#But I have been less fearful for a long time now which is bueno

[vio1315]

Oh right 

I keep meaning to do a life update

Because long time followers remember when I posted a lot of personal struggles on here and I like never follow up on that stuff

And have since stopped posting personal stories as often whoops

Honestly I don’t remember everything I left as a loose thread that could be ‘is she okay’ so basically:

>Yes I am okay

>Most the stuff I was having trouble with happened like 5+ years ago now

>I am still pretty shut in, but I have a good job and I do go out once a week technically

>Much more mentally stable, I don’t really get the sort of empty feelings I used to anymore

>Every day I am unsure if I am like 🤖 to other people, or if I live normally. But I have unworked a lot of the emotional repression stuff I was doing subconsciously, and have gained a capacity for the ‘feeling of love’ (since love isn’t really a feeling, but you know the feeling I mean). Idk if I never experienced it before, but if I did it was Extremely rare compared to now. I certainly had devotion, but idk

It’s like ‘oh my prayers were answered on this topic again :0 ‘

I think I am pretty content generally, but I still don’t have happy feelings or fun feelings that often on my own, but this is super normal for me and doesn’t bother me the way the ‘void feelings’ did. It just vibing

>I did get a few extra sensory issues, probably from being shut in, but nothing that makes it any harder to go out. I should go out more still, but not many ideas of where to go for now

>I lost touch with the rest of my rl friends more or less (ﾟ⊿ﾟ) I went through a big thing of making myself not burn bridges and then like 4 months later they stopped contacting me anyways. I haven’t really felt any issue about it so have been leaving it be, but I guess I’ll crack that case back open if it ever starts to feel like a big thing that needs to be done

>My family is doing pretty well : ) 

>Story stuuffffff. I went through about a year of work to make my to do list better, so now I can focus on writing, sort of. And hopefully I can finish my script for TTF in good time now after the Big Delay of relaying the foundation and needing to get life in order. It will take a Long time because I insist on doing all 10 arcs before starting to draw it, so like... I still am mostly gonna be quiet on the topic for awhile

>Life plans? Nope, never. I still live very in the present, so I will just continue my job till I get fired probably and try my best to keep using my free time well. Or start

>Nobody wonders about this but I swear to you, vitamins/supplements make me sick every time I take them. Like literally sick. Like with germs and things. How????? How???? They had nothing in common between the three diff supplements, but each time I started I would get sick for like 2 weeks or a month ??? But I will keep trying to see if this is actually happening because ??? How ????

>Oh yeah, I am trying to get my health better and actually gained much weight 🥳 maybe someday exercise too, but I wanna tighten daily schedule first

>I am looking at some other mental disorders where I think ‘do I have that???’ But just for the sake of communication. I still don’t really need medication to manage the strange stuff. Coping mechanisms generally work pretty good for me, and learning to weed out bad ones and so on. I haven’t felt ANXIOUS in a bit now, and idk maybe not as often. I know I was like a year or two ago, but it goes down every year overall.

Lots of things that used to make me anxious just don’t so much anymore

That’s everything I can really think of right now

Life is basically good overall for me. 

Health is good for me, though I still need to work on actually doing things to be good to my body.

Socializing is pretty good in the forms I do it, but I still need to go out more to prevent my brain from getting weird about ‘sounds and feelings I can’t control’ and all

Fam : ) 

Everything is chill actually. I basically vent here less now just because I have more opportunity to vent directly to people when there’s a need to wjdnejd but I don’t think anything major comes up that often

But also my emotional memory is really low hwjdnwjd like I know for a fact a year or two ago there was a month where I was super unwell and stressed, but legit idk what that felt like, I just know it happened

So maybe the frequency Could be similar, but I wouldn’t know it 🤔 but certainly less major events happen, and that’s good with me

Just an update cuz I realize it’s easy to vent and all, but when things resolve, it’s less interesting to talk about, so you leave people hanging unintentionally, since posting directly on here barely feels like talking to anyone anyways, super easy to let that go

I am not a private person honestly, so hope this doesn’t seem weird to anyone widjsjdn

[xaibaugrove]

Everyone in the Krew is Problematic

I was inspired to go on this rant by someone who recently brought up a question in a server I’m in, asking why so many people in the fandom seem to hate Mako and Makorra and why. This wouldn’t be the first time I defend Mako and it most likely won’t be the last, but it might be the first time I tear him and everyone else in the Krew down in the process, only to bring them back up. Hear me out though.

I think I’ve totally accepted that a lot of people in this fandom will always hate Mako and that I will have to perpetually defend him, I understand that this is the relationship I’ve chosen with this world. But what I still will never understand are the reasons why people hate/dislike him because compared to how much they love other characters in the Krew who honestly aren’t that much better than him (in some cases, even worse!), it doesn’t make any sense.

Let me also preface this by saying, I love these characters with all my heart and soul, probably more than I should love fictional characters, but this is the life I live and with that being said, I am going to tear them apart just to prove a point. Okay, here we go.

MAKO

Most of his detractors list the usual criticisms, which are valid when isolated. He cheated on Asami, he lied to Korra, he was a terrible boyfriend and essentially he treated the women he claimed to love or care about horribly. Gee, it’s almost like the man was a teenager with no experience in having long-lasting, healthy relationships and was raised in the streets by gangmembers while doing anything to survive and provide for his younger sibling after seeing his parents killed right in front of him and suddenly being orphaned…

I think Mako has been torn down enough, so I won’t get too deep into the tearing down part for him. It really does baffle me how someone can claim to be woke and not comprehend how someone coming from poverty could possibly be a product of their environment. Like, does everyone think that poor people automatically have hearts of gold and turn out like Little Orphan Annie? Why are people surprised that when someone has a shitty life, they might do shitty things?

Also, sooo many people love Zuko, who actively tried to cause harm to Aang, Katara and Sokka numerous times, and sympathize with his troubled past. But like, sure Zuko had an abusive father and his mother peaced out of his life for whatever reasons but at least he had his uncle. Mako had his parents for maybe 8 years before they were murdered in front of him and then had...no one for the next 10 years? Except for Bolin, sure, but no other parental figure in his life. Dude literally had to become him and his brother’s own parent and joined a gang to survive, and after all that, the worst he does is acts as a bad boyfriend toward Korra and Asami and he is instantly thrown to the wolves. Something doesn’t add up. It’s just...I don’t get it.

Yes, the way he treated people was bad, but people can grow? That’s a thing humans can do. And he was a teenager, my god. No, we cannot allow our past to be an excuse for how we treat others, but we have to be aware that there is a growth process to being human. And being human in and of itself, isn’t pretty. You think Mako is problematic? Don’t get me started on your fave.

KORRA

Ok, I love this woman to death but she is ridiculously problematic. She pursued someone in a relationship and essentially forced Mako to cheat on Asami by kissing him against his will, that’s already pretty awful and shows a lack of empathy on her part, also kissing people without their consent is no bueno. But also I just have to say it for the people who might not know this. One of the fundamental reasons why Makorra didn’t work was because KORRA WAS ABUSIVE. Okay? It wasn’t just that Mako was inadequate at relationships and didn’t know how to people, it wasn’t that she was secretly confused and wanting Asami the entire time (biphobia at it’s best) one of the main problems in the pairing was that Korra was crazy abusive towards Mako. Seriously, why don’t I see this more often in those discussions??

If we need examples, I have dozens. Honestly, it’s really easy to see how terrible Korra was to Mako, I’d actually argue that she treated him worse than he treated her. I mean, they were both terrible to one another, but in Korra’s case she went through the motions of being completely infatuated with your first teenage crush, getting with said crush, then crashing and burning once you realize that you have no idea how to treat a romantic partner so after the butterflies wear off you subject them to all the wonderful aspects of your anger issues. Not only did she scream at Mako during every argument they had, she also threatened him with bodily harm if she got really angry. Remember how their relationship crashed and burned in Book 2? Here are the things that Korra did during that time. Let me reiterate, this was not okay.

Mako is visibly shaken by this!

This woman burst into her boyfriend’s place of work and violently kicked his desk out from in front of him with all his coworkers present. That is not normal behavior. That is a red flag. And after she came back, had amnesia or whatever and forgot they broke up after that scene, let’s not forget that Mako was legitimately Afraid to break up with her again. Korra made her partner frightened that they might suffer bodily harm if they upset her. Again, and I can’t stress this enough, this is not okay!

The little scene in Book 3 when Korra is lifting Mako like 100 feet off the ground with airbending while he’s screaming in fear just to make Asami laugh is cute, right? I’ll admit, I loved that little moment too, it’s one of the only instances of Korrasami development that we got, but also, there were sooo many things wrong with that scene lol. Not only does Korra terrify Mako for literally no reason, it’s also sort of just her continuing to exercise some degree of power over him for her own amusement. Almost like a subtle reminder to him saying, “I am stronger than you in every way and I can break your femur like a twig if I wanted to… but I won’t, so look how much fun we’re having!”

Now of course, there are reasons why Korra acts like this. She was isolated for almost her entire life and never learned how to treat people and be around people. The Avatar is human because they must live amongst the people they protect and that helps them develop empathy and cherish life. The White Lotus deprived her of that fundamental aspect of her duty as the Avatar and it showed throughout the beginning of the series. Clearly, she was young, didn’t see how her actions could negatively affect others and hurt the feelings of not just her partner but also friends and family (she was really awful towards a lot of people in her life!). But as the series went on, we see her having less outbursts and learning to control her temper more.

One can only assume that she does not have the same behavior with Asami because for one, I don’t think Asami would play that shit, she seems like she would electrocute a bitch in a heartbeat and not hesitate if needed, but also Korra is not the same shitty partner she used to be as a teenager. Again, kids do stupid things. Adults do stupid things. And we learn and we grow. Korra will probably make some more mistakes in her relationship with Asami. I don't think anyone can have one bad relationship and suddenly learn all the lessons they can from it and have a perfect one the next go around. I can totally picture Korra losing her temper and raising her voice at Asami if she gets frustrated and forgets who she’s dealing with. Managing anger issues is hard, I know this from experience, and it doesn’t magically get easier. Of course, if Korra does pop off, Asami would definitely put her in her place because she’s a bad bitch who doesn’t take anyone’s shit, next character.

ASAMI

You know her, you love her, you fantasize about her and you probably have her on your list of fictional characters you would totally bang if you had the chance (I know I do), yes, even your best girl is problematic. It’s interesting to me that a lot of people sympathize with Asami and very few openly criticize her (so few that I’ve never seen anyone say a bad thing about her). What’s there to criticize though? The poor girl was cheated on by Mako, had her feelings disregarded by Korra, who claimed to be her friend but pursued her then-boyfriend behind her back and then made up for it by simping for her for the rest of her life? Also her mom was murdered when she was just 6 years old, her father threatened to kill her once and physically abused her, then died right after they started repairing their relationship, essentially making her an orphan at the ripe age of 22. Suffice it to say, Asami has been through it.

So, how could she be problematic, you ask? Why, of course, through the classic Bryke technique of romance progression in storylines called Kissing People Without Their Consent

To be honest, I did gloss over this with Korra, simply because there were sooo many other issues with that woman and I just couldn’t go through every single one in as much detail but that doesn’t negate how serious this whole sneak attack kissing thing is. Sure, Asami is very emotional and lonely and sort of desperate too, (it's a little sad, really) but Mako is clearly uncomfortable and completely caught off guard by the kiss. This is also the second time this happens to him in the series! There are a couple factors that might contribute to why Asami does this and acts this way, maybe Korra’s general awfulness rubbed off on her (don’t make a dirty joke) but this is still wrong.

AND that’s...pretty much it. Kissing people without their permission is a big no no, though. Not wanting to gloss over that, but Asami really is a good person who just did a not-so-great thing. Getting burned by Mako twice probably made her a little less inclined to be as forward with anyone though, and it looks like she now takes her time and is patient in her relationship with Korra. It even seems like Asami is the only person Korra is afraid to upset, as Korra does seem more gentle and calm when around her. And who knows? Maybe Asami living a life where a majority of the time she got whatever she wanted when she wanted it might have also influenced her to be more assertive or even imposing within her relationships.

If anything, those three fools getting into relationships with each other just showed how not ready they were to be in relationships in the first place and also how not okay they were.

BOLIN

Originally I titled this as “Everyone in the Krew is problematic (except Bolin)” but then I remembered that Bolin totally kissed a woman without her consent so I deleted the shit out of that!

This asshole looks genuinely pleased with himself after essentially assaulting Ginger. Not a good look.

Sure, Bolin is baby. He will always be baby to me. But that does not erase the fact that he also actively supported a fascist dictator. Not only was the kissing without consent thing bad, but there’s also that. No matter how many times people around him warned him about the fact that he was on the wrong side of things, that he was helping someone who was putting people into concentration camps...Bolin wanted to believe the best of Kuvira. He ignored obvious signs that the woman was a dictator committing human rights violations like crazy and you know, there’s gotta be a reason for that too.

Maybe Bolin wanted to feel like he was doing something good for once. When you think about it, with his role as the comic relief in the Krew, and sort of constantly being infantilized by his older brother, I wouldn’t be surprised if the man developed some insecurity in his ability to do anything good or useful for anyone without screwing it up in some way. In Kuvira’s army, it seemed like he was actually taken seriously, he felt like he was doing something that mattered. Korra had being the Avatar, Asami had her business and mindblowing philanthropy (honestly, her ability to be as charitable as she is profitable is insane) and Mako had his police work (ACAB, tho). Bolin had...the role of being a joke. A superficial actor. A former pro-bending meathead.

Bolin lived his entire life following after his brother that once they were adults and Mako finally decided to live his own life for once, it left Bolin completely lost. And lost young men are perfect recruits for fascists.

So, in conclusion, my whole reasoning behind destroying the integrity of my favorite characters is to prove a huge point. All of these characters are problematic. They have flaws, some bigger than others (looking at you, Korra. Just...wow), but ultimately, even if your fave is problematic... that’s okay. A lot of people, mostly younger people it seems, are really obsessed with being right about everything that they do and stan. And that’s a wonderful thing, so much change has come about by the younger generations calling out people who do fucked up shit, don’t want or try to improve, and get away with it. But it’s also caused a lot of people to be unforgiving and completely unwilling to acknowledge when people do improve and try to be better.

Personally, I love my problematic Krew because having issues that you’re constantly working on internally is human. It’s human to make mistakes, it’s human to grow from those mistakes. And it’s inspiring to me, who is wholly imperfect, to see myself reflected in fictional characters who aren’t perpetuating unrealistic ideals of human nature, characters who are messy, crazy and ultimately human.

As one of my favorite manga artists and queen of impeccable character creation Rumiko Takahashi once said:

“I think that perfect people are not very interesting.”

And I will always wholeheartedly agree.

[from-red-string]

Before the Storm

It's finally here!! The first day of 2021 Soy Luna fic week!!

It's been a few years since I last wrote a Soy Luna fic, so I took this chance to look for characters and interactions I didn't explore before.

I hope you enjoy reading it!

Day 1

Prompt: “Hey, I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve turned your entire living room into a blanket fort and I have no plan in taking it down any time soon.” 

Summary: Matteo told them he never had a blanket fort since he kept moving and his parents were too strict to let him have friends at home. Gastón and Ámbar decided to surprise him.

Warning: probably not canon accurate, they're 14

Genre: fluff

Pairing: Matteo Balsano x Ámbar Smith, Gastón

Matteo got home feeling strange, it became unusual for him to be alone after school. Ever since he came to Buenos Aires, Gastón would never leave him alone, and even when Gastón wasn't around Ámbar was, there's not a lot of time to feel lonely with them. Gastón spent so much time in his house, that Matteo's dad once questioned if Gastón didn't have a home while Alana, the housekeeper, knew Gastón better than her boss' likes.

But today, he couldn't find them anywhere, not in school, not in the Jam & Roller, even Delfi and Jazmín didn't know where exactly Ámbar was. They only know each other for 4 months, he didn't want to go to their houses.

Opening the door, he was surprised to see white shapes moving in the center of his living.

"This won't stay up. You need to fix that end on the couch." He recognized that voice as Ámbar, immediately felt puzzled about what she was doing. Gastón stepped out of the white cover.

"I think I know how to build a fort, Ámbar. I did that all the time when we were younger, you always did the inside." Matteo had no idea what he was talking about but giggled what the image of younger Gastón and Ámbar in a tent his mind created, the sound got Gastón's attention. “Hey, I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve turned your entire living room into a blanket fort and I have no plan in taking it down any time soon.”

"I don't, but did you kidnap Alana? She would never allow this." Matteo set his backpack beside the couch taking his shoes off while Ámbar came out of the blanket fort.

"She'd when she learned about a certain 14 years old sad Italian who never had a friend’s sleepover." She stated but didn't look at him, Ámbar's eyes analyzed the fort making sure it wouldn't fall.

"Plus, she loves me." Gastón gave a smug grin and Matteo laughed. He couldn't believe they were in his house making a blanket fort. When he was a kid, he always wanted to have friends around and build a blanket fort, but his parent never let his friends stay over, he never had close friends since he was moving around. Matteo gave up on having a blanket fort with friends when he was 10. It's not like he's an adult at 14, but at some point, he accepted it wouldn't happen, he got used to getting friends quickly but also letting go of them as fast. Now he felt silly for being happy at such childish desires.

"Are you Matteo or Gastón? I can't tell the difference anymore, you need to spend less time with Matteo." Ámbar teased waving her hand in Gastón face while he pouted at her then smiled.

"I don't want to… Unless that's your way of saying you want him to yoursel..." Ámbar interrupted Gastón by throwing a cushion on him. Matteo noticed she was getting closer to him in the last months, he wasn't aware Gastón knew it too.

"Are you okay?" Ámbar asked Matteo who was quiet for too long. Before he could answer her she continued. "We said we hope you don't mind but you don't have an option, it's already so just enjoy it." She said that but started walking toward the door with her bag.

"You're leaving?" Matteo followed her confused. "Can't you stay? You made all this." Ámbar's step slowed down, he could see her hesitance. "Is it about your aunt?" Matteo worried, he didn't want to trouble her relationship with Sharon. For the little he could get even though they weren't too close, the aunt is Ámbar's only family. Deeper he could see that everything she did was to get Sharon's attention, although her aunt didn't seem to know it, Ámbar minded her opinions. He saw once how broken she looked after she made a mistake at the school's lab which made their class evacuate the room, the first thing she told him by the time is how disappointed her aunt would be, Ámbar did everything she could to cover it from her aunt, she volunteered to help their science teacher for a month. He wondered how far she would go for Sharon, he feared for Ámbar.

"No, she wouldn't care..." Her feet stopped and she turned around. That answered pain Matteo, she felt alone in her family just like he felt so many times before and it was eating her alive.

"Defli and Jazmín?" Gastón's head appeared at the door. "I told you could call them here, the more the merrier." Matteo wondered how his friend could've known his feelings for Ámbar if he couldn't see Delfi's feelings for himself. Ámbar shook her head.

"They wouldn't like it. Blanket fort is not their thing."

"You can't leave. This was your idea, Ámbar." Gastón insisted surprising Matteo once again. "You said it would be nice for Matteo." He went to the room, leaving the couple in the hall.

"Is it your thing?" Matteo couldn't help but be genuinely curious about Ámbar, she never seemed to step out of her way and always plan her steps. Just like in her skating, she knew all her moves, training them day by day until they were perfect, if her partner fell she'd ask for another one, no hard feeling just her way.

"Blanket fort? No, never." He knew she got what he meant. Is it your thing surprising people for the sake of making them feel better? Being soft for someone else? She began to walk again.

"Ámbar, please..." Matteo said one last time. "I won't tell if you don't." Ámbar froze, her hair whipped around her head, she opened her mouth and Matteo tried to read her but it's impossible to know what was going on in her mind. Was it keeping from Delfi and Jazmín they built a blanket fort? Was it her loneliness beyond the school halls?  Was it her soft side from the world? Whatever she got from his question, Ámbar nodded roaming back to his living room.

During that day, Ámbar seemed a bit freer than outside those walls, Matteo wondered if she felt safe with them, they've already seen her celebrating acing an English test as much as yell frustrated at a failed move when skating, her best and worst.

Later that same year, Matteo and Ámbar started dating but he remembers that day as the major proof of Ámbar's care. Maybe it was the last time he saw a glimpse of who Ámbar was before high schoolbefore she became La Reina de la Pista. He held on to this for as long as he could, believing this Ámbar still lived inside of her somewhere, but the new Ámbar took over and there's not much for him to expect, not when they love each other anymore.

[deliverydefresas]

another aeroplane, another sunny place

AKA, the final bonus part of shape of you that wasn't posted here, but on wp. very much inspired by michael bublé's song 'home' back in 2017 that i finally finished writing a while ago. technically it can be read as a standalone os since that's how it was originally written as, but it also makes sense in the sofy universe. (just like another os i will post sometime next week that i *also* posted on wp but not on here)

ANYWAYS feel free to ignore if you've read it already, since i'm mostly just posting it here in case i need to reference it later!

may be surrounded by a million people i still feel alone, i just wanna go home

oh, i miss you, you know

He'd been on the road for eight months now.

He was grateful of all the success the Rollerband was getting; a worldwide sold-out tour, thousands of records sold, a renewed signing contract for another three years. He knew he was lucky, and he couldn't deny it.

Career-wise, he was happy, living his rock-star dream. His personal life was a whole different thing.

They say distance makes the heart grow fonder. And it was true, honestly. If he thought he loved his girlfriend before, he knew for sure now that he was ten thousand kilometers away. However, what they don't tell you, it's how hard it can get when such a distance is formed. He hadn't talked to Ámbar, like really talked, in two months.

Their relationship had gotten to an only-texting communication, with hello's and goodnight's texts received every day. The phone calls had reduced to once a week, if that.

It hadn't started that way, though. The first three months consisted of daily three-hours-long video calls, with the occasional visit if uni and her schedule allowed her, then they passed to a one-hour daily cellphone call... now they were lucky they even remembered to put 'i love you' at the end of their texts.

He didn't like it, not one bit. He knew where they were leading; he'd seen it first with Jim and Nico years ago (which was a reason he tried not to date anyone seriously), and then a few months later with Delfi and Pedro. Simón didn't want that for Ámbar and himself.

He checked the time; almost midnight where he was, so it'd only be around 7 PM in Buenos Aires. Her uni classes ended at three, so either she was at the J&R or doing homework.

Deciding he didn't have anything to lose, he pressed 'call' on his phone. Five rings later, she picked up, her beaming face appearing on his screen. Gosh, how he'd missed her.

"Aló, Simón?!" Her voice sounded a little breathy, but overall excited. He had to smile when he heard her. "How are you? I miss you," she sighed wistfully on the other side of the line. The hand she wasn't using to hold the phone went to her hair, twirling a lock away from her face.

"I miss you too," Simón answered, a small smile gracing his lips, "I'm coming home soon, only a couple of weeks more, little gem."

"It feels like too long, but at least it's sooner than eight months," she mumbled, sighing again, "how's Spain? Didn't you have a show tonight?"

"Spain's great, full of life," he remembered the crowd, screaming and singing along, "the show ended an hour ago. I'm feeling a little homesick, I guess," he admitted, "I wish I was there with you."

"Don't," she reprimanded him, shaking her head a little, "you'll be here soon, enjoy tour life while you can."

"That's the thing... I'm not enjoying it anymore." Ámbar went still at this. If it weren't for the tenue sound of music she was listening on her side and that he could hear through the phone, he'd have thought it's freezed on him; when he realized that wasn't the case, he continued. "It's been too long. I miss our bed, I miss waking up next to you, hugging you, kissing you... I miss our dog and I miss our friends. This life... it feels so empty, little gem." He wasn't ashamed to say he was close to tears. He loved touring, giving concerts in different parts of the world, meeting fans all over the globe... those were heavy pros. Simón just wished he'd have more time for his family.

"Don't think like that, Simón, please." She begged him, the little tremble in her voice gave away her emotions, her face had barely moved. Simón knew it was more for his sake than for hers. "I miss you too, so much it hurts sometimes. But this is your dream, love, this is what you've worked so hard for; don't let homesickness stop you from finding joy in what you love the most."

"I'll try, I promise I will. I just... I don't know..."

"I get it, I'm the same sometimes. But you must understand; we're not them, Simón." Her voice turned softer, understanding, and soothing. He loved that about her, that she seemed to know what to say and how to say it without a prompt given. "Do you know why they didn't work out? It's not because they loved each other less, or because the distance was too much. It was the pressure of feeling that if they weren't near each other, if they didn't talk to the other 24/7, their bond would break. It was too much, and it ended up leaving them strained."

"Is this your way of telling me you don't want to talk to me anymore?" he joked, his smile growing as she rolled her eyes.

"You're an idiot." She deadpanned, changing her position on the bed to recline her back on their bedrest. "Seriously, though, do you get what I'm saying?"

"Yes, love. I know I shouldn't care too much about how much we talk as it does not define our relationship but what can I say? I miss you." She grinned at him.

"I miss you, too. I'm always a call away," she promised him, but then she frowned, "unless I'm at class, then sorry, you'll have to talk to my voicemail."

He laughed, "I see how it is, a boring class is way more important than funny me. How's everything over there? How's my princess?"

"Always." She winked at him. "Everything's fine. I had lunch with my mom today, she made mushroom lasagna, I told her already that mushrooms taste like nothing, but she swears they're flavorful; I might go visit my dad tomorrow as well; he's been bugging me about having dinner with him and his family," he absentmindedly scrunched his nose at the mention of the fungi, he hated them, "Toppy is here, I can put you on speaker so you can talk to her, if you want. I can't promise she'll answer, though, she's been giving me an attitude lately."

"An attitude? You're rubbing on her, aren't you? When I get home, I'll come back to two Ámbar's instead of one." He teased her, earning a huff from his girl. "Let me talk to her, I bet she doesn't even recognize my voice anymore."

"You've always been her favorite, she will." She replied softly, and then it was quiet for a couple of seconds, while she took off the earphones' plug from her phone. "Okay, you're on speaker now. Toppy, babe, come greet daddy." Simón waited until he heard a 'thud' – followed by Ámbar adjusting her phone's camera so he could see both his girl and their pet- to speak again.

"Toppy?" Not a sound.

Before he could get sad he got no response, Ámbar spoke. "She's smelling my phone, talk again." She sounded amused, so Simón complied, cheerier this time.

"How's my favorite puppet doing? I heard you're giving mommy a bit of trouble. What happened to my good girl?" He wasn't done with his first question when the barking started, his pup's little whines sounded almost as if she was reprimanding his absence.

"She's missed you." His girlfriend exclaimed over the barking, chuckling at the way Toppy's tail swat rapidly.

"I miss her too." He sighed again, "I miss you both a lot."

"Just a few more weeks." She reminded him, her smile and tone wistful as she tried to contain the pup's wriggling body. He had to smile at that.

"Just a few more weeks." He echoed, the underlying promise loud to their ears. "I love you."

"I love you too." She paused for a second, before speaking again, "now please go to sleep, you look like you died a week ago." Simón laughed at that, but he knew better than to fight her when she was trying to take care of him.

"I'll call you tomorrow, alright?"

His words were met with a grin. "Not if I text you first. I love you so much, Simón."

"I love you more, little gem. Take care, okay? I'll see you as soon as I can." She sent him a kiss through the phone, before disconnecting the call. He stared at the screen for a couple of minutes, before the 'low battery' notification popped up and he had to charge it. The call left him feeling much better, so he decided to go to bed already.

Just a few more weeks ran like a mantra trough his mind, soothing his fears and anxiety. Just a few more weeks and I'll be home.

[bruciewayne]

birthday suits and booty shorts

stevetony, fluff, humour, getting together, 2k

“Oh god,” Tony groans, “Please tell me you that you weren’t wearing a fucking nylon suit in the Battle last year?”

“Um,” Steve says, intelligently, “it’s flexible?”

Tony gives him an unimpressed look, which isn’t anything particularly out of the ordinary, “So are leggings, but you’re not going to fight gods in them!”

Steve has a sudden flashback to the time Bucky yelled at him for going into the HYDRA base in costume, not armour. It hurts less than it used to.

“Only HYDRA,” Steve quips, with a smile.

Tony looks like he’s going to have an aneurysm. 

“I thought that was made up.”

“Howard told you!?”

“Called it heroic.”

“Buck called it moronic, so did Pegs.”

Tony laughs at that, “Yeah, he once mentioned it around her, and she gave me explicit instructions to never go into any sort of battle in booty shorts.”

“She always did give sound advice,” Steve says, deciding to ignore the ‘booty shorts’ comment (and if it’s because he agrees, then that’s not relevant).

Tony narrows his eyes, and Steve hasn’t known him long, but he knows him enough that he can clearly identify that as his ‘I’m thinking, shut up’ face.

“Didn’t she shoot you?”

“Four times.”

Tony looks at him incredulously, “Sounds like her, but this,” he says, waving his uniform about, “no bueno.”

-

Three days later, Tony has the suit made, reinforced kevlar, carbon nanotubes, biometric tracker, and a small ‘Captain Rogers’ on the breastbone. Of course, he only got it made this fast to get it out of the way, and not because he cared in any way whatsoever about Captain Uptight (that initial assessment may be incorrect and in need of revising, but he’ll get to that later).

Steve, predictably, is in the gym when Tony asks JARVIS of his location. Unpredictable is what he’s wearing. He’s doing Planche push-ups when Tony comes in, so all Tony can see of his godawful gear is the ‘PROPAGANDA’ scrawled over his ass, and damn, science in the 40s should get far more credit than it did.

Just before Tony goes to poke him, or kick him in his foot, Steve lowers his feet to the ground and jumps up, grinning and sweaty, “Hey.”

Tony would reply, with a normal, human comment, and/or greeting, but he’s too busy staring at his chest, and for all the wrong reasons, YOU ARE NOT IMMUNE TO PROPAGANDA. 

Steve notices, and the light flush from exercise deepens, “It was a gag gift. From Nat.”

“Well,” Tony says, against his better judgement, “it’s not wrong.”

-

The thing is, they are friends, pretty good ones now, at that, but Tony has an incredibly difficult time being in public with someone who wears jeans that tight.

“Aren’t your balls like, crushed?” Tony asks, as they’re walking through the park, because that’s just something they do now. 

“You’re awfully concerned with my balls,” Steve comments, taking a long lick of his ice-cream.

“I’m just saying!” Tony defends. Steve just laughs, and overly assures him that he definitely believes him. Totally.

Tony attempts to reach up to tug a leaf off a branch to throw at Steve, because, for your information, he thinks about his ass far more than his balls, but, even on his tiptoes he can’t reach it, and he’s not about to make a fool of himself jumping to reach a branch. 

Steve laughs even more, and even Tony’s man enough to admit that he lost all of his dignity in the 90s, so jumping to get a leaf to throw at his no good, very bad friend is barely news. So he does. And, predictably, he falls. 

And less predictably, just as he readies himself for mud-covered Armani (because, whilst Steve is young enough to dress like a fuckboy, Tony, unfortunately, is a rich businessman who has to look the part (not that he’d particularly want to have to spray-paint on his jeans every morning (not that he’s allowed to wear jeans to board meeting, because, ‘Tony, you’re  older now, and they expect something from you’)), and he cannot, and just as he should hit the ground, Steve’s around him, arms bracing him, strong and sure.

Steve’s lips quirk up into a smile, boyish and joyful, and the sun shining down from above highlights his hair in a way that makes Tony think, not for the first time, that Steve’s been sent down from heaven, for god knows what reason, because there’s no logical way that someone that good, someone so unpolluted in the face of all he’s had to fear, comes from humanity and-- oh fuck.

“I’m surprised you can bend like that in those jeans,” Tony says, too softly to pretend that’s all that’s running through his mind.

“I’m Superman,” Steve says, cheekily, rightening them both, and maybe it’s just Tony’s imagination, but he seems to linger longer than should be necessary. But he moves away, and the moment is broken, less like shattering glass and more like chalk falling barely a foot, broken beyond repair, but not the end of the world, which, in their careers, is a damn good place to be.

-

Tony takes it all back. 

“You’ve never followed an instruction in your life, one day that might just end it,” Steve growls, still in uniform, because they saved New York again, and they’re fighting about god knows what, because god knows why.

“Don’t pretend to be concerned about my life when all you really care about is controlling the team, your perfect little soldiers,” Tony hisses.

Steve glowers even more. “Stop twisting my words.”

“Stop making bullshit calls,” Tony counters.

“It’s not bullshit and you know it.”

He’s not even loud, or explosive, like Tony, then, he’s quiet, still, unbelievably angry, but calm. And something about that lights a fire inside Tony, unstable and destructive.

“They never should have pulled you from the ice if all you’re good for is pure bullshit!”

For one, rage-coloured, gleeful, glorious moment, Tony revels in where he’s clearly managed to get a hit on him: his face lights with anger, the calm from earlier rapidly fades away, practically melting off his face.

And then his face, his body, his entire demeanour drop heavily, a slave to gravity, like the common man, like a puppet torn from its strings. The guilt floods into Tony’s system milliseconds before Steve turns on his heel and walks out without another word.

Tony realises, after he’s put himself in blackout mode, that the fight hadn’t changed a thing about the other day - Steve was always going to be ridiculously infuriatingly stubborn, hell, that’s why he’s so impossibly infatuated with him, he never gives up, never runs away, never stops, and for him to not fight Tony… he’s fucked up. Bad. 

“Sir, if I may, an apology may be due,” and isn’t that sad, his AI had to listen to him rant aloud and then urge him to show basic human decency and at least attempt to preserve a relationship (one that’s somehow, sometime, become to absurdly important to Tony, the more he thinks of it, the more he wants to deck his old self in the nose (and if he ever did make a time machine, he knows that the punch he’d throw would be perfect form, thanks to Steve’s tutelage)).

“Yeah. Yeah,” Tony says heavily. 

Unsurprisingly, JARVIS directs Tony toward the gym, where Steve’s beating apart a punching bag. He’s taken off the top part of his uniform and left it hanging around his waist, undershirt soaked through with sweat, hiding the aggregate sum of none of the strength contained in his muscles.

Even stripped down like this, the suit dirty and torn, no shield, no cowl in sight there’s no denying his raw power.

“Hey,” Tony starts, “what I said was uncalled for.”

Steve only stills his barrage when Tony began to speak, even though he must have heard him come in, but he doesn’t turn around.

“I… I’m not unaware of my flaws, Tony,” Steve says quietly, still not facing him, “nor do I believe that you’re needlessly reckless with your life.”

Tony takes a minute to process that. The air is still between them, rebuilding after the storm. They’ve gotten delightfully efficient at rebuilding, and with better adapted infrastructure, it doesn’t take long, but it still destroys something, still hurts a little.

“I’m glad that you were found,” Tony replies, this is the closest they’ve come to saying the forbidden ‘sorry’ aloud, and even though Steve’s the one to be facing away now, Tony knows that, had Steve been looking at him, whichever expression, he would be the one to turn away.

Small steps.

Steve nods, a sharp, short downward jerk of his head, and Tony takes that as his signal to leave, feeling lighter all for it. Maybe his earlier assessment of Steve has been right. 

-

“I want you to know,” Tony starts, just as they’re about to initiate what’s definitely going to be the most violent game of 6 people water polo that’s ever conspired, “that this is one, an awful idea, and two, going to flood this entire floor.”

“You can sit out, if you really want to,” Steve suggests, partly out of care, partly because it would disadvantage their team.

Tony laugh aloud at that, “Absolutely not, you know I’d never pass up an opportunity to beat your ass, Rogers.”

“I thought you weren’t immune to it,” Steve says, grinning back.

Thor looks supremely confused, “Your humans’ trash talk is not dissimilar to Asgardians’ courting.”

“It’s not human’s trash talk,” Natasha says, tossing the ball between her hands, “it’s just Steve and Tony trash talk.”

Both of them, in displays of the utmost maturity, splash her with water.

JARVIS takes that as a cue to start the game timer, and it’s just as aggressive and chaotic as Tony thought - what else would you get from pitting four of the most capable humans in Northern America against a god and a guy who pretty much qualifies?

It’s water and it’s violent, two things which, historically, hadn’t been the greatest of situations for Tony, but there’s no point during this where he feels unsafe, or out of control (quite possibly losing, definitely).

He’s not nearly as ashamed as he should be to admit that he spent most of the time wrestling Steve.

He was fine during the beginning - when Steve’s waist was below the surface, and he was too busy staring at his face and chest, but after he’d jumped high enough that his feet were out the water, and he’d exposed those illegally tight speedos…

It made no sense whatsoever, all of them, bar Nat, were wearing regular, normal, socially acceptable, swimwear that didn’t expose just how big their dicks were, and he knows with relative certainty that they didn’t have speedos in the 40s, so where he got them fr-- Natasha.

-

“We only lost,” Tony says, panting, “because your speedos were a distraction.” Everyone else had gone to the showers, reluctantly congratulating Steve and Thor, and deciding on a rematch, leaving Steve and Tony in the pool, treading water in the shallower end.

“Would you rather I take them off?”

Tony looks at him, expecting at least that adorable light flush on his cheeks, but all he gets is a grin see-sawing the line between cheeky and joking and a proposition.

“I’d hate to miss out on you finally finding your true style,” Tony replies, matching him in tone.

Steve’s laugh echoes off the tiles, and Tony just has to kiss him, he just has to crash into him with absolutely no abandon, feeling reminiscent of his teen years, kissing in a pool, tugging off Steve’s ridiculous shorts.

Through half-lidded eyes, Steve tracks him up and down once he’d ripped off Tony’s swim shorts, breathing hard, “You should never wear clothes again,” he declares, sinking to his knees. Any and all thoughts of Steve and his questionable-at-times fashion choices leave Tony’s mind along with most forms of higher function.

-

masterpost 

[newstfionline]

Monday, October 26, 2020

California girds for most dangerous fire weather of year (AP) California, which has endured its worst wildfire season in history, is bracing for the most dangerous winds of the year, a forecast that prompted the largest utility to announce plans to cut power Sunday to nearly 1 million people to guard against its equipment sparking new blazes. Pacific Gas & Electric Co. said the outages would start in far Northern California and ultimately could affect 386,000 customers in 38 counties, with many of the shutoffs concentrated in the San Francisco Bay Area. At a Saturday night briefing, utility officials said high winds were expected to arrive midday Sunday and reach 40 to 60 mph (64 to 97 kph) with higher gusts in the mountains. Winds that strong can topple trees and send branches into power lines. Some of the largest and deadliest fires in recent years were started by utility equipment being damaged by high winds, so PG&E has been aggressive about pre-emptively cutting power when fire conditions are most dangerous. This will be the fifth time PG&E has cut power to customers this year and by far the largest shutdown.

Tropical Storm Zeta to threaten Gulf Coast as 2020 ties record for most named storms (Washington Post) Tropical Storm Zeta formed in the western Caribbean very early Sunday morning and is set to drift north and unleash wind, heavy rainfall and, potentially, ocean surge concerns as it approaches the U.S. Gulf Coast Tuesday night and Wednesday. Zeta becomes the record-tying 27th named storm of the 2020 Atlantic hurricane season, matching 2005 for the most names used in a season. Zeta is most likely to come ashore the Gulf Coast on Wednesday at tropical-storm strength, but there’s an outside chance that it could cross the coast as a hurricane. According to the Hurricane Center, Zeta “could bring storm surge, rainfall, and wind impacts to areas from Louisiana to the Florida Panhandle.”

Foreign students show less zeal for US since Trump took over (AP) On a recruiting trip to India’s tech hub of Bangalore, Alan Cramb, the president of a reputable Chicago university, answered questions not just about dorms or tuition but also American work visas. The session with parents fell in the chaotic first months of Donald Trump’s presidency. After an inaugural address proclaiming “America first,” two travel bans, a suspended refugee program and hints at restricting skilled worker visas widely used by Indians, parents doubted their children’s futures in the U.S. “Nothing is happening here that isn’t being watched or interpreted around the world,” said Cramb, who leads the Illinois Institute of Technology, where international scholars have been half the student body. America was considered the premier destination for international students, with the promise of top-notch universities and unrivaled job opportunities. Yet, 2016 marked the start of a steep decline of new enrollees, something expected to continue with fresh rules limiting student visas, competition from other countries and a haphazard coronavirus response. The effect on the workforce will be considerable, experts predict, no matter the outcome of November’s election. For colleges that fear dwindling tuition and companies that worry about losing talent, the broader impact is harder to quantify: America seemingly losing its luster on a global stage. Roughly 5.3 million students study outside their home countries, a number that’s more than doubled since 2001. But the U.S. share dropped from 28% in 2001 to 21% last year, according to the Association of International Educators, or NAFSA.

Watching U.S. presidential vote, much of the world sees a less-strong America (LA Times) In the eyes of much of the world the United States is a potent, yet faltering force, a conflicted nation heading into an election that will either redeem it or tug it farther away from the myths and promise that for generations defined it in capitals from Singapore to Paris and Buenos Aires to Nairobi. The stature and standing of the U.S. have plummeted in recent years, a number of international polls suggest. That trend has been exacerbated this year by what is widely perceived to be a disorderly and ineffectual governmental response to the COVID-19 pandemic, and now by a chaotic electoral process. For some, a once-bright beacon of egalitarian values has faded into an aloof, disfigured power. “The United States was always a model to follow,” said Gloria Jácome Torres, a 41-year-old lawyer in Mexico City. “Since I was a student, I always viewed the United States with admiration—everything they did there with respect to human rights, the level of education, personal liberties.” But particularly during the last four years, her view has been soured by what she sees as a pattern of cruelty and callousness emanating from U.S. officialdom, as seen in the mistreatment of migrants and racial injustice laid bare. “Honestly, I believe that the United States is not the same as before,” she said. “One sees the news and thinks, ‘Is this really what the United States has become?’” In many parts of the world, a broad sense of disillusionment directed at the United States cannot be laid solely at the feet of President Trump, who began his term in January 2017. Particularly in regions such as Latin America and the Middle East, where the U.S. for decades propped up repressive regimes, historic grievances long predate Trump’s headlong America-first presidency.

Indigenous Colombians, Facing New Wave of Brutality, Demand Government Action (NYT) Protesters descended by the thousands on Colombia’s capital, Bogotá, this week, horrified by a brutal wave of violence sweeping the country, one so intense that mass killings have taken place every other day on average. Most traveled hundreds of miles, from the rural Indigenous communities that have been particularly ravaged by the violence, which they trace to government failures to protect them under the country’s halting peace process. “If we don’t stand before the world and say, ‘This is happening,’” said Ermes Pete, 38, an Indigenous leader from the country’s southwest, “we will be exterminated.” Four years ago, the government signed a historic peace deal with the country’s largest rebel group, the Revolutionary Armed Forces of Colombia, ending the longest-running conflict in the Americas. The accord called for the Colombian government to provide basic services—education, health care and safety—in areas battered by the long civil war. But many protesters said that when the FARC moved out of their communities, the government never moved in. Instead, new criminal groups arrived. As new criminal groups have moved into former FARC territory, Indigenous communities, often located on drug routes and in areas rich with minerals and timber, have been among the most vulnerable. The criminal groups have used deadly violence to stifle dissent and discourage people from working with rivals.

Spain orders nationwide curfew to stem worsening outbreak (AP) Spain declared a second nationwide state of emergency Sunday and ordered an overnight curfew across the country in hopes of stemming a resurgence in coronavirus infections, Prime Minister Pedro Sánchez said. The Socialist leader told the nation in a televised address that the extraordinary measure will go into effect on Sunday night. Sánchez said that his government is using the state of emergency to impose an 11 p.m.-6 a.m. nationwide curfew, except in the Canary Islands. Spain’s 19 regional leaders will have authority to set different hours for the curfew as long as they are stricter, close regional borders to travel and limit gatherings to six people who don’t live together, the prime minister said. The leader added that he would ask Parliament this week to extend the state of emergency for six months, until May.

France recalls ambassador from Turkey after Erdogan says Macron needs ‘mental’ treatment (Washington Post) The French foreign ministry said Sunday it was recalling its ambassador to Turkey, a day after Turkish President Recep Tayyip Erdogan sharply criticized French President Emmanuel Macron’s response to the beheading of a teacher who had shown students pictures of the prophet Muhammad, strictly prohibited by the Muslim faith. French Foreign Minister Jean-Yves Le Drian said the country was withdrawing Ambassador Herve Magro from its NATO ally because of a “hateful and slanderous propaganda against France, testifying to a desire to stir up hatred against us and our heart” as well as “direct insults against the President of the Republic, expressed at the highest level of the Turkish state.” In the week since the attack in the Paris suburb of Conflans-Sainte-Honorine, Macron’s government has ordered a crackdown on Muslim organizations it accuses of spreading hatred, and defended the caricatures of Muhammad as emblematic of the French values of secularism and free expression, even if they’re deeply offensive to many of France’s own Muslim citizens, among its largest minority populations. “What is the problem of this person called Macron with Muslims and Islam?” Erdogan asked during a speech to members of his political party on Saturday. “Macron needs treatment on a mental level.” “What else can be said to a head of state who does not understand freedom of belief and who behaves in this way to millions of people living in his country who are members of a different faith?”

Virus is pummeling Europe’s eateries—and winter is coming (AP) A resurgence of the coronavirus is dealing a second blow to the continent’s restaurants, which already suffered under lockdowns in the spring. From Northern Ireland to the Netherlands, European governments have shuttered eateries or severely curtailed how they operate. More than just jobs and revenue are at stake—restaurants lie at the heart of European life. Their closures are threatening the social fabric by shutting the places where neighbors mix, extended families gather and the seeds of new families are sown. This time, the closures are particularly painful because they might stretch into the Christmas season, nixing everything from pre-holiday office drinks to a special meal on the day. When it comes to purely calories and vitamins, “of course we can live without restaurants,” said food historian professor Peter Scholliers. But, he asked: “We can live without being social? No, we can’t.” Successful restaurants have always had to adapt quickly—but never has there been a challenge like this. The European Union said the hotel and restaurant industry suffered a jaw-dropping 79.3% decline in production between February and April. Summer brought some respite. But then came fall. Any giddiness that the fallout from the pandemic could somehow be contained faced the sobering reality of relentlessly rising coronavirus cases and hospitalizations. Government leaders are now warning things will get worse before they get better.

Berlin’s new airport is opening at last (NYT) Berlin-Brandenburg Willy Brandt Airport, conceived 30 years ago in the giddy aftermath of German reunification as a symbol of freedom and modernity, has instead become the butt of jokes. The litany of engineering blunders, corruption scandals and lawsuits that have plagued what was once Europe’s biggest building site have chipped away at the story Germany likes to tell about itself as a model of efficiency. Miles of cables were incorrectly installed. Firewalls turned out to be just walls. Escalators came up short. Screens had to be replaced, having reached the end of their lives. Under construction for 14 years, the airport is nine years past its original opening date and more than $4 billion over budget. Every month, it costs several million dollars just to keep the unused airport running. Airport staff are paid to flush all the toilets to keep the plumbing working. Ghost trains run to the ghost terminal at night to stop the tunnels from molding. With so many costly setbacks, T-shirts spotted in the city offer this advice: “Let’s just move the city of Berlin to a functioning airport.” Even Ms. Merkel has publicly aired her exasperation: “The very Chinese with whom we have government consultations are asking themselves, ‘what on earth is going on in Berlin that they can’t even build an airport with two runways’,” she said two years ago.

As China Clamps Down, Activists Flee Hong Kong for Refuge in the West (NYT) In Western democracies, they have been welcomed as refugees escaping Beijing’s tightening grip over Hong Kong. In China, they have been denounced as violent criminals escaping punishment for their seditious activities. A group of Hong Kong activists who have been granted asylum in the United States, Canada and Germany in recent weeks are the latest catalyst for deteriorating relations between China and the West. Western leaders have asserted that they will stand up for human rights in Hong Kong, while Chinese officials have rebuked the countries for what they called interference in Beijing’s affairs. The protesters’ newly conferred status has made clear how profoundly Hong Kong has changed since China imposed a tough new security law this summer. For decades, the city had been a place of shelter for people escaping war, famine and political oppression in mainland China. Now the semiautonomous city has become a source of asylum seekers.

Police cracking down on Thailand’s landmark protests aren’t sure what side they are on (Washington Post) The 21-year-old police officer arrived in Bangkok just after midnight on Oct. 15 with clear instructions: Disperse all protesters gathered in front of the prime minister’s office, with force if necessary. The young officer’s commander ordered the operation to start at 4:20 a.m., shortly after the Thai government issued an emergency decree aimed at quashing the demonstrations that had rocked Bangkok over the summer, challenging the once-untouchable monarchy. Protected by their shields, the police bore down on the young protesters, some officers kicking and punching as they went, before arresting more than a dozen leaders of the youth movement. “The commander in charge of our operation was quite aggressive and I was worried about that. I thought our actions were very unnecessary,” said the officer, speaking on the condition of anonymity for fear of repercussions. “It made me feel ashamed of myself as a human being, and like I was a coward, betraying my principles.” His views are shared by half a dozen officers interviewed by The Washington Post, reflecting a growing disaffection inside the Royal Thai Police with the three institutions that have long dominated politics in the kingdom: the army, the government and the monarchy. Over the past week, several police officers have been photographed raising the three-finger salute, a symbol of resistance and solidarity that the young demonstrators borrowed from the Hunger Games series.On social media, stories have circulated of officers helping protect demonstrators from water cannons and allowing them to escape without arrest. The predicament reflects a reality for many governments across the globe that have in recent months faced popular protests, including the United States, Hong Kong, Belarus and elsewhere, where some of the police officers tasked with crushing the demonstrations would rather be on the other side.

Philippines: Typhoon leaves 13 missing, displaces thousands (AP) A fast-moving typhoon blew away from the Philippines on Monday after leaving at least 13 people missing, forcing thousands of villagers to flee to safety and flooding rural villages, disaster-response officials said. The typhoon was blowing west toward the South China Sea with sustained winds of 125 kilometers (77 miles) per hour and gusts of up to 150 kph (93 mph). It roared overnight through island provinces south of the capital, Manila, which was lashed by strong winds but escaped major damage. At least 25,000 villagers were displaced, with about 20,000 taking shelter in schools and government buildings that were turned into evacuation centers, the Office of Civil Defense said, but officials added that some have returned home in regions where the weather has cleared.

Taliban show they can launch attacks anywhere across Afghanistan, even as peace talks continue (Washington Post) In the past several weeks, Taliban fighters have staged ground attacks and bombings in 24 of Afghanistan’s 34 provinces, leaving scores dead. In northeastern Takhar they ambushed and killed at least 40 soldiers and police. In northwestern Ghowr, a car bomb killed 19 civilians. In southern Helmand, Taliban fighters are still clashing with Afghan forces after a two-week assault on the provincial capital region. The message of the surge is clear and coldblooded. Even as Taliban delegates continue to nominally participate in peace talks with Afghan leaders in Qatar, the insurgents have shown no intention of reducing violence. Instead, they appear out to prove they can wreak havoc everywhere. In the past week alone, Afghan security officials said Saturday that the Taliban had staged 356 attacks, two suicide bombings and 52 mine explosions across the country, killing 51 civilians and wounding 157. They said more than 400 insurgents were killed but did not give casualty figures for Afghan forces. As the violence spreads, Afghans have expressed outrage and several prominent Middle Eastern religious scholars have condemned the attacks, especially against civilians, as un-Islamic. But Taliban leaders, partly in response to the criticism, reiterated that they have the right to kill anyone connected with the Afghan government or its foreign backers.

[dotthings]

Now that’s how to do pain. It hurts but there was growth and the story and characters moved forward. Thoughts on 14.18 featuring lonely bunker tracking shots, Jack’s subconscious being an asshole, self-aware Winchesters, remorseful Cas, big Destiel drama, and Team Free Will tested but not broken. 

“Get out of jail free card.” So yeah. Jack’s been fixing mortal injuries and murdering enemies and being the magical fix-it guy and this is exactly why the writers have had to keep messing up Cas in various ways or having him vanish because Sam and Dean can’t have a magical superpower hanging around fixing stuff all the time. Jack is a lot more powerful than Cas now, and a lot more of a wild card, while Cas as completely proven himself, so this issue has shifted from Cas, who is much more of a steady fixture in Sam and Dean’s lives, to Jack who is re-powered up and extra powerful and a loose cannon. So of course things have to go terribly wrong with Jack. What the endpoint will be, I don’t know. Re-souled and reduced power? Re-souled and turned human? I don’t know. There’s probably going to be a lot of hurt first.

The shots of that empty bunker as the camera reflects Sam and Dean’s search for Mary and Jack, who were supposed to be back there, is very very telling. Oh so interesting. Sam and Dean alone in their bunker is no bueno and the narrative is underscoring in yellow highlighter with these visuals and the boys’ worry. The bunker should be filled with their family and the emptiness and loneliness of those tracking shots...

“Not Nick, not Lucifer. I’m you.” So Jack created this manifestation? Have to say, Jack’s subconscious is an asshole, and extremely hard on Jack. Of course.

This music score is some MCU epic angst levels.

Okay, Nick’s really dead-dead. Can’t say I’m sorry but I get that for the characters, this is horrifying, to know someone they care about killed someone like that. It’s not about whether Nick deserved it, it’s the out of control brutality. I’ll just wave my hands and pretend this isn’t undermined by how much an actual honest-to-god majority of the fandom in every lane, even lanes that never agree on anything, wanted Nick gone and thank you, Jack.

Cas’s memory flashback of Mary, oh noes, this hurts. He offers to heal her but she’s reluctant. “Are you still afraid of me?” Oh my heart. Cas forming attachments to more than just Sam and Dean, this matters. Cas of yore didn’t attach like that, and didn’t mourn. Not the way now!Cas does. 

Cas: “I know you know this Mary, but Sam and Dean are glad to have you back...you should know they’re happy. I mean, finally they don’t have to be so alone.” Mary: “Castiel...they were never alone.”

LEAVE ME TO CRY SHE KNOWS CAS WAS THERE FOR THEM SHE ACKNOWLEDGES IT. 

And it’s interesting Cas assumes their aloneness when, well, he exists. No, I don’t think this line is there to acknowledge Sam and Dean have each other although that’s certainly true as to why they were never really alone and Mary knows that too. But the context here was Cas specifically talking about Mary, a third party, making them less alone, and Mary points out they haven’t been, because hello, Cas is right there and has been there for them a long time and Mary has figured that out.

Oh goooood everything about this Sam, Dean, and Cas scene is heartbreaking.

“I was scared. I believed in Jack for so long. I believed that he was good...we were a faily and I didn’t want to lose that...I failed you and I failed Jack.”

JUST STAB ME.

Dean’s lashing out, saying if anything has happened to Mary, “you’re dead to me” to Cas is very harsh. That doesn’t mean he’s a horrible person, abusive, doesn’t love Cas, is actually going to never ever forgive Cas. He’s scared too. He’s grieving he’s hurt and he trusts Cas. Cas holding this information from them wasn’t the right thing to do. But it’s also not all Cas’s fault, Sam and Dean knew something was wrong, they knew Jack was soulless. So it’s not a matter of Cas deserves to hear such harsh words. 

Dean is ready to grab that BOTD and do whatever it takes. Hey Dean, remember in S10 you made Sam swear to never use that to save you? Because of the damage it could cause? After you say “you’re dead to me” to your best friend--even if understandable how upset you are--now you’re throwing away your own hard-earned awareness of the butterfly effect of going too far to get a loved one back. Dean is in major pain and not thinking clearly. And oh here’s the thing...he doesn’t get into this state of mind just for Sam.

I’ve pointed this out before, I’ll say it again: it’s not about Sam. It’s not about Cas. It’s not about Mary. It’s a Dean thing. It’s his fear of losing family. Talk all you want about how far Dean will go for Sam but he’s flipping out losing it over Mary, and we saw how devastated he was by Cas’s death, to the point he lost all hope. Dean’s rage over Kevin’s death and he broke furniture. Dean’s rage over Mary’s death and he broke furniture. We saw MoC Dean completely lose it over Charlie’s death. We saw what Dean was like in Purgatory refusing to leave Cas behind no matter the risk to himself, to themselves (although not risk to the world).

This is all incredibly painful but I’m not seeing how else Dean should be expected to react all this, I also think it wouldn’t be good if things stay there with no growing and well, guess what, they don’t.

Something that isn’t making sense--if Jack is soulless, how does he feel this much remorse for killing Mary, how is his subconscious torturing him so much about losing Sam and Dean’s trust? I’m not sure where Jack’s story is going ultimately but maybe this is a reason to hope he’s not completely lost.

Rowena: “Talk to them Jack, they’re your kin.” Yep. Rowena, who said yes to Michael to save them all. Who swore up and down to never be weak again, that love was a weakness, has gone all Team Free Will on us. I love her arc so much.

Mary training Jack flashback. I’m always happy when SPN actually shows hunter training and this transitions beautifully into a Sam memory of Mary and now I’m going to start yelling about CLOSURE CLOSURE CLOSURE again. Like last week, it’s all pointing to saying goodbye to Mary. (Which I have some thoughts on, on a meta-textual level, but will do that in a different post).

“How much did the two of you go through when I wasn’t there for you” “Somehow they’re literally the bravest, kindest most heroic men on the planet.” I AM GOING TO CRY. I’m glad Sam got to hear all that. I’m sorry Dean didn’t but he did get Mary’s apology last week for not being there for them more often.

But damn, CLOSURE THEME. I been saying. After John literally fading in ep 300 and Sam and Dean moving forward from that. Now they say goodbye to Mary. 

“Cas should have told us.” “Dean, it wasn’t just Cas. We knew Jack was dangerous...I just dumped Jack on Cas and left. I knew something was gonna...” “I did too...it was a warning...I just couldn’t see it.”

MY BEAUTIFUL SELF-AWARE HURTY WINCHESTERS.

So there it is. Yeah Dean is still mad and Sam has to initiate the wave-down and takes the pro-Cas argument. But Dean capitulates immediately. He knows. They both know. They all knew something was wrong with Jack and it’s not all on Cas, although yes Cas should have told them about Felix. The narrative continues again and again to show sympathy for Sam, Dean, and Cas and I am immensely enjoying all this character development where they’re voicing these things so readily. That this conversation fell within the same episode as Dean’s harsh words to Cas.

Of course Cas isn’t there to hear this, but things are pointed in a good direction for these three at least.

They all wanted to believe in Jack so so much. Even Dean with his initial rejection was won over. They all wanted to believe. I can’t say they were wrong, because I can see why they did, and by S14 I’m rooting for Jack to be good too. I’ve been metaing all season about the good Jack as brought for them, Team Free dads. 

I don’t have a strong sense where they’re going with Jack, it’s not like with Mary and what looked like an inevitable march to closure. I did expect Jack to go dark and here we are. But where this lands? I hope they don’t lose Jack. I don’t think they were wrong to see the good in him but how does soulless ultra-powered Jack can get fixed and how he can come back from having killed Mary Winchester? 

Dumah tells Cas that Mary is “at peace. She died instantly, completely.”

There’s Rowena, being the Cassandra warning Jack about the consequences of meddling with necromancy, plus there’s no body so it’ll be a full mess. 

Dean wanted to race for the BOTD. Jack is hell-bent on using necromancy. Winchesters.

Dean’s memory of Mary sleeping on his shoulder as he drives through the night and he looks so content and happy. JUST STAB ME IT WOULD HURT LESS.

Although Dean didn’t get to hear all the things Sam did from Mary, Dean did get some sense of connection back with her. He got to have his mom back, that hole of loss that’s been in him since he was four years old and he accepted the whole brittle complicated realness package, after most of his life idealizing a soft-focus childhood memory. Although he hits the ceiling about Mary in this ep, Dean was able to let John go in ep 300, and I think losing Mary now is also different. He’s not four years old. He has a family (albeit one that’s yet again a hot mess but I think they’ll work things out). He got at least to get to know her as Dean the adult, not Dean the four year old who had his mom ripped away plus trauma of seeing her burning on the ceiling. He got to say what he said to her in S12, to acknowledge what losing her did to him, to their family, and his hate and his love. There’s at least some healing here.

Jack’s subconscious really wants to burn it all down. Not only will Sam and Dean never trust Jack again, “you can never trust them.” Oh SHUT UP WHO ASKED YOU, JACK’S SUBCONSCIOUS.

Sam looking at the pictures. MY SADNESS

AND CAS WALKS IN. 

AND THEN DEAN.

Okay, that’s good, they’re all in the same room and nobody is yelling. Dean’s still behind a wall of ice right now.

“She’s in heaven and she’s at peace.”

Dean’s clipped inquiry about whether Cas just took Duma at her word about Mary and Cas’s reply that no in fact he went into heaven to see for himself. Zing. Is that all you think of me, Dean, pls. Without getting outwardly angry at Dean. Okay yes this is terrible but they are going to be okay and this is some big Destiel drama going on right here before our eyes. If anyone ever got it together enough to bring this out of subtext to full text, I’d be expecting make-up sex. 

Sam, Dean, and Cas holding the hunter’s funeral pyre for Mary hurts in a thousand ways but for the sake of Team Free Will, the three of them grieving together, they’re all there together, shouldering it...I expected this ep to be a Team Free Will fest and it is, in a really hurty way. It’s also significant we’re seeing Cas grieving. To get to grieve. To be present at a hunter funeral for family.

Cas trying to go to Dean to comfort him, and I presume try to apologize and say how very sorry he is and Sam putting out his arm and stopping him was shattering but so right. Sam is right. Dean needs some breathing room and Dean deserves some breathing room. He’s not canceling Cas but he’s still raw from the grief and trust issues. 

Dean has already acknowledged his own shared culpability. He hasn’t talked to Cas about it but he acknowledged it, and Sam acknowledged it. As I said earlier, Dean trusted Cas so much and they went through so much together to get there. Even if Dean knows it isn’t all on Cas I think Cas hiding the information about Felix from him shook him. He also, given that he already acknowledged shared culpability, is likely feeling uncomfortable because after saying “you’re dead to me” to Cas, well, how does he walk back from that? And even if his rational brain knows it isn’t all on Cas, Dean still hurts. So Dean’s not ready and Sam knows it, and I think Sam, knowing that, also sees how desperately Cas wants to make things right with Dean, and that if Cas gets rebuffed right then, it’ll hurt even more. Sam is playing Destiel mediator, as well as being protective of Dean, and you just know he hates it when they’re like this, but he also understands. This gesture was really intuitive of Sam. 

The MW joining the SW and DW on the table feels right. Interesting nobody added a JW. Back to my thoughts about the camera’s lonely track through the empty bunker, SW and DW’s initials aren’t alone on that table any more. Even though they lost Mary. Hopefully family doesn’t have to die to get carved on there and we may see more to come.

I’ll put some extra Mary thoughts in another post.

[freshlyjuicedbeetles]

Sins of the Father

Shego meets with her father. Heavy angst.

Warnings: Child abuse and forced eating disorders, some gore.

The phone at the robotics workstation rang, startling Drakken, causing him to solder through the motherboard.

He groaned loudly. He had been working on that motherboard for days!

“What?” He snapped, answering the phone.

“Stephanie?” The voice on the other line questioned.

Drakken leaned back in his seat, “Listen, pal if you think I sound like a Stephanie we both have issues.”

“Is Stephanie Gordon there?”

Drakken’s eyes narrowed, “How’d you get this number?”

“Is she there?” The voice asked, getting tired of Drakken’s perceived runaround.

“No, she’s not.” Drakken was getting suspicious and it sounded in his voice. GJ had sent her on a short mission for the day.

The man on the other end sighed, “Just- just tell her to call me. My number is still the same. I’m her father.” The call abruptly disconnected.

Drakken sat back up in his chair and thought. Shego and her father Sam had been estranged for longer than Drakken had known her. She had divulged little tidbits of his parenting which were less than stellar at best and abusive at worst.

Through the GJ computers, Drakken could run a full background check on this guy. He didn’t trust him. What did he want all of a sudden? Drakken knew criminals (the irony was not lost on him) and as much as Drakken hoped he wasn’t, Gordon could be up to something. If he so much as sneezed near a traffic camera, GJ would show it.

Samuel James Gordon, divorced from Shego’s and her brother’s mother for several years, a failed MMA fighter, terrible credit score, lives in the not so good part of town, unemployed but has self-published a book on Team Go. No criminal history and no weapons registered to him. This guy was a Loser with a capital L who lived vicariously through his kids, mostly Shego. Drakken was satisfied that Gordon probably wasn’t up to anything. It was up to Shego if she wanted to speak to him.

Midevening rolled around, and the lab began to shut down for the night. Techs and assistants turned off their computers and all unnecessary equipment shut down. Paul was fed and put in her kennel for the night. Overnight security began to show up. Drakken never noticed the lively hum the running lab emitted until it was gone.

Shego walked in with a few other GJ agents who had friends or partners that worked for him, the burning sun shining behind her. In her catsuit and flowing raven hair, laughing with one of her colleagues, she looked absolutely beautiful. And powerful. Stars, what did she see him?

“Hey loser,” She greeted, walking up to his workstation. ‘Loser’ had somehow become a term of endearment from her to him long ago. “What do you want for dinner? Heath gave me more Bueno Nacho gift cards for my birthday and it sounds kinda good right now. That sound good to you? I don’t feel like cooking.”

Drakken was a million miles away. He had no idea how he was going to tell her that her father was asking for her. He would never keep anything from her, but he also wanted to protect her from any emotional trauma Gordon’s presence brought about. Once again, Drakken reminded himself that it was up to her to decide what to do.

“Yeah, sounds good.” Drakken answered.

“Sweet,” Shego replied, going off to change.

As much as Drakken was annoyed with GJ’s restrictions, the little amenities assuaged him, like a laundry and tailor service. Apparently, his lab gear and her suit needed to be laundered a certain way? It took him a very long time to figure out that leather cannot survive the rinse and dry cycle. Shego had only been at his side for a week when she commented that he looked like he was mottling. The leather of his lab coat was dry and cracked. Once he thought about it yeah, it made sense, he dealt with biohazardous and/or corrosive materials on a daily basis, things he really didn’t want to bring home on his clothing. Every morning in his office, he was greeted by a fresh lab coat hanging up and his lab boots expertly shined. Shego’s own suits were cleaned as well.

Shego emerged in a black tank top, her hair pulled back and comfy shorts, her purse slung over her shoulder. Soon, they headed home.

Shego had her long legs kicked up on the dashboard, soaking up the dying sun, her sunglasses on and her shoes off as she scrolled through her phone. Drakken saw the opportunity.

“Get any weird calls lately?” He asked, swallowing hard.

“No,” Shego replied casually, “Our provider is pretty good at filtering out spam and robocalls.”

“Really?” Drakken paused, “I did.”

“Oh yeah?” Shego said, still looking at her phone, “What was it?”

“Uh, it was your dad, looking for you.”

Shego froze. “What?”

“I didn’t give him your number. He said he wants to talk. His number is still the same.”

Shego sighed, “I’m not talking to him.”

“You don’t have to,” Drakken replied.

There was a tense silence.

“What does he even want?”

“I dunno.” Drakken shrugged, “He didn’t say.”

Shego threw her head back against the seat and pouted, “Would I be a bad daughter if I ignored him?”

“I don’t think I’m the greatest moral compass, Stef, but from everything you told me, you don’t own him anything.”

Shego’s head rolled to look out the window. She groaned. “I guess I’ll talk to him. It might be important.”

~*~

Shego drug her feet on contacting her father, but Drakken didn’t push her. She had been tense and quiet and snappy the entire week. Late Thursday afternoon, she made the call and arranged to meet with him that Saturday at a café. Shego didn’t linger on the line for conversation. A café, public but non-committal, you weren’t stuck there through the appetizer and entre round if things went south.

Drakken parked in front of the café. Shego sighed and grabbed her purse from the floorboards.

“Want me to go in with you?” He asked, hoping to offer support.

“No. Keep the car running.” She said, pushing her sunglasses to her head.

Drakken hoped this went well, for her sake.

Shego went in and ordered a black coffee and sat down. Shego took a seat and from where she sat, Drakken could see her and her table fine, minus a glare. She just wanted Drew there without actually being there.

They both sat for a few moments when a scrawny but still somehow paunchy man with salt and pepper hair passed by the car and walked inside. That could not have been Shego’s father. She must have gotten her looks from her mother. Geez, even Drakken himself could beat this guy up. Drakken dropped down, not wanting to be seen, fearing that he could be seen even through the car’s tinted windows.

Drakken’s phone rang and it was Shego. Confused, he answered, “Hello?”

“Stephanie, look you great.” He heard Gordon say. The man made a move to hug her, but Shego didn’t make a move to reciprocate. Drakken felt second-hand embarrassment for the guy, watching the hug slowly die. Shego wanted Drakken to hear their conversation as she placed her phone to the side.

“How long has it been?” Gordon asked, sitting down.

Shego shrugged, saying nothing.

Her father looked around, nervously drumming on his thighs. “I heard you got married. Eloped. I’m not surprised. Not crazy about you not telling me…”

Shego cut him off, “What do you want?”

He looked flabbergasted. “You’re my daughter…”

“No, I was your pet project. You didn’t pay any attention to me until I nearly died in that treehouse and came out with powers. Then, you made me into what you wanted, what you couldn’t be. The boys,” Shego shook her head, “they were extra, bonuses, just along for the ride. Hell, you even told me I was radioactive, some Radium Girl, to keep me under your thumb.”

Shego’s black painted nails drummed on the side of her coffee mug, “God, how much did I miss because of you? All kinds of parties, birthdays, dances. Mom had to convince you to let me do anything, even to go to Prom. You said everything was a distraction.” She said, carefully, drawing out this man’s torture. This meeting was not going as well as he hoped and it showed on his face.

“I just wanted what was best for you. You had, have so much potential. I thought that that was what you wanted…”

“Did you ask?” Shego exclaimed, her eyes wide, “How many calories was I allowed to have? A couple a hundred? A healthy teenage girl needs 2,200 calories a day and I sure as hell wasn’t getting that. Remember that earthquake in Tokyo you pulled us out of school for, so we could do search and rescue?”

Shego paused and when she spoke again, her voice was strained with emotion, “I’ll never forget the smell of leaking gasoline, a little girl’s cries for help from under the rubble of her school, her hand sticking through the debris, clawing for help. I told her it would be alright, I don’t know if she understood me, I just learned a few Japanese phrases on the flight over, I took her hand and it wasn’t connected to her anymore. I held her bloody, dismembered hand, Dad.” She said through gritted teeth, tears streaming down her face, shaking her own hand. “I was sixteen. I still remember.”

“I don’t know what to say…”

“There’s nothing you can say,” Shego replied. Her fingers started to twitch and constrict, subconsciously, she wanted to lash out, to light the café up with green plasma. “There are just some things you can’t undo.”

They sat for a moment in silence before Shego grabbed her purse, “Don’t contact me. Ever again.”

She hurried out of the café and back into the SUV with her husband.

Drakken knew better to say anything to Shego as she got in. She needed her space and he would be there for her when she was ready. He looked at Gordon through the windshield and the café’s window and he was looking back. Gordon couldn’t see Drakken through the tinted windows but knew it was him behind the wheel. Drakken held the man’s eyes before putting the SUV in reverse and pulling away. Shego pulled her sunglasses back down over her eyes, tears on her cheeks reflecting in the afternoon sun, and remained silent the entire way home. Drakken did what he could to keep her comfortable, making sure the temperate in the vehicle was good, that it wasn’t blowing on her too much, that the radio volume wasn’t too loud. He wouldn’t press her to talk.

When they returned home, Shego went upstairs. Drakken gave her some time to herself before he went up to check on her.

She could never accept his apology if he offered one. There was a finality she felt. The last time she saw him was when her Mom asked for a divorce when Shego was nineteen and he left with only an old suitcase. She hoped he’d just turn to dust and leave her be. Now, it was like he finally was dead. She sobbed and beat the bed with clenched fists, mourning for her father and what she never had. Drakken merely held Shego as she painfully mourned her father.

[halloweennut]

Hireath, Part Four

On the steps of the palace

Once upon a time there were two sisters. The eldest one had the gift of seeing the future, the youngest to see the past. They lived with their mother in a small village in the north of Avalor, in a small little cottage that was the center of their world and home. It wasn’t a life like that in the palace, but they were happy, free to run unfettered in their safe little corner of the world. 

Their gifts were the town’s best kept secret. No one spoke of it aloud, but all knew to ask one of them for help with a small little vision in exchange for something - sometimes it was a jar of honey, or a few oranges, maybe even a bolt of fabric for a dress if the vision was big enough. The girls were only more than happy to oblige. It was fun, and they enjoyed helping their neighbors and their mother.  

That is until a malvago heard a whisper about a secret, about two girls who lived on the hill and could see things no one else could. Tormenta was a greedy man, and saw profit for himself in their gifts - not only would it help him, but other malvagos would be interested as well. So one day, as the girls walked from home to the well, bucket shared between them, he transformed into a large eagle snatched them away to the mountains - something the eldest hadn’t seen. No one saw a thing, and no one who saw them in the mountains said a world about the two children who sold visions. 

There was no solace when Tormenta died, and no solace when the malvagos that came became less and less. Only the ever-growing fear of never being free.

That is until, 150 years later, two sorceresses and a disgraced chancellor came into their cave. The chancellor, still with enough good and love in him to care, forwent any grand schemes he had and risked it all to set them free.

-

Elena was snapped from the document she had been reading by the sound of shouting from the courtyard and the stomp of hooves with accompanying whinnies. Confused, she grabbed her scepter and ran downstairs from her bureau towards the sound. Francisco was already at the front door when she made it towards the entryway.

“Do you know what’s going on?” she asked, tightening her grip on her scepter. Her abuelo shook his head.

“It sounds like a horse got out and was spooked,” he replied. “Let’s go see if they need help.”

Her grip relaxed and she nodded. This was a simple crisis she could handle.  The two walked out to see a few guards chase after a familiar black horse, scrambling for the reins or dodging away from its hooves. Elena felt herself and her grandfather freeze on the steps at the sight of Valiente, dirty and panicked, the very opposite of how they both remembered him - the prized thoroughbred that Esteban doted over who never went a day without a thorough brushing. 

“It can’t be-” Francisco murmured. “Valiente!”

Valiente stopped at the call, and turned, running over to the palace steps. He stomped his hooves impatiently, throwing his head back to gesture towards the slumped figure in his saddle. Elena recognized the jacket immediately to her disgust, but much like Valiente, it was the opposite of what she remembered and what she knew should have been in place. The jacket was torn and dirty - Esteban hated being in a situation where either would happen to him, even as children. But it was the fact that the slumped figure wasn’t sitting tall made Elena’s stomach drop - they were either hurt, dead, or it was a trap. She bolted down the steps, despite her abuelo’s calls. Elena raised her scepter up to point at the figure. 

“Esteban, sit up, now! That is an order!” she demanded. The figure made no move. “Esteban, you better be passed out or-”

She used the end of the scepter to nudge what should have been the shoulder, and noticed then that the jacket was only draped over the rider. With a quick movement, she pulled the jacket away to let it flutter to the ground. Her scepter nearly joined it at the sight of two small children in the saddle, both passed out. 

“Mios dios,” Elena said. “Esteban what have you done…”

Francisco joined her a second later, and any question he had died on his tongue. He turned to a few guards instead. “You, fetch the doctor, and you, go tell a maid to get a room ready.”

The guards nodded and ran off into the palace as Francisco carefully pulled the older girl down. Elena quickly moved forward to grab the younger.  The little one blinked slightly, barely awake.

“Esteban…?” was the only thing she said before falling back asleep. Elena tried to withhold a scowl, and stepped over the jacket on her way back into the palace.

-

Mari woke slowly, blinking in the filtered sun.  For a moment, she was scared that she was back in the cave, but the light was too bright and the material she was laying on and covered in was soft and warm. She opened her eyes fully then. Maricruz found herself on a large bed, the largest she had ever been in, in a room that could have fit their mother’s cottage. Rosita was curled up beside her, still fast asleep. That brought some relief to her mind. 

She slowly slid out from the covers, careful not to wake her little sister, and softly padded her way over to the window. Mari peered out, looking over the towers of the palace and the capitol stretched out before her, leading out to the ocean. She and Rosie had never seen the ocean up close before, let alone a city that big, but no matter how exciting the thoughts were, Mari could muster no joy at the thought. Rosie and her were safe, and that only brought a little solace. 

There was a rustle and a yawn from the bed, and Rosie sat up, blearily rubbing at her eyes. “Mari? Where- where are we?”

“Avalor. We’re in the palace, but other that I don’t know much else,” Mari replied walking back over to the bed. “I just woke up. I think we fell asleep on Valiente at some point.”

Rosie nodded. “Is Esteban here yet? I thought I saw him…”

“I don’t think so,” she said before looking around the room. “Wait, where’s his jacket?” 

“Maybe someone took it to be cleaned? I can look,” Rosita replied before quickly blinking and scrambling out of bed. “It’s still in the courtyard. We can’t leave it there.”

“Wait, Rosie! We can’t just run out!” Mari exclaimed, close behind her sister as she ran to the door. “Rosie!”

 Her sister opened the door and ran straight into the legs of Elena. “Oof! Careful there.”

Rosie gasped and scrambled back to Mari, who picked her up to hold her protectively. She stepped back a few paces, eyeing the princess with suspicion. Elena saw the look in her eyes and held up her hands defensively. 

“I was wondering when you two were going to wake up,” she said softly, kneeling down to be closer to eye-level with the two. “You guys must be tired. Valiente looked like he was running for days-”

“He was,” Rosie said softly. “Four days.” 

“That is a long time, isn’t it?” Elena replied. “Are you guys hungry?”

“No. Not until we get Esteban’s jacket back,” Mari shook her head. “It’s not ours to keep. We need to give it back.”

Elena frowned. “How do you know him anyway?”

“He rescued us and brought food for us when we were back in the cave,” Rosie chirped, squirming out of Mari’s arms, but didn’t move from her side. Elena reeled slightly.

“Cave? What did he, Chatana, and Ash do to you?” She asked, the fans of hate warming in her chest. Mari frowned at the question. 

“They didn’t do anything,” Mari replied, flatly. “They came for visions, but Esteban was the only one who never asked for anything. He’s the only person in 200 years to actual care about us outside of what we can do.”

“Two hundred years?” Elena sputtered. “But you’re both children-”

“Magic chains,” Mari said. “To keep us from leaving or aging. Can we get Esteban’s jacket now?”

“Not until I have more answers,” the princess shook her head. “And he is not someone you should look up to, let alone be concerned about-”

“Yes he is!” Rosie exclaimed.  

“Rosita!” Mari said sharply, pulling her back towards her. 

“He’s not someone to be trusted,” Elena replied, trying to keep calm. She didn’t need her magic to flare. 

“That’s what Chatana and Ash learned,” Rosie said, blinking twice. “And now they have him.”

“I’m so confused,” Elena said, dress turning a tinge of purple. “Can you start from the beginning?”

“Only after we get his jacket back,” Mari replied. Rosie tugged on her skirt, blinking twice. “And breakfast.”

“....Deal,” Elena sighed. “I’ll send a maid to fetch it. In the meantime, I’ll show you to the dining room. I hope you’re hungry.”

Soon enough the girls were seated at the table, close as peas in a pod and sharing a dirty and torn jacket over their shoulders as they stared at plate upon plate of food in front of them. Elena softly told them to go ahead, and that she and some others would join them soon. As Rosie and Mari reached for the pastries and fruit, Elena ducked out into the hall to find Francisco and Luisa waiting. Isabel had long since left for school, needing to start out early on a science project.  

“Are they alright?” Francisco asked. 

Elena nodded. “Hungry and not talkative, but alright. There’s a lot to tell us, but they don’t want to talk yet.”

“The poor things,” Luisa said. “Who knows what they’ve been through.”

“That’s what I’m worried about...they said some things that didn’t make sense,” Elena replied. “I’m hoping to get some clarity over breakfast.”

“Let’s head in then, shall we?” Francisco said, offering his arm to Luisa, which she gladly took. The three entered the dining room to find the girls happily tucking away into oranges and sweetbreads. The two looked up at them. “Buenos dias. How did you two sleep?”

“Good,” Mari said plainly before popping another orange segment into her mouth.

“I don’t think we’ve ever even seen a bed that big,” Rosie added. “I think it’s as big as our bedroom back in the cave.”

“Cave, what do you mean cave-” Luisa began to ask, but was cut off with a quick glance from Elena. 

“Perhaps some introductions first?” Elena said. “I’m Elena, and these are my grandparents-”

“Francisco and Luisa, and your little sister is Isabel,” Rosie interrupted. “We know.” 

“Our reputation precedes us then,” Francisco replied, pushing in Luisa’s chair. The girls shrugged. 

“We either saw it or Esteban talked about you,” Mari said. It was simply said, like she was saying the sky was blue. The royal three looked at each other at that. 

“He...spoke about us?” Francisco asked. “And what do you mean, ‘saw’?”

“My sister and I are oracles,” Rosie replied between bites of another roll. “I’m Rosita and she’s Maricruz.”

“Oracles,” Elena repeated. “That explains what you meant by visions.”

“Pretty much,” Mari replied. She blinked twice. “You’re going to ask about what they wanted from us - Chatana, Ash and Esteban. They wanted to know the location of Maruvian mystical items they could use to defeat you and Avalor.”

“You didn’t tell them, did you?” Elena stiffened in her seat. 

“No, never got the chance,” Mari continued. She pushed her plate away, suddenly not hungry anymore. “Esteban rescued us.” 

“No doubt with some sort of motive behind it,” Luisa said behind a sip of tea. Rosie stared at her. 

“Yes, to keep them from hurting you,” Rosie replied. She angrily stuffed the rest of a roll into her mouth. Elena sighed.

“Girls- Rosita, Maricruz,” she began. “I’m not sure what he told you, but he can’t be trusted. He’s not a good person.”

“Then why did he let us go before we could tell them anything?” Mari asked. “You think we didn’t know anything about him? I saw everything before it happened 50 years ago, and Rosie saw everything that’s happened since. We know he did wrong before he even showed up. Not to mention the whole being a part of a malvago gang, and we don’t particularly care for malvagos.”  

“That...is certainly something to think about, mijita,” Francisco said. 

“It still doesn’t erase his crimes for the past two months! No matter how he manipulated these girls-,” Elena began, dress tinging orange.

“We weren’t manipulated. No one can lie to us without us knowing!” Rosie exclaimed, standing up in her chair. “He brought Mari oranges and brought us new blankets! He told us stories about you and how much he loves his family! He got us out of the cave and kept Chatana and Ash from hurting us and from using us to hurt you! Just because you hate him doesn’t mean we have to!”

Maricruz pulled her down, and worked to quiet her down, before turning to Elena herself.

“Esteban said he wasn’t going to let them hurt his family,” Mari added. “He stayed behind so we could get away. Ash and Chatana were going to hurt us after we gave them the visions they wanted. Visions that would have hurt Avalor and you, and ones Esteban didn’t even want to help them get.”

Rosie blinked once, twice. “He lied a lot, but not to us. He especially lied to Ash.”

“About what?” 

“That he was going to let them win.”

-

“And you’re sure their story checks out?” Gabe asked. Elena was leaning over a map of Avalor, looking for any Maruvian sites that were even in the general vicinity of the mountain the girls had been in for 200 years.

“I checked it,” Mateo replied. “There are reports that talk about them going back 150 years, and my grandfather had a stack of papers on Tormenta. Too bad back then there wasn’t much in the way of missing children reports- that would probably back it up, too.”  

Gabe winced. “Thankfully the Royal Guard handles it now. Just...a little too late.”

“At least they’re out now and safe,” Elena replied. “I’ve narrowed it down to two possible sites: Monte Claro or Socanos.”

“Monte Claro is little more than some sculptures, and the temple is too in ruin to inhabit,” Mateo replied. “So it must be Socanos!”

“I’ll get a troop together-” Gabe began. Elena held up a hand.

“No,” she said. “We’ll go on our own. We’ll leave tomorrow morning. Be prepared.”

“Elena, are you sure?” Mateo asked. “Sure we’ve faced them before but-”

“I’m sure,” Elena answered. She rolled up the map. “Go get prepared for tomorrow. I’ll see you at dinner.” 

The co-captains of the guard nodded and left Elena’s office. She slumped down in her chair, resting her head on her hand, and let her dress turn purple from stress and fear. Elena thought back to the day, hearing the girls go over everything that had occured. Rosie couldn’t go through some of it, and had to be taken out to be distracted from it while Mari continued. She didn’t make eye contact with Elena, and her voice sounded so tired - she looked so tired. She didn’t even begin to have any sort of levity to her voice until the events that began just a few weeks ago.

Those were tales of the cousin she knew once. Pomp and circumstance, a little selfish, a show-off, but kind and caring all the same.    

Elena breathed, and let herself let go of her stress. Slowly, her dress shifted back to red, and she stood, leaving her office to walk up to the guest wing of the palace. The last she had seen them, Mari was watching out the window, distant from everyone but Rosie, who had curled up on the bed for a nap. No doubt they were both awake by then.  Soon she stood in front of their door and slowly raised a hand to knock.

Knock knock

“Come in.” 

Elena entered, finding the two girls sitting at the window, watching the late afternoon turn to evening. 

“Hey,” she said, near lamely. The girls looked up at her, and she couldn’t read them, but approached anyway. The two girls still had Esteban’s jacket draped over them. “I wanted to talk to you both about...about earlier.”

She pulled a small stool over from the vanity, sitting across from them. “I’m sorry about doubting you both about...about Esteban. I don’t...I don’t hate him- I want to, but I don’t think I can. But he has hurt me, my family, Avalor, so badly, I find it hard to ever forgive him.”

Elena looked at the two of them. “But that doesn’t mean that it negates how you two feel about him, especially after everything that had happened, and everything that he has done for you two.”

“We know,” Mari said softly. “He still loves you too.”

“I know,” Elena tried not to let her dress go blue. She rubbed at her eyes - she didn’t want to let herself go blue. Rosie slipped from the window seat and jacket, and went to her side, quickly wrapping her arms around her shoulders. 

“It’s okay,” Rosie said. “You can go blue. Sometimes even Mari has trouble doing that too.” 

Mari responded with indignation at that, and Elena couldn’t help but laugh. “I’ll be okay, but thank you though. No hard feelings between any of us?”

“None for now,” Mari replied. “But I make no promises.”

“I’m sure,” Elena hugged Rosie back. “Come on you two, I have a surprise.”

“A surprise? What is it? Mari, don’t look!” Rosie exclaimed. 

“I wouldn’t!” 

“How about I just tell you?” Elena stood, offering out a hand toward Mari while taking Rosie’s. “I spoke to the seamstresses earlier. They should have some things ready by now - I think you two deserve a wardrobe update.”

Mari was at the door in a flash. “No hard feelings ever again! Let’s go!”

Elena laughed and led the two girls towards the seamstresses’ shop. She would tell them tomorrow where she and her friends were going, and let this serve as a distraction from the present until then. She hoped that maybe the palace would distract them from what was miles away, and from the person she wanted to hope was alright. 

-

Esteban couldn’t will himself to move. Not that the paralysis spell was helping in the least, but if he just had the will, he would fight it. He was far too tired, and doubted between that and the injuries he had been dealt he would even be able to. At the very least, he couldn’t feel much but the beat of his own heart in his chest, left alone on a cold temple floor with his thoughts. They traveled back home- what was home, and the thought of his family safe at least brought him some solace. Ash would have come in and gloated otherwise, and Chatana would have told him a strangely distant way.  Esteban didn’t know which was worse, which was better.  At least Chatana wouldn’t smirk about it. Pili maybe, but she wouldn’t. 

He blinked once, twice, and turned his glance towards the sound of footsteps. He could at least move his eyes, unnerving as it was. Chatana entered the room softly, wings just rasping against the floor. Esteban watched as she approached him, elegant and smooth. He couldn’t read her face as she knelt down next to his head. 

“The oracles got to Avalor, safe and sound,” she said. “No doubt they’ve told the princess everything by now.”

Esteban blinked in acknowledgment. 

“No doubt we’ll have a little family reunion soon enough,” Chatana continued, and almost condescendingly smoothed a strand of hair from his face. If he could speak, he would shout that no, there wouldn’t be, Elena wouldn’t be so foolish. “Do you really think Elena wouldn’t come in here, scepter blazing, to defeat those who would do her and her kingdom harm? Surely you aren’t that foolish. But perhaps you are.”

She stood, smoothing her skirts. “You could have been one of the best malvagos the world has seen. A shame.”

Esteban could only watch her leave, even as his vision began to blur - tears from frustration, fear? It didn’t matter. What did matter was forcing himself to move. 

He wouldn’t let them hurt his family. He wouldn’t be responsible for their pain, not again. 

[little-fandom]

The Full Christmas Experience

Magnus and Alec want to make Christmas magical for their sons. They’re not going to deny them any of the festive traditions, and when it comes to baking the gingerbreads, Alec insist on them to do it without any help of magic. To enjoy the Christmas experience in full.

Turns out, Christmas can be magical without the help of Warlock’s magic.

Or, Christmas baking with the Lightwood-Bane family.

read on ao3

Magnus sighs with a content smile as he watches Max and Rafe running around the loft. Sometimes, especially in just simple, normal moments like this, it’s hard for his mind to grasp that he actually gets to have this. Have a family with the love of his life and just enjoy the simplicity of it.

“Okay, boys!” He calls out, rubbing his hands together. “Dad’s gonna be back soon, so stop running around and come help me prepare the kitchen.” He orders gently, to which Max whines.

“But papa, you can just snap your fingers and it’ll be ready!”

Rafael chuckles at his brother’s words and Magnus lets out a groan. They really need to work on Max’s dependence on his magic, so he won’t just use it every time he has to do something he doesn’t like. Being only six years old, he quickly starts to pick up on simple spells that Magnus often uses. One day he even managed to summon some toys from his room to the living room.

Magnus truly fears the day he learns to create portals.

“No, he can’t.” Alec’s voice sounds from the doorway and they all turn, Max and Rafael running towards him, as he drops the shopping bags on the floor and squats, opening his arms to hug his children. He drops kisses on top of both of their heads as Max clings onto his neck, so standing up Alec brings the little Warlock with him, holding him up with on arm. He smiles down at Rafael, ruffling his hair to which he giggles.

And Magnus just stands enchanted, watching this beautiful scene he saw so many times before, but he’ll never get bored of it. Then, his fiancé finally makes his way to him, and kisses him lightly on the lips, still holding their son in his arms. Magnus can’t help but smile.

“Why can’t papa use magic, daddy?” Max asks then, his face scrunched up in confusion.

“Because,” Alec begins to explain, addressing his whole family. “Tonight, there’s one rule: no magic,” He looks at Magnus, receiving a nod at the statement and then continues, “no runes.” His gaze switches to Rafe and the boy nods too, even if looking a bit confused. “Just normal Christmas baking.” Alec states casually with a shrug.

Max whines again, which earns him a laugh from the rest.

“But why?” The Warlock pouts. “It would be easier!”

“Do you want it to be easy?” Alec asks looking at his son. “Or, do you want it to be fun?” He taps his finger on Max’s nose and the boy giggles.

“Max just wants to eat all the cookies already.” Rafe states with a grin and they all laugh again.

Rafael has been with them for almost two years now, and both Alec and Magnus couldn’t be happier with how he has adjusted to the family. How comfortable he is around them. Considering Rafael’s childhood back in Buenos Aires, the fathers made it their personal mission to show him how cared and loved he is by them with every little thing they do. To provide him with everything he needs, so he would never thought that they would ever deny him anything.

“All right, boys.” Alec begins as he puts Max back down on the floor. “Go get these to the kitchen.” He points at the bags full of all the ingredients they will need tonight, for their gingerbreads. “We’ll join you in a minute.”

The boys quickly obey, and when they’re out of the room, Alec brings Magnus closer, wrapping his arms around his fiancé’s waist and kissing him deeply.

Soon, they both smile into the kiss and when they part, leaving only a few inches of space between them, Magnus asks.

“How was work?”

“Tough.” Alec replies honestly, letting out a long sigh. “But let’s not talk about it tonight. I just want to enjoy some time doing Christmas baking with my beautiful family.”

It’s been hard for Alec recently, since he’s still preparing to face the Clave on a trail about getting Downworlders and Shadowhunters a right to marry. They’ve been engaged for a year now, and Alexander has begun his arrangements to this trail right after that. Still, there’s a long way ahead, but with his family’s support, there’s no way he won’t make it.

“Couldn’t agree more, angel.” Magnus approves with a kiss to Alec’s cheek.  

His fiancé just smiles back at him, but then he asks.

“Okay, but have you ever actually done that?”

Magnus just raises a quizzical brow at him, feeling slightly confused.

“The baking, I mean.” Alec explains.

“Sure, darling. Lots of times.” Magnus’ voice sounds just a tad bit too high, but of course Alec picks up on it.

“You just always used magic, right?” He resolves with an annoyed expression. Alec doesn’t like when he uses magic on everything. Seems not only Max has a problem with that. But Alexander can’t change the time before they met, and Magnus admits, that after getting together with him, he became a bit less dependent on his magic. Sure, he still uses it. Constantly. But such things as making breakfast, or cooking dinner, doing shopping… he finds joy in those things, when he gets to do them besides Alexander.

“Oh, you’re to one to talk!” Magnus just mocks, which basically confirms Alec’s words. “Have you ever done that?”

“A few times.” Alec shrugs. “Back in Idris, when I was really young. Shadowhunters don’t really celebrate Christmas all that much.”

Magnus nods understandingly, but his arms tighten a bit around Alec. It’s truly sad for him, that Alexander hadn’t really experience the Christmas magic as a child. Magnus actually hadn’t either, but Alec has always had a family he could do that with. Shadowhunters are truly interesting creatures…

“But, that’s just one more reason, why we should enjoy our Christmas experience in full tonight.” Alec states then, as if reading Magnus’ mind.

If they both hadn’t had this when they were children, then they need to make sure their sons will have to most marvellous and incredible Christmas of all times. This time of the year is just magical, and they both want for Max and Rafe to feel it every year. Last Christmas Rafael was still getting accustomed to the family, so he felt a bit overwhelmed with this whole thing. This year, however is much better, so they can actually engage with all the festive stuff they missed out on the last time.

“You’re right.” Magnus simply resorts with a quick peck on Alec’s lips to which he smiles and nods. “Let’s get started then.”

 You can just feel the Christmas spirit in the loft. Magnus made sure of that. There’s a huge Christmas tree in a living room, that they decorated only a few days ago. The balcony, even though it’s freezing and no one will dare to step outside, is decorated with lots of fairly lights, a mistletoe is hanging in the hall, right before the front door, which Magnus always uses when Alec enters the apartment. Look, a mistletoe, what a funny coincidence, Magnus says then and Alec rolls his eyes. Like he would ever try to find an excuse to kiss him. Alec doesn’t need mistletoe for that.

There are just more garlands of lights draped up around the whole loft. There’s even a small Christmas tree in their bedroom, on Magnus’ desk. Christmas stockings are hanging on the walls, along some decorations that the boys made themselves. And there’s this scent, the pine mixed with oranges, cinnamon and cloves… it just feels warm. It’s perfect. Alec knew his fiancé has a thing for redecorating, but with this, he has truly outdone himself.

The kitchen is not different. There are oranges with cloves set around the counter and a kitchen table. There is Christmas headdress with a candle in the middle of it. Alec finds himself actually admiring it all just now, since this week as been hectic at the Institute. He had been coming back home late, in fact only seeing his family briefly in the mornings, plus Magnus at night, when he crawled up into their bed. He’s glad to finally let go, and enjoy some quality time with his family.

The boys are putting all the ingredients on the counter. With no magic or runes, as promised. Max is standing on a stool, since he’s still a bit too short to reach it. Rafael pulls out the bowl, spoons and the rest of equipment they will need.

“What now?” Max beams enthusiastically as they’re both done with the preparations.

“First, we need to make the dough.” Alec states and reaches with his hand to his pocket, pulling out a piece of paper and waving it in the air. “Grandma gave me our family recipe.”

So they starts. Putting all the ingredients in a bowl, with the boys bickering about who wants to add which one. Soon they’re all partly covered in flour, some eggs land on the floor, but it’s not like Alec, nor Magnus cares. It’s fun, that’s all that matters.

“What are you the most excited about Christmas this year?” Magnus asks them all, standing next to Alec who’s currently kneading the dough.

“The presents! And the Santa Claus to come!” Max shrieks and grins form his spot, as he’s sitting on the counter on Alec’s left, dangling his legs.

“That was expected.” Alec just shrugs turning to Magnus who chuckles briefly. “What about you, Rafe?”

“This is fun.” The boy states as he’s watching Alec’s movements precisely, leaning against the counter. “Decorating the tree was awesome too.”

“I’m glad you’re enjoying this, mijo.” Magnus kisses Rafael’s hair gently, to which the Shadowhunter blushes slightly.

“What about you?” He asks then.

“What about us?” Magnus prompts, running a hand through his son’s hair.

“What are you the most excited about.?” His sight hoovers from Alec to Magnus, clearly addressing the question to them.

Magnus seems to think a little, so Alec decides to speak first.

“Just spending some time with you.” He says softly. “I know I’ve been away a lot recently, and I really missed you guys.”

“We missed you too, daddy.” Max reaches with his hand and taps it lightly on Alec’s forearm, so the Shadowhunter leans in and places a kiss on his cheek.  

“But we get it.” Rafael nods and then adds. “Your work is important.”

Alec can’t help the smile creeping onto his face. His family is so understanding and sincere, but no matter what, he will do everything to be with them as much he can. He doesn’t want to become this kind of a father that his father was too him. He was still away at Clave’s meetings, or busy running the Institute and at some point Alec forgot how it feels to actually have a father. Family is more significant than any kind of work, and Alec thinks that maybe if his dad acknowledged it, things could have been completely different between them.

“I know.” He resorts, still smiling softy. “But you all are more important than that. You are the most important, ever.” He spots Magnus easily returning his smile and then he pushes away from the counter to stand behind Alec and wrap his arms around him, kissing his cheek.

“As you are for us, love.”

Alec feels his smile from widening, sometimes still finding it hard to believe, how he deserved such an amazing family.

“All right, it’s done.” He states a bit later, as he puts the dough on the counter and rolls it. Magnus moved to spread out all of the various shaped cutters around, and then the both step away from the counter, creating a space for the boys.

“We’ll let you do the fun stuff.” Magnus winks and their sons giggle as they get work on to cutting out the shapes from the dough.

“Just watch out for the sharp side of the cutters.” Alec warns. “We don’t want anyone to lose their fingers.” He adds in a lower voice to which Magnus chuckles. “Let’s make some icing.”

They move away a bit, still keeping an eye for the children. Alec does most of the work, since Magnus basically has no idea what to do.

“That’s what happens when you only use magic.” Alec teases as he stirs the icing in a bowl, wrapped in his fiancé’s arms again. “What would you do without me, huh?”

“I don’t think I ever want to find out.” Magnus answers in a light, playful tone, which is followed by yet another kiss to his cheek.

“Try this.” Alec turns in his arms, holding a spoon full of icing in front of him.

“It’s sweet.” Magnus states simply after getting a taste, and then his smile widens a bit. “But not as sweet as you.”

“You sap.” Alec laughs and spats him lightly on the arm, which only makes him hum.

“But I’m your sap.” Magnus resorts, and Alec just can’t resist the urge to kiss him. The Warlock seems to have the same idea, so they meet half-way, softly connecting their lips together.

“Papa why don’t we have a dog shaped cutter! I want to make one for uncle Luke!” Max yells from the other side of the kitchen, and they break their kiss chuckling.  

“Use the reindeer one.” Magnus replies. “I’m sure you can make it a dog somehow.”

Alec rolls his eyes, but laughs as they make their way back to join their sons.

 When the gingerbreads are in the oven, boys back in the living room watching some TV, Magnus and Alec clean up the kitchen a bit, and as Magnus puts out various sprinkles on the counter, his fiancé speaks, from where he’s seated on Max’s previous spot on the counter.

“What would you like to get for Christmas?”

Magnus thinks a little, trying to come up with some answer, but he decides to reply with another question.

“You’re saying, that you still haven’t got me anything?” He says in a teasing tone, as he turns to face him.

But Alec looks slightly guilty, as he doesn’t look back into Magnus’ eyes. His gaze is focused on his hands, as he’s playing with his engagement ring, twisting it around his finger.

“Yeah, I’m sorry… I-“ He attempts to explain himself, but Magnus swiftly interrupts, as he comes to stand in front of him.

“Alexander, there’s nothing to be sorry for, angel. There’s still a bit of time. Besides, I know how hard work has been recently. It’s a miracle you got some time to go shopping with me for the boys’ presents.” They bought them gifts a bit earlier, when one day Alec somehow got of the Institute at a reasonable hour. If they only knew how frantic it would become for Alexander later on…

Magnus gently sweeps his hands on Alec’s thighs, coming to stand between his legs. He then cups his fiancé’s face, and places a kiss on his lips, to which Alec finally looks up and smiles.

“I don’t really have any preferences.” Magnus shrugs lightly, answering Alec’s question. “As long as I get to spend Christmas with you, the boys, and the rest of our family, it’s enough.”

Alec nods, smiling wider as his hands wander to settle around Magnus’ neck.

“Yeah, that’ll be the best gift.” They kiss again, and when Magnus pulls away, he speaks.

“But actually, I already got you your present.”

“What is it?” Alec asks, truly curious.

“I’m not telling you Alexander, Santa Claus will resort if you’ve been good enough to get it.”

Alec laughs, the sound vibrating through Magnus’ chest as they’re pressed so close together. He places a kiss to Alec’s palm, as his hands wander to cup his face.

“Then, I hope he’ll consider me good.”

“I might have whispered him a thing, or two about you.” Magnus follows his words with another kiss to his mouth, and they both smile into it. Soon, Alec pulls away, creasing his fiancé’s cheeks lightly.

“We should check on the cookies.” He says as he hops down from the counter. “I don’t want your little make out session to ruin our hard work.”

“My make out session?” Magnus growls with faked offense, dramatically putting his palm on his heart. “May I remind you, that you were also a part of this?”

“I don’t recall.” Alec states teasingly, as he moves to the oven.

But Magnus quickly tugs at his hand, till he is pressed flush against his chest again and kisses him deeply, hooking his arms around Alec's neck to bring him even closer. 

“Does it ring a bell now?”

“It might.” Alec connects their lips again, and the stumble together to the oven. “Oh, I think I remember now.”

Magnus rolls his eyes, but can’t help the amused smile painting his face.

 Soon, the whole family is back in the kitchen, the boys standing at the counter, both amazed with the collection of sprinkles and icings their fathers had prepared.

Rafael takes the first gingerbread man and puts some blue icing on him, then he turns to his brother and says.

“Look Max, just like you!” He exclaims and they all a laugh.

Sometimes Magnus recalls the feeling he and Alec both had when they decided to take Rafe in. How scared they were of his reaction to Max. They were worried he might be terrified of the little Warlock, his growing horns, and blue skin. But of course, Rafael has surprised them. He never mention Max’s appearance in a bad way, never made fun of it, or was scared of it. Magnus’ hearts swells, of how much their sons have got along. All worries forgotten.

“I thinks he’s missing something.” He states as he leans in and places two chocolate chips at the gingerbread’s head, so they’re resembling Max’s horns.

The little Warlock beams again, as they place Ginger Max on a tray, claiming that he needs to be eaten the last.

So the production begins. There are more Ginger Maxes, angels, sparkling Christmas trees and a few of Santa Clauses. There’s even a reindeer that Max tries to transform into a wolf. Rafael draws a deflect rune on one of the gingerbread men, insisting that it’s Alec. Later following with another one, whose eyes are made of two drops of yellow icing. That one is Magnus. They even cleated Ginger Clary, with red icing resembling her hair, and Ginger Jace with blonde ones. After some time, the counter is spread with their little gingerbread family.

The boys hands are all covered in icing, and they end up smearing it onto their faces. Alec and Magnus are not left out of the attack and soon, the whole kitchen becomes a mess, with the family laughing in the middle of it.

“Okay,” Magnus starts as the laughter dies down. “I think we did quite a great job today.”

The rest nods in agreement.

“See, you can have fun without magic, Max.” Alec states, ruffling his younger son’s hair.

“It was so fun!” Max exclaims. “Now I want to eat the cookies!”

“Tomorrow, Blueberry.” Magnus resorts, to which Max pouts. “It’s too late now, and besides, the gingerbreads need to survive till Christmas eve. Some of them, at least.”

Max tries to whine, but it turns into yawn, only showing of how tired he is, and how late it has actually became now.

“What was your favourite part?” Alec asks the boys then.

“The decorating!” They both call out in the same time.

Magnus hums in answer and then he ushers the boys out of the kitchen.

“Go get cleaned up and get to beds.” He says. “Dad will come soon to read you a story.”

The boys are clearly too tired to object, as the adrenaline from the day seem to float out. They lazy nod and pad out of the kitchen, in the direction of the their bedrooms.

Magnus’s gaze lingers on them for a bit, and then he turns to Alec, who is wiping up the counter, where the icing has already dried out.

“Can I use magic now?” Magnus asks, trying to spear Alec all the hard work, but his fiancé just shakes his head.

“No. Full Christmas experience. Remember?”

“That also includes the cleaning?” Magnus questions, still hopeful a bit that it won’t.

Alec just gestures at the cloth in his hand.

“Well, what do you think?”

Magnus sighs, but comes closer to Alec, with an intention of helping him, but then he spots  a heart shaped gingerbread and grabs it from a tray on his way.

He stands in front of Alec, and when he looks up, Magnus gives him the cookie with a playful smile.

“What?” Alec asks, with a hint of laugh in his voice, accepting the cookie and clearly noticing the smirk on his fiancé’s face.

“Seems like I’m giving you my heart.” Magnus states and they both burst out into laughter again. Alec shakes his head at his antics, but can't help the amsued smile on his lips. 

“I think you did that some time ago.” He drops the cloth and pulls Magnus closer, with his arms around his waist. “And that you stole mine in process.”

Magnus chuckles and brushes Alec’s hair out of his forehead.

“You’ve got some icing here.” He sweeps his finger at the corner of Alexander’s mouth. Next he leans in and kisses the place lightly.

“Really?” Alec asks playfully when he pulls back to look at him.

“No, I just wanted to kiss you.” Magnus states with a shrug.

“Babe, you never need an excuse for that.” 

And when Alec connects their lips again, it’s barley a kiss, because their smiles are becoming too wide.

And even without any help of magic, Christmas has never felt more magical.

[beckytailweaver]

[FIC] Coco - What the Xolo Dragged In  (Part 7)

Before anybody wonders, remember that in another lifeline, Héctor Rivera had the moxie to punch Pepita in the nose when he thought she was after his chamaco.  This is not a cowardly man, for all that he graciously yields to more forceful personalities...most of the time.

Coco - What the Xolo Dragged In

Part 7 - Break

These days, Héctor always felt terribly out of place up in the nicer sections of the city.  Everything was clean, clearly lit, and brightly painted, pretty as a picture in the mid-morning sunlight.  The skeletons walking to and fro about their business were well-dressed and had the white, sturdy bones of the Remembered.  The stares and whispers, however—disdainful and sometimes horrified, unlike the mere curiosity of his Shantytown peers—made him glad he’d kept to the side streets and alleys, acutely conscious of his awkward gait, ragged clothes, and chipped, weathered bones.

The Forgotten were memorable when they appeared outside their dank domain below���as memorable as a leper at a gala ball, and just about as welcome.  It was always the same; the constant prickle of open stares, or the cold shoulder of being deliberately ignored.

At least if they were staring at him, they were less likely to notice the little shadow he led along by the hand, or at least more likely to pass it off as a Forgotten child—something they wanted to acknowledge even less.

Miguel was doing a good job of keeping up, uncomplaining, though his small head swiveled this way and that the whole trip, in awe of the bright maze that was the massive city of the dead and its inhabitants (they’d taken care of Miguel’s business in a dark corner just outside of Shantytown, where hopefully no one would really notice one more puddle on the damp pyramid stones).  The boy was probably getting tired from the very long walk, but he gamely kept going; he had a lot of questions, but was mostly distracted by anything resembling music.  Every time they passed another source of song, the child locked on to it like a pointer dog until they passed out of earshot or another one appeared.

Soon enough, the instances of music thinned and vanished as they walked, driven away by the austere silence of the forbidden zone surrounding the quiet street Héctor knew far too well.  The sense of impending doom curled his shoulders more with every step; he was walking into the jaguar’s den and he knew it, but a little stomach growled audibly at his side like a tiny angry alebrije and he continued putting one foot in front of the other.

If he kept thinking about Miguel, he wouldn’t think about the anger and rejection that awaited him.  Miguel was love and warmth and a ready smile and a cheerful voice that danced like happy guitar music and hugs that felt like home.

With every step he took, he grew closer to losing that joy forever.

But Miguel needed food and care and everything Héctor couldn’t provide, and that was far more important than his own wants.

Almost before he knew it (before he wanted it), they were in front of the familiar gate, overshadowed by the large sign shaped like a shoe.  The high wall was brightly painted; the house beyond it was even taller, built upward to contain the family like all structures in the Land of the Dead.  It was quiet within, the courtyard shaded from the sun by colorful sheets of fabric tied up in gentle swoops.

“Papá Héctor,” Miguel whispered, staying close to his side, “this looks kinda like my house.  See?  There’s the same sign.”

“That’s because it kind of is your house,” Héctor said softly, forcing the sadness out of his tone.  “Or it will be your house, someday.  It’s your family’s house, where everyone lives when they’re not visiting your ofrenda.”

“Oh.”  Miguel looked up at the gate a moment longer.  “They have breakfast here?”

Dios mío, I hope so!

“Let’s go find out.”  Carefully, Héctor pushed the gate further open and led the boy into the courtyard.  Up this high, the ground was wood and brick rather than stone, the yard tastefully decorated with art and sculpture here and there to give the look of plants and shrubs.  There was even a small fountain that bubbled pleasantly, which small bird-shaped alebrijes might use as a bath.

Héctor took deep breaths to steady himself as he approached the front door, not out of any need for air but only old habit.  If he let his hands shake, Miguel would notice, and the poor kid didn’t need anything more to worry about.  Standing on the mat, he took one last glance down at his grandson and winced; hair sticking out around the oversized hat, face smudged with grime from the back streets, covered in a tattered, filthy poncho, the boy looked like a complete ragamuffin.

...whoops. Not gonna win me any points...but I’m already in the record-setting negatives anyway.

Héctor raised a fist and knocked timidly.  He couldn’t exactly hope that no one was at home, but maybe Imelda would be out and he could speak to someone else—

A roar resounded through the courtyard and sent Miguel crowding against his legs with a frightened squeak.

Oh no.

Imelda’s huge, terrifying alebrije rose from a sunny spot on the outbuilding roof across the courtyard, wings casting a deep shadow as the massive feline leaped effortlessly to the ground.  The growl the creature emitted shook the courtyard floor as it advanced.  Pepita knew Héctor on sight and, after this many years, knew that her mistress didn’t want him around.

And yet, Miguel’s fearful whimper seemed to drown out all of the oncoming alebrije’s noise.

“Hey!”  Hyper-aware of the tiny hands clinging to his trouser leg, Héctor pointed a finger at the big cat’s nose, marveling somewhere in the back of his mind that his hands still weren’t shaking.  “Back off!  I’m here on business, and you’re scaring the kid!”

Pepita snarled but stood still, as if momentarily baffled by his defiance.  One swat from her paw could scatter him all over the courtyard like an upended bundle of sticks, and she’d never been shy about showing her displeasure.  Before she could respond, however, a small brightly-colored bundle of excitement bounced up to her feet, yapping loudly and tail wagging in a blur.  Apparently stymied by this enthusiasm, Pepita stared down at the Xolo-alebrije-pup that threw itself to the ground in front of her and wriggled endearingly as if ecstatic to see her.

With the fearsome alebrije thus distracted (perhaps she wasn’t sure if she should eat it or play with it), Héctor kept Miguel close to him and edged away from the hazard.  The only thing worse now would be—

Just behind him, the door swung open sharply.  “—is going on, upsetting my alebrije and—you.”

Imelda’s voice, quick to bare fangs of spite, bit into him with all the pain and force he remembered from the last time he’d darkened her doorstep—and the time before that, and the time before that...

Dios, dame fuerza.

Héctor closed his eyes, gave himself one moment to gather all his strength, and turned to her with the most neutral, earnest expression he could manage.  Now was not the time for smarmy grins, romantic flourishes, or exaggerated pleas.  “Imelda, buenos días.  I—”

“Get out!  Pendejo músico!” she snarled, her face twisting with rage.  “If I’ve told you once I’ve told you a thousand times, never come back here!”

“I’ll go, just give me a moment to—!”

“I gave you my heart!  I gave you years of my life!”  She had her boot in her hand in the blink of an eye, advancing on him as threateningly as her alebrije had.  “You spat on it all and threw it away!  I will give you nothing more!”

Already he was backing away from her wrath, ducking her swing.  “Imelda, listen—!”

“Cállate!  I told you to get out!  Out!  Never show your face here again!”

When he dodged back again, his leg bumped against solid warmth.  Miguel was still there, cowering from the huge angry alebrije and the shouting adults with a child’s innocent confusion, and Héctor was his only shelter from all that was frightening and unfamiliar.

Imelda had a right to her anger, but this was a separate issue.

Enough.  Enough.  This is not helping Miguel!

If he stepped back even once more, they’d be fighting on top of their great-great-grandson (a young child should never be subjected to their parents’ conflicts).  Héctor straightened his spine as Imelda swung again.  Instead of giving ground, he raised his right arm to block the blow.

Her boot slammed into his radius, snapping the brittle bone with a crack that seemed like a gunshot in the closed courtyard, thudding into his ulna with bruising force.  He grit his teeth against the lightning agony that rocketed up his arm, the pain turning his voice sharp.

“Will you stop shouting and listen to me for one God-blessed minute?”

For a moment Imelda stood blinking at him, startled as much by the fact she’d actually connected as with his tone.

“This is important.”  He lowered his arm, pushing her shoe away; urgency made him force the pain to the background, though he didn’t dare try to move any of the fingers of his right hand.  “Miguel is here.”

“What?”  Her jaw went slack.  “You mean—my Miguelito?  But...I-I should’ve been notified—!”

“He’s not dead,” Héctor reassured her quickly, reaching back with his good arm to nudge the child forward.  He reclaimed his fraying hat, removing the haphazard disguise on the boy.  “He didn’t come in through Arrivals.”

Stunned, Imelda stared down at the living child on her doorstep.  Wary of her, Miguel kept a grip on Héctor’s trouser leg as if expecting him to disappear.

“He showed up last night near—near my place,” Héctor went on, “and...I thought it best if I brought him to you.”

“Last night?” Imelda snapped, her ire quickly returning.  “He’s been here since last night and you didn’t—?”

“He didn’t recognize me.”  Héctor tried not to bite out the words, tried not to sound the slightest bit accusing, the pain in his arm already sharpening his tone.  “And I didn’t know who he was at first.  And he was soaking wet—I wasn’t going to run him across town like that in the middle of the night!”

Imelda’s scowl deepened along with her glare.  “Explain.  Now.”

“He came from the Waters.”  Héctor kept his good hand on Miguel’s hair, trying to reassure the boy as he spoke quickly.  “Something about a ghost trying to grab him—maybe La Llorona?—and this alebrije puppy rescued him from it, but somehow he got from the river in Santa Cecilia to...here.”

Imelda spared a quick glance at Dante, where the pup was bouncing happily around Pepita’s paws as if trying to reach the big cat’s face to lick it.

“Alebrije can’t carry anything across the Veil,” she stated skeptically.  “If they could, people would have been sending letters and packages back and forth every day instead of only on Día de Muertos.”

“I don’t know how.”  Héctor shrugged, and immediately regretted it when the movement jostled his fractured arm.  Wincing, he hissed through his teeth and pressed on.  “I found my living grandson washed up from the Waters with this alebrije that used to be his pet, and he doesn’t understand what happened either, only that he heard a scary sound, fell in the river, and saw something that looked like a ghost before his dog pulled him under and he woke up here!  And now he’s got to get back to the land of the living, he’s hungry, and I don’t have any way to help him!”

“Another inconvenience you’re so eager to leave behind,” Imelda sniffed, folding her arms.

Struck, Héctor found himself glaring back at her for several beats, wondering if she’d actually heard any of the words he’d said.  He had to tighten his jaw to keep from retorting something about how she’d wanted him to bring the boy sooner.  His worry over Miguel had apparently short-circuited his usual guilt and passivity in her presence, but if he fought with her they’d get nowhere; Imelda never backed down from a fight, and the quickest way to defuse her was to avoid locking horns.

“I have nothing,” he said, as flatly as he could manage.  “I have no food for him, and my house is not fit for children.  You can provide for him better than I can.  You can make sure the Department does everything possible to return him to the living world.  This isn’t about me—this isn’t even about us.  Miguel takes priority, and I can’t help him.”

She studied him for long moments before finally rolling her eyes and looking away.  “Fine.  You’ve done your good deed.  Of course I’ll take care of him.  Now get out.”

“Gracias, Imelda.”  With only one arm, Héctor tried to push the boy toward her, but Miguel wouldn’t let go of him.  “Miguel...mijo, you’re gonna stay with Imelda now, alright?  She’ll get you some breakfast.”

“No...Papá Héctor, I wanna go with you!”  Miguel resisted the soft pressure, balking more when Imelda reached for him.  “I don’t want to stay here!”

“Easy now—I got it.  Hey, hey, Miguel,” Héctor said gently, kneeling to look the child in the eyes, “this is your Mamá Imelda.  You know her, right?”

“She’s on top of the ofrenda,” the boy said after a moment, guarded.  “Mamá Coco’s mamá.  She made shoes first.”

“That’s right.”  Héctor smiled encouragingly.  “Mamá Imelda has room for you, and food too.  That’s why you need to stay here.”

“But...”  Miguel cast a wary, suspicious look up at the stern woman, keeping a tight hold on Héctor’s left arm bones.  “She’s the one who said no music.  She’ll hate me.”

“No way!  Mamá Imelda loves you.  She takes care of your family that lives here, just like your Abuelita takes care of your family where you live.  You’re much more important than music, mijo.  You need to stay where it’s safer for you.”  Héctor didn’t let his smile waver, cajoling and positive.  “You’ll feel better when you get some food, okay?  Your family here will be so happy to see you!  And then Mamá Imelda will help you go home to your mamá and papá.  You’ll be fine.”

“Well...okay...”  Very reluctantly, Miguel let go of Héctor’s good arm.  He didn’t look pleased, but at least he wasn’t digging in his heels.

“Come along, Miguel.”  Imelda held out her hand, her voice firm but not cold.

The boy glanced at her outstretched hand, then at Héctor.  “When are you coming back?”

I’m not.  I’m sorry.

“Imelda’s gonna take care of you now.”  The tears he held back burned as his good hand cupped his grandson’s cheek, cherishing the warmth he would never touch again.  Leaning close, he kissed the boy’s forehead, lingering to murmur, “Be good, Miguel.  I love you.”

Please don’t forget how much I love you.

As Héctor rose and stepped back, holding himself rigid, Imelda caught Miguel’s arm when the boy reached for him again.  She still glared at him, but there was something off in her gaze that he couldn’t process; all his strength was taken by staying upright and polite.  There wasn’t time or space for one more hug, one more goodbye, one more anything—he would always want one more, and another, and another...

One more chance.  Please, just...

If he started he’d never stop.  He had to hold himself up in spite of his broken heart breaking all over again, in spite of the jagged pain in his cracked arm.  As if it wasn’t his family he was walking away from once more; as if it wasn’t the only kin who’d shown him any affection in almost a century he was leaving behind, never to see again.

I can’t...

I have to.

He’d told her he would leave as soon as he’d explained.  His face a mask, he cleared his throat and tipped his hat to the lady as if she was a stranger he’d bumped into in the marketplace.  “I’m sorry to have bothered you, Señora.  Good day.”

She started and looked as if she wanted to say something, but he turned away too quickly.  He was already at the edge of his tolerances, and if he lingered now he’d collapse.  He could only try to ignore the sounds behind him—the scuffling of little feet, the click and rattle of a door opening.

“Papá Héctor’s gonna come back, right?  M-Mamá Imelda?  He’s gonna come back?  After breakfast?”

“Of course not.”  Imelda’s voice, gentler with a child but still displeased.  “That músico is not welcome here.”

“B-but, he’s—!”

“Miguel, behave and come inside.  We need to get you home.”

“No...no, Papá Héctor, please!”

I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.  I can’t help you.

Héctor kept walking, telling himself he couldn’t hear anything behind him, not the upset little boy or the irritated woman or the confused whines of the alebrije-dog.  Everyone here hated him, but Miguel didn’t want him to leave, and that was almost enough to break him.

My boy.  I love you.  Go home.  Live.

Closing the courtyard gate behind him helped drown out some of the noise, but it didn’t really stop until Imelda managed to get Miguel inside and shut the door.  Then he was walking through the quiet of an ordinary neighborhood in the late morning, with no living child at his side (no small warm hand in his, no sweet musical giggles, no curious little voice asking so many questions) as if once more it had all been a dream, as if it had never happened at all.

Every step he took carried him further away from the last scrap of love in his existence.  If by some astronomically slim chance he lasted long enough to see Miguel again, his grandson would be grown, old enough to understand the truth, and turned against him by the stories of their family.  The little chamaco who looked at him with love and adoration would never do so again.

But Miguel would live.  And that was all that mattered.

Héctor kept putting one limping foot in front of the other, his only company the broken-glass ache of his fractured arm.  He didn’t care where he was going, just away, and his feet carried him along aimlessly until he found himself all the way back where he’d started, just outside of Shantytown.  Old, old habit had led him back home.

Beyond the gate there was music and joking and raucous teasing shouts.  Everyone within sounded far too happy in the afternoon lull.  Like they hadn’t had their fondest wishes offered to them on a silver platter and had to let the gift slip through their fingers.

It wasn’t fair of him to be bitter.  He should not begrudge his Shantytown Family any happiness they could find.  They hadn’t had the privilege of a surprise living family visit, not even through an ofrenda.  He’d had an opportunity few of them could even dream of, and he should be grateful for the time he’d had.

It was his own fault.  He’d known Miguel for less than a day, and sending his grandson away was almost like leaving Coco behind all over again.  He got attached far too easily, even when he knew he shouldn’t.  He knew it only caused pain, missing what he couldn’t have, and he already had enough to miss just trying to see his daughter again.

His heart disagreed with his head.  His heart said that Miguel was his grandson and he had every right to miss him, even if he’d only known him for a few hours.  His heart wanted to rush back to his family’s home and beg for one more chance, even if pleading had never worked before.  His heart knew that he loved that beautiful little boy helplessly, instantly, eternally, just like he loved his wife, his daughter, and all of his faceless grandchildren no matter how far apart they were.

Héctor couldn’t stand the thought of returning to his cold, empty hut without the music of Miguel’s voice to fill it.  He had no strength left to don his careless grin for the sake of his fellow Nearly-Forgotten.  He turned away from the merry voices of his Shantytown Family (their laughter he couldn’t join and their questions he didn’t want to answer) and his feet took him onward to the shadowed place at the edge of the misty Waters where he’d first found Miguel.

There he slumped like a forgotten marionette, with his broken arm and his broken heart, silent tears rolling down his cheekbones.  In over a hundred years of existence, he’d never learned to stop longing for things he couldn’t have, and all he could think about was the precious boy just beyond his grasp and the beloved daughter whose whole life he’d missed.

He didn’t move from that spot until Chicharrón found him, hours or days or eternities later.

(tbc)

How can I not love you? What do I tell my heart? When do I not want you Here in my arms? How does one waltz away From all of the memories? How do I not miss you When you are gone?

How can I not love you When you are gone?

— Joy Enriquez, “How Can I Not Love You” (Anna and the King)

I know it’s a romantic song, but it has the right sentiment.

Partial inspiration for the bone break comes from @im-fairly-whitty and This Post.  (I hope you don’t mind, Wit!  I thought “Hey wouldn’t this be dramatic?” and then remembered “Didn’t someone already do this?“)

Imelda didn’t give Miguel the best of first impressions in the film canon, either. (He tried to escape her then, too.)

This chapter was just plain hard to write.

[unsettlingshortstories]

The Book of Sand

Jorge Luis Borges (1975)

Thy rope of sands . . .                            —George Herbert

     The line is made up of an infinite number of points; the plane of an infinite number of lines; the volume of an infinite number of planes; the hypervolume of an infinite number of volumes. . . . No, unquestionably this is not—more geometrico—the best way of beginning my story. To claim that is it true is nowadays the convention of every made-up story. Mine, however, is true.

     I live alone in a fourth-floor apartment on Belgrano Street, in Buenos Aires. Late one evening, a few months back, I heard a knock at my door. I opened it and a stranger stood there. He was a tall man, with nondescript features—or perhaps it was my myopia that made them seem that way. Dressed in gray and carrying a gray suitcase in his hand, he had an unassuming look about him. I saw at once that he was a foreigner. At first, he struck me as old; only later did I realize that I had been misled by his thin blond hair, which was, in a Scandinavian sort of way, almost white. During the course of our conversation, which was not to last an hour, I found out that he came from the Orkneys.

     I invited him in, pointing to a chair. He paused awhile before speaking. A kind of gloom emanated from him—as it does now from me.

     “I sell Bibles,” he said.

     Somewhat pedantically, I replied, “In this house are several English Bibles, including the first—John Wiclif’s. I also have Cipriano de Valera’s, Luther’s—which, from a literary viewpoint, is the worst—and a Latin copy of the Vulgate. As you see, it’s not exactly Bibles I stand in need of.”

     After a few moments of silence, he said, “I don’t only sell Bibles. I can show you a holy book I came across on the outskirts of Bikaner. It may interest you.”

     He opened the suitcase and laid the book on a table. It was an octavo volume, bound in cloth. There was no doubt that it had passed through many hands. Examining it, I was surprised by its unusual weight. On the spine were the words “Holy Writ” and, below them, “Bombay.”

     “Nineteenth century, probably,” I remarked.

     “I don’t know,” he said. “I’ve never found out.”

     I opened the book at random. The script was strange to me. The pages, which were worn and typographically poor, were laid out in a double column, as in a Bible. The text was closely printed, and it was ordered in versicles. In the upper corners of the pages were Arabic numbers. I noticed that one left-hand page bore the number (let us say) 40,514 and the facing right-hand page 999. I turned the leaf; it was numbered with eight digits. It also bore a small illustration, like the kind used in dictionaries—an anchor drawn with pen and ink, as if by a schoolboy’s clumsy hand.

     It was at this point that the stranger said, “Look at the illustration closely. You’ll never see it again.”

     I noted my place and closed the book. At once, I reopened it. Page by page, in vain, I looked for the illustration of the anchor. “It seems to be a version of Scriptures in some Indian language, is it not?” I said to hide my dismay.

     “No,” he replied. Then, as if confiding a secret, he lowered his voice. “I acquired the book in a town out on the plain in exchange for a handful of rupees and a Bible. Its owner did not know how to read. I suspect that he saw the Book of Books as a talisman. He was of the lowest caste; nobody but other untouchables could tread his shadow without contamination. He told me his book was called the Book of Sand, because neither the book nor the sand has any beginning or end.”

     The stranger asked me to find the first page.

     I laid my left hand on the cover and, trying to put my thumb on the flyleaf, I opened the book. It was useless. Every time I tried, a number of pages came between the cover and my thumb. It was as if they kept growing from the book.

     “Now find the last page.”

     Again I failed. In a voice that was not mine, I barely managed to stammer, “This can’t be.”

     Still speaking in a low voice, the stranger said, “It can’t be, but it is. The number of pages in this book is no more or less than infinite. None is the first page, none the last. I don’t know why they’re numbered in this arbitrary way. Perhaps to suggest that the terms of an infinite series admit any number.”

     Then, as if he were thinking aloud, he said, “If space is infinite, we may be at any point in space. If time is infinite, we may be at any point in time.”

     His speculations irritated me. “You are religious, no doubt?” I asked him.

     “Yes, I’m a Presbyterian. My conscience is clear. I am reasonably sure of not having cheated the native when I gave him the Word of God in exchange for his devilish book.”

     I assured him that he had nothing to reproach himself for, and I asked if he were just passing through this part of the world. He replied that he planned to return to his country in a few days. It was then that I learned that he was a Scot from the Orkney Islands. I told him I had a great personal affection for Scotland, through my love of Stevenson and Hume.

     “You mean Stevenson and Robbie Burns,” he corrected.

     While we spoke, I kept exploring the infinite book. With feigned indifference, I asked, “Do you intend to offer this curiosity to the British Museum?”

     “No. I’m offering it to you,” he said, and he stipulated a rather high sum for the book.

     I answered, in all truthfulness, that such a sum was out of my reach, and I began thinking. After a minute or two, I came up with a scheme.

     “I propose a swap, ” I said. “You got this book for a handful of rupees and a copy of the Bible. I’ll offer you the amount of my pension check, which I’ve just collected, and my black-letter Wiclif Bible. I inherited it from my ancestors.”

     “A black-letter Wiclif!” he murmured.

     I went to my bedroom and brought him the money and the book. He turned the leaves and studied the title page with all the fervor of a true bibliophile.

     “It’s a deal,” he said.

     It amazed me that he did not haggle. Only later was I to realize that he had entered my house with his mind made up to sell the book. Without counting the money, he put it away.

     We talked about India, about Orkney, and about the Norwegian jarls who once ruled it. It was night when the man left. I have not seen him again, nor do I know his name.

     I thought of keeping the Book of Sand in the space left on the shelf by the Wiclif, but in the end I decided to hide it behind the volumes of a broken set of The Thousand and One Nights. I went to bed and did not sleep. At three or four in the morning, I turned on the light. I got down the impossible book and leafed through its pages. On one of them I saw engraved a mask. The upper corner of the page carried a number, which I no longer recall, elevated to the ninth power.

     I showed no one my treasure. To the luck of owning it was added the fear of having it stolen, and then the misgiving that it might not truly be infinite. These twin preoccupations intensified my old misanthropy. I had only a few friends left; I now stopped seeing even them. A prisoner of the book, I almost never went out anymore. After studying its frayed spine and covers with a magnifying glass, I rejected the possibility of a contrivance of any sort. The small illustrations, I verified, came two thousand pages apart. I set about listing them alphabetically in a notebook, which I was not long in filling up. Never once was an illustration repeated. At night, in the meager intervals my insomnia granted, I dreamed of the book.

     Summer came and went, and I realized that the book was monstrous. What good did it do me to think that I, who looked upon the volume with my eyes, who held it in my hands, was any less monstrous? I felt that the book was a nightmarish object, an obscene thing that affronted and tainted reality itself.

     I thought of fire, but I feared that the burning of an infinite book might likewise prove infinite and suffocate the planet with smoke. Somewhere I recalled reading that the best place to hide a leaf is in a forest. Before retirement, I worked on Mexico Street, at the Argentine National Library, which contains nine hundred thousand volumes. I knew that to the right of the entrance a curved staircase leads down into the basement, where books and maps and periodicals are kept. One day I went there and, slipping past a member of the staff and trying not to notice at what height or distance from the door, I lost the Book of Sand on one of the basement’s musty shelves.

[kprciffdw]

Kim Possible: The Extremely Secret Files-Part 17

They made their way through the long corridor, hurrying towards Ron as fast as they could. Along the way, they ran into Rufus. Kim: "Rufus! If you're here, then that means Ron can't be too far off."

He seemed panicky as he pointed towards another direction. Ratchet: "He seems to want us to follow him." Kim: "Lead the way, Rufus."

They followed Rufus through the corridor some more. They kept going until they stopped in front of something that displeased them a lot. They found Ron locked in a room containing a lot of monkeys, which he was running from while screaming a lot. They both found this to be awkward but Kim didn't seem surprised to see this. Ratchet: "Uh…you did tell me that Ron was afraid of monkeys, but…I had no idea that it was this bad." Kim: "Come on, Ratchet. We have to help him."

Kim ran off. Ratchet hesitated for a bit. Ratchet: "Um…OK…be right there."

He followed after her.

They worked together trying to get the door open, but Ratchet gave up and just blasted it open. Ron immediately ran out with all of the monkeys chasing him. Kim and Ratchet exchanged displeased looks with each other and went after them.

They ran past the monkeys, grabbed Ron and used their grappling items to reach a very high ledge. Rufus had a chance to reunite with Ron. Ron: "Rufus!"

Down below them, the monkeys eventually gave up, turned around and went the other way. Ron, relieved to finally be away from that panic fest, grabbed both Kim and Ratchet and embraced them closely in an emotional manner. Ron: "Oh! KP! Ratchet! Thank goodness you guys came for me! I thought I would never escape from those vicious beasts!"

Ratchet, annoyed, pushed Ron off of himself and Kim. Ratchet: "Will you calm down? They weren't that bad! I mean, geez, I had no idea your fear of those animals were that severe!"

Ron then became sad; Ratchet then grew less tense as he noticed this. Ratchet: "Come on, let's go find Clank."

Ratchet walked off with Kim. Ron stood by, hesitating. Ron: "But…but…Drakken said…he'll destroy Bueno Nacho if we were to…escape…HE'S GONNA DESTROY BUENO NACHO!" Kim: "Ron! Drakken is not going to destroy Bueno Nacho! Don't worry, I'll see to it that he doesn't. Now let's just keep going already."

They walked off with Ron following behind.

They kept on their way, fighting off more robots through another corridor. They were eventually able reach the hanger bay where they reunited with Clank. Ron: "Clank! Where have you been?" Ratchet: "Did you manage to run into your little friend?" Clank: "I do not know what you mean."

Ratchet smiled at him in a somewhat mocking manner. Kim and Ron were confused. Ron: "Uh…little friend?" Ratchet: "Oh, just an admirer of Clank's. She helped us to escape." Kim: "OK…so what now?"

They looked around for a bit. Just then, Ron noticed something. Ron: "Hey, Ratchet, is that your ship over there?"

Looked over and also noticed Ratchet's ship, encased in a force field. Ratchet: "Dang it! They impounded my ship!" Ron: "Really? It doesn't look like it was flattened to me." Kim: "No, Ron, impound means to take something and encase it. You know, as in confiscating?" Ron: "Oh, right. Wait! If the ship is encased in that force field, then that means…aw, man! We're still stuck here!" Ratchet: "Yeah, obviously we are, Ron!" Clank: "We are going to need to deactivate that force field if we ever hope to leave this place, unfortunately. How we are able to do that, I am unsure." Ron: "So how will we?" Kim: "Hm…"

She pulled out the Kimmunicator. Kim: "Wade, come in." Wade: "Kim? Thank goodness you're OK! I was worried about you! Where are you guys now?" Kim: "We're aboard the flying lab that Ratchet and I were on during the start of this mission. It's been taken over by Thugs-4-Less and converted into a prison. We were a few of its prisoners." Ron: "Uh, were?" Kim: "Oh and the Thugs-4-Less were bought out by Drakken, who is now working with Mr. Fizzwidget and Megacorp." Wade: "Wow, the bad news just keeps piling up." Ratchet: "Tell us something we don't know, Wade." Wade: "Well, if you guys are hoping to hear some good news, then you're in luck. I have been working on a few new gadgets that may help you guys out. Ratchet, I've looked into upgrading your wrench. I was researching the one that you lent to me and have found that I can incorporate a stronger, denser metal. I will need to have you send your other wrench so I can look into that in exchange for your old wrench." Ratchet: "Um, OK, I can do that."

Wade's vendor reappeared; Ratchet placed his current wrench into the vendor. It was swapped out for his old wrench. He pulled it out of the vendor. Wade looked into the other wrench. Wade: "Hm… interesting, the metal from this wrench is surprisingly more durable. But the molecular structure seems a lot more advanced. I'll need to research on this some more. In the meantime, I should tell you about the modifications that I have done with your old wrench. It should be much stronger than it was before. You'll notice it once you actually start using it. I think you'll be impressed by the results." Ratchet: "I'll take your word for it. Thanks again, Wade, you rock."

Wade smiled. Kim: "So, Wade, any indications on where Drakken and Shego could be? They stole that container with all of the shuttle pieces that I've collected." Wade: "What? They've stolen every single piece of that space shuttle that we've collected!? Why didn't you tell me sooner!?" Kim: "Because finding Ron was more important at the time. Besides, I'm not worried about finding those 2; we can handle that just fine." Wade: "Well…I wouldn't be too sure about that. I can't seem to find Shego anywhere, although I am able to pinpoint that Drakken is still on the large vessel." Ratchet: "Let's go find him!" Kim: "Point us in the right direction." Wade: "He's due North. Take the first door on the left." Kim: "Got it! Let's go."

They rushed towards that door as fast as they could and ran in.

They arrived within another corridor and navigated themselves through. They faced off against more robots; however, there was something different about them. Kim: "Hm…the designs of these robots seem familiar…could they be some of Drakken's designs?" Ron: "I would think so; they look a lot like the kind that we have faced off against many times in the past."

Along the way, they ran into Lilo and Stitch. Ratchet: "Lilo? Stitch? What are you doing here? No, wait, don't tell me, you're looking for another one of your Experiments, aren't you?" Lilo: "Yep, that's exactly right." Stitch: "Ih!" Lilo: "But we just lost sight of it, maybe you can help us find it?" Kim: "Sure. Perhaps we can help each other out again." Lilo: "Sounds good to me." Stitch: "Okie-taka!"

Just then, they heard a loud crashing noise. Ratchet: "What was that!?" Kim: "It sounded like it came from behind that door!" Ratchet: "Let's go."

They rushed through the nearby door almost immediately. When they ran through, they were shocked to find that the corridor had its floors completely destroyed, crumbling into a large lava pit below. They looked outward and spotted Drakken on another hover vehicle, laughing maniacally. He became startled immediately after spotting them. Stitch: "(growl) Drakken!"

Drakken flew off on his vehicle. Ratchet: "Come on, we can't let him get away!"

Kim and Ratchet, with the use of their flying equipment, flew across the lava pit while carrying Ron and Lilo. Stitch crawled on the walls. They made their chase with Drakken as they flew through the corridor. He made many attempts to lose them with a few devices such as explosives and even tossed out some of his own robots at them, but they didn't stop them. They fought him as they chased him down. Stitch sometimes jumped into his vehicle and lashed out at him in a vicious manner, but Drakken would sometimes toss him out, with him either latching back on the walls or being caught by Kim or Ratchet or sometimes even both. They were eventually able to bring him down. His flying vehicle fell near the very end of the corridor where he jumped out of his it, it fell into the lava pit. He was able to land on some of the flooring that hadn't been blown up. Ratchet and the others caught up to him and eventually cornered him. Ratchet: "End of the line, Drakken! There's no where left to run!" Clank: "Please hand over the pieces of Dr. Possible's space shuttle that you have taken from Miss Possible and you will not be harmed." Drakken: "(groan) Fine!"

He pulled out the container and tossed it towards Kim. Drakken: "Take it!"

Kim was able to catch it with ease. Drakken: "It won't matter, anyway. The last of my plans are nearly complete. Soon, I will unlock all of the secrets of the Impossible Space Station of the Future and then all of Earth will bow down before the might of Dr. Drakken!" Lilo: "Not if we have anything to say about it, you bad man!"

Just then, they heard something blast through a nearby door. Stepping out from it was Shego. Drakken: "There you are! What took you so long to get here?" Shego: "Sorry, I was getting the few final materials from that geezer. I don't even know how Mr. Brainless and Senile is even able to run such a large corporation the way he is. He makes you look like an actual genius." Drakken: "Let's just get back to the ISSF already, Shego." Shego: "Fine with me."

She then summoned a huge amount of energy from her hands then tossed it on the ground, creating a huge flash that blinded everyone. Drakken: "(laugh) Farewell, Kim Possible! The next time we meet, the Earth shall be mine!"

When the flash had subsided, Drakken and Shego were already gone. Ratchet: "(growl) They got away again." Kim: "Don't worry, we'll get them. I'll see to it that they won't succeed on their plans."

Soon enough, they arrived within a small room. Ratchet: "Thanks for helping us out with chasing down that Drakken, guys." Lilo: "No need to thank us; the pleasure was all ours." Stitch: "Ih!" Clank: "By the way, how is it that you know that horrible brute?" Lilo: "A while back, Drakken snatched away Stitch because he was asked to do it by our enemy, Dr. Hamsterviel." Kim: "I remember that. It was another mission that Ron and I were called into." Ratchet: "Is that how you met Lilo and Stitch?" Kim: "Yep, that's exactly right." Lilo: "Kim and I were able to rescue Stitch from that horrible man and green lady." Stitch: "Ih! Drakken did bad things to Stitch, so Stitch wanted to get even." Ratchet: "Huh, glad to hear that we share the same resentment with that guy. (laugh)"

Suddenly, he started shivering. Ratchet: "Did it just get cold in here?" Kim: "(shivering) I'm…I'm st-st-st-starting to f-f-feel it, t-too." Ron: "(shivering) Wh-wh-what is g-g-going on here?" Clank: "(shivering) M-m-m-m-maybe the cl-cl-climate c-controls on this sh-sh-sh-sh-ship is mal-malfunctioning…"

Kim then spotted something. Kim: "Hey! Look!"

They looked up and spotted another strange creature. Lilo: "It…it's e-e-experiment 012! No-no wonder it got c-cold in here." Kim: "Let me handle this."

She pulled out another containment field and tossed it at the Experiment, containing it completely. The room warmed up as the Experiment was pulled towards them. Everyone stopped shivering. Ratchet: "Ah…that's better." Lilo: "Mahalo again, you guys. I think I would like to give something to you in return for getting that Experiment for us."

Lilo pulled out another monitor and held it out. Lilo: "Stitch and I found this while we were looking for that Experiment."

The screen showed Angela trying to provide them with intel while hiding on a Thugs-4-Less fleet, but was found and caught by the Thug Leader. She was pulled away while he taunted the group. Ratchet: "Whoa! Did you guys see that?" Clank: "Yes, I did. It seems as though Angela has some very important intel on the Protopets." Ratchet: "And we have to rescue her from the Thugs!" Kim: "I agree. She seems to be in a lot of trouble and who knows what they'll do to her?" Ratchet: "Exactly!"

Ron chuckled a little. Ron: "Did you see how that Thug guy fell for her cat impression for a second there? What a bonehead." Kim: "Huh, that isn't any surprise to me at all." Clank: "I will upload the coordinates." Lilo: "Stitch and I would love to help you guys save that girl, but we still need to look for more of Stitch's cousins." Ratchet: "It's OK, we'll take care of it from here. Thanks again for helping us out, Lilo. You, too, Stitch." Lilo: "We hope to see you guys again." Stitch: "Ih! Goodbye and Aga Chaba!"

Lilo and Stitch left with the Experiment. At that moment, the Kimmunicator went off. Kim pulled it out. Wade: "Kim, I've noticed that you got the ship parts that you have collected back from Drakken." Kim: "Yep, we did, but we still have a problem. The Thugs-4-Less impounded Ratchet's ship when they incarcerated us and it's now contained within a force field." Wade: "Don't worry, I've already figure out how to shut that force field down. I've been picking up energy readings of the force field emanating from within the room that you're in. Perhaps there's a switch to deactivate it."

Ron looked around the room for a bit. Ron: "Hm…you know? This place is pretty sweet. I wonder how they…"He then tripped and fell on a switch, which deactivated the force field. Kim, Ratchet and Clank immediately took notice of this, then looked at Ron. Ratchet: "Hm, nicely done, Ron. You've shut down that force field. Not exactly how I would have wanted it to be done, but I'm not complaining." Kim: "Yes! We can finally get out of here!" Ratchet: "Yeah. Come on, let's go."

They rushed towards the ship, got in, then took off and flew away.