for the time being. But don't worry, it's only temporary" Ross said.

"Leave Y/N and I out for now" Andy says and Both you and Ross look at Andy questioningly. "We wanted to take a break anyway." Andy takes your hand. "We're flying to Puerto Rico." Everyone looks excited and Ross nods in agreement.

Just a few days after the funeral service you pack your bags. "and how long do you plan to be in Puerto Rico?" you look at Herrera questioningly. "As long as it keeps us there. the station won't be functional for another two months. Pack lots of sunscreen." Andy laughs and finishes packing everything together with you. "The trip will do us good, give us other ideas." You agree and hug Andy lovingly. "I'll go everywhere with you." Andy smiles happily for the first time in a long time and kisses you tenderly.

All packed up, you set off in the middle of the night and arrive at the airport. On the way to check in, Andy takes your hand and smiles happily at you. You feel how Andy can gradually let go.

About Robert.

About the guilty conscience of being captain and, above all....

the fear of getting involved in a relationship with you.

When you get on the plane, you buckle up, hold your hands and take a deep breath.

"Off to homeland" Andy laughs and shortly afterwards the plane rolls off, takes off and a beautiful nighttime view from above, Seattle shows all the beauty of the city. After a few hours the sun rises as you slowly reach Puerto Rico. Blue-turquoise water, palm trees and colorful houses can be seen and Andy can't help but smile broadly.

"Puerto Rico...prepárate...ya vamos!"

Be prepared! the next chap will be a long, full of fluff and also a 18+ raw smut chapter which I wil mark clearly. (if you wanna skip feel free. the 18+ isn't story relevant)

[smoothiewrites]

Despite having just fallen from the sky, they were celebrating.

The canoe, while quite large for a boat of its general stature, was far too small to well contain all of its occupants. Each of its passengers were all stuffed close together along the seats and sides, but they hardly were thinking about that. They were thinking about victory. 

And that sense was easily present on their faces. They felt that joy and relief down into the depths of their souls. Fear held their hearts still, but its grip was loosening minute by minute as the port lights grew closer, shining like pure gold across the night-black waves. The canoe rocked its way towards those lights, on its own time.

The grizzled looking, war-scarred woman stood over everyone, placing a hand on her comrade's shoulder to not fall over the side. "A toast, everyone!" She shouted into the night air, smiling wide. She held up her hand holding an imaginary glass, "A toast to Aegeus, and his broken fucking sword!" And thrust the glass into the air, to a cheer from the folks around her. The whole crowd cheered and laughed warmly as they looked to the boy in question, to warmly shake his shoulders and lay congratulations on to him.

Aegeus, or Aggy as most people called him, was content to receive all the praise from the knights who all looked at him with a twinkle in their eyes. He had a genuine mop of dark brown hair and a genuine face just on the cusp of adulthood, with some fading acne marks still marking his cheeks. Particularly bright green eyes looked towards each soldier around him with each word of praise. As he acknowledged them one by one, he glanced at the girl next to him, who looked unbothered by all the commotion but all the same unsure if she was looking at anything at all. The girl, named Calliope, had Asian features and straight black hair that covered most of her face from Aggy's perspective, looked over to him. They had, unmistakably, the same eyes. The two regarded each other quite seriously for a moment, the silent and brief exchange replaced a conversation that might have gone like this:

"You alright, Callie?"

"Oh, great. Just overwhelmed."

"By the knights?"

"They sure aren't celebrating your intelligence."

"Harsh."

"Just show them your sword or something. Hold it away from me, please."

Aggy freed his arm from the tangle of folks and drew what was left of his sword, and each figure aboard the boat shrunk in its strangeness. The hilt and guard shone in the approaching port lights, the gold highlighting the bronze in quite a magical way. 

The blade, less so. To a length of about four inches from the guard it was indistinguishable from an average blade. What was left of the rest of the blade was corroded, scorched, weakened with frost growing in the cracks. Even reduced to such a diminished form, the weapon's power was clear in the chill it left in the air, how it seemed to be eating even the light from the port into itself. Its ominous presence was felt through all of the occupants of the boat. Calliope shivered a bit as he brought the blade into view.

"To the real hero, all." He lifted the sword above his head, a tight grip held it horizontally above his head in salute. "The Banisher Blade." The boat's raucous joy faded a bit at the presence of the blade, yet all in the boat gave the salute back in respect. Aggy was gladdened to notice that many of the knights were not looking at him anymore, their eyes instead fell upon the blade. Fear squeezed the hearts of the company here, but they took shelter in the proximity of each other, the safety of the sea, and the warm lights at their backs. They stood firm, and for that, Aggy felt proud.

Aegeus glanced to the front of the boat, and noticed the one figure who was not looking at him or the blade. He faced the sea, staring. Unlike most of the people on the boat, he was not wearing armor. All he had were clothes of red cloth, rich and beautiful in the light, which was the second most interesting thing about him. The massive, feathery wings on his back took the number one spot for that. His hair was blond just like his feathers, long and graceful in the way they fell down his back. His profile outlined a soft yet somehow sharp face, young but also aged, and glowing brightly yet looking so solemn.

Aggy thought he was, in a word, beautiful.

He placed the Banisher Blade back in its scabbard, and mumbled something to the crew to get them back to their carousing. Carefully stepping across the boat over many pairs of legs, he approached the radiant figure. Somehow, it was quieter on this side of the boat.

Aggy extended a hand to his shoulder, bare skin shivering at the touch. The face looked up at him, surprised.

"For what it's worth, Ganymede, I forgive you." He said quietly, gesturing with his eyebrows. Ganymede looked back out to the sea.

"What does one do with forgiveness, Aegeus?" His voice floated to meet Aggy's ears like a gentle violin. "Carry it with you? curl it up into a ball and throw it away once you're not looking?" 

"Flatten it into a stone and see how many times it skips." Aggy remarked. Silence fell between them for a moment, his attempt at a lightening remark falling noticeably flat.

"I'm sorry for lying." Ganymede said. "I've never done it before." At this, Aggy crouched down to Ganymede's level. Ganymede's eyes were not like his, but they met each other's gaze with a soft familiarity.

"Mortality's tough, huh?" Aggy asked. Ganymede nodded like a dog shaking out its fur. "Like I said, I forgive you, Gans. "

"And Calliope?" Ganymede asked, voice quivering slightly.

"She'll get over it." Aggy said, looking over at Callie, who was deep in a conversation with some knights, holding a drawing of an ox and gesturing emphatically. "I should probably get back to the company. We'll all sit down over a meal and talk it out tomorrow, okay?"

"Can we have those ribs again?" Ganymede asked. Aggy thought for a minute on what to say.

"We'll get something just as good, promise." He said, and walked back to his seat. For now, his armor was quiet, and the Banisher Blade weighed much less in its scabbard. As he met eyes with Calliope once more, he thought back to what the Oracle told them.

He couldn't possibly kill Ganymede, that didn't seem right. I wouldn't do that, he thought to himself. I won't.

Right?

[allthingsr-betternotbeingnormal]

Do you have to be such a daft cunt?

Miguel O'Hara x Reader

Word count: 954 words

Warnings: Swearing, growling, reader trying not to attack Miguel

Summary: Hobie shows you Miles being chased and you're pissed, which prompts you to return to HQ to give Miguel a piece of your mind.

Note: This was stuck in my head so I had to let it out. I might expand and make a multi chapter story on how reader met Miguel and the gang. (Might post it on AO3) Reader's hero name is Aqua and was bitten by a radioactive water spider.

Hobie never came to your universe, so to say it caught you by surprise with him standing outside your house was an understatement. It also meant something was wrong.

You felt it in your gut and your instincts were never wrong, so when he showed you a live feed of the chase–sorry more like manhunt–of Miles Morales you felt your blood run cold.

What was O'Hara thinking of going after the kid like that?

You've met Miles a few times–unknowingly to the Society–and you instantly clicked with the kid. He was cool, a bit clumsy, smart as a whip with a wicked sense of humor

Not something O'Hara seemed to have. Weren't all spider people supposed to have a sense of humor?

His must have fallen out his as–Anyway, watching as their 'glorious leader' continue to smash Miles into the train made you see red.

"We're going back to HQ."

"Nuh-uh. That's your bit. I'm a lay back and watch the chaos unfold, Luv."

Both your gaze met, a smile blooming on your face "I have a strong feeling you're up to something Hobie Brown. I hope it's epic."

"I can't be anything else but epic."

The mask covered your face before activating the watch Hobie made for you months ago. Completely undetectable from the Society.

The both of you have had your doubts about a few things concerning the place, hence your own device.

Glancing back at your best friend you sent a two-finger salute and walked forward.

The trip took seconds and you arrived just in time to see O'Hara tell Gwen to go home as the machine grabbed at her limbs.

First Miles, now Gwen. How unhinged was the bastard? Is this how society members are meant to be treated?

You pushed through the crowd of the others, cursing for them to get out of the way as they stood there, doing nothing

Gwen's name left your lips as you mad it to the front and you two made eye contact just as she whispered "We're supposed to be the good guys" before being blasted back to her dimension

A growl built in your chest and you're in front of O'Hara as he turned, slightly off guard at your presence

"Are you out of your fucking mind!?"

The others gasped, Peter B Parker quickly covering Mayday's ears

"Stay out of this Aqua."

He can't be seriously telling you to turn away from what you just witnessed. It was wrong and he and everyone else knew it

"You went too far! What you did to Miles was uncalled for O'Hara!"

The man's eyes turned red, a snarl left his lips showcasing his massive fangs

"Uncalled for? Are you daft? He disrupted a canon event and is on his way to start another. I did what I had to, to try and stop him."

"By what? Chasing him like a criminal! Beating him up! Telling him to just turn a blind eye and accept that he's about to lose his father!? That's cruel, even for you."

"If we don't stop him his universe will collapse. Is that what you want to happen? Huh? His father has to die. There's no changing that."

The others looked on as they fought back and forth. The majority of them exited the room until there was just Peter B Parker with Mayday, Penny, Porker, Jessica, Ben and Margo.

"There is no way you are 100% sure that diverting from canonical events will trigger universal collapse."

"Yes, I can because it happened to me!"

"The multiverse is complex O'Hara and even you with all your genius cannot fathom its capabilities."

O'Hara pushed passed you, growling and ignoring your words

"I don't have time for this. I'm going after Miles. Stay out of my way Aqua."

Your hand caught his wrist, making him pause "Miguel–"

You watch as his shoulders hitch. Not once since you've known him have you ever called him by his first name

"I know you've lost a lot and you feel like you need to shoulder everything on your own but you're taking this too far and you're buckling under the pressure. Don't do something you'll regret."

He wretched his wrist from your grip, putting on his mask as he called out to Jessica and Ben saying they were going after Miles before opening a portal to the teen's dimension.

Jessica and Ben entered and just before Miguel did he turn his head towards you "Don't come after us Aqua. Try and stop me and I can't promise that you won't get hurt."

The collective gasps were just a buzz in the background as blood rushed to your ears "I'll keep that in mind O'Hara. It's a shame. You're letting yourself become a spiderman all of us should fear. I hope you never catch the kid."

With no response the group watched as he disappeared through the portal.

The silence that fell across the room was deafening. Peter was about to say something when you started laughing, holding your side as you doubled over

"Ah–not to be a stickler but what's so funny? Miguel is on his way to rip the kid a new one and you're laughing your kidney off."

It took a while but you calmed down. Looking over at Margo, you smiled "You knew, didn't you?"

"Of course I did. That's why I didn't stop the transport sequence."

"What are you two talking about?" Penny and Porker asked

"The machine sent him to the universe where the spider was supposed to be. Earth-42. Miles Morales is in the wrong dimension."

The panic from everyone–especially Peter–was expected but you weren't concerned about that. The goal now was keeping Miguel as far away from the boy as possible and saving his father. O'Hara was wrong and you were sure of it

"Come on. Let's go save Miles. But first we need to fetch Gwen. Whose in?"

[a-small-batch-of-dragons]

Awakened

Hi there! If you're still accepting requests, can I bls get some kick-in-the-balls sobbing-on-the-floor Virgil centric angst bls and thanks? Love all that you do – anon

Read on Ao3

Warnings: major character death--roman dies but it is only a dream

Pairings: prinxiety, dukexiety, intruprinxiety, can be platonic or romantic you decide

Word Count: 2277

    "Is it over?" Roman's voice sounded wet.

There was no color in his face anymore, none except the purple bruises under his eyes and the red along his mouth.

How fitting.

Virgil watched Roman collapse to his knees, spent and shaking, making not a sound. A blade glittered in the fiery red sunlight as it exited Roman's back. A final salute to the battle's glorious, gory end.

Virgil made his way towards the fallen hero until he loomed above his crumpled form.

"Yes," he said, "it's over."

"And did—did I—" Roman gurgled through blood-soaked breaths— "hurt you?"

They came strained, shallower.

Kneeling, Virgil focused on Roman's hands, unwrapping his fingers from his grip with deft, firm movements.

With one swift jerk, the blade slid free.

A river of blood followed, a pained gasp the only sound as Roman slumped forward. Virgil reached out and caught him before he hit the ground.

The light in Roman's eyes flickered and dimmed. For a fraction of a second, the two stared at each other—hero and villain, enemies, opposites, rivals—saying with their eyes what they never could with their lips.

Roman hiccupped once, twice. Virgil didn't move, not even as his knees grew damp with the blood pooling beneath them.

And then the light was gone.

"Yes," Virgil said after a while, "you hurt me."

He closed Roman's eyes and glanced at the sun rising higher over the horizon. He stood, staring at the corpse before him.

"More than you'll know."

Distantly, he could hear the sounds of his army. Assessing the wounded, counting the dead, searching for survivors. White flags began to gleam out of the corners of his eyes, the last few executions carried out with brutal efficiency.

No one dared approach him or his withering altar.

Slowly, with all the tenderness he could never have displayed before, he leaned down to take Roman's head in his hands.

"There is something that goes unsaid," he murmured as he brushed a trickle of blood from Roman's mouth, "about stage performers who play the dead."

The corpse in front of him was silent.

"People who play dead just look like they're asleep." He pulled the corpse closer, almost cradling it. "Dead people don't look like people, they look like things."

He bent closer, resting his forehead against cold—too cold—and damp skin.

"I don't want you to be a thing," he whispered, "you weren't supposed to be a thing."

For things could be kept, and while he had desperately wanted to tame the hero, force him to submit, have him yield, he never wanted to keep him. Roman was wild, feral at times, never something that could be caged lest some part of him that made him him would shatter irrevocably.

But the thought of letting someone else try set the skin under his armor boiling.

"Come on, then," he said, hefting the blood-soaked corpse into his arms, "you can't stay here."

The corpse was bulky, unforgiving. Plates of armor dug into Virgil's arms, the blood still leaking from the gaping wounds. The weight shifted unsteadily as he rose to his feet.

"Even in death," he chuckled, if it could be called a chuckle, "you have to be an inconvenience, don't you?"

The corpse's head lolled to the side.

Virgil began to walk, stepping over the remains and passing the results of some grisly duels. He paid no mind to the heat beginning to blister at his back, making his armor scorch. Instead, he focused on the solid weight in his arms and the dull thud, thud, thud, of his footsteps.

He paid no mind to the survivors who stopped to see them pass, a ghastly figure in blood-soaked armor with the corpse of the people's hope cradled in his arms. Their shadow lengthened as they neared the top of the hill, stretching far into the valley below.

"You would have loved the breeze," he whispered to the corpse, "it smells of wildflowers up here."

It didn't. It stunk of shit and blood and death. But it almost did.

A few stray blooms fell under his boots as he trudged onward into the valley.

The sun had yet to peek over the hill as he descended into the hills proper. The shadows fell across the corpse's face, oddly making it look flatter.

Less real.

"Come, now, don't look at me like that."

The corpse didn't move.

"Where's your boldness, hmm?" He ducked under a tree branch. "Didn't you claim to be unafraid of the dark when we were little?"

He blundered on, even as branches began to scratch at his face.

"You kept blowing out the candles. You said we'll never get anywhere in life if we kept being afraid of the dark. You said you'd be all the light we needed."

A deeper shadow passed over the corpse's face.

"How are you going to be light now? You can't even help me get through these trees. You're just lying there, making me carry you. Stop being such—such—"

What else can I be, said the corpse with vacant lips, but dead weight?

"Alright, just this once," Virgil muttered, hefting the corpse into his arms again, "but you can't expect me to just do everything myself."

He staggered up another hill, the sun beating down mercilessly. The weight made him collapse onto his knees, eyes still fixed helplessly on the corpse's face.

"This isn't fair." He squeezed the body. "You're the one who died."

Roman died. He was dead. He was dead.

"How is it that I'm the one hurting? You should be hurting. It's not fair. It's not fair."

He clutched the corpse's shoulders. The head lolled around uselessly, almost mocking him.

"Don't do that. You're not supposed to do that. You weren't supposed to do that."

Roman was dead.

"You were supposed to be the light," he cried out, voice beginning to rise, "how are you supposed to be the light when you're dead?"

The corpse said nothing.

"You can't have dark without light," he tried, fumbling to cradle the limp head in his hands, "see? You—you have to see, I can't—I can't—"

A lump formed in his throat.

"I can't do this alone," he whispered, voice cracking, "I can't—it was supposed to be the two of us."

Light and dark. As it always had been. As it always should be.

As it would never be again.

"Please," he mumbled, the rest of his armor forcing him to keel over, "please, I can't—don't leave me alone."

A lone shadow sat on the hill, a corpse in their lap, the scattered remains of their armor, still covered in blood, all about them. The sun glared down as they bowed their head.

"You were supposed to stop me," he whispered finally, reaching for the sword on his own belt, "but it wasn't supposed to be like this."

"Virgil! Virgil!"

Virgil shoots up in bed, chest burning. What—no—no, no, no—

"Virgil! Breathe, Emo, just breathe, it's okay, you were having a nightmare."

Roman's dead. Roman's dead, he killed Roman—

"In for four, remember? Come on, you can do it, just—oh, fuck, Virgil, calm down."

His armor—he grabs for his chest, his shoulders, anything—only for his fingers to meet soft cotton and buttons. He's not wearing armor. He's wearing pajamas. He's in bed.

"That's it, you're okay…"

It was a dream. It was a dream.

"Hey," the voice says as something soft touches his arm, "hey, Virgil? You with me?"

"Re-Remus?"

"Yeah, little monster, it's me." Remus's face swims into view and he waves, before making a concerned noise and reaching out to wipe Virgil's cheeks. "Hey, hey, it's okay. You're safe, you're okay."

"I…why are you here?"

"I felt you having a nightmare, little monster, so I came to help."

"O-oh." He sniffles. "Uh, sorry if I woke you up. Shit, um—"

"Hey. Don't do that. It's okay, you're okay, it's—you wanna hug?"

"Please."

So Remus opens his arms and tucks him into an embrace and oh, where the fuck has this been all his life? Remus is soft and warm and smells kind of like the pond where he keeps his Kraken and it doesn't smell like death at all and shit, he's crying again.

"Shh, shh," Remus hums, rubbing his back, "you're okay, little monster, you're okay. I'm right here. It was just a nightmare. It's over now. You're safe, you're right here with me, I've got you."

Virgil sags into Remus and just cries. His chest still aches from breathing so hard and from the fear at waking up, thinking he'd murdered Roman. It's gross and messed up and why the fuck did he do that? He's—he's not mad at Roman, is he? He doesn't want Roman dead! He doesn't want any of that and he—he killed Roman and then he—he was going to—

"Stay with me," comes Remus's voice, "no drifting off again."

"So—" he hiccups— "sorry."

"It's okay, little monster. You cried out most of it?"

"Mhm." He leans back and Remus hands him a tissue. "Thanks."

"Sure. You, uh, you wanna talk about it?"

"…promise you won't get mad?"

"I'll tickle you if you start feeling bad about what your brain does when you can't control it," Remus threatens, "don't try me."

"Okay, okay, I just…" He blows his nose with a desolate honk. "I don't know why I had it."

"Most nightmares do that."

"I…it was…medieval times or something? Armor and sword fight times."

"Mhm. I got it."

"…I, um, I think—I was the bad guy."

Remus doesn't say anything, but he shifts close enough to cuddle one of Virgil's arms.

"And…Roman was the hero."

"Roro being mean to you again?"

"No!" Remus startles at the force of the shout. "No, no, he's—he's great, he didn't do anything, don't be mad at him, I promise, I—"

"Okay, okay, shh, I won't. Calm down, little monster, shh…"

He takes a few deep breaths. "Sorry."

"You're fine. I shouldn't have assumed." Remus gives him another tissue. "You wanna tell me more?"

No. No, he doesn't. What if Remus gets mad? What if he decides Virgil's awful? What if he—

Wriggling fingers poke his side and Virgil yelps.

"No spiraling," Remus scolds gently, wrapping him in another cuddle, "just talk to me if you want to."

Virgil sniffles. "I…we fought."

"Okay?"

"It was bad."

"I'm sorry, little monster."

"I…"

Remus is quiet, letting him finish. Virgil turns his head into the crook of Remus's shoulder and—and—

"I killed him," he whispers, "I killed him."

"Oh, Virgil…"

He's crying again. Remus hauls him up and nuzzles into his neck, making soft shushing noises and rubbing his back again.

"Shh, little monster, it's okay. Roro's okay. You didn't hurt anybody, everyone's okay."

"I know that, I just…"

"I know, I know." They sit there for a moment longer before Remus nudges him. "You wanna see Roman?"

"…isn't he asleep?"

Isn't he dead. lying on a hill, covered in his own blood?

"That's enough out of you," Remus growls against his temple before softening his voice, "that's not what I asked, little monster, do you wanna see him? I don't think he'd mind."

He does. He wants to know Roman's okay. He wants the feeling of carrying Roman's corpse in his arms to go away.

Remus reaches out and summons Roman.

"This better be good, Re, you woke me up for—"

The instant Roman sees Virgil in Remus's arms, still tear-stained and so, so small, he melts.

"Hey," he coos, coming over to the bed and taking Virgil's face in his hands, "hey, little storm cloud, what's wrong?"

Roman's thumbs brush his cheeks and he's so real, he's so warm, he's so alive that Virgil throws himself at him.

"Oof, hey, there, shadowling, you're okay, you got me, see? You're alright, shh, shh, it's okay. You're safe, shadowling, it's okay."

Roman is big and warm and safe and he can hear his heart thudding under his cheek and he's fine, he's safe, he's alive, he's alright. Remus must tell him what's going on because Roman lets out a noise of dismay, quickly shifting his grip until he's cuddling Virgil right up against his chest.

"Hey, baby, it's okay, I'm okay. I'm okay, see? You got me, I'm right here, I'm all good." He grins, big and goofy, right in Virgil's face and kisses his forehead. "I'm okay. It's all okay."

He keeps murmuring and crooning reassurances, kissing Virgil's cheeks and his nose and the top of his head. Remus cuddles up to his back, wrapping his arms around the both of them.

"R'man?"

"Yeah, baby?"

"You…good?"

"Yeah, shadowling, I'm all good. We're all safe."

"'M sorry, I—ah!"

"Remus," Roman scolds, pulling Virgil away from the fingers tickling across his sides, "not now!"

"Told him I'd tickle him if he started feeling bad about his brain doing things he couldn't control."

"Ah. I see. Well…"

"No," Virgil whines, "no tickles…"

"Then I guess you need to stop feeling bad about it," he teases gently, "it's okay, baby. You're okay."

Remus huffs but lets him be, carefully reminding them that they should sleep.

"Do you want us to stay?"

"Will you?"

"Of course, shadowling. Come on, let's lie down and go back to sleep, hm?"

Virgil doesn't let Roman out of his grasp for more than a moment, latching on again as soon as they're all under the covers. Roman just chuckles and pulls him close.

"You go on back to sleep, shadowling. I'm right here."

General Taglist: @frxgprince@potereregina@gattonero17@iamhereforthegayshit@thefingergunsgirl@awkwardandanxiousfander@creative-lampd-liberties@djpurple3@winterswrandomness@sanders-sides-uncorrect-quotes@iminyourfandom@bullet-tothefeels@full-of-roman-angst-trash  @ask-elsalvador @ramdomthingsfrommymind@demoniccheese83@pattonsandershugs @el-does-photography @princeanxious@firefinch-ember@fandomssaremysoul@im-an-anxious-wreck@crazy-multifandomfangirl @punk-academian-witch@enby-ralsei@unicornssunflowersandstuff@wildhorsewolf @thetruthaboutthesun @stubbornness-and-spite @princedarkandstormv  @your-local-fookin-deadmeme @angels-and-dreams@averykedavra @a-ghostlight-for-roman @treasurechestininterweb @cricketanne @queerly-fluid-fan @compactdiscdraws@cecil-but-gayer@i-am-overly-complicated@annytheseal@alias290@tranquil-space-ninja @arxticandy @mychemically-imbalanced-romance@whyiask@crows-ace @emilythezeldafan@frida0043 @ieatspinalcords @snowyfires@cyanide-violence@oonagh2@xxpanic-at-the-everywherexx@rabbitsartcorner @percy-07734@triflingassailantofmyemotions @virgil-sanders-the-gay-emo@cerulean-watermelon@puffed-up-bees@meltheromanstan@joyrose-fandomer@insanitori@mavenmush@justablah65@10paradox10@uhhh-hi-there-i-am-nervous@cutebisexualmess@bella-bugatti-frogetti-baguetti@ultrageekygirl

[pulpandgristle]

V: A CITY ON A HILL

Pilot ID: Matthias Shawcross, third-generation bioframe veteran of the Mourning War

Status: Inactive (Honorable discharge)

Asset Class: Bioframe, bipedal combat model, low-gravity configuration (Deceased)

Site of Asset Decommission: Colony Veritas, Bay of New Antioch aquatic terraforming facility

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

Citizen: Intissar bint Yushib

Homeworld: Yushib

Status: Active (Yushib, shore of the Sea of Lilies)

Current Assignment: Field technician, translator and diplomat (Septarchy occupation)

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

Begin transmission.

Greetings from the Sea of Lilies. To my comrades in the Periphery, blessings and salutations. To the people of the Septarchy, listen closely.

I am Intissar bint Yushib—Intissar, the daughter of Yushib, the Jewel of Achernar, Shelter at River's End, my homeworld. You would slander Her as "Colony Veritas". I will do Her no such dishonor.

The Septarchy tribunals that discover this message will likely know who I am. I have worked alongside them for many years. If you are listening, Executors, you may consider this my resignation.

I speak today with pride and love. In the name of my mother and all her mothers before her, I hereby renounce my vows to the Septarchy, vows that were extracted from me unwillingly, through pain and coercion, and in their place I choose to bear the banner of Yushib, a free world of the Periphery.

There is an estuary, not far from here, whose shape mirrors the transit of Adila, Yushib's moon. The arc of the river follows naturally into the sea, a near-perfect parabola. My family and I have tended to that estuary for more than two hundred years. My ancestors sculpted its banks to honor Adila in her travels.

Today, I was supposed to demolish that estuary and bury a leviathan in the upturned silt. I will be doing no such thing. That animal will rest, in time, naturally, as all dead things do . . . but not until I am done. Not until there are words as inalienable as the estuary.

Not until you understand.

At this very moment, Yushib is changing. Being changed. Scarred. The Septarchy calls this mutilation "terraforming"; they intend to flood my homeworld's rivers, to call down rains and salts and metals and build a hive for their leviathans atop Her corpse. My family's work will be wiped away along with several million lives if they succeed in this task.

The estuary is a statement. It carries knowledge and intent. During the initial invasions, my people used it and many other landmarks to plot orbital trajectories and cement the paths of celestial bodies as an inalienable truth. Stone carvings could not be disrupted by electromagnetic bursts, and Septarchy pilots were too ignorant to read them.

Today I was the escort of Matthias Shawcross, a perplexing man who I found endlessly fascinating. He had a curious build, mantis-like, dead-eyed, stretched along the spine by years of microgravity exposure. He was one of the Septarchy's heroes. He conquered Yushib astride a weapon too terrible for living memory. He and I were to conduct a burial together.

I have obliged him the burial, at least.

Shawcross was in need of my people's help. His war machine is very sick, you see. It can hardly complete reentry without injury, a pitiable animal by the Septarchy's definitions. With the combined force of earthmoving equipment and targeted kinetic bombardment, we were to put it out of its misery.

I remember him so clearly, watching me from the edge of estuary. He encouraged me, called me words I will not repeat, and held his service weapon with such sickening confidence. Of course, if he had his way, I would have fallen into his leviathan's grave as soon as I had finished digging it.

He was merciful by Septarchy standards. Nowadays there is little need for pretense. Perhaps he was the sentimental type.

This burial would be a claiming of sorts. An annexation in miniature. Septarchy leviathans are unbothered by physical death, and when they become useless they simply cease to move. The mechanisms of urgency and war proceed unbidden, impotent, confined within their hulking shells. They are buried as testaments—and to poison the worlds of the Septarchy's enemies.

Shawcross intended to destroy the path of Yushib's moon with that final gesture. He would destroy the estuary my family has tended to since Earth still spoke to the Periphery, since before my ancestors engineered a dozen calendars to pray to the rhythms of a dozen setting suns, since before my great-grandfather returned to me in the last year of his life, having finished a sixty-year Hajj and come home with only a handful of sand, equal parts Arabian soil and post-nuclear glass.

Septarchy leviathans are poisonous by design. They bleed radiation and oil and solvents and anger, and bullets if they are provoked enough. Man undergoes the same transformation with extra steps, using proxies, animals of rock and plastic that he chooses to call tools. The Septarchy are simply cruel enough to bend thinking creatures to this purpose. The change is unremarkable otherwise.

The Periphery makes no such concessions. Even the inanimate can carry the will of the holy. My plow, my trowel, my mother's knives, these are animals of a type, born from Yushib and Her sisters, hewn out of Her metals and Her plant fibers and Her human attendants. They are engines of potential inspired by mankind's connections to the divine, limitless and undirected and beautiful.

They are not leviathans. They are not bombs. The power to wage war should only be humanity's burden, but the Septarchy have spread that terrible duty to others unfit for the task. They would make the rivers bloodthirsty if they possessed the means. Perhaps they do.

Shawcross called himself intelligent. The Septarchy claims to teach, but I have only kept the pieces that they fused to my people. I have learned a cumbersome dialect whose words fit sharp and unwieldly in my mouth. I have learned that the children of Yushib will not be remembered because we have not done anything worth remembering. I have learned that the Septarchy are bad liars.

I have learned so much about funerals.

When my grandmother passed, it was a special occasion. I think of it happily. Mother taught me the Ṣalāt al-Janāzah and I wore a beautiful gown to the proceedings. There were figs in bloom on the river's edge when we returned her to Yushib. That night, I had them roasted with honey and almonds over dinner. Mother was proud of me.

I will name my daughter after my grandmother when the time comes. Even when I was young, I could not resent her leaving us. That day remains one of the best days of my life, because I was there, and so was she, and now we are together on Yushib. She did not have to see the orbital strikes, to see my mother's body reject a prosthetic hand. To see the mosque burn and crumble under Adila's light.

Every sweet fruit is my grandmother now. It makes me smile.

Mourning is supposed to be clumsy, raw, upsetting but ultimately healing. Colony Veritas has torn that tapestry of feelings apart. There is no organic process now. Even the agony is extracted with ruthless efficiency. Desecrated ashes flung over cliffs. Men dumped from airships into mile-wide ditches. There is no river, no tree to cry underneath.

You have made me an accomplice. My prayers are reduced to tools, to hammers, the enhanced hands of an efficient laborer who works not for rest and family and worship but for the drudgery of more work. I was made into the final link in a chain of predictable, reproducible human disassembly. Yes, he is blessed. Now, he goes.

I remember it so clearly, hearing the hammer click back under Shawcross's thumb.

I pause. He barks another slur, the swine. His settler's words scrape surly and abrasive against the afternoon air. I have missed my midday prayer for this. I tell him so. He shoots me in the gut.

Yes, your pilot betrays me. Yes, he tackles me, threatens to defile me and my world, and yes, I slice open his throat with his own combat knife, clumsily unsheathed and pressed to my belly but reclaimed with a single twisting grasp. He stains my hijab with the hatred and blood and radiation that pours in maroon curtains through his opened self. Yes, he is blessed. Now, he goes.

Next.

The Septarchy would strip Yushib bare. It is just a stepping stone to them, not a Mother, not a Living World, not a jewel placed in the sky for humanity to cherish. In another time, we could have held that jewel together. Perhaps later, in a distant time, we can try again. But not yet. Not while this is the fourteenth burial I have made in three years, and another hundred are yet to come. Not while I have to practice letting go of the dirt so that I can finish burying mother.

I want so badly to mourn, but I have lost all that is inside me to mourn with. The Septarchy has taken even grief from me. I will never forgive that, and Yushib will not either.

My mother taught me well. She said that the universe is a patient judge, and that She is not kind to the guilty.

Your pilot's leviathan still breathes, diseased and weak. Frail. A man, I choose to believe. He wheezes in the dry air.

I stumble to my feet, legs trembling, and fall backwards over the edge of the leviathan's grave. We sound alike, him and I. Two castoffs of empire stuck in another ditch.

As I fall into his cavernous chest, a cockpit gutted for parts until it is raw bone and searching nerves, I think of my grandmother, and her rasping sandpaper laugh, and her shawls, and her holding my mother in all those photos, still so alive and bright and small, and the pastries that the two of them taught me to knead by hand on Eid al-Fitr.

He catches me. I collide with the embrace of another living thing, too weak for contempt, or perhaps too strong for it, even now. The kindness of the act destroys me.

He says I can be healed. I accept, and I weep at my fortune. I have finally learned something of value from the Septarchy.

We will stay together, I think. I intend to return home—my wounds are survivable and besides, mother needs me—but Yushib will decide when. Let the hours come. I trust Her more than anything. The Sea of Lilies can hold the leviathan.

I remember what the Septarchy taught me of the pilots. I have mimicked their rituals in my own time, and the leviathan can see that. I have nestled in him, here, in the estuary, beneath the water, where he can breathe for me and I can keep him company. He weeps too, in his own way. Shawcross wielded him without care. But I am not Shawcross.

The current is warm. The blood is washing out. Slowly.

He feels gentle. I am at peace in him, and he cradles me. Mother cradles me. Grandmother cradles me. Even your leviathans surrender to the land, Executors. My family has stolen this one.

We will not surrender. Not ever again.

The suns will rise tomorrow, my skin will knit closed, and I will live. The leviathan will sleep, patient, simple, and he will live. Yushib will turn for another year. She will always live. Beyond the Periphery, beyond the Septarchy, beyond war, beyond blood, the Jewel of Achernar will shine, a jasper marble in the infinite sea of creation, stronger than all of you. My Mother will live.

My people will live.

Forever.

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

If you can, please donate to the PCRF to help Palestinians in Gaza, the West Bank and abroad. Every dollar counts.

[impossibleblizzardstudentposts]

Rematch - Part II

In which our heroes engage in a little Abbott & Costello routine and reveal more about Bob’s family tree.

Warnings: Bradley generally a bit rude here, talk of divorce, cheating, and death of a spouse

“Hey, Sailor”

“Lieutenant” he corrects, a bit seductively really.

“Yes, sir. So sorry” she snaps him back to reality with an eye roll and adds a dramatic salute for good measure. 

Bradley scoffs. “So, is Bob’s brother a big guy?”

“Bill? They’re literally twins. Why?”

“There’s another Bob?! And he’s called Bill?!”

It had never occurred to her that this was a bit funny, maybe because she and her sister also shared alliterative names. “Well, Robert and William...” she starts to justify, then she shakes her head, trying to get them back on track. “I really didn’t expect this to be what you wanted to talk about, Bradley.”

“I’m just trying to plan accordingly for my beat down.”

Rebekah thinks she is starting to put together the puzzle of his confusion now, but it’s a little too much fun to watch him sweat. “And why would you be getting a beat down?” 

“Well, you obviously lied about being divorced. And now I’m going to have to meet your husband and I just want to know what the game plan is.“

“- I don’t have a husband, Bradley -“

“You divorced the man’s brother and you still visit Bob for Christmas? How modern…”

“I didn’t divorce Bob’s brother -“

“Aha!” Bradley thinks he’s caught you.

“Bill and I were never married -“

“So, it was more of a ‘baby daddy’ ‘living in sin’ type situation? You never did mention a kid.” 

“You’re exasperatin’, you know that?!” For the first time today, a little twang that matches Bob’s comes out. 

He opens his mouth to respond, but she’s too quick to continue. 

“First of all, not that it’s any of your business, but I have three children. And judging by how many times their daddy stepped out on me, I sincerely doubt he cares enough to send a beat down your way. Oh, and Bob is my brother in law because he was married to my sister!”

Without thinking, Bradley doubles down on his insolence. “Bob’s not married.”

Rebekah deeply exhales to calm herself. “You know, for someone who was so concerned with semantics a minute ago, I would think you would have listened when I said ‘was’.”

Bradley goes quiet. “Your sister passed away.” He remembers a fleeting moment during their time together in New York when she got weepy, which was initially blamed on a sad song playing from the jukebox and too much to drink, but she eventually admitted that it had been a difficult year. Yes, her marriage had fallen apart, but she was most sad about losing her only sibling. Bradley’s mind then shifts to his friend. “Bob’s wife passed away.” He thought about all the times in recent months he’d encouraged Bob to flirt with a pretty girl when they’d gone out. He never seemed sad or bitter about it, but he never went along with it either. “I’m sorry…” Bradley opens up his arms, which had been tensely crossed over his chest, and tries to make himself smaller; waving his white flag, offering an olive branch…

[bagog]

N7 Month, 2023 - Day 28: Contact

I get fascinated by the idea of First Contact War reparations from the turians.

++

“Greetings, my name is Gnaeus Burollus, Minister of the Shang-xi Police Action Reparations Oversight Committee. I hope this letter finds you well. On behalf of the Turian Hierarchy, I would like to formally express my condolences for the loss of [autofill human soldier name] in the Shang-xi Police Action of 2157. We grieve this loss with you: it is a great loss for the galaxy whenever a unique, sentient being passes. At the same time, we recognize that death in such a misunderstanding as the Shang-xi conflict is doubly troubling. We salute the fallen on both sides as heroes. As the turian people mourn their own lost in that regrettable conflict, we wish to convey to you our deepest sympathies and the assurance the Turian Hierarchy is committed and re-invigorated in the cause of peaceful diplomacy with races new to galactic travel and Council regulations. To demonstrate this commitment, and in accordance with Council Decree 947-ST, the Turian Hierarchy has partnered with the human banking firm [autofill human banking firm] to help offset the costs incurred by you and your family as a result of the police action of 2157. We recognize no amount of money can replace [autofill human soldier name], but it is the Hierarchy’s hope—one held by all the turian people—that this currency will amplify what [autofill human soldier name] cared about in the galaxy at large, at that it may enrich your life now. For further information on Council Decree 947-ST or to donate to the Orphans of the Shang-xi Police Action fund, visit [autofill extranet address]. Thank you for your time, -Gnaeus Burollus”

“What do you think?” Gnaeus had his arms crossed in front of him, leaning back in his desk chair. Polonia stood nearby reading and re-reading the pad. “Well?” He asked, impatient.

“Give me time,” Polonia shot back. “We’re sending this letter out to 700 people and it represents the hierarchy, I’m taking my time.” She ran her eyes over the letter again. “Hmm, no apology, that’s good we don’t want to be using that kind of language. I think the call for donations to the orphan fund might be overdoing it.”

“You were the one who said you wanted that in there.” Gnaeus rolled his eyes.

“I know, I know. But now that I’m reading it, it feels distracting. And the more they’re distracted from the condolences, the more they’ll be looking for an apology the Hierarchy is not interested in issuing.”

“Okay, I’ll spin up a new draft.”

“Other than that, I think it looks good.”

“You’d be happy receiving a letter like that, right?” He asked hopefully, “You would feel satisfied?”

“Oh absolutely,” she replied almost dismissively. “Have you checked it through a translator? We don’t want another incident where “Welcome, Yoshvette!” turns out to translate as “Devour the people!” in Yosh.”

“As long as you think it’s fine as is though…”

“They’re humans, they’re new, they’re primitive. We don’t have to reinvent the wheel here.”

[indignantlemur]

Can I ask you about your headcanons for Andorian holidays? Are they more political (like the anniversary of planetary unification) or religious or natural (like changing seasons)? What do they think of rebel holidays like carnival or halloween? And are there modern holidays for the Federation or first contact?

Alright, buckle up folks. I'm having a brain fog day, and I can only hope this is mostly coherent.

Andorian holidays in my headcanon have two purposes: celebration or remembrance. They remember their fallen, their history and its villains and heroes, and their losses. They celebrate their survival, the end of spring, the beginnings of autumn and winter, their family and bonds.

I would say that the majority of holidays are political or seasonal, but there are many in both categories that have religious overtones. Remember that religion is largely a form of social regulation for Andorians, and the end result of a great deal of negotiation between the united Clans of Andoria. Each Clan will have its own take on a particular holiday, but the publicly sanctioned celebrations are very generalized so that all can participate.

Political holidays are usually geared towards the core values of honour, duty, and family. There are holidays to honour fallen heroes, remember ancient and more modern wars, and to show gratitude for one's Clan and family. All but the last category are more solemn affairs and involve a great deal of formality.

The last category -expressions of gratitude- is very much like some Human holidays, where families and very close friends gather together with good food and exchange small, largely inconsequential gifts to show their gratitude and affection towards one another. It is generally expected during across all categories to affirm one's loyalty to the reigning Emperor, in much the same way that Canadians and Brits would offer a salute to a portrait of the reigning monarch. The Imperial Guard is known for taking this last part quite seriously, as they swear fealty directly to the Emperor, but it's not unusual for other social groups to approach it a little more casually.

Seasonal holidays are much less structured by comparison. Spring is a time of caution and fear, as the thaws make a lethal world even more unreliable. As a result of this, the only festivals that occur in Spring are ones that are meant to bring the community and Clans together and celebrate their joint survival. Artisans collaborate, Guilds and government and religious officials sponsor events, and the Imperial Guard usually makes a showing (which usually doubles as a recruitment drive, of course).

There are, however, a few ceremonies that take place in spring. I keep these separate in my mind because the tones and purposes behind the these ceremonies are wildly different from the celebrations. In Andoria's history - again, this is just my headcanon- there were very few battles in spring. The ones that did happen were unmitigated disasters; even when the initial goal of the battle was accomplished, the combat casualties and the loss of life from the softened ice and the voracious wildlife were such that it was what Humans would call a pyrrhic victory at best. Only the foolish or the desperate go to war in spring, and Andorians remember this by honouring the lost. Summer and autumn, or what passes for them on Andoria, are more stable than spring. During these seasons, there are festivals for harvests, for cultural heroes, and so on. There are even musical performances, weddings, and operas which will continue to be scheduled up well into late winter. Political and religious holidays pick up in frequency during these seasons as well.

While I think Andorians would be delighted by the colours, excitement, and energy of a Carnivale celebration, the chaos and noise of it might prove overwhelming to their sensitive hearing. Perfect pitch and ninja-levels of spatial awareness and super-hearing come with a price, unfortunately.

Halloween, by comparison, would be greeted as a variant of an early spring folk-belief based holiday which honours the Spirits of Andoria, the ghosts in the fog that lure the unwary into the sea. The idea of sharing frightening stories and treats in the dark of the night, of disguising oneself to frighten evil spirits away, would be seen as charming and very similar to what Andorians do.

Andorians in my headcanon don't celebrate first contact, because their first contact ended in a bitter war; they remember their losses, their victories, and their honoured dead, but there is no celebration. Of all the days that an Andorian might be likely to pick a fight with a Vulcan, this is one of the worst - and what happens when you put an Orion in the same room as an Andorian is even worse than that. Both instances of first contact with these species ended rather poorly.

On the other hand, the unification of Andoria and the formation of the Federation of United Planets are both regarded quite positively. The former is a point of nationalistic pride, and even an Andorian as far from home as remotely possible will still raise a glass of ale in celebration. The latter is a more tentative sort of celebration, as the alliance is still quite new, but everyone appreciates a government mandated holiday.

And, of course, we wouldn't have an alien empire if the Emperor's birthday wasn't a day of celebration by default. Andorian arrogance is legendary, and none are more arrogant than an Andorian Emperor. The man doesn't even want overt demonstrations or gifts, he only wants people to have to acknowledge him. That's just how he rolls.

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

Ed Hall

* * * *

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

May 28, 2024

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

MAY 29, 2024

The defense and the prosecution today made their closing statements in the New York criminal case against Trump for falsifying business records to hide a $130,000 payment to adult film actress Stephanie Clifford, also known as Stormy Daniels. The payment was intended to stop her account of her sexual encounter with Trump from becoming public in the days before the 2016 election, when the Trump campaign was already reeling from the Access Hollywood tape showing Trump boasting of sexual assault.  

The Biden-Harris campaign showed up at the trial today with veteran actor Robert DeNiro and former police officers Michael Fanone and Harry Dunn, who protected the U.S. Capitol and members of Congress from rioters on January 6, 2021. In words seemingly calculated to get under Trump’s skin, DeNiro said, “We New Yorkers used to tolerate him when he was just another grubby real estate hustler masquerading as a big shot,” and called him a coward. 

When Robert Costa of CBS News asked campaign spokesperson Michael Tyler why they had shown up at the trial, Tyler answered: “Because you all are here. You’ve been incessantly covering this day in and day out, and we want to remind the American people ahead of the…first debate on June 27 of the unique, persistent, and growing threat that Donald Trump poses to the American people and to our democracy. So since you all are here, we’re here communicating that message.” 

Yesterday, in remarks at Arlington National Cemetery in observance of Memorial Day, President Joe Biden honored “the sacrifice of the hundreds of thousands of women and men who’ve given their lives for this nation. Each one…a link in the chain of honor stretching back to our founding days. Each one bound by common commitment—not to a place, not to a person, not to a President, but to an idea unlike any idea in human history: the idea of the United States of America.”

“[F]reedom has never been guaranteed,” Biden said. “Every generation has to earn it; fight for it; defend it in battle between autocracy and democracy, between the greed of a few and the rights of many…. And just as our fallen heroes have kept the ultimate faith with our country and our democracy, we must keep faith with them,” he said. 

His speech at Arlington echoed the message he delivered to this year’s graduating class at the United States Military Academy at West Point, where he urged the graduates to hold fast to their oaths. “On your very first day at West Point, you raised your right hands and took an oath—not to a political party, not to a president, but to the Constitution of the United States of America—against all enemies, foreign and domestic,” he said to applause. Soldiers “have given their lives for that Constitution. They have fought to defend the freedoms that it protects: the right to vote, the right to worship, the right to raise your voice in protest. They have saved and sacrificed to ensure, as President Lincoln said, a ‘government of the people, by the people, and for the people shall not perish from the Earth.’”

“[N]othing is guaranteed about our democracy in America. Every generation has an obligation to defend it, to protect it, to preserve it, to choose it,” he said. “Now, it’s your turn.” Biden spent more than an hour saluting and shaking the hand of each graduate. 

In contrast, Trump ushered in Memorial Day with a post on his social media company, saying: “Happy Memorial Day to All, including the Human Scum that is working so hard to destroy our Once Great Country, & to the Radical Left, Trump Hating Federal Judge in New York that presided over, get this, TWO separate trials, that awarded a woman, who I never met before (a quick handshake at a celebrity event, 25 years ago, doesn’t count!), 91 MILLION DOLLARS for “DEFAMATION.” He then continued to attack E. Jean Carroll, the writer who successfully sued him for defamation, before turning to attack Judge Arthur Engoron, who presided over the civil case of Trump and the Trump Organization falsifying documents, and Judge Juan Merchan, who is presiding over the current criminal case in New York. 

The message behind this extraordinary post was twofold: Trump can think of nothing but himself…and he appears to be terrified. 

On Saturday, May 25, Trump had an experience quite different from his usual reception at rallies of hand-picked supporters. He was resoundingly booed at the national convention of the Libertarian Party in Washington, D.C., where Secret Service agents confiscated squeaky rubber chickens before his speech. Attendees jeered Trump’s order, “You have to combine with us,” even when he reminded them of his libertarian credentials—tax cuts and defunding of federal equality programs—and promised to pardon the January 6 rioters who attacked the U.S. Capitol. 

Trump also promised to pardon Ross Ulbricht, who founded and from January 2011 to October 2013 ran an online criminal marketplace called Silk Road, where more than $200 million in illegal drugs and other illicit goods and services, such as computer hacking, were bought and sold. Most of the sales were of drugs, with the Silk Road home page listing nearly 13,000 options, including heroin, cocaine, ecstasy, and LSD. The wares were linked to at least six deaths from overdose around the world. In May 2015, Ulbricht was sentenced to life in prison and was ordered to forfeit more than $180 million. 

Libertarians want Ulbricht released because they support drug legalization on the grounds that people should be able to make their own choices and they see Ulbricht’s sentence as government overreach. Trump has repeatedly called for the death penalty for drug dealers, making his promise to pardon Ulbricht an illustration of just how badly he thinks he needs the support of Libertarian voters. But they refused to endorse him. 

Trump appeared angry, and on Sunday, as Greg Sargent reported in The New Republic, he reposted a video of a man raging at MSNBC host Joe Scarborough. In it, the man says that when Trump is reelected: “He’ll get rid of all you f*cking liberals. You liberals are gone when he f*cking wins. You f*cking blowjob liberals are done. Uncle Donnie’s gonna take this election—landslide. Landslide, you f*cking half a blowjob. Landslide. Get the f*ck out of here, you scumbag.” 

Trump’s elevation of this video, Sargent notes, is a dangerous escalation of his already violent rhetoric, and yet it has gotten very little media attention. 

Last November, Matt Gertz of Media Matters reported that ABC News, CBS News, and NBC News provided 18 times more coverage of 2016 Democratic presidential nominee Hillary Clinton’s comment at a fundraising event that “you could put half of Trump’s supporters into what I call the basket of deplorables” who are “racist, sexist, homophobic, xenophobic, Islamophobic,” than they provided of Trump’s November 2023 promise to “root out the communist, Marxist, fascist and the radical left thugs that live like vermin within the confines of our country.” 

CNN, the Fox News Channel, and MSNBC mentioned the “deplorables” comment nearly 9 times more than Trump’s “vermin” language. The ratio for the five highest-circulating U.S. newspapers was 29:1. 

Clinton’s statement was consistent with polling, and she added that the rest of Trump’s supporters were “people who feel that the government has let them down, the economy has let them down, nobody cares about them, nobody worries about what happens to their lives and their futures, and they’re just desperate for change.” She said: “Those are people we have to understand and empathize with as well.”

Sargent noted that news stories require context and that Trump’s elevation of the violent video should be placed alongside his many threats to prosecute his enemies. While there is often concern over disrespect toward right-wing voters, Sargent writes, there has been very little attention to the presumptive Republican presidential nominee’s posting of “a video that declares a large ideological subgroup of Americans ‘done’ and ‘gone’ if he is elected.”

Scott MacFarlane of CBS News reported yesterday that Republicans have ignored a law passed in March 2022 requiring the placement of a small plaque honoring police officers who protected the U.S. Capitol and the lawmakers and staffers there on January 6, 2021. It was supposed to be in place by March 2023 but has not gone up. A spokesperson for House speaker Mike Johnson (R-LA) says his office is working on it. Kayla Tausche of CNN reported today that three of the police officers at the Capitol that day—Sergeant Aquilino Gonell and Officer Harry Dunn, both retired, and Officer Daniel Hodges, who is still with the Washington, D.C., metropolitan police—will be traveling to swing states for the Biden campaign to tell voters that Trump threatens Americans’ fundamental rights. 

Finally, today, Melinda French Gates, co-founder of the Bill & Melinda Gates Foundation, announced $1 billion in new spending over the next two years “for people and organizations working on behalf of women and families around the world, including on reproductive rights in the United States.” Only 2% of charitable giving in the U.S. goes to these organizations, she wrote the New York Times, and “[f]or too long, a lack of money has forced organizations fighting for women's rights into a defensive posture while the enemies of progress play offense. I want to help even the match.”

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LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON