#FAR from me to be the first to comment on the sheer staggering amount of privledge of the league

[muirneach]

in the other direction. nhl media still very much loves to market themselves as a league full of saskatchewan farmboys. and don’t get me wrong. saskatchewan is still very much producing constant talent per capita. much love to the farmboys of the league. but i think the nhl ignores that half the rosters are from rich gtha suburbs because the facilities and time and commitment and opportunities required for going pro or even just going to higher levels of hockey past your local cities league has a lot of barriers that are largely accessible only to rich people. and its just weird to me how they still harken to a time when it was very much a working class upbringing in the league. for a very long time players have been making comparatively big bucks but even still many of them had summer jobs even in the 60s. in 1972 the national film board released a little doc about the nordiques entitled “just another job”. boy the continued increase of life or death professionalism in professional sports!

[leechfluff]

Transformation (1/2)

Story contains-  Nonbinary Character, female Character, fluff, whump, hurt but no comfort (not until the next chapter anyway)

Part 2

Also Contains- Hunger, painful transformation, urges to over eat without actually doing so.

This is really more of an introduction to Grace (she/her) and Cardinal (they/them). 

Grace ran her fingers through the curly hair of her partner, carefully pulling out the endless knots that formed at the mildest provocation.

“Really darling, it’s like you don’t own a hair brush.”

She pulled it back into a ponytail, a task that would have been difficult if not for the undercut reducing the sheer amount of hair attempting to defy the task.

“Or a mirror for the matter” Grace continued to complain in a light tone.

Her partner, Cardinal, snorted softly stretching before leaning back into Grace.

“I promise you, I do happen to have both of those things.”

 Grace wrapped her arms around them, giving a doubtful Mhm sound.

“Really, I do!” Cardinal protested. “It’s not my fault my hair’s like this! It’s been like this as long as I can remember.”

Grace squirmed out from underneath Cardinal, they were outside at the park and even in the shade her partner’s leather jacket was uncomfortably warm to be underneath. 

“Problem?” There was concern behind those dark sunglasses. A timidness as to whether they had gone too far .

“Yes, actually. I know you get cold easily, but it’s almost 90 out. You should be dead in that thing.” Grace made a gesture to the offending article.

They laughed softly, a sound that often stood in contrast to their otherwise loud voice and seeming inability to go anywhere without making an absolute racket. 

“Well, I get sunburnt easily.” Cardinal shrugged, “Speaking of which, I ought to go home soon. Got a busy night planned and I’m already a lovely shade of pink.”

It was Grace’s turn to giggle, “Busy night eh? Sometimes I swear. You’re either a drug dealer or a prostitute.”

“Or a serial killer.”

“Oh yes, I can see the headlines now. ‘Pale individual, roughly 5 foot 1 seen departing scene. Witnesses say the suspect wore a hawaiian shirt that will haunt them till their dying days.”

Cardinal laughed again, reaching for the bag of pretzels and peering inside.

“Something got you stressed?” They asked as they examined the bag.

Grace paused before answering, 

“Not particularly, no? Why do you ask?”

“Because, an entire footlong usually lasts you for two meals and a bag of pretzels can last you all day. You ate both in a couple of hours. Only time I can remember you eating a whole bunch at once is when you get all stressed out.”

Grace felt herself flushing. Yes, her stomach did feel oddly tight when she thought about it but other than that she just hadn’t even realized how much she had eaten. In fact, as she thought about it she realized she still felt hungry. Her face shifted into a mixture of concern and alarm.

Before she could say anything Cardinal caught a look at her expression and immediately fumbled for words.

“I- uh I’m sorry? It’s not a bad thing, I just- uh- thought I’d see if everything is ok. You kind of- um- stress eat now and then so I just wanted to- erm…”

Grace grabber Cardinal’s face in her hands and kissed them on the lips, cutting them off.

“It’s ok, I just.. Hadn’t even noticed to be honest? I think I’ll go home too… Nothing’s wrong, really. I’m just kind of tired”

At some point Cardinal’s sunglasses had become dislodged, but they seemed less concerned about the eye protection and more concerned about Grace even as their eyes watered in the light.

They walked to Grace’s home together, sharing another kiss at the entryway before Cardinal continued down the street to where their own home waited for them.

As Grace shut the door, her stomach growled. She had passed ‘could go for a snack’ and into ‘so hungry it actually made her queasy’ territory. Instead of immediately heading for the pantry however, she first filled a cup with water from the tap and sipped at it. It didn’t help much, but took the edge off the queasiness. 

Cardinal’s comment about her eating habits was not unwarranted. She really didn’t eat too terribly much, with the exceptions being holidays and when she couldn’t find other coping methods for the stress. Even then, she tended to mindlessly snack over the course of a day rather than push her limits in one sitting.

She drained another glass and hesitated before grabbing a banana from the basket by the counter along with a small bag of chips. Grace curled up in her chair at her computer, dedicated to finding something to distract from the hollow feeling curling around her insides.

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

Grace jerked awake, a game over screen plastered across her monitor. It had to be close to evening, and as she checked her messages she cringed slightly. It was easy to see that Cardinal had tried repeatedly to check if she was ok before it trailed off. This time when the phone started to ring she grabbed it hurriedly, answering too fast despite the fact that she still felt half asleep.

“Sorry, had a bit of a nap.”

“A bit?” Cardinal’s voice sounded incredulous, “Babe, it’s been hours. Are you sure you’re ok?”

“Um… Actually…” Grace grasped for the half empty glass of water she had left on her desk, “I think I’m coming down with something.”

“How so?”

Grace smiled. It was so like them to start playing doctor. Every cut, scrape, and illness they always had some form of advice or comfort when they didn’t know how to help. They weren't bad at it either, always finding some way to help.

“Tired, kind of weird feeling, I think I’m running a fever now.”

“I’ll be over at some point tonight, I’ll try and bring by some of that soup you like and stay on the couch.”

“No, I don’t want you catching… Whatever it is I’ve got.”

“I’m pretty sure if you’re contagious you gave it to me this morning. Repeatedly.”

“Fair point.” Grace knew better than to argue a point like that, it just wasn’t worth it.

There was a moment of silence, then,

“I’m probably going to go on to bed. Love you.”

“Love you too, try not to get worse. Get plenty of water, and try and eat dinner if you’re up to it. I probably won’t be by until after midnight.”

At the thought of food Grace’s stomach whined and churned. Leaving her silently praying that Cardinal wasn’t able to hear it from their end.

“Yeah I- I will.”

She hung up, drained the glass and stood up from her chair. In moments the room spun and she felt herself thud against the carpet. It felt like she was burning from the inside, her chest felt constricted. Every joint had gone soft as jello, or at least it felt like it.

Slowly she staggered upright and made a slow, stumbling journey up the short stairs and into her room. Collapsing into the unmade bed she curled in tightly on herself. Stomach churning threateningly as another wave of vertigo washed over her.

Every movement began to bring new popping noises out of every joint. Despite her shivering, she was soon peeling off sweaty clothes as the burning sensation spread from her stomach to her extremities. It felt like she was radiating so much heat that her skin was slowly burning as well. Growing tighter and more painful over her frame.

As she lay, curled up and shivering on top of the blankets, an uncomfortable sensation of something shifting inside her brought forth a pained whimper. 

Another, more painful, churning sensation caused her to tense, as her muscles strained against an invisible force. She arched her back, and upon the sudden movement brought a wave of sensation reminiscent to shards of glass piercing her from the inside. She heard a strangled scream as though from a distance and for all intents and purposes Grace fell unconscious as the moon crept into the sky.

[redspiderling]

Just a loving mess

Listen, this post won’t make much sense. Just know that, while my brain is not working properly right now, this all comes from the heart, because I, along with many of you (and Scarlett Johansson) have been waiting for this day for a very, very long time, and that means, I have a lot of feelings. Mostly love, always love for Natasha. For example, it’s beautiful how I can’t be bothered with the mess that was the Endgame anymore, all that is gone and do you know why? Because look at all the actors wearing their black widow caps. How they obviously love and support Scarlett. At this point it's more than likely that she went through a lot with the MCU and with getting anywhere with her character, and if this is their way of appreciating just how hard she's fought for this, well, look at the tears in my eyes.

I snorted and cried and loved the indignation is Scarlett's voice when she said "Well, I was upset about it!", when asked about Natasha’s “death”. Isn’t it just typical behaviour of some self-obsessed male writer to do something like this and say nothing to the actress until she gets the fucking script and goes "WHAT?!"? And she knew she had her movie coming and they went straight ahead and did this. You bet your ass she was upset. It's common enough for actors to not care about their characters, but Scarlett obviously cares about Natasha. And of course she knew the fans would be upset as well, how could we not be?

I'm happy Clint is not in the film, in a non-cameo way at least. I love how knowingly they left out the boys, and Natasha's film will be rid of ship wars. It will be rid of people following it around for BoyCharacterA. It will start afresh.

I love, (can’t put into words how much I love) that they gave to the woman "without a family", a sister. Because a real sister, and not necessarily a biological one, is the greatest family a woman can have. I love that there is someone out there who calls Natasha family and actually means it.

I absolutely love Scarlett's crew. They are all brand new and super excited because this is their first MCU film. They have only been shooting for a month and their chemistry is amazing. Scarlett looking at them answering questions about Natasha's film with a big smile on her face is just the sweetest thing, she's so happy about this.

Rachel Weisz. That's it.

I love/hate how Scarlett chooses to "take the blame" for the character being "a caricature of herself" if she had gotten her movie 10 years ago. Darling, we all know you could have done it perfectly then. But I appreciate the fact that you're unwilling to draw a certain kind of attention to this film, and to yourself, and I couldn't be prouder of the human race, just for the fact that this kind of grace and class currently exist in one person. We really don't deserve you.

Which reminds me, I love that this movie attempts to stand on its own feet. It doesn't have an agenda, it's not a marketing scheme. It's not pressing its back against anything else to make sure people will get excited about it. It doesn't have a before, and it probably doesn't have an after either.

It doesn't need it, because Natasha Romanoff and Scarlett Johansson have had us begging for this film for 10 freaking years. It has a story to tell, and they're confident enough in this story to sail, without anything else, and that's the best anyone can hope for in a film. I couldn't possibly be happier about this. I honestly can't wait.

Speaking of story, Scarlett's dig at Marvel about the amount of dialogue Natasha has had in the past is Reasons To Live For. Can you imagine the childlike glee with which she must have dived in that script when she first got it? Also, doesn't it say A LOT about the quality of a story if Scarlett Johansson, aka woman who has been in some of the most defining films of the century so far, likes this script?

By the way, and if you follow me you know this already, the sheer amount of happiness Scarlett brought to the stage on Saturday is staggering and I’m dying inside from love for that alone. 

Yeah she’s usually reserved, and stressed, and as contained as she can be when she goes to stuff like this, because this world is full of people who can’t wait to tear the woman apart 24/7 over literally anything, but none of that could contain her happiness at coming on to the stage and announcing Natasha’s film to the world. 

10 years she worked for this. 10 Years. She could have let go as so many of them did before her, but she didn’t because if anything, to get to where she is you would need some fucking nerve, and a lot of care, and she has both, and if anyone has earned a film ever, Scarlett has earned Natasha’s film, it’s 100% hers and it’s full of women. In front and behind the cameras.

I hope this film will be everything they hope for it to be, and if we are to take Scarlett's comment about Natasha's ambiguous (or abstract, if you prefer) nature to heart, if this film puts a question mark over Natasha's "demise" that will never be answered, it will be more than enough of a resolution for me. Not only because not knowing anything for sure is better in this situation, not only because it will be a nice, polite but definite FUCK OFF to the Endgame team, but mostly because that question mark is EXACTLY who Natasha is, and I'm already smiling my evil smile just thinking about it.

See you in a minute Nat!!

(gif by the lovely @natashasromanofff 💖)

[mobius-prime]

214. Sonic the Hedgehog #146

The Good, the Bad & the Unknown (Part One): Prototype

Writer: Ken Penders Pencils: Steven Butler Colors: Jason Jensen

We begin in media res, with Sonic and Shadow beating on each other in the middle of some hidden technological facility! Why? Who knows! After a bit of fighting, Sonic, who has been taking some bad blows, hits Shadow with a gush of water from a pipe to distract him and runs for it, leaving Shadow behind to take in his situation. He considers chasing after Sonic, but upon hearing voices calling for Sonic decides he'd rather not face multiple people alone in a fight and heads the opposite way. The voices turn out to belong to Tails, Bunnie, and Tommy, trying to figure out where their friend has gone and wondering if his disappearance means the facility is more dangerous than they suspected. Shadow, meanwhile, heads down a side path into a hidden room, where he meets up with someone quite unexpected - a golden clone of the E-100 series of robots, whom he addresses as Isaac. Isaac asks him why he stopped fighting Sonic, as he's apparently been tracking Shadow's progress through the facility, and this prompts Shadow to go into a lengthy explanation of just how he ended up here. It seems that after he left Locke's lab, he detected a signal that matched what he knew of Gerald's old digital signature, and followed it to this place. While arriving he accidentally triggered some kind of security measure, which accounts for the explosion that the Freedom Fighters' instruments detected, but survived, and upon entering the facility found an airtight compartment which, upon opening it, released Isaac.

Upon looking into the files of a nearby computer, Shadow determined that Isaac was a staggering ten millennia old, possibly even older, and that his creators were in fact humans from before the Xorda's attack on Earth, meaning this facility somehow survived that whole ordeal up until now. This is fascinating, because it essentially means that Eggman somehow has encountered robots like Isaac before, and used them as inspiration for creating his own E-100 line, even though he never met the first of them all. As this is going on, Rotor and Fiona find Sonic, slumped over a console and clearly winded from his fight with Shadow. He describes how while his allies were busy checking the computers he decided to take a solo look around the place, and found himself running straight into Shadow.

Come on, Shadow, why so violent? This issue suffers from the same problem as last issue, with Penders apparently somehow thinking Shadow isn't supposed to be a biological being but instead some kind of mechanical one. I mean, anyone who's played Shadow's titular game will know that he's part Black Arms, so I guess Rotor's comment isn't technically inaccurate, but seeing as they haven't made a single appearance in the comic thus far, fans of only the comics would have no way of knowing that. As the two teams regroup in the facility and figure out their next moves, Eggman arrives on the scene, having detected both the earlier explosion and the subsequent arrival of the Freedom Fighters. He's certain that this place either contains something that he could use against the Freedom Fighters, or conversely, something they might use against him, so of course he's interested in finding out what all the hubbub is.

Dun dun duuuunnnn! It's been a while since we saw Metal, huh? The last one gained a soul at the last moment before being buried alive in a torrent of lava, but who knows what this one will be like once Eggman sets it loose on the heroes…

Out of Your Shell

Writer: Romy Chacon Pencils: Ron Lim Colors: Jason Jensen

This story is simple but very sweet. So think about what we know of Tommy so far. He's… uh, slow, and he… gets captured a lot? Now that we think about it, we really don't know what he's like personality-wise. He's been living with Rotor since being rescued, but he's slowly slipping into a bit of a depression, as Rotor and everyone else are too busy every day to hang out with him. One day, when Rotor (whom he still refers to as "Boomer" - remember, he knew the Freedom Fighters during their very early childhood, back when that was Rotor's nickname) gets home, he dejectedly talks about how he feels useless and has nothing to do around Knothole, since everyone's too caught up in the war to spend time with him. Rotor tries to reassure him that everyone has something they're good at, and he's sure Tommy will figure it out in time, but for now, he really does need to get to work.

Ding! Can you hear the lightbulb going off above Rotor's head? Apparently Tommy's organizational skills are spectacular, and after admiring the new filing system for his work, Rotor invites Tommy to begin helping him out properly in his lab, offering to teach him everything he knows in exchange for Tommy keeping the place clean. And once he brings Tommy into his messy, unorganized lab, Tommy appears delighted at the sheer amount of things there are for him to organize. I suppose this story takes place before last issue, as by then we already saw Tommy helping Rotor out in his lab. But good for Tommy! Glad he's found a good friend in Rotor - or Boomer. *wink*

Circuit Me

Writer: Romy Chacon Pencils: Al Bigley Colors: Jason Jensen

One day shortly after the above story, Rotor calls Sally into his lab for some help. Specifically, he needs Nicole to run some tests on power rings, as he thinks he has a way to increase their power output as a clean energy alternative to Eggman's favored fossil fuels and pollutants. Sally walks over to help Rotor hook Nicole up to his systems, but trips on a wire on the way there, which zaps both her and Nicole silly.

Oh boy, it's one of these! That's right, Sally and Nicole have switched bodies - er, systems? - and while Sally is frustrated at suddenly becoming software, Nicole finds herself disoriented by being in a physical body. Rotor tries to walk Sally through the steps of diagnosing exactly what went wrong, something that doesn't come naturally to her since she's, well, not normally stuck in a computer, but Nicole, dazed by the experience, wanders outside in Sally's body.

Careful Nicole, don't go becoming infatuated with Sonic now! The body-switching effect luckily lasts only a couple minutes, and soon Sally and Nicole are back in their respective bodies, but the experience still leaves Nicole with some residual feelings of attraction to Sonic. Man, Nicole, you just got hit with the full force of angsty 16-year-old hormones all at once for the first time in your life! For someone who's usually only used to digital feedback, that's gotta be a trip.

[thedistantstorm]

The Lion’s Heart 06

A shield, she realizes. The Traveler has gifted me a shield. I am a Defender: the last, lonely sentinel.

The tale of a different kind of Guardian: one who does not want the accolade of saving the world, who does not understand why she would be chosen to wield the Light remaining in the Shard. Once a reckless, dazzling Striker, the Traveler’s chosen is reborn a silent Sentinel. This is Kira’s story; About bringing people together, reclaiming their city, and overcoming the darkness despite it all.

Titans | Vanguard Mentors | Heavy Angst | PTSD | Descriptions of Light | Loss of Light | Canon-typical Violence | Heroes of Necessity | Canon Compliant | The Red War

Previous Parts: 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 | 05

-/

They know now.

About the Almighty.

What it does. What it's going to do if they...

If she…

… Can't stop it.

It's a terrifying thought.

Zavala rises to the occasion. He wants the fleet mobilized, he wants to fight - finally, Kira thinks, he finally sounds like himself again - and he wants to take back what belongs to humanity.

It's just… easier said and done. Zavala’s morale bolstering speech aside, it doesn't change that what Guardians and ships they have are heavily battered. It has no bearing on how harrowing this place is, that it cannot properly accommodate so many refugee civilians.

Sloane is pensive. She's been stationed all over the system. If anyone is poised to provide insight in this situation, it’s her. “We have to get these people safely back to Earth. They'll die here,” She reasons. “The Hive and Fallen are an undeniable threat. Not to mention that we're running out of food.”

“We have nowhere on Earth to go. We’ll have to get boots on the ground, map out a suitable location and hope the Legion does not notice...”

Ghost spins the back half of his shell with a synthetic sort of drone. “The Farm,” He replies to them both. “You can take the refugees and the fleet to the Farm.”

Zavala and Sloane share a glance. “What and where is that?”

“Near the Shard, in the European Dead Zone. The survivors are mounting a resistance there!” Ghost sounds incredibly chipper.

Not for the first time, Zavala murmurs, “Impossible.”

“We helped them set up the comm network before we left.” He continues, rambling, “They've been rounding up all the survivors, anyone who was left in the City. I'm sure they'd be happy to accommodate the evacuees.”

The Deputy Commander looks at Kira, who stands at attention silently, back not quite resting against the wall, eyes on the data-pad on with their intelligence on the Almighty. She looks up and meets Sloane's gaze head-on, chocolate brown to flecked amber.

“There's no way a civilian resistance could possibly accommodate the sheer number refugees,” Sloane finally admits. “The amount of resources we need is staggering. A couple well-hid caches can help a small group, sure, but not the entire population.”

“But Hawthorne-”

“We'll need you,” Zavala nods to Kira, “To go back to Earth and find a place that's well hidden and can accommodate a large camp. We won't send them all. Some will have to stay here, with the remaining food supply.” Sloane steps to attention, as if she's just received her orders. In a way, she has. There is no doubt who is better suited to stay here.

Kira squeezes her eyes shut. They keep talking about what to do, how to go about it, making a list of all the things they'll need in a refuge and a base of operations. They aren't listening. Ghost nudges her palm; She hears him scoot up in front of her face.

She meets that glowing, familiar gaze. He tilts his whole body, evaluating her, as if asking her how they should proceed.

Hawthorne thinks they're abandoning her. If they follow orders, she'll be right. She doesn't want to disobey Zavala, but it's clear he doesn't understand yet. It's not just a small movement. The survivors are serious. And Kira, she… identifies with them.

They know what the ruined City looked like. They were down there, when the Cabal hunted them for sport. They are out there, living and fighting and still breathing.

They, like her, are different now.

She steps between her superiors. They are still discussing things, but fall silent, eyeing her warily as she comes forward. She moves as if she's in a dream, slow like she's sleepwalking.

Neither of them understand, she thinks, through the white noise in her head. They all have to work together. It doesn't matter who's a Guardian and who's a civilian. None of that matters anymore.

The Traveler led them to the falcon - to Louis - and he took them to Hawthorne. She knows they're important to this. She knows they have to do this together. Her fists ball tightly at her side If they don’t do this together - all of them, together - they’ll surely die.

She looks down at the clunky radio on the table with the dent from Zavala's fist on the the far side. Ghost approaches, looking up at her face and she nods. He spins and clicks, the beam of light from his core wide and warm as he interfaces with the thing.

“Ghost,” Zavala asks, shy of a bark(though it elicits a flinch from the Guardian), “What are you doing?”

She waits for her doting partner's approval before turning back to the Commander. With sharp, heavy gaze, she offers Zavala the Golden Age styled receiver. It’s not the first time she’s looked him in the eye since landing here on Titan, but this time is different. This is the closest she’s come to open honesty.

“Talk to them,” Kira begs aloud, voice hoarse and crackling over the nearly silent static of the tuned radio. If he were not a man of impeccable discipline and control, he might have recoiled visibly. Her voice was not quite melodic, but it was certainly joyful and sweet. Now, like the rest of her, it is strained and cracked. “Just hear them out,” She rasps. “Please.”

They stare each other down a while longer. Her breathing is harsh and uneasy. She’s anxious and desperate. Behind her back, Sloane tips her head to the side, before nudging her chin forward, implying something to her superior.

“It’s not as if we stand to lose anything by getting more information,” Sloane considers.

Zavala takes the device from Kira gently. “Okay,” He relents. She sags, as if some of the weight on her shoulders has been stripped away.

“You’ll see,” Her Ghost says, looking first at his Guardian before back at Zavala, then Sloane eventually. “It’s our best chance.”

An awkward silence settles over them. Kira wrings her hands.

“That’s not what she thinks,” Zavala murmurs, gesturing to her. The Guardian blinks, looking up at him. She looks even more exhausted than she had the night before, and it appears she's finished speaking to them.

“No,” Ghost confirms, speaking for her. Somberly, he reveals, “She believes it’s the only one we have.”

-/

When the Commander presses his boots into the soil, it’s early morning. Everything is fogged and damp, the air is cold and misty. There is little light, it appears like there is nothing there. Holliday had confirmed their coordinates at least a dozen times. He does not like the constant hesitation he feels. This is not like him. He is their leader, he reminds himself yet again.

But, they trust her, this leader of the Farm.

So, for now, would he.

There is a pale light in the distance, like a lantern, a flashlight, something.

Hawthorne - the leader, approaches them with a militiaman on her right and Shaxx on her left. Holliday cries out softly, jumping at the hulking Titan. Hawthorne watches, and for a moment, Zavala thinks he sees the tick of a smile. He extends a hand toward her. One leader to another.

She casts her gaze down and to the left and the man beside her offers his instead. “Devrim Kay, sir.”

“Ah yes,” Zavala says, redirected. Years of political hum-drum make his movements smooth though his mind is reeling that the other leader's behavior right out of the gate. “It has been quite some time,” He comments idly. “I’m happy you’re here.”

“And I you, Commander. Welcome to the Farm.”

Hawthorne stands beside them, and he tries again. She shakes her head, looking down at her fingers. “Not that I don’t want to shake your hand,” She says, her tone not necessarily kind, but not rude. “But I’ve just spent the last few hours in triage.” It’s then that he notes the residual blood and grime that cakes her arms and fingers. “We got a group of refugees in late last night. Most of them were injured.”

“Casualties?”

She smirks, proud. “None.”

“Mortality rates are high, you said.” He took extensive notes, both himself and Sloane, when they had made contact with the Earthen resistance.

“They’re high out there,” Shaxx booms from off to the side, keeping one arm around the Shipwright and using the other to gesture out toward the wilds. “We have FOTC, the Militia, and plenty of willing Guardians. Our people are safe here. Holliday and I will get the pilots in the hangar up in the air and we can start bringing down the refugees from orbit.”

“Y’all got a hangar,” The blonde queries. Surprise is evident. “Out here?”

“More aptly, it’s a barn,” Devrim volunteers. “But we make due.” He nods to Hawthorne. “I’ll round up everyone who will be handing out supplies. We have a lot of goods and people to move.”

“Devrim,” Hawthorne says, fondly. Grateful. “Thank you.”

He pats her arm, over her dirty poncho. “Nothing to it, my dear.”

When it’s just the two of them, Zavala gestures ambiguously. “If you’re still needed in triage, allow me to come with. I’m sure I can be of some assistance.”

“If I take you to triage, it’ll be to get seen,” She answers plainly, with a blatant sort of honesty. Then, lower, she comments, “I heard you were injured in the initial assault.”

“I assure you,” He says rigidly, uncomfortable. No one should know that, he thinks, it's horrific for morale. “I’m fine. A flesh wound that’s nearly healed.”

“If you say so.” She gestures with a dirty hand. “This way. I’ll show you where our base of operations is. You can get situated while I clean up.”

He falls into step beside her easily. She is strange and awkward, like she doesn’t particularly belong in a group of people. Still, he has to ask. It bothers him.

“Ah, Hawthorne,” He begins, examining her face when she turns to look at him, trying to detect a lie, “How did you happen to find out I was injured?”

She hums, and turns back toward the direction they’d been walking. Coming up a dirt path, through a gate, he gazes upon a field, and small collection of buildings. Hawthorne raises her hand in a wave.

He follows her line of sight to a battered barn. Atop it, above the slow creeping line of mist, he sees her, gun slung over her shoulder. Vigilant. A protector of the people. The Titan’s lips are set in a thin line, though she dips her head in a stoic nod.

“Kira,” He answers for himself. Of course, he thinks. She’d left them days ago to prepare things at their new home away from home.

Hawthorne nods. “She’s worried about you.”

His reply is indignant. “Truly, Hawthorne, I’m fine.”

“I heard you the first time,” Hawthorne bristles. She doesn’t really care so long as he doesn’t keel over. As far as fancy-pants Guardians go, short of Cayde-6, this guy’s the absolute pinnacle. Jerking her thumb up at the silent Guardian, she suggests, “Worry about convincing her.”

[ace-pidge]

His Mighty Heart

Shunk Week Day 4: hurting/healing

Hey guys! Did you think I’d let Shunk week pass me by without doing anything? This is for the hurting (and) healing prompt, wherein Shiro is badly injured and Hunk saves the day (with help from the rest of the team naturally)! Edit: I can’t believe I FORGOT to give a shoutout to @blacklionshiro, thank you for reading it over and giving some comments <33

Content warnings: injury, blood Words: 1795 AO3 link

A pained grunt emanated from the limp bundle that was Shiro across Hunk’s shoulders. Hunk tried to soften his steps to avoid hurting Shiro further. It was hard to strike the balance between haste and comfort; Hunk hated that he was likely aggravating already severe injuries, but he could hear running footsteps somewhere behind them. There was no other option.

“Nearly there, buddy, just hold on. Pidge! Where are you, we need an extraction like yesterday!”

Her voice crackled through his helmet; she sounded winded. “I’m working on it, we’re taking heavy fire out here. Keith, Lance, keep those fighters off me! ”

“I’m trying, I’m trying! Keith, on your left!”

Hunk tuned out their chatter and concentrated on his own predicament. He had lost track of where he was on the Galra ship several hallways ago; all he knew was that he had to keep moving, had to get Shiro out.

Shiro’s head was lolling dangerously, and Hunk could feel what had to be blood dripping down the back of his neck from the wound in Shiro’s side, mingling with the blood from the graze in Hunk’s temple. Shiro’s right arm, the one Hunk was holding to keep him in place, appeared to be broken; every step engendered a sickening grinding noise in the prosthetic. The arm had gotten tangled in wiring and wrenched in an unnatural direction when Shiro had fallen off the bridge. His roar of pain still echoed in Hunk’s ears.

Hunk came to a split in the corridor and paused for a second to consider his options. Both arms of the fork appeared deserted, but something about the left one felt better, so he chose it. He had learned years ago to always trust his gut. He readjusted his grip on Shiro’s broken arm, making sure he was still secure across his broad shoulders, and set off again, bayard at the ready in his free left hand.

“Guys,” he called to the team, “I could really use a map or something, I have no idea where I am.”

Coran’s voice came through the comms; in the background Hunk could hear Allura yelling and grunting as she piloted the Castle. “I’m sorry my boy, we’re a little tied up at the moment. I’ll do what I can to—Princess, watch out! Oh that was close—to direct you to an area where Pidge will be able to pick you up.”

“Just get anywhere that’s close to the outer hull,” interjected Pidge, “I can punch through and get you.”

Coran continued. “Alright. Keep walking along that corridor, then take a right at the next fork, then a left—Lance, behind you!—“ The line went dead; Hunk could almost see Coran juggling several screens at once, trying to cover every paladin.

Keith took over. “Hunk, we’re coordinating a focused attack to break through the fighter lines so Pidge can get close enough to the transport. We’re locked on your signal so we know where to come get you.”

“Yeah, bud, you just worry about keeping yourself and Shiro alive,” Lance cut in, “leave the heroic rescue to us.”

“Easier said than done,” muttered Hunk.

He came to the end of the corridor and turned right as Coran had instructed; and narrowly avoided getting brained by a shot from a lone drone soldier a little ways up the hallway. Out of sheer reflex Hunk brought his bayard up and fired off a round, catching the drone square in the chest plate.

Once it had fallen Hunk staggered back against the nearest wall, legs going to jelly. Distantly, he registered Shiro’s grunt when he hit the wall. Hunk’s bayard reverted to its basic form as he leaned forward, bracing his free hand against his knee and clutching Shiro tighter with the other. His vision went static-y around the edges and his breath came in short, ragged puffs. There was a ringing in his ears.

That had been too close .

He shook his head, trying to clear it and get his trembling under control.

Behind him Shiro shifted. When Hunk looked down he saw one of Shiro’s eyes open (the other was swollen shut) and he seemed to be trying to lift his head up.

“H… Hu... I…”

“Sh, don’t move, don’t speak.” Hunk straightened up and squared his shoulders, setting off once more. “I’m getting you out of here, hun, you just sit tight.”

“I… m… sorry…”

“Ah-ah, can’t hear you.”

Shiro’s frame shook with what might have been a chuckle, though it quickly devolved into a cough, hacking and unpleasant. It took a few moments for Shiro to regain control of his breathing, and when the coughing subsided he spat out a wad of something that splattered against the floor. Hunk winced.

“Seriously dude, you’re badly hurt. If you make it worse by trying to say dumb stuff like apologizing for something that isn’t your fault I won’t forgive you.”

Shiro just hummed, and Hunk could hear faint amusement hidden under the pain in his voice. The warm sound brought an answering smile to Hunk’s face.

“Pidge is on her way to pick us up, just a little longer.”

Shiro hummed again, softer, and then went quiet once more, his head lolling. If Hunk hadn’t had the biothermal readouts from Shiro’s suit projected onto the corner of his visor telling him Shiro was still alive, he would’ve worried Shiro had just slipped away.

Hunk’s back and legs were starting to ache from carrying Shiro for so long, but he was nearly there, he could feel it. Still following Coran’s directions he took the next left, though not before carefully scanning the area to make sure it was empty, and came into an open space that appeared to be storage.

Hunk’s comm crackled back to life and Pidge’s voice came through. “Alright Hunk, that’s a good spot. Get close to the far wall and be ready for a fast extraction, I’m coming in hot. Keith, Lance, you better be covering my butt.”

“Of course.”

“You know it! I’m always happy to cover your—“

“Lance!”

A dull thud against the side of the ship was the only warning Hunk got before the hull buckled inward under the force of a concentrated laser blast, the green lion’s head appearing in the breach. Alarms started wailing as the ship’s air escaped through the hole. The gust nearly dislodged Shiro from Hunk’s grip, but he managed to hold on.

Green’s mouth opened and Pidge hopped out to help Hunk up the ramp. Once in the cockpit he barely had time to carefully lower Shiro to the ground before Pidge was pulling Green out of the ship and turning around.

“What happened to our lions?” Hunk pulled his helmet off to prod at the gash in his temple, trying to gauge how bad it was.

“They’re ok,” said Pidge as she maneuvered them out into open space to join the red and blue lions, “we retrieved them after you guys missed the rendezvous. They’re back at the castle.”

Lance’s worried face appeared on a screen on Pidge’s dashboard. “Did you get them? Are they ok?”

“Yes to the first one, and for the second one…” Pidge cast a quick glance at Shiro and Hunk, taking in the blood stains covering both of them, Hunk’s gash, the hole in Shiro’s side, the awkward angle of his arm. “No. We’ll need a couple healing pods prepped ASAP.”

“On it,” came Coran’s voice. “Pull back to the Castle, paladins, it’s time to get out of here.”

“New wave of fighters incoming,” warned Keith. “We need to MOVE! Pidge, go ahead, Lance and I will hold them off!”

Hunk let the battle fade to background noise, trusting that his team would get him home safe. He sat down heavily next to Shiro, legs all but giving out from exhaustion, and laid one hand over Shiro’s forehead. The other he pressed into the wound in Shiro’s side, trying to slow the bleeding.

“You did so well, hun, we’re nearly there.”

~

It was dark in the infirmary, the only light coming from the indicators on Shiro’s pod and the glowing strips along the base of the walls. Hunk was slumped at the foot of the active pod, snoring, blanket thrown over him haphazardly. Lance was curled into his side, sharing the blanket. Meanwhile Pidge was nestled against his chest and Keith was leaning against his other side.

Hunk had adamantly refused to go into a pod for his own injuries, insisting that he wanted to watch over Shiro. No amount of pleading or coaxing from Allura and Coran had convinced him otherwise, and eventually they had agreed to treat him the “human way.”

Afterward he had parked himself in front of Shiro’s pod, soon joined by Keith. Lance and Pidge had appeared not long after with food and blankets and pillows, and the four of them had set up a makeshift nest at Shiro’s feet. For the first few hours Hunk and Pidge had worked on Shiro’s broken prosthetic while Lance and Keith watched, but eventually they had all grown too tired and fell asleep tangled together.

The soft hiss of the healing pod opening was loud enough to startle everyone awake, and Hunk jumped up just in time to catch Shiro as he slumped forward. Shiro blinked blearily several times at him, then smiled softly.

“Hey, you.”

Hunk smiled back, quickly trying to blink the tears out of his eyes. “Hey, you.”

“Shiro!” Pidge wriggled her way between them to wrap her arms around Shiro’s middle, hiding her face in his chest. She mumbled something unintelligible into his suit and squeezed tighter.

Shiro chuckled and wrapped his left arm around her in a hug, leaving the right one around Hunk. The absence of Shiro’s hand was something Hunk was used to by now. “Hey, Pidge. Sorry I worried you.”

“Man,” said Lance with a watery smile, “don’t ever do that again, you hear me?” He stepped forward and wrapped his arms around both Hunk and Shiro’s shoulders. “And I mean both of you. You really scared me.”

Hunk knocked his head against Lance’s lightly and smiled apologetically at him, no words needed.

Keith was the last to join the hug, and Shiro let go of Hunk to invite Keith into the circle. Keith came willingly, silently pressing his face into Shiro’s neck and holding on tightly. Hunk clapped him on the back while Shiro rubbed his arm soothingly.

“Thank you, all of you,” Shiro spoke into the space formed between their bodies. “Thank you for getting me out.”

“Any time, man.” Lance beamed.

In the quiet that followed, Shiro’s eyes found Hunk’s and held them. Hunk smiled. Shiro smiled back.

They were home.

All was well.

[princess--cynthia]

DANCING || THREAD ARCHIVE

Participant(s): Cynthia, @deintegro​ / Robin

Words: 6,325

Type: S-Support

Summary: At Lissa’s debutante ball, Cynthia grows tired of keeping her relationship with Robin a secret, as well as the constant racism her boyfriend is plagued by.

Content Warning: Self-Harm, Negative Thoughts

Cynthia groaned and resisted the urge to kick off her shoes when she settled against the wall, taking a glass from the table with fairly bad temper. At least there was good food - but gods above, she wished that she could at least have a chance to interact with her family. Instead, she’d been intercepted by minor noble after minor noble - all trying to worm their way into the royal family, most likely. One had even had the gall to attempt a bond with her by insulting Robin, which had almost resulted in her slapping him.

She wished that they’d been allowed to enter together, be announced together, and so on - but they hadn’t told anyone yet, and after today’s reception of Robin and the other Plegian guests was any indication that may have been a good idea. She’d just need to swallow it for now, they could bring it up a year later or so.

Still…he was a guest of honor. He was a friend of the family. And if Cynthia didn’t dance with somebody eventually, she’d start to be drawing suspicious looks. Forcing the smile off of her face - she was doing this out of duty, after all - she wrapped her shawl back around her arms and sighed as she stepped into the crowd and made her way towards the tactician in his red-and-brown outfit (what was that anyway? A suit with a heavily decorated cape?), deflecting the various guests intercepting her with smiles and cheap excuses before she finally found herself next to her secret boyfriend. An audible sigh would get his attention, and a tug on his sleeve guaranteed it.

“You look nice.” She smiled once he turned, tilting her head and shifting her shawl further up her arms. The damn thing was getting tangled all the time, which was irritating - even if it did tie the outfit together.

“Are you going to ask me to dance?”

The whole experience was proving to be quite overwhelming. He had read extensively on the accepted etiquette and social graces, and committed a long list of Ylissean social faux-pas to memory, and while Robin was by all definitions a quick learner (especially under the threat of another crack of Maribelle’s parasol across his knuckles), even he found the sheer amount of information to be staggering.

He learned, almost immediately, how to plaster on and maintain that distant smile that the peerage seemed all too accustomed to wearing. The tactician managed to keep up with his façade, even before those who felt it necessary to toss back-handed insults his way. Sadly, despite the nature of the event, Robin found himself on the receiving end of many scornful comments that evening. As painful as some of those comments were, Robin grit his teeth an bore it, this evening was one to commemorate Lissa’s début after all.  

A gentle tugging at his sleeve broke the man out of his thoughts. “You look nice.” the comment came from no other but Cynthia, who Robin thought was far more deserving of the compliment than he was.

Clumsily throwing a gloved hand over his reddening face, Robin mumbled a compliment in return. He had to admit, it wasn’t very often that he had the opportunity to see Cynthia dressed quite so extravagantly - it was nice actually, very nice. “You, really do look lovely,” he repeated, just in case his word wound up getting caught between his fingers the first time around.

He wanted to say more, but he feared that if he was overheard, that his statements may cause a few eyebrows to rise.  “Are you going to ask me to dance?”

Cynthia’s prompt coaxed a smile from Robin, who immediately dipped into a deep bow and gently pressed the back of her hand against his lips. As he did so, he could imagine Maribelle’s fingerings curling to grip at her deadly weapon parasol as she coolly reminded him that perfect politeness concealed preference, and to do otherwise would be highly disagreeable. However, it was difficult for Robin to maintain a proper distance between himself and his lover, and so, if he could manage it, he would bend the rules at any opportunity that presented itself to him. “May I have this dance?”

“You may.” Cynthia grinned, curtsying slightly and mumbling a muffled curse under her breath when she almost dropped her shawl as a result. It felt strange, being treated almost like a stranger by him - but it was nice, too. If only because being treated so formally by someone she actually liked was a refreshing change of pace from everyone else. She took his hand and stepped into pace with him, letting herself be led onto the dance floor and ignoring the whispers from the crowd.

“That filth…”

“I didn’t realize the standards of the alleged ‘hero’ were so low.”

“As if they actually like each other. This is surely just army protocol, nothing more.”

Her nails dug into Robin’s wrist for a second, before she forced herself to relax and shook her head again with a quiet apology. A deep breath was taken, stopping herself from staring over his shoulder and looking at his face instead.

“You’re still blushing, you know. It’s cute.” Cynthia giggled, stumbling over the end of her dress for a moment but catching herself anyway. She sighed when another group of whispering noblewomen passed her peripheral vision, shaking her head.

“…have they been treating you okay?” She whispered under her breath, concern in her eyes as a thumb traced over the back of his hand. “You can tell me if they haven’t.”

Robin was more than aware of the whispered insults when he lead Cynthia onto the dance floor. Venomous words spoken in a hushed that flew  from the lips of offended nobles to the itching ears of those in the Ylissean court who made drama and gossip their life’s bread and butter. Even if the shape of their words lay hidden behind a strategically placed fan, the look in their eyes was crystal clear. Robin was not welcome and they intended to make sure in their own subtle way that he knew it. He shook his head mournfully and tried returning his focus to the dance as he scrambled to move in time to the music.

“You’re still blushing, you know. It’s cute.”

Cynthia’s comment caught Robin off guard, causing him to trip over his own feet. It was only by the grace of Naga that he managed to catch his footing and maintain his composure. The woman’s cheeks reddened slightly as she laughed, a pleasant sound that complimented the lively tune that played in the background. How was he supposed to reply? He certainly didn’t feel “cute” what with his clumsy feet and skin that crawled under painfully foreign clothing. “I-I don’t know. I’m really not used to wearing this sort of th–,”

“…have they been treating you okay?” she whispered, looking up at him with a disquieted expression, “You can tell me if they haven’t.”

Cynthia’s lips barely moved, but her eyes spoke volumes. She didn’t need to elaborate further on who “they” were. Robin knew perfectly well of whom she spoke. Through the material of his gloves, he could feel Cynthia tracing circles on the back of his hand with her thumb. From the way her hand shook, he could tell that it bothered her and that even if he had chosen not to answer, she already knew that the tactician was not being well-received. Robin sighed and lead his partner away from the ring of guests who hovered about the group of dancers - a safe distance was best in case the princess were to suddenly have a conniption.

“I really wouldn’t concern myself with them. My being what I am…this sort of thing really can’t be helped. Besides, ” he said, adding in an awkward laugh in hopes of minimizing the issue all together, “tonight’s comments are really tame compared to the rumours that have been spread about me in the past.”

Cynthia couldn’t help but giggle when he tripped, even if she grew serious again immediately afterwards. It was obvious that this was getting to him, even if he assured her that that wasn’t the case. She hated this - hated the fact that he felt the need to hide his feelings from her in such a manner, trying to make light of the situation. He was getting better about it, that was for sure, but…it was upsetting.

Not to mention angering. The mere idea of him being used to it shook her to her core, made her back stiffen and breath quicken with anger as she thought more and more about it. It just wasn’t fair - she’d found someone she was willing to spend the rest of her life with, and he was alienated and pushed to the side by almost everyone she encountered. The fact that they kept their relationship secret hurt her, even as she understood the necessity - even beyond the fact that her father would murder them (or have a heart attack, the odds were pretty even), the political ramifications were…unbearable.

“You’re not a what, Robin. You’re a person.” She insisted, pulling him slightly closer to her. A plan was starting to form in her head, one that was likely a poor idea - it was impulsive, and stupid, and a thousand other things. Maybe she should cut it off, be satisfied with the idea of getting them in the middle of the dance floor and force everyone to see them together. A small part of her made her feel guilty for planning to potentially ruin her Aunt Lissa’s big day.

It wasn’t enough to stop her.

“Fuck politics.” Cynthia mumbled under her breath, realizing that the room had started to fall deathly quiet as everyone stared at them. She stood up on the tip of her toes, enough to make her overcome their height difference and stand taller for a moment as she smiled and spoke clearly. “I love you.”

Cynthia kissed Robin on the lips, the clear initiator to anyone watching, and in the back of her mind she could have sworn she heard a shriek or two mixed in with the gasps. She didn’t care - this was more important to her.

In retrospect, he should have noted the subtle changes in Cynthia’s demeanour - the way her posture suddenly adopted a more rigid quality and the barely perceptible flaring of her nostrils as her breath quickened. Robin should have taken note of these changes and interpreted them as what they really were: signs that Cynthia was seething and was about to lose her battle against the torrential force of her raging emotions.

From the tactician’s experience with the young woman, he observed that Cynthia was many things, and among those things, was a dangerous tendency toward impulsivity.

He should have heeded those warning signs.

Robin failed to catch whatever it was the princess muttered as the song reached its conclusion and the noise in the lavish ballroom tapered off into still hush. Apart from the occasional clicking of heels against the floor and murmurs exchanged between dancers, onlookers, and those milling  about at the far ends of the hall - an uncanny silence had fallen over the room. It was so strange in fact, that  Robin couldn’t help but crane his neck to look around  to see if anything was the matter.

At the same time, Cynthia rose up on the balls of her feet, temporarily closing their difference in height and regarded Robin with an expression of pure yearning and admiration. The corners of the princess’ lips curled up into a sweet smile, her eyes lighting up to match before speaking in a loud and clear voice, “I love you.”

He wanted to warn her, to tell her that she should speak more quietly in case someone near them would overhear - but he couldn’t get a single word off his tongue. It was not a question of being shy or having a his tongue all wound up in knots, for at the moment his lips were occupied with something else…or rather someone else. Robin could feel his heart plunging into the pit of his stomach and his body freeze as the reality of what was transpiring finally made itself known to him.

She was kissing him!

Before all those in attendance, Cynthia, princess and daughter to the crown prince, was kissing him, the filthy Plegian interloper.

Against his better judgement, Robin allowed his gaze to travel along the great wall of horrified faces and felt his face grow hot. The way some of the nobles looked upon them - upon her - made him feel ill beyond description. After what seemed like an eternity, Robin finally regained command of his body and frantically moved to sever their embrace.

Wide-eyed and pale faced, Robin held Cynthia away from him at arm’s length. He could feel his legs trembling beneath him as a flurry of worst-case scenarios flooded his mind and dominated his thoughts. The youth stumbled back a few paces and brought his hands to his mouth. He was completely at a loss for words.

How would he explain this? How could he explain this?

Cynthia knew she was making a mistake, and she felt her heart drop to her stomach when Robin froze up. Gods, she’d been so foolish, hoping that he’d at least try to act along with her. It’d been stupid, and rash, and such a childish decision - all things that she’d been trying to avoid since coming back, trying desperately to move away from the girl she used to be and become someone her family could be proud of.

Not only had she ruined that ideal, she may have just cost herself the man she loved. Robin pulling away, at first still holding onto her, she could deal with that - but as he stumbled back a few paces, she felt like her skin was on fire and she was breathing ice, eyes widening and threatening to fill with tears. She’d been an idiot, there wasn’t any doubt about that.

Gods, she hoped she could fix it.

“I’m sorry.” Cynthia said in a quiet, strangled voice that was trying to hold back a sob as she stared at her trembling lover, starting to shake as well. She felt like her world was falling apart all over again, and tucked one hand under her right shoulder as she glanced at the ground. “I was - I was just so sick of hiding us. We shouldn’t need to.”

It was a feeble defense, one that echoed through the stunned and silent hall. Cynthia wasn’t sure how much more of this she could take, and finally her spirit broke and she did the one thing she could - she gathered her shawl up in her hands, and fled, hunting for somewhere quiet and isolated, where she could reflect on her mistakes.

She shouldn’t have done this. She’d ruined the dance. She’d ruined everything.

Cynthia’s heart rending apology, delivered with voice that threatened to break as she fought back against a fit of violent sobs, terrified him. Gone was the light that once adorned the princess’ smiling eyes. In mere moments, the usually resilient woman had been replaced by a visibly shaken girl who was forced to relive the memory of having had everything ruthlessly torn away from her.

All of the precautions, the forced illusions of indifference, the lies, and the secrets - all of it was to protect her, to shield her from harm and ridicule. Yet with the woman Robin loved standing encircled by a ring of beasts ready to pounce on a wounded animal, with her shoulders curled inward and her spirit on the verge of collapsing in on itself, it was painfully obvious that despite his intentions, his choice of tactics had failed.

It had seemed that Cynthia had finally taken all of the shame that she could bear before breaking, and in an instant, she gathered up her shawl into a crumpled mess into her arms and bolted for the nearest exit. Robin had been taken aback by her sudden flight but immediately took off into a run to bridge the distance between himself and Cynthia’s retreating form.  

There wasn’t time to apologize to those that the tactician had carelessly knocked as he passed in pursuit of his now ’not-so-secret-lover’. In truth, trivial things like politesse and proper decorum had not even crossed his mind. She didn’t have to face the maelstrom by herself. He wouldn’t allow it.

“Cynthia! Please don’t!”

An arm shot out, desperately grabbing at the princess. When his fingers closed in tightly around her forearm Robin yanked and pulled the woman in toward him. He held Cynthia against his chest, his arms tightly wound about her slight form. Robin didn’t have to see her face to know that she was distraught. Her ears burned in a deep shade of red and he could feel her heart galloping madly from within the lattice that formed her rib cage. Even as he held her like this, he wondered how far Cynthia slipped away.

Robin gulped, the lump occupying his throat making the action of  swallowing almost painful. “Cynthia,” he repeated the woman’s name, his voice cracking beneath the weight of his guilt, “we’ll take our leave for the evening but we can talk about this if you want. Alright?”

It was not at all advisable for either of them to stay any longer. As the next song played, it had seemed as though the organizers had moved quickly to sweep the drama under the rug, yet with all of the residual confusion and emotional tension, Robin thought that it was best to leave properly confronting Chrom and Sumia until morning. At the moment, his priority was taking care of Cynthia and together, picking up the pieces and arranging them into something that made sense.

Cynthia let out a sob as she rested her head against his chest, shoulders shuddering as she did so. Gods, she was so lucky that he’d been the kind of person to follow her - she almost felt disgusted with herself that she thought he’d break up with her over this.

“Alright.” She said quietly when he said they’d leave, still standing still. Her hands were latched onto his shoulders like a vice, not wanting to let him pull away from her yet. She didn’t think she’d be able to stand the sensation of him leaving her, not in the condition she was in right now. “…I’m sorry, Robin. I’m so sorry.”

Eventually - it must have only been a few seconds, but it felt like an eternity - as she let go of him, taking a pace away as her hands strayed down his sleeves to grip his hands with a forced giggle. “I think I ruined your nice shirt with tears and stuff, Robin. Sorry.”

Even the moment of forced levity couldn’t bring her out of her mood for long, though, as she sniffed and looked around desperately for a handkerchief or something she could use other than the ends of her shawl. “…I think I need to sit down for a bit. Can I use the armchair in your office?”

Robin had never known Cynthia to be one to sob openly. She always managed to  reel-in her ugly emotions and soldiered on, choosing to invest her energy in doing whatever needed to be done for a better future - ‘just as a hero would’. It was not to say that crying made her any less of a hero - not in Robin’s eyes - but to witness the woman in his arms so broken and distraught was heart-breaking.

“It’s alright,” he murmured softly in response to her muffled apology, “It will be okay, I assure you.”

Slowly, very slowly, Cynthia released Robin’s shoulders and with a hollow laugh, she took a step back from the tactician.  “I think I ruined your nice shirt with tears and stuff, Robin. Sorry.”

Confused at what she was talking about, the youth looked down to the damage in question. Cynthia’s tears had caused her eye makeup to run, as evidenced by the dark splotches dotting his shirt and the streaks that stained the princess’s pale face. “Oh this?” Robin smiled warmly while gesturing to the small mess, “ I’m sure that this can be washed out, but I was never particularly fond of this outfit and I don’t foresee having to wear it again anytime soon. Please don’t worry about it.”

“…I think I need to sit down for a bit. Can I use the armchair in your office?”

While, the tactician could easily dismiss the accident, his reassurance seemed to offer little comfort to Cynthia, whose glistening eyes seemed to suggest another round of tears about to come on. As the woman fumbled about her person for something to blot her tear-stained cheeks, Robin conducted a quick search of his own. When his pockets came up empty, the tactician slipped his gloves off his hands and gently swiped a stray tear away from Cynthia’s eyelid with the pad of his thumb. Smiling warmly, with one hand, he unfastened his cravat  and pulled the length of fabric from his neck before offering it to Cynthia. “Of course you can. The study they’ve assigned me here isn’t too far off and here, use this,” Robin said, pressing the white silk into her hands, “don’t worry about messing it up, it will have to do for now.”

On the way to his temporary office, while the two traversed the summer palace’s corridors in silence, Robin made a point of giving Cynthia’s hand a small squeeze on occasion - if only to remind her that he was still there. It was not too long before the couple arrived at a set of doors hidden away at the end of a wing. The tactician pushed the doors to his office open and waited for Cynthia to step in before him. With the setting of the sun long past, the narrow room hand been bathed in darkness. Robin raised his arm and reached into the dark with his left hand. Not a moment later, small fire-like orbs burst into life at his finger tips and then flew off the light the candles and lamps that lay about the study.

With the area now adequately lit, Robin shut the office door behind him and then lead Cynthia to the winged armchair behind his desk. He shrugged off his coat and draped it about the now seated Cynthia’s shoulders before making his way to the table at the far end of the room to pour them some wine from a crystal decantour.

With his own glass in hand, Robin placed Cynthia’s down on his desk  in front of her. What had happened that night had left Robin feeling awful. It wasn’t only a matter of a simple misunderstanding, but rather his disregard for Cynthia’s means to cope and his own hypocrisy. After taking a sip of his wine, the tactician regarded his princess with a mournful expression and swallowed, “I-I only wanted to protect you from the scorn of others - I had never meant to hurt you like this. This was really my fault, I shouldn’t have decided for you…I’m just…I’m really sorry Cynthia.”

“Hey. I liked the shirt.” Cynthia pouted slightly as he dismissed it, running one finger along a seam. “I thought it made you look kind of dashing, but…”

She shrugged and let him guide her towards the office, her shoulders slumping in relief when she realized that he wasn’t planning to leave her alone again. It had been a foolish thought, but it had crossed her mind for a second - that he’d think she’d want to be alone right now, or something like that. It just wasn’t the kind of thing she’d be able to face right now, gods above she didn’t even want to think about anything right now. Being left alone with her thoughts had always been something Cynthia hated, and if she was left with these ones she wasn’t sure what she’d do with them.

“I liked the other office better.” She grumbled, continuing to try and put some levity into her voice, even though she couldn’t quite hide the bitter sadness she really felt. She shuddered slightly when he lit the lamps, letting him guide her to the chair and pausing to wrap his cloak around her tighter, closing her eyes for a moment as she breathed his lingering scent in.

“It’s not your fault. It’s mine.” Cynthia said after a moment, staring at the glass on the table with a conflicted look in her eyes. “…you were just trying to make sure I didn’t get hurt. Me? I was just being selfish again. I didn’t want to hide us, I wanted people to know…I didn’t ask you.”

She giggled, but it was a dark and bitter sound. She’d started this day looking so beautiful, feeling that way properly for once even with Lucina there to overshadow her. Now she could feel the makeup running, the shawl tangled and stretched, her dress stained with tears and spilled wine - it looked like a reminder, that whoever she’d tried to be tonight wasn’t really her. She wasn’t beautiful, she wasn’t special and she sure as hell wasn’t mature. The emotions spilled over into her actions, and before she could stop herself she’d slammed the glass into the table with the back of her hand, shattering it and spilling the wine everywhere. A few cuts trailed blood down her wrist as she tucked herself up on the chair, knees tight against her chest and hands covering her eyes.

“I’m such a child.”

Cynthia’s laughter rang out in the dead silence of the study, the sombre tone leaving Robin paralyzed and his tongue frozen behind his lips. By the golden light cast by the flickering candle flames,  Robin saw a defeated woman teetering on the edge of collapse,  and although Cynthia sat only a few paces away, she seemed so far away. The contrast between the wild, and  desperate look in her eyes and the ornaments of high society that enrobed her quivering form was difficult to take in. He could only watch as Cynthia mentally grappled with her feelings, with the pain, vulnerability, and the fear. There had to be something that he could do - that he could say. “Cynthia, that isn’t–”

The sudden crash of shattering glass caused Robin to wince - his eyes clamping shut as dictated by his reflexes. After the tinkling of scattering shards passed, an uncomfortable silence followed. A part of him wished that Cynthia would suddenly burst into tears and start sobbing violently - evening yelling would have sat with the tactician better than this suffocating quiet.

“I’m such a child.” Robin heard her say at last, the venomous tone her voice temporarily donned when she spat out that last word causing him to flinch.

The sight that greeted him when he finally opened his eyes had his blood run cold. Although Cynthia had taken to curling up like one desperately praying to disappear on his chair, the smattering of fresh blood dotting her dress and snaking along her forearms was heart-breaking. Biting back a curse, Robin rushed over to the young woman’s side and gently pried her arm out from her self-spun cocoon. With his other hand he reached for his cravat that lay discarded on his desk and carefully dabbed away the blood that had pooled at the site of her injuries.

The cuts themselves, to Robin’s relief, were rather superficial, but it wasn’t the first time that he found himself wishing for a gift for the healing arts. With a sigh, he passed the silk over Cynthia’s hand a couple of times before finishing the make-shift bandage with a secure knot.

“…And what really separates an adult from a child?”

The question was something that Robin had struggled to understand on several occasions. Sometimes he would conclude that the two were really no different, that the thing that truly marked the difference between a boy and a man was a heart made hard from the choice to grow insensitive - and was such a condition really to be considered an improvement?

“To be honest with you,” he began as he took the princess into his arms and shifted her onto his lap as he slipped into the winged chair, “you were not the only one who wanted to be close. Why do you think that I was so eager to dance with you…it was the closest I could get after all. Had I the courage, I may have ended up doing exactly what you did.”

Robin took Cynthia’s hands in his and rested his chin on her shoulder. The situation was indeed trying but he had to admit that his approach complicated matters much more than necessary. “But really Cynthia, I must apologize. Of all the times I’ve spoken of working together, as a team, and I’ve gone ahead and acted without so much as consulting you. Even worse, my motivations were driven by the thing you resent the most about those of us from your past. I thought that I should protect you, because I assumed that you couldn’t endure the potential fallout…and for that, I am so sorry.”

Cynthia sniffled, moving from her own hands to Robin’s shoulder. She couldn’t stand this, any of the lies and secrecy. It wasn’t who she was, and she was just sick of it.The fact that Robin was insisting the situation was his fault - she wasn’t sure how to take it. She could see how he could see it that way, but in her emotional state right now she just wasn’t sure how to handle that idea. It was her fault, her actions that drove them to this - like she said, Robin was just trying to keep them both safe.

“I’m sorry too.” She clutched her hand to her stomach, thankful for the bandage if nothing else. It wasn’t really sore, more of a persistent sting than anything else. It was a reminder that she could just be too impulsive for her own good, too rash.

“I love you.” Cynthia said, her voice muffled by Robin’s shoulder. Her fingers gripped onto his arm like a vice, as if her world would just fall apart again if she let go. “…I…I really don’t want to be alone tonight, Robin.”

The strangled ‘I love you’ against Robin’s shoulder came with a set of slender fingers that wrapped themselves tightly about his arm. With her face nestled against his shoulder, Cynthia clung onto the tactician much like a poor soul struggling to keep their head above water would a floating piece of driftwood when lost at sea. She held onto him as though he were her one and only life line, at a time in which the rolling waves of her emotions were simply too much. “I love you too,” Robin murmured with a gentle squeeze, “so much.”

Never before had he heard her sound so scared. When Cynthia spoke, her voice would waver and threatened to break between every couple of words. Out of the corner of his eye, Robin noticed that Cynthia’s knuckles had begun to blanche - the blood having been forced away by how tightly she had grasped his arm. “Cynthia,” he slid his fingers under the woman’s chin and left them to rest gently on the soft flesh of the v of her jaw, “it will be alright. We’ll make this work - I promise.”

In the silence that followed, Robin tilted Cynthia’s head back and placed a tender kiss on her lips. Her lips felt somewhat cold against his own - a startling symptom of the emotional and physical shock that she must have endured. If kisses could mend aching hearts and warm dampened spirits, Robin would kiss Cynthia everywhere and without hesitation. Of course, that sort of thing It was only magical thinking but Robin found his lips leaving sympathetic kisses upon Cynthia’s reddened nose and eyelids.

“You’re not alone you know,” he informed as he cupped the teary eyed princess’ face in his hands, “I’m with you and we’re going to figure this out together. We’ll meet with your parents tomorrow and I am going to need you by my side.”

Barely perceptible under the dim light offered by gradually shrinking candles was a grim smile. The tactician was noted for his genius, but surviving the inevitable confrontation with the man he called best friend and father to his lover unscathed required something akin to divine providence. Although he was hardly what one would call a pious man, Robin silently prayed that the Gods would be so generous as to tip the scales in their favour.

“Did you want us to retire to your room, or would you rather spend the evening here? Either way, I’ll be with you.”

“Thank you.” Cynthia said, her voice muffled. She didn’t sound upset anymore, so much as tired - even reflected in her body, as her hands loosened around his arms and her shoulders seemed to perk up slightly. “Oh, gods, my parents are going to KILL us.”

A moment to think, and Cynthia was sitting up straight, panic having driven the exhaustion out of her for now. “Oh, gods, LUCINA is going to kill ME. You she’s going to take her TIME with.”

Staring at the wall rather than her lover’s face, a series of increasingly complex and overdramatic demises for the two of them flew through her mind, causing her to slump back in the chair and glance at the ceiling.

“…they’ll look for me in my room. Can we barricade this office just in case? I’m not talking to them half-awake.”

Robin then came to realize that Cynthia finally slipped out of his grasp and became lost to him - just not in the way he had initially feared. Depression induced lethargy fizzled away in an instant, and the princess began listing one ridiculous - or so Robin desperately believed - scenario after another, her lips moving at speeds that didn’t seem to sync up with the words that rushed past them. First they would be killed, then her, and then finally Cynthia rambled on as to how Robin would end up suffering a slow death by the hands of her older sister.

Then there was nothing.

Robin, who was still very much taken aback by Cynthia’s abrupt switch in mood found himself just as much at a loss for words as she. The woman on his lap sat gazing blankly at the wall lying directly behind their chair, her hazel eyes clouding over as if the revelation that was beginning to dawn on her was somehow scrawled out onto that wall in an ink that only she could see.

‘Gods, the stress and the trauma had finally taken its toll on the poor woman.’

“…they’ll look for me in my room.“ she finally intoned, her voice, although distant carried a hint of urgency.

”‘They’? What are you talking about Cynthia?“ he placed his hands firmly on Cynthia’s slight shoulders he gave her a gentle shake, "Do you mean your parents?”  

“Can we barricade this office just in case? I’m not talking to them half-awake.”

Robin was no stranger to Cynthia’s sometimes far-fetched requests, and so, while he knew that she was being entirely serious about blocking off the entrance it wasn’t at all the most outlandish thing he heard her say. Another sigh, one that had his shoulders drooping in time with his breath. "I understand your concern…but I don’t think that will be necessary. I mean, if blocking off the doorway eases your mind then I suppose that we could…but I fear that doing so would only make things look worse than they have to.”

He took his coat that had since been forgotten and left to pool about Cynthia’s waist and draped the heavy fabric over her shoulders, “If anything, I think that you need to rest. This isn’t really the best place for sleeping but there is a fainting couch over there that you can curl up on if you like. I personally don’t know if I’ll be able to sleep, but I’ll be here with you.”

"Okay. Okay. Sleep, that sounds good.” Cynthia breathed, running a hand through her hair. Gods, she knew she’d overreacted, but…well, there wasn’t really an excuse. Whatever mental or emotional state she was in right now was clearly messing with her ability to stay balanced, and she kept swinging from one extreme to another on a dime. It must be exhaustion playing havoc with whatever kept her rational, so she could deal with that.

Standing up, she jarred the chair under the doorhandle before grabbing Robin by the shoulder and half-dragging him over to the fainting couch. Keeping a tight grip on his hand, she fell onto said couch, knees reflexively tucking up into her stomach as she rolled onto her side. There wasn’t room on it for the two of them, even if one slept on top of the other, so she slowly and reluctantly let go of his hand.

“Just promise me you’re not going to leave me alone.” Cynthia said miserably as the exhaustion of the day finally started to catch up to her, eyes blurring with tears as they started to close. “Not ever…”

With that, she passed into sleep, arm drooping off the side of the couch. She didn’t even seem to stop to dream, just completely shifting off the conscious coil minutes after lying down, and likely would stay that way until morning.

[fqtoxicity]

New Post has been published on My Quin Story

New Post has been published on http://www.myquinstory.info/chloroquine-zinc-covid-19/

Chloroquine, Zinc & COVID-19

The Coronavirus or SAR Cov2 or COVID-19, depending on what name you prefer, continues to rage on around the world.  Chris Martenson of Peak Prosperity calls the virus the “Honey Badger” because of its reputation as being a relentless mean enemy.  It just keeps coming, often underappreciated, in its relentless growth around the globe.

I first heard of this new SARS ‘like’ virus in December.  My first sources that something was amiss were not medical sources but were instead statisticians.  Guys who were financial ‘number crunchers’ that were sounding the alarm that the numbers were not adding up, both in the disease statistics and the money markets.  I started to pay attention in a cursory fashion.

I started seriously taking notice when, shortly thereafter, a Facebook friend, who is an ex-navy seal and an individual who analyzes global flash-points as a profession, started raising the alarm.   Having been around the world extensively, even in the midst of other outbreaks, he told me that this outbreak was one to keep my eye on.  He went on to tell me to ‘have a plan in place.”

In January I started telling my family to prepare, hoping that this information was wrong.  So far, these sources have proved to be very accurate in their predictions.  As a matter of fact the number crunchers are predicting very dark times ahead for the U.S.; a perfect storm so to speak, where global supply chains, just in time inventory, and a very real and nasty pandemic, are converging to set the stage for a perfect storm.  

I have to admit it was very awkward at first and I did meet with some resistance and even ridicule from some friends but when the first wave of panic hit the U.S. those in my immediate family and even a few of my friends, were not caught up when the third stage of truth, (acceptance) set in.  When acceptance sets in, that is when toilet paper flies off the shelves according to Martenson.

Ambiguity

One thing that has fascinated me since the beginning of the COVID-19 outbreak is the ambiguity.  Having had extensive education in psychology, the various personal viewpoints about this virus and the public presentation of information regarding this virus is fascinating.  I have heard every conceivable conspiracy theory that ranges from the plausible to the outright insane.  What is really fascinating is the how various biases and paradigms create extreme barriers to truth.  

The same ambiguity that surrounds COVID-19 in a general sense, filters down, more specifically, to proposed treatments for this dreaded virus.  Again, I have heard a massive amount of speculation, and a massive amount of misinformation.  

Although my goal with this article is not to clear up all the speculation, for that feat would be insurmountable, what I can do is clear up a few bits of speculation surrounding Zinc and Chloroquine.

I have been writing about quinine on and off for the last decade in its relation to the quinolone family of antibiotics, more specifically the fluoroquinolones (FQ’s).   I have even begun a book about the Dark History of the Fluoroquinolones in which I am documenting the traceable history from quinine’s discovery through the creation of the FQ’s. You can read the first section here.

Enter Chloroquine

When Chinese scientists first started using Chloroquine to fight the COVID-19 virus I started receiving questions and comments from floxed individuals who had justifiable concerns.  The sheer amount of opinion and misinformation surrounding Chloroquine was staggering.   But before I get to the point of this article, I want to state something right up front: 

I am not a fan of any drug that is based on the quinoline pharmacophore.  I believe there is something inherently wrong with the all drugs that are based on this substrate.  There is a thread of idiosyncratic toxicity that is poorly understood that spreads out like a crack in the foundation and loosely affects all of the drugs based off of this platform.

The Zinc Connection

It has been known for a very long time that Zinc inhibits viral replication. That is why, in the past, that zinc has been used to shorten the duration or stop the onset of viruses like the common cold.  It is known that Zinc can block the replication of the coronavirus.

Researchers found that the more Zinc in the cell, the more inhibition in viral replication.

While on the surface it is great that Zinc appears to stop the replication of a viruses, it is not as simple as that. 

Zinc has a hard time entering the cell without help. 

In order for Zinc to enter the cell in needs the help of something called a “ionophore.” An ionophore is a substance which is able to transport particular ions across a lipid membrane in a cell.  In other words it makes the cell wall permeable so that Zinc can enter the cell and inhibit the viral reproduction.

Why Use Chloroquine?

Chloroquine, despite its toxicity, is a Zinc ionophore, in an of itself.   The greater the concentration of Chloroquine in the cell, the great amount of zinc (as seen in the chart to the right).

Often in drastic situations, when you are faced with a terrible foe, such as the coronavirus, scientists will look for ‘off the shelf’ treatments that do not have to go through the clinical trial testing.

We have seen this with researchers who work with FQ’s.  They do not They will often look for older drugs that, are available in sufficient quantities, and can be obtained easily to handle the situation.

Is Zinc A Treatment?

Like I mentioned earlier, it is not an easy answer.    I do know that, like toilet paper, Zinc has been flying off of the online supplement stores like crazy for the last few weeks.   The stockpiling of Zinc seems to have been caused by the same fear that caused many to stockpile toilet paper and can also be traced, in part, to the advice of a veteran pathologist, James Robb, that has circulated social media in recent days.

The following was is the excerpt from the post that caused the flury of Zinc hoarding…

“Stock up now with zinc lozenges. These lozenges have been proven to be effective in blocking coronavirus (and most other viruses) from multiplying in your throat and nasopharynx. Use as directed several times each day when you begin to feel ANY “cold-like” symptoms beginning. It is best to lie down and let the lozenge dissolve in the back of your throat and nasopharynx. Cold-Eeze lozenges is one brand available, but there are other brands available.“

In defending himself Dr. Robb said, “It was my email to my family and close friends ONLY. Someone put it on their Facebook page. It was intended to be a monologue – not a dialogue. I do not use any social media and may have been too naive about what “sharing” means today.“

Dr. Robb went on to clarify, “In my experience as a virologist and pathologist, zinc will inhibit the replication of many viruses, including coronaviruses. I expect COVID-19 [the disease caused by the novel coronavirus] will be inhibited similarly, but I have no direct experimental support for this claim. “

Robb didn’t intend, or predict, reaching a global audience, or triggering a zinc buying spree.

Zinc often needs help getting into the cell in sufficient quantities to inhibit viral replication so loading up on Zinc may not be an easy answer. 

I am not a medical doctor, but I do believe that Zinc, in general, is a good supplement for various reasons and I have taken 30mg a day with trace cooper for many years. However, in some, too much Zinc can be toxic and cause unwanted side effects including the leaching of copper from the body or interference with iron absorption.  

If I were to attempt to use Zinc as a preventative measure I would consult with a trusted medical expert and be on the lookout for the Signs and Symptoms of Zinc Overdose.

Chloroquine: History Repeating Itself

It is important to note that Chloroquine, after its discovery, was initially ignored for a decade because it was considered too toxic to use in humans.  Basically, Chloroquine was “re-discovered” during World War II by the United States because of it was desperate to find a treatment for malaria (source). 

It is my belief that nothing changed about the toxicity of Chloroquine. The U.S. Government just ignored Chloroquine’s toxicity to be able to use the drug to combat the scourge of Malaria that the G.I.’s were facing in WWII.

Will Chloroquine be used, or possibly be pushed, in the same manner to fight COVID-19?  Only time will tell.

For more information:

To learn more about Chloroquine toxicity or researching medical disorders caused by poisoning by mefloquine, tafenoquine, chloroquine, and related quinoline drugs please visit the Quinism Foundation.

Also see my article “Fluoroquinolones: Their Connection to Older Anti-Malarial Drugs” where I discuss the Chloroquine/FQ connection and also touch on Chemotherapy. 

[backpackerenpointe-blog]

On the train and Scotland bound

After a long weekend in Edinburgh I have to admit there were plenty of highs and a few lows so here’s my personal highlights and disasters of my Scottish adventure.

Edinburgh Castle from the parade ground

Edinburgh Castle – A huge tourist magnet for the city and quite rightly so. Having whizzed around the castle before I kind of knew what I wanted to go back and look at properly and what I was happy to skip. The regimental museums paired with the Scottish National War Museum which is also located on site were of a fantastic standard and thoroughly intrigueing for the curious history boff that I am. The views from the Castle are staggering and no photograph will ever truly be able to replicate them. And the piece de resistance the exhibition of the Scottish Crown Jewels and their history. This was high on my to do list and was presented beautifully with the exhibit leading you through the story of the jewels, how they were commissioned and made, who used them, what they represented and how they fell from use and were locked away and hidden until quite recently. All in all visiting the castle again was a hugely satisfying experience.

Taken just after leaving my very first Zoo

Edinburgh Zoo – This had always been on my definitely doing list as I had never been to a proper zoo until this trip and so wanted to take advantage of the opportunity of one being so close by. At first I felt that the entry price was a little steep however after spending about an hour following my little map around the site and only seeing a small fragment of what was on offer I realised that the ticket was a bargain. The detail and thought put into each individual enclosure to cater to its inhabitants unique needs was phenomenal and everything was catered to a “welfare first” attitude which was refreshing to see. The detailed information provided for each resident was impressive and highly informative with a large section dedicated to the level of population each species has out in the wild. I was quite sad to see so many of the zoo’s species being noted as endangered or worse. In the end I was thoroughly impressed with my experience of Edinburgh Zoo and ended up spending a lot more time than I expected there due to the sheer amount of things to see and do.

Attempting Arthur’s Seat – Late on the Sunday afternoon I decided to take a hike up to Arthur’s Seat a site just out of the city centre which was said to offer fantastic views over the city, especially at sunset. So I started my ascent, camera in hand and was upset when I found myself having to stop about half way up. This at first felt like a failure however as the sun grew lower in the sky I managed to capture some beautiful images from my resting spot and so left feeling as though I had still achieved something. My inability to make it to the top has made me determined to try again the next time I am in Edinburgh.

Boutique Backpackers – The hostel I stayed at was far from ideal, the location was fabulous, just off of Princes Street, however my roommates were anything but friendly and the girl on the being below me was extremely gassy whilst sleeping and snored terribly. The place as a whole looked like it was ready to fall down around your ears at any moment. Fortunately I was only sleeping and storing my stuff there as the atmosphere was extremely closed and cagey.

My Backpack – I had plans to dump my large backpack at the National Gallery as they have cheap locker facilities of varying sizes with no time limits however on arrival I discovered that there were no lockers free that I could fit my bag into. This then meant that I wasn’t allowed into the main galleries as I had planned due tote gallery enforcing a rule that all rucksacks must be carried by hand to avoid any damage. This little hiccup also meant that I had to carry my bag around Edinburgh with me for the whole day until I caught the train home. This was problematic as the bag was heavy and large.

Things To Do Revisited

Visit the Elephant House (where JK Rowling wrote Harry Potter)

Take a picture with the Greyfriars Bobby Statue

Visit Edinburgh Castle and see the Scottish Crown Jewels

Revisit the Standing Order

Visit Charlotte Square and Bute House

See Sister Act at the Edinburgh Playhouse

Visit Edinburgh Zoo and see the Panda’s

Walk the Royal Mile

Visit Hollyrood Palace

Watch the sunset from Arthurs Seat

Visit the Hard Rock Café

Have afternoon tea somewhere

Visit the Scottish National Gallery

Walk Princes Street Gardens

Visit the National Museum of Scotland

Visit the Scottish National Portrait Gallery

See the Royal Yacht Britannia in Leith

Have a traditional Scottish fry up breakfast

Try Haggis

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Taken after my first visit to The Elephant House

Greyfriars Bobby

My Ticket for Edinburgh Castle

Part of the exhibit telling the story of the Scottish Crown Jewels

The Edinburgh Playhouse where I watched Sister Act

My tickets for Edinburgh Zoo and the Panda Viewing

Yang Guang eating his lunch

A piper I came across whilst walking through Princes Street Gardens

Edinburgh – The Highlights On the train and Scotland bound After a long weekend in Edinburgh I have to admit there were plenty of highs and a few lows so here's my personal highlights and disasters of my Scottish adventure.