#I find out their a raging bigot before I even get to check out their other work

[dontmindme2600]

God Yoshihiro Togashi’s work always fucking KILLS IT (I’ve only read/watched YuYu Hakusho and Hunter x Hunter but I’m already convinced he’s a genius)

[notfeelingthyaster]

Imagine (Son of Hades! Percy; Godswapped! Big Three's kids) Mark of Athena AU Pt. 1 (3/7) or (8/12)

Hello!! MoA is freaking extensive, so you're getting it in two parts. What are y'all thinking about this AU? Do you like it? Do you have suggestions? Anyway before reading this, check on the masterpost - all parts are essencial for the understanding of this - PJO or HoO - and check on the warnings before proceeding :))

Before everything, everyone's ages. Malcolm is 20, Reyna and Octavian are 19; Percy and Annabeth are 18; Frank and Jason are 17; Piper, Leo and Nico are newly 16; Will and Hazel are 15 - everyone is older, because I can.

Perseus is on a very uncomfortable toga praetexta, and he is late to the committee he has been organizing for at least two weeks now.

Planning for the greek commission - that he really hopes has planned a decent diplomatic mission, come on, Annie - is a very difficult job.

Mainly because Octavian is being a pain - and his direct superior, the Pontifex Maximus, is his grand-uncle, so nepotism is, of course, making Perseus life very hard.

They don't have any real say about the subject - the Vestal Virgins outrank them, and they're all for it because their Lady said so - but they still can protest every single one of the Alliance Committee decisions. Every single one.

They don't know how the greeks are getting here - it seems to be by ship, so they are keeping people at the closest bay, but no one is sure, so they are preparing for everything.

Hera gave him a date - July 8th, a Sunday - and they're working with that. Saturday is a day of rest, to the Roman people, so they organize everything on Friday - food, beverage, accommodations. Will they need garments? Perseus is not letting them walk around in those orange monstrosities.

Well. Hazel and Frank organize those - mainly helped by Questors and Magistrates - while Reyna and Perseus lock themselves up and review all the paperwork.

Because if they're not coming with their own mountain of paperwork, Perseus is kicking their asses, from Jason Grace - the previous Praetor - to Annabeth - she is supposed to be smart.

He also works on the mess that is the patrol rotation, the defense plans for the city, in the reconstruction efforts and in rising the wall at least 10 feet - getting it thirty feet tall, an impenetrable fortress for the upcoming war against the Giants.

Perseus has also made time for Iris Messaging his mother, - who is always overjoyed to hear from him - Persephone, - who he was only able to talk to once - Rachel, - who was not surprised to hear from him, and keep suggesting that he goes to the college closest to Parsons instead of staying in Nova Roma - and Calypso - who no Iris Messaging has been able to connect, nor can he find her location, so he guesses she is also in Olympus.

So back to the present - Perseus is late. It's 9h22 - he doesn't think that the greeks are getting here in the afternoon. He passes by Reyna's villa - with a cup of coffee and half their paperwork - and she is also late - a first when it comes to Praetor Arellano. Because they aren't Perseus and Reyna from now - they're Praetor Jackson of Styx and Praetor Arellano.

So they go to the courtyard - where the whole army is waiting, swords and shields gleaming with Frank in the head, plus the Consul, his two assistants, the Pontifex Maximus, Augur Primus Octavian, the six Questors and Perseus, and Reyna's assistants.

Perseus was never so grateful for someone as he was for Commander Sabina Artorius - the legacy of Pomona had been injured in the battle against Polybotes and lost her right leg and an eye - didn't make her any less valuable for him - but in the eyes of the prejudiced Roman people, she was a burden - so Reyna appointed her for the job.

She did everything Perseus wasn't able to - including proof-reading everything he wrote, teaching him the intricacies of Roman Politics, and giving him paperwork to sign.

Everyone who called her a useless servant was lying - Sabina was an amazingly competent P.A. and diplomat, and Perseus was very grateful for her, and her salary reflected that. Even if the Romans found weird a Praetor was paying for work - weird slaver fascist culture.

Reyna also has an assistant - a boy called Aeneas Nerius - a son of Virtus - who was born blind, so was relegated to poor-paying (or not paid at all, because housing and food aren't payment) jobs. Because Nova Roma is not only queerphobic and racist, no. It's also ableist.

The Pontifex - his name is Septimus Gavius, and he's a direct son of Phebus Apollo - looks at them angrily when they arrive late - but the Consul doesn't even notice the time - the man is too afraid of their conjoined power over the masses.

The Consul plays for the people as if Perseus would be a good successor - calls him Augustus and Imperator - even when everyone knows Reyna is the obvious choice - the man is as misogynist as all the older Senators are.

While Reyna tries her best to make her purple stola less constricting and Aeneas corrects Perseus toga with the practiced movements of someone who has been trained to do it - and that's when Perseus remembers that Aeneas was a servant to Octavian's family.

He pointedly avoids looking at the boy's hands - the demigod is no older than Percy, and his hands are burned and scarred. Perseus doesn't pity him - he rages internally against Octavian and his bigoted, slaver, prejudiced family.

They are talking - he is still seething from his realization - when the Greeks appear. And Perseus wants so much to kick their butts.

He has no words. He wants to scream. Reyna massages her temples with the face of a resigned person, and Sabina - the bloodthirsty woman that she is - snorts in amusement.

"Praetor Jackson. I fought beside you! I didn't expect your people to be... well... barbarians!" Whispers Reyna in his ear, in utter exasperation.

"I wasn't expecting this either! They have Grace, who is a roman! Why are they doing this?" He whispers back, as lost as she appears.

It doesn't matter - he tells Frank - Legatus Legionis Zhang - to make the troops stand down. This is not a fight - not yet, Lady Lupa whispers in his mind.

Hazel - Centurion Levesque - looks at him worried. She has been frenzied since her brother's disappearance the day after her birthday, but this is just the cherry on top. Are they fools?

The ship crosses their wall - and hovers in the air as, one by one, six people climb down. Perseus recognize almost all of them - there's Annabeth, Malcolm, Will, Jason Grace, and two other demigods, who he doesn't know.

At least Grace is wearing a toga. A makeshift, purple toga picta - as if he was a Triumvir or an Imperator - but a toga nonetheless, even if pretentious.

The Consul is the first to talk - the Greeks approach slowly, wary of the army behind them. The man welcomes them to Nova Roma - looking at Grace's toga with something akin to disdain - and then promptly passes the torch to the Praetors - the organization of this whole thing has been in their hands from the start.

"I am Praetor Urbanus Arellano" Reyna starts, in an official tone that no one questions "And this is Praetor Peregrinus Jackson of Styx. These are Pontifex Maximus Septimus and Augur Primus Octavian, Legatus Legionis Zhang, and the Twelfth Legion of Nova Roma. Please, follow me - let's continue our talking in a more private setting, I'm sure you're must be exhausted."

It's just an excuse to avoid the mocking looks the bigots are throwing them - Perseus can hear their voices in his head, calling him an ape, a savage bringing barbarians into their home.

The greeks - with their orange T-shirts and faded jeans and mocking purple toga - look as out of place in Nova Roma as Perseus feared they would. Reyna and he take them to the Praetor Villa - is as much as they can restrain themselves.

Annabeth - who knows him longer than anyone here - doesn't jump him - she just looks a little overwhelmed - Nova Roma is probably a bit much for her Athenian brain, which is now possibly being overridden with possibilities. It's Jason who makes the first move - and what a weird move at that.

"Reyna" He greets, and they hug briefly - and as manly as possible, for some weird roman reason about feminization - before the blonde turns to him "Perseus Jackson"

"Jason Grace" He answers back, and they exchange a handshake, but there's something weird in the inflection of his voice that Perseus doesn't necessarily care for "Annabeth"

Her greeting - when she gets off the subspace she dropped to - is much nicer - and warmer - he even gets a hug out of it.

They introduce him to Leo Valdez - who Perseus looks at once, remembers Charles Beckendorf, and swears to never let any harm come upon his baby brother - and Piper McLean.

"I know you!" They say at the same time - because that's where English gets you.

They explain that they went to Yancy together - two years, doing the same English tutoring. They give each other a high five for surviving the highs and lows of high school as monster bait. Malcolm and Will both hug Percy and greet Reyna with the same respect they give Annabeth - Praetor Arellano is terrifying.

The conversation eventually goes to how - how did they find Nova Roma, why they aren't surprised to see him here - and the answers are kind of obvious.

"I dreamed of you," Says Grace, still with a strange tilt to his voice. Perseus guesses he probably isn't okay with losing his place as Praetor - but he was kind of lost for eight/seven months. It's the gods' fault, really.

"Me too. Kind of - Lady Juno... I mean, Hera, she sent me dreams for about a month or so? It was all very weird - like basically the training I was doing at the day, you were doing at night. I think she was trying to tell me to follow in your footsteps. Helped me a lot - thank you, man."

Jason - and all of the greek entourage - seems a bit downtrodden - like he just gave a big miss. But Perseus has more important things to care about.

"Who had the brilliant idea to come for an alliance in a military flying ship?!"

Jason Grace wants to punch Hera, or Juno, or whatever is her name in the face. He wants to punch himself either - the gods never did anything good for him, why would they now?

He talked - like a creep - about the dreams. And turns out? He is the only one having deep, emotional dreams about Perseus' past for months. He got a crush on someone he knows, like the palm of his hand - but that doesn't know him back, because really, why make this easy? Why give him those dreams at all - if they were doing this one-sided?

So he stays quiet, as Leo apologizes for the worst idea ever - coming with a warship to a military city - and, while Perseus and Piper trade stories, Reyna beacons him for a quick walk - to show him the development of plans they did together - their own way of catching up.

"You're infatuated with him," Jason says but is not an accusation, is just the truth, in the worst time possible.

"Can you blame me? You were gone." She retorts "Wait... It's not me you're jealous of. But how do you? You never met before."

He explains the dreams - the seven months of dreams, the only link to his past, the way Camp Half-Blood worships Percy - the way that they don't have rules about who you lay with. Jason feels Nova Roma around him - the decadence of water everywhere that CHB simply lacked.

"Well, we should open a club. Me, you, that blonde girl, Di Angelo, half of Nova Roma..." And they laugh, for it seems impossible to not fall for Percy's charm, just as impossible as making him notice any of them. "Now can you explain to me why are you wearing purple of all things?"

He is apologetic - it was the only toga they could find in short notice without leaving Camp. Then, she shows him the plans - Reyna can do multiple things at once, and her best friend's love life is merely a blip in her radar.

Reyna loves differently - she has known that, all her life. It doesn't make a difference where it comes to Perseus - she loves him, even if she can't imagine ever laying with him. Maybe that's why she hasn't made any moves under the course of three months. She should let him go - he has so many options, anyway.

When they go back, is to see Perseus and Annabeth in a heated debate about she wearing a chiton or a stola - anyway, no greek can go to Senatus in jeans and a T-shirt.

Eventually, they manage to get them all in togas - the girls refuse the stolas, but they are convinced to put on the chitons for diplomacy.

They didn't come with mountains of paperwork. But between Malcolm, Will, and Annabeth, by lunch they have outlined most of their possible contributions and what do they need - and what they're unable to give up.

Perseus and Jason - and possibly Nico di Angelo, who's missing - are the only ones who know the full information - how many battle-ready people both sides have, how many disabled people, how many children, healers, resources.

Nova Roma is winning - in everything. Except for power - because Camp Half-Blood only has, maybe, five legacies out of more than 150 campers, while Nova Roma is mainly composed of legacies, second-generation demigods, or minor gods' demigods.

The Greeks are composed of 63% Olympian's children, 36% minor gods' children, and 2% legacies - all children of two demigods, so second-generation demigods. They don't have Nova Roma's training - but they have powers the Romans could only dream of.

The Romans are composed of 12% Olympian's children, 39,5% minor gods' children, and 48,5% legacies - most who are at least a few generations diluted. They don't have Camp's power - but they have techniques and numbers the Greeks couldn't even hope to have - if you counted the able non-fighters - the ones who would fight either way for the sake of Rome - it was a number bordering on 700 hundred strong.

It is a gamble that could only bring destruction - for both sides. So Perseus and Jason exchange looks - and decide not to divulge all information. Egos are so fragile - especially between the older generations - so it's best they don't have material to plan in accord.

The Greeks and Roman heed together to the Forum Romanum. Is still weird to see the Romans - especially for Leo.

You see, Leo has been surrounded by a cult of Perseus Jackson over the last few months. Half the people he knows are infatuated with the guy - including the meticulous Annabeth Chase, his best friend, and even scary as hell, Nico "I'm bringing the thunder" di Angelo.

He is expecting a Batman-esque character. He is expecting the heroes from legends - the ones destined to fall. Leo is half-waiting from an automaton - or perhaps Lucifer himself. He isn't sure.

But the guy is... easy-going. He bears a striking similarity to Charles Beckendorf - with surprisingly green eyes. Perseus is wearing sheets - why, Leo can't phantom - and making jokes with Malcolm Cage like the guy wasn't perpetually boomed by something.

It isn't the only thing that surprises him: All his ships (the romantic ones, not the literal one) crashed and burned worse than Helen of Troy and Paris. Perseus is seemingly oblivious to romance - he is all about the job, making friends, rebelling against the traditions and their superpowerful angsty parents.

Well, Leo can get behind this. He can't stop looking at Nova Roma - a whole city, directly taken off a good Gladiator reboot. Leo is not an architecture crazy like Annabeth - but oh, the aqueducts!

Leo wants to take a peak at the place the chimneys are poking of - maybe a two or three hour walk from where he is - but Piper keeps a hand in his wrist, leashing him like a unruly puppy.

Annabeth is in a similar state of amazement - she came here for her best friend and crush - and is surprised.

Not by Perseus becoming some kind of military political person - he always had the potential - and the way he grew, somewhat, harder and prettier at the same time. Annabeth is only eighteen and still on sophomore year - blame the hormones.

But she is amazed by Nova Roma. They have such an intricate society, with traditions the greeks have long forgotten - who still uses clothes like that - and a military formation worthy of Julius Caesar.

Her best friend turned out to kind of be the Julius Caesar to Reyna's - Praetor Arellano - Augustus. Perseus - Praetor Jackson of Styx - is militar and rigid, a political conqueror - while Reyna is infinitely more dangerous - she is a king, a leader to be worshipped as a goddess for centuries to come.

Annabeth came in this mission for three reasons: Her best friend, the war, and the mission her mother gave her. But now, she looks at the politics, at the city - and wants to stay.

They enter the Senatus - Perseus and Reyna upfront, followed by Jason and the greeks - and take their places. Jason - for the anger of most romans - stay with the greeks.

The session starts as normal - titles, names, rankings, people bringing their issues, strifes, budgets, ideas of infrastructure that were authorized by the Censors, marriage licenses and research projects.

Jason thinks they are scarily good together. Reyna works most of the civil front - she is a master at law - but it's Perseus who separates most strifes and solves the money problems - he is the son of a fair judge himself.

He can see the looks - he is Propraetor now. Why doesn't he sit in his side of the Senatus, between his pairs? Does he think himself above them now - even between barbarians?

But Jason can't let his friends to the mercy of the romans - not alone. After all people come - some redirected to the Consul, some with their issues solved for better or for worse - it's their time, to state the case.

The Alliance of Ephesus - for a city that was both greek and roman in nature - is still in it's initial states. But they make their cases - the way Camp Half-Blood could help in the upcoming war against the giants, their own roles in the previous war against the titans.

It is a convincing argument - both Perseus and him are unmovable objects, and Reyna is an unstoppable force - but they do hit a rock in the way.

"If the best your camp has to offer is a healer of Phebus Apollo, a bulla-wearer of Flamen Vulcan, a daughter of Venus Verticordia and two children of Minerva - a virgin goddess - this Alliance is highly unfair for the people of Rome!"

It had to be Octavian, Jason thinks. It is good, then, that Perseus has the tongue made of steel and looks like a Basileus - sat on a throne, overlooking them, with a bored look upon his face, he could demand a crown and they would give him.

"You overestimate yourself, Augur Primus Octavian. You see yourself so mighty that you have no need for allies?"

It is mocking and there's a message behind it - "This is where I come from and I am your Praetor - do you challenge my power?" - it makes Jason shiver.

Perseus - Praetor Jackson of Styx - is his father through and through. Jason only met the god once - in the post-war council in Olympus - but he had the same imposing voice, the same luxury that seduced Proserpina to the Underworld.

Just like he looked leading the greek forces against Kronos, wielding his weapons of choice with a roar that made Manhattan tremble.

It seemed to work - for Octavian shut up pretty quickly. Jason is no longer in a position to do it - he is respected, technically, as a Propraetor, but he barely reached half of his term - after spending a year as Legatus Legionis - a position which Frank Zhang more than deserved.

Everything is going well - too well, for Piper's liking. Perseus is cool, Reyna is cooler, they have a whole government (!), Jason is making heart-eyes at dream dude and even prejudiced guy recognized her as a girl.

They have a feast - where they are introduced to Frank Zhang and Hazel Levesque - and Piper sure isn't keeping all those titles straight in her head, this is Annabeth's job.

Centurion Levesque - Hazel, a girl a little younger than them, but apparently already a general - keeps looking at Leo as if he is about to implode - a normal reaction to him. She stops once they are introduced - there's a forlorn air about her.

She catches up a little with Perseus - who is the most oblivious person to ever grace this earth, for so many look at him and he barely looks at anything but his paperwork - who finds it mightly funny to slowly eat a pomegranate while everyone freaks out at the implications.

Well - he thinks they are scared. But Piper knows they're just horny and waiting to pass winter cozying up in hell.

Perseus explains to her (finally) why they give the gods different names - Venus Verticordia, Genetrix, and Victrix; Juno Moneta, Regina, Lucina, and Populona; Mars Ultor, Pater, Quirinus, and Gradivus, etc. He explains they are epithets - different forms of each god.

Different from the greek to roman transition, these are the same gods - in very different facades. Like, for example, her mother could either be Venus Genetrix - the maternal one - Victrix - the war one - or Verticordia - the romantic love one.

Greeks used to have this - but some of their aspects got too jumbled, so they started rebirthing - evolution. Zagreus became Dionysus. Hermes split from Pan. Helius merged with Apollo, Selene merged with Artemis. As their cult changed - so did they.

Children of Venus Genetrix and Verticordia are different from Children of Venus Victrix - still brothers and sisters, but their powers are different - where the first lean towards priesthood and the second towards charm speak and magic - almost all the third's are warriors of the same caliber of Mars Ultor's children.

Everyone here is so different though- Perseus' P.A., Sabina, is a total badass and Piper would be all for her... but wouldn't that invalidate her? She spent her whole life trying to prove she is a girl - to now go pursue sex with other girls? Piper is confused - she should IM Ariel before sleeping

It is all going very well - minor accident when someone mentioned Perseus' decision to send the harpy Ella away days ago - probably to Rachel - until Octavian decides to see the ship. And, of course, Leo just has to go.

Jason is proving to be very smart - for while Leo is occupied above with Octavian, he insists to also be on the ship, with Will and Malcolm as his backup - no one here trusts the drowned rat.

They take with them Frank and Hazel Levesque - two possible candidates for the mission on the Roman side - evening the sides - three Romans, three greeks, and Jason - a medium.

Perseus stays on ground - he is the host and can't leave the party - with Reyna - who is talking to Annabeth in hushed whispers - and her - who is starting to get a little tipsy.

Well. She should've known better.

Leo attacks the camp - it's not him, but it's enough. Perseus - at the first cannon bomb - whispers something in Reyna's ear, and escort her and Annabeth to the ship before Roma can react.

He jumps on board, pops an unconscious Octavian out of the ship, and tells Annabeth to get out of there in the next ten minutes or he won't have an alibi. They do - but look at him like he is either crazy or drunk, still in laurels and a toga, a goblet of wine precariously between his fingers.

"I'm Praetor Peregrinus Jackson of Styx - and this is an espionage mission with the objective of rescuing Legatus Legionis Zhang and Centurion Levesque while finding who is the greek traitor. At least, officially - I'm here because I am not a big fan of the woman encroaching in my territory, trying to kill my friends."

Leo - who is still disoriented of what Frank explain is an eidolon, they had a run with those when the attacks on Nova Roma started - starts laughing and takes Annabeth's place steering the Argo II. After a minute of silence, everyone starts laughing - the man is a genius.

So they go after decent clothing - because just Hazel and Frank are in battle appropriate clothing, and Perseus just noticed that they're floating and he can almost see the equations around his head - he wants so bad to talk to him because he has the same numbers around him all the time.

After everyone is in pants and shirts - Perseus, Frank, and Hazel take the loose shirts - Annabeth brought a stash of clothes in more or less their size, in Jason's word - but, while Frank tugs on a pair of sweatpants, the other two look at each other.

Leo is not really surprised when Hazel is in a skirt - but he gasps when Perseus walks in Frank's roman military skirt. He looks uncomfortable at the mere idea of pants.

No one says anything - not only they lived in CHB, but he has the Minotaur dagger that pair perfectly with Rachel's strapped to his tight, while his ax and Warhammer are crossed in his back.

Leo can see Jason drooling - he isn't the only one. Leo is newly sixteen - the youngest bar Will, and, perhaps, Hazel - and generally more interested in machines but he is not blind - the guy is hot.

Perseus gets hotter when he comes to Leo - still with a resting bitch face that would give Chiron a run for his money - and starts asking questions with the excitement of a puppy - about the ship, about the plans, how the aerodynamics work.

Hazel is roped into the conversation when they try and test if she has any control over the wind - almost nothing, but Perseus thinks he can hone her eventually - while Will and Malcolm start grilling Frank and Jason over Nova Roma.

Perseus mentions Nico - which Hazel supports. He hasn't be seen in either Camp since Perseus recovered his memories - said he was going to make up for it, but Percy knows the guy is a little self-destructive - he is too prideful to know when to just stop.

Piper and Annabeth are on patrol - no one is really sure the Romans aren't going after them. It doesn't serve for much: they are attacked.

Not by Romans, but by griffins. Between Jason, Piper, and Annabeth, Perseus and Leo don't even move. The ship does suffer some damage - which prompts Leo to give the Romans a tour of the Argo II.

Perseus is fascinated by Festus - while Hazel is fascinated by Leo - And Frank is seriously just marveling at the greeks by now - Nova Roma is pleasing to the eye, but they don't have automaton dragon ships.

They go to Salt Lake. Jason, Frank, and Piper go get tar, while Leo, Hazel, and Perseus go to the Celestial Bronze. Annabeth, Malcolm, and Will stay, to protect the ship.

It's the first time Perseus has touched land outside of Roma with his memories back - and he can feel a pressure in his chest: His link of empathy to Grover, never completely off.

They encounter Nemesis - who talks to Perseus about Ethan and Domitia, for which he retorts she has no rights. She took Ethan's eye, and his choice was not worth it - she asked for too high a payment.

Nemesis, or Invidia, laughs. Says the world isn't fair - look at Perseus and Jason, Leo and Sammy, Hazel and Nico, the marks in Roman's backs. She doesn't explain anything - but they understand.

Perseus understands Hazel and Nico - it's not fair, that her brother is missing, probably captured if his dreams have an ounce of truth. Leo understands Perseus and Jason - for Jason confided in him for months. It's unfair that Perseus doesn't know as much about Jason - and that Jason knows way too much about him.

Both Hazel and Perseus muse about Sammy - the one from Hazel's flashbacks. They hold hands and keep silent - this is not the moment. Leo doesn't ask about the marks - he saw Jason bare-chested once. He doesn't need to know more.

Invidia gives the fortune cookie to Leo, and promptly disappears - Percy wants to punch her. For Alabaster, for Ethan, for Domitia and the punishments that she has to dole out.

They meet Echo - who Perseus pity and rages, for it's the gods's fault. She couldn't refuse to help Zeus - neither could she flee from Hera's punishment, or Eros' arrows. It's their fault, that she stands now, alive again, but incapable of happiness.

Narcissus is a dick. And Hazel thinks that both Sammy - Leo - and Percy - who looks just like Pluto, and not in a bad way - could surpass him in both looks and personality.

Percy and Leo distract the nymphs - in different ways. Perseus plays his father well, and the dryads flee to Leo, in search of protection from a hero. A black makeshift toga Echo gives them, and that's it: The god of the Underworld coming to kidnap someone else.

Hazel retrieves the Celestial Bronze - the energy in it is strong enough, with Perseus opening the earth sideways for it to pass. They don't need to run back to the ship: Percy keeps evoking skeletons, which scares the nymphs, and in a fit of fury for Echo, Leo breaks Narcissus' nose - which sends him into a panic.

While getting tar, Piper feels her dagger heating up - Katoptris shows her a man Jason recognizes as Dionysus, in Topeka.

When everyone is back to the ship, they relay their stories. Perseus briefly asks Annabeth about Grover - who she tells him is occupied in Maine this year, but never gave up on looking for Perseus. Then, they leave for Topeka - they have a god to meet.

"I know a friend who could help us get down" Starts Perseus, looking at the emptiness under them with worry. The daughter of Aphrodite sympathizes.

"I thought you couldn't shadow travel more than one person at a time" States Jason, with all the creepiness of the dream stalker that he is. Piper is laughing - while Jason flushes and tries to explain.

Perseus ignores it, for the sake of his sanity, and asks if Jason has a Pegasus: Thalia has Porkpie, and he is right, Perseus couldn't possibly get three of them down and up without draining himself.

Jason doesn't have a pegasus - he does have Arion, the son of his matron, Ceres, and Neptune, his father. It doesn't fly - but Hazel has a venti that does.

So it goes Hazel and Jason on Tempest, Piper, and Perseus on Blackjack. Bacchus is waiting for them, a two-liter bottle of Pepsi in one hand.

While many of the roman aspects of greek gods are mainly more rigid, Bacchus is the complete opposite. Dionysus is a god of madness and, in his older iterations, Zagreus, a god of the Underworld.

Bacchus is a god of drunkness, sex, excess, and parties. He has none of the darker sides of his counterpart - nor the austerity of his aspect as Bacchus Liber, a god of freedom, fertility, and protector of people.

No, this was Bacchus in his most simple form: a deadbeat drunk. Piper is so tired - why couldn't she be born in a serious pantheon? Egyptians seem pretty focused.

Bacchus wishes for Ceres' presence - says it's not his responsibility to deal with plants - this is the dominion of Liber, and he can't be Liber without Ceres here. He asks Jason or Perseus to call for the matron - she should listen to them - but Ceres doesn't answer their prayers.

Perseus is as done as Piper and just rolls his eyes. At the presence of a fertility god, even if he only has a bare connection to it, vines start growing around the son of Hades' ankles, like if they're coming to play. Perseus is not only a son of Hades', Piper remembers, but he is also a champion of Persephone.

And while Jason's only blessing is his magical horse, Perseus was trained and has some mild control over plants - Piper thinks he got the better goddess in the deal.

Bacchus - drunk in Pepsi, if that's even possible - don't answer much. He tells them about Phorcys, and paying tribute - Liber would probably answer to it. He then flees.

Jason and Perseus hold a brief conversation about holding evening prayers - Piper doesn't understand much, but Hazel is nodding along, so it can't be bad: The girl is pretty level-headed.

Perseus is a son of the Underworld, he cannot be possessed by spirits, and fight them off easily, and Jason does too - mainly because he knows Perseus way too much to attack him.

But then the spirits turn to the girls. Jason has to throw a wave over Perseus to wake him from Piper's charmspeak so that he can exorcise them. It works, but Perseus has a small panic attack over drowning, is immediately drained and faints on his arms.

So Jason hauls Piper and Hazel over Tempest, so the venti takes them up first, before he bride-carries Perseus into a hurricane and over to Argo II, and promptly passing out from exhaustion and scaring the hell out of everyone on board.

Jason thinks it's worth it - Perseus asks him to start calling him Percy, and, in the Mess Hall, each takes one head of the table. He feels like he should be bothered - he isn't one to share leadership, but they all know the true head of operations here is Annabeth, so.

Percy tells them what he told Reyna - to stop any from following them, for this was a special ops mission. It's his role, and, later, Jason and he can strategize what Perseus will say in the Iris Messages to the Senatus.

And how they're going to spin crossing the Mediterranean Sea without using Julius Caesar's journey as a comparative too much, least they think Jason and Perseus are planning a coup.

They totally are. The two of them and Reyna would be the first triumvirate to work.

That evening, they sit together on the deck and talk. Not about Jason's dreams, not about Perseus's fear of drowning. But the joke about the Forum, and trade anecdotes of campers both know - and it feels like something.

Perseus dreams of drowning on earth and trashes around in his sleep - just until he starts dreaming of Nico again.

Nico is locked up in a cage - like a bird trying to reach flight. Ephialtes and Otis taunt him - two eagles come and try to attack him. He fends them off - feeding off electricity in the sky - but Perseus knows he won't be able to keep this for a long time.

Perseus goes to the deeps of the ship, just close to the motors, and cuddles up to Blackjack - the Nico situation will have to wait until morning.

In the same night, Leo catches Frank sleeping as a dog - and his crush on the guy threatens to swallow him whole.

It's Will who finds him, twelve hours later. Everyone is pissed that Perseus disappeared - so they don't let him go search for Phorcys with Jason, sending the blonde boy with Frank and Will, claiming the son of Hades is still exhausted from the past day.

Perseus stays on board. He tries to decypher his vision with Piper and Hazel, while Malcolm and Annabeth trace the route to their own mission. Leo is steering the ship and finishing the repairs.

Hazel is worried about what Percy saw. The two eagles match a dream she had, a little over a week ago: Prometheus. If those eagles reach Nico, when Nico gets too weak, he will have his liver ripped off, and no magical powers to regrow it.

Jason's mission is also giving bad results. They meet Keto - who Jason is pretty sure he already killed once - and is uncooperative as she takes Will in a tour. Phorcys is much more open - after a little flattery, he tells them all about the twin Giants, the prisoner in a cage - bait for Perseus Jackson and Hazel Levesque - and a map that would possibly lead to the Athenas Parthenos.

They escape when Will kills Keto with a well-positioned arrow, before breaking the tank together and fleeing to Argus II.

In the way to Charleston, they discuss where could the map be. Perseus trade his first Iris Message with the Senatus - in his room, faking that both Frank and Hazel are helping him, and that the greeks have no idea what happened - that there is a traitor in their midst, but the Alliance continues.

Perseus hopes they can win this war with minimum bloodshed, and then he can claim the traitor was controlled by Gaia or something because that's not his main preoccupation. He trades information with Reyna - she tells him to go to Battery.

Annabeth remembers her meeting with her mother - for this time, she was accompanied by Malcolm. Athena told them they were failures - wasting their time searching for a son of Hades. But that they should have a chance at proving themselves - and gave them the small silver coin. To "avenge" her.

Athena raged and bristled about Annabeth and Malcolm helping the Romans, but that's where Annabeth would not relent. Would her mother prefer destruction over her pride? Oh, how wise.

Annabeth feels ashamed she still craves her mother's approval, while the goddess simply saw them as pawns, even after the war raged by the rejected children - she was one of the Olympians with most children on the opposite side.

This time, they play with the finger trap all together - in the mess hall - and Annabeth looks at them and decides this is her family, not a bitter goddess that never bothered with her. She wasn't doing this for Athena - she was doing this for Camp, and her friends.

Annabeth, Hazel, and Perseus go to the Battery, while Leo, Frank, and Malcolm go to the museum after the map. Jason goes to the bay with Will, to try and free the animals at Phorcys aquarium, and Piper stays on board to patrol the ship.

Aphrodite is flickering between her greek form and her Venus Genetrix aspect, but ends up settling as Venus Verticordia - the closest she can get to greek between a roman, a greek, and Perseus, who, according to her, is both.

"You shall tread carefully with love, Annabeth Chase, for your heart lays elsewhere; You are locked up between two ways of the heart, Hazel Levesque, and shall thread both; And you, Perseus Jackson of Styx, when it comes to the heart, you are my crown jewel."

Perseus would punch her, but he knows better: Verticordia means "the changer of hearts", she is a manipulator, a player. It's this aspect who caused the Trojan War, who tossed Aeneas right and left for Lavinia.

He much prefers Venus Victrix, who appears when they're about to leave, to warn then about the importance of the statue and the location of the map, in Fort Sumter.

Octavian - who was conspicuously missing from the Senatus meeting - is here - against the orders of both Praetors. He tries to attack them - but Perseus makes the earth tremble and they run away. Jason and Will join the fray, and they send a message to Leo's group for them to regroup.

Annabeth gets the map - again fighting against spiders and the voice of Lady Earth - but this time there's no Reyna to confront her - this time, Roma is on their side.

Perseus asks if killing Octavian would be so bad, after all, but Hazel stops him from making the earth swallow the Augur - he is still a person, after all.

They change their minds pretty quickly once Reyna IM's Perseus, saying that Octavian poisoned the minds of the Senatus against the greeks and that she was unable to do much. She says the Augur is claiming that Perseus, Jason, Frank, and Hazel are mind-controlled by Piper - and that he tried valiantly to rescue them, but failed.

Perseus is pretty sure that he should've made the earth swallow him, send him directly to the Punishment Fields so he wouldn't be able to leave the Underworld never again, the lying rat.

It takes three days for them to reach the Mediterranean Sea. These three days are spent most with training and planning - while the children of Athena plan for their mission, Hazel and Frank train their powers, Perseus and Piper spar, Annabeth and Leo steer the ship, Perseus and Jason spar and patrol, Jason and Annabeth trade ideas about the two sides, Will mends a lot of people up.

Leo, especially, admires both Hazel and Frank from afar - since the Narcissus situation, he can't keep his eyes off the girl, and Frank is just adorable - he feels like he just watched Pirates of the Caribbean all over again.

The group becomes pretty tight - especially after Will walks in Percy without a shirt on, and immediately manhandles him into the infirmary. He does the same with all Romans - trying to figure an answer to those scars.

Will has a boyfriend - Jake Mason, seventeen - who has the same bad habit of hiding scars from him. But since he lost his foot - Will has discovered a thousand ways to find someone's health problems.

Piper and Leo are not surprised - they are the closest to Jason after all. Malcolm and Annabeth are up in arms - and they call the greeks barbarians?

Jason blames himself - for he has a guilty streak a mile wide, and apologizes to them - as if is his fault Juno had this godawful idea. Perseus punches him in the shoulder and tells him to stop with the bullshit - they have bigger problems than that.

They meet Heracles - and their best speakers are Piper, Perseus, and Will - the charmspeaker, the Praetor who actually finished high school, and the son of the god of poetry - maybe some flattery would help.

Heracles is a complete ass - no, he is a creep. He leers on Will - who is fifteen and he calls eromenos, yes, like a pedophile - then on Piper - who is utterly unimpressed - but don't try on Perseus - his eyes are as dark as the Pit, and he looks ready to punch Heracles.

They don't mention Hera - because the three are smarter than to mention the woman who turned the god's life miserable - but, after Piper refuses to kiss him, he gives him the mission to get the horn of Achelous anyway.

The Achelous is suitably afraid of Perseus - and it's easier to break his horn. They fight against the god - Will punches the guy in the face, while Perseus has no qualms about swarming him with skeletons and melting his armor.

Jason - who is keeping a keen eye on them from the deck - raises a wave for them to go onboard. Will - dripping and utterly mad - starts throwing curses at Heracles - he shines with the power of his father.

Percy is trembling - he hates water, he hates the feeling of drowning, he hates water in his face. He feels weak.

Hercules throws stones at the ship - but fail to hit anything, even if he almost gets Jason - who is pushed to the ground by Perseus, who grounded himself on the blonde.

For now, they have a cornucopia and managed to pass Heracles - so they just hug and laugh breathlessly at Will's increasingly ridiculous curses.

In the midnight patrol, while keeping watch for Stymphalian birds (Perseus hates those), they talk. Perseus tells him about drowning in his own element, about his distaste for both air and water - explains why he never gets close to the margins of the ship.

"Y'know, I dreamed of you" Percy nods, but Jason shakes his head "Not for a week or two, but for seven months. I thought it was Juno..."

Percy seems tense as if he is about to flee at any moment. High-strung. He looks anywhere but at Jason, and finally, he murmurs, almost too low for the silence that expands between them.

"How much?" "Everything."

He tells Percy about his dreams: Luke, Ethan, Alabaster, Persephone, Hades, Sally, Annabeth, Clarisse&Connor, the Labyrinth, the Sea of Monsters, Bianca, Nico, Zoe, Thalia, the weight of the sky, the Styx, the last defense of Olympus.

There are a lot of pieces missing - Percy Jackson is not a puzzle, but a giant Rubik Cube with ten sides - but Jason saw the worst parts of Perseus, his friends, the betrayals, the deaths, the bitterness that threatened to swallow him whole.

Percy doesn't answer - he flees. Back to his room, to conciliate that someone has dreamed about him, for months. That someone he is barely friends with knows so many deep details about him, things he never told anyone, and didn't plan to, ever.

It's not the only difficult conversation that night by far - Hazel and Leo are having a similar one.

You see, Leo is, by all means, closer to Jason out of all romans, and the least close to Frank - who is Hazel's best friend. Leo is pretty friendly flirty with Hazel since the Narcissus situation - because she is cute and just a year below him - but he also has been nursing this massive crush on Frank - who is a hunk of a man with the attitude of a puppy.

But seeing that Frank is straight as a board and Hazel only sees him as his grandfather, apparently, he is out of luck in this department - nothing new. At least he has a bunch of friends.

"Are you my friend only because of my grandfather?" "Of course not." Leo doesn't believe her, but he lets it go - it's the fatal flaw of Hephaestus' children: Lack of self-worth.

Perseus sleeps fitfully - and wakes Hazel to tell her about his vision of Otis and Ephialtes, for she is Nico's sister. They go to the deck, and he plays with her hair as they watch the sunrise.

Jason - looking at them from the other side of the ship - suddenly has a bad feeling - there's something coming in their direction. He makes Leo - who is steering this night - stop, but they are rammed and overrun by dolphin warriors.

Chrysaor disarms Jason - and his crew manages to tie everybody up - except for Perseus, who managed to flee into the shadows, and Frank, who hid away.

It's pretty simple from there - Hazel and Piper trash around when Chrysaor says he is taking them to Circe, Jason says their Captain is Dionysus, and Chrysaor says he is a roman, and Bacchus is weak in comparison to his greek form.

To prove Jason's point, Frank turns into a dolphin while Perseus makes vines appear and hold Chrysaor into place. Their enemies throw themselves overboard, including Chrysaor himself - and Jason sinks their ship by filling it with Diet Coke and Pepsi and burning it to Dionysus and Bacchus Liber - both of the serious sides of the god.

Perseus sleeps on the deck under the fickle rays of the midday sun and dreams of Gaea. Jason wakes him. They spend an awkward moment looking at each other before Jason hugs him.

"I'm sorry" "It's not your fault, stop blaming yourself for everything, Water Boy" "Sure, Death Boy"

They laugh - and for a second, they feel their own ages - eighteen and seventeen - without a care in the world. They mock-wrestle before giving up and just laying in the sun.

Perseus looks at Jason and thinks his beauty under the light of the day might be a good reason to tolerate the brightness.

It's Leo - with a knowing smirk - that tells them to come to mess hall - they need to plan.

Annabeth and Malcolm are going together to the Tiber River - but the children of Athena aren't leaving without a proper send-off - so they're having lunch together first, all together.

They pile around two tables in a little restaurant. This time is not Percy that asks for pizza - it's Leo and Will.

They eat and joke - and forget they are demigods in a mission that might bring the end of the world. No, for a second they're just teenagers - Malcolm is the oldest at twenty, and Hazel and Will are the youngest, both fifteen.

The group jokes and fools around, spending more or less an hour at the little restaurant. The old man who manages the place has a warm smile upon his face.

They go to the park close to the river to walk around - they are stalling the time they'll have to go back to their hardships. Annabeth and Perseus walk together, apart from the others - she says she wants to catch up.

Annabeth has a crush on Perseus since they were both fourteen. She studied with him for a year - he as a senior, she as a freshman - and this crush only grew. She looked for him for months, he is her best friend and she loves him.

Annabeth still remembers after the war - when she thought they would get together. They were both too caught up in mourning - Perseus even more than her - even if she always knew he corresponded. But this... this might be her last chance to tell him.

So, she kisses him.

Perseus is shocked. He is shocked, and speechless.

"Annabeth..." He says, but she takes this as iniciative and goes back to kissing him "Annabeth!"

Kisses have to mean something to him. And Percy only feels friendship with Annabeth.

She stops, and there are tears in the corners of her eyes. But Perseus just hugs her and says, slowly and as kindly as possible.

"Annabeth... We can't do this. It's been... it's been months. I-... I love you. But we-... I-... Not that way, Annie, not anymore. We spent months apart, and before that, I was too busy with school, and before that..." He takes a deep breath, and clear her tears with his thumbs "I'm sorry. I don't think I can do this."

Annabeth doesn't cry. She doesn't scream and rage with jealously and ask "Who else? Who else if not me?". She wants to because she knows, she knows he loves her, and Annabeth has never been wrong before.

Because she remembers Aphrodite. Her heart doesn't lay with Percy - her heart lays elsewhere. It still hurts - but she just nods and asks him if they can still be friends, for which he answers an enthusiastic yes.

There's a little voice in her head, that keeps comparing her to Reyna Arellano, Jason Grace, and Nico di Angelo, their powerful heritages and legacies. A sliver of poison in her heart, that shows her Rachel, Calypso, and Piper - their beauties far beyond hers.

Then she takes a deep breath, finds her brother, says goodbye to everyone, and leaves with Rhea Silvia and Tiberinus. Annabeth has a mission.

Annabeth and Malcolm pass by the same challenges - she with a broken ankle and him with a twisted wrist - and both fall again in the hands of Arachne.

While the children of Athena fight their way through the underground, Perseus, Hazel, Frank, and Leo embark on a mission after Nico di Angelo, and the rest of the demigods go back to the ship.

Hazel - who is almost sentient to Perseus moods at this point - takes one look at Annabeth's rushed departure and Percy's wistful face, and, when their group takes off, takes the demigod aside, leaving Leo and Frank to walk side by side.

"I'm telling you, Hazel, because you won't tell anyone else - and I don't have anyone else as close as you on board. I would've said yes, perhaps, had she asked this question before... before everything. Had she told me this when I was fourteen or fifteen, I would be overjoyed. But it has been two and a half harrowing years since... since Luke. And I cannot love her - there's too much history."

He tells Hazel what she cannot remember from what Perseus told her in the Fields of Asphodel, and she nods and calms him - she became a kind of his little sister in the short four months that they have known each other alive - and the year and a half they knew each other dead. Closer than most, aside, perhaps, from Rachel (who he still managed to talk to once after this mission started), his mom, Calypso (who he still hasn't be able to contact) and Persephone.

Leo and Frank are behind them - far behind them, so to not accidentally eavesdrop in their conversation. They talk - a little stilted - but it quickly picks rhythm, as Leo is such a charming person - and Frank is a weak, weak man.

You see, while Leo pines from afar for both Hazel and Frank, Frank himself is dealing with the fact that, since leaving Nova Roma, those improper feelings towards inappropriate people resurfaced - now, together with something even worse.

Frank doesn't want just men anymore, like the clear aberration that he is. He wants a boy and a girl - and at the same time, at that! Not only improper - for he is two years older than Hazel and Leo is a boy - but they are clearly infatuated with each other.

And Frank doesn't really think he could be happy with one of them - he wants both, together. Selfish, something in the back of his mind says, so selfish. Let them be happy, they don't need you.

So he hoards this little conversation with Leo in his chest, like a precious treasure he won't ever get the chance to hold again.

Perseus and Hazel eventually go to the underground - while Frank and Leo still talk - about life, about their mothers, even about Frank's stick. Leo wants to hold the boy and never let go.

The Eidolons appear, forcing Leo and Frank down the hole, where they meet back up with Hazel and Perseus. They find a workshop - full of stuff that makes Leo salivate.

While exploring the workshop, the Eidolons take control of the automatons, quickly knocking out Hazel and Frank. Perseus is able to banish them - but by now, the automatons are out of control - it's the Bianca situation all over again.

He and Leo escape into a control room and lock it. Leo finds a control sphere for everything in the shop but they're unable to find the right password. Leo uses the fortune cookie Nemesis gave him to ask for the password, allowing him to take control of the machines and deactivate them forever. Perseus seethes inside - the little manipulative bitch.

When Perseus questions why his efforts with Hazel lead them to this workshop, they find Nico's Celestial Bronze and realize it was a trap. 

Gaea appears in a mirror and taunts them, but Leo burns the mirror - "I thought Mother Nature was supposed to be cool but this is what we got? Sheesh, this is almost Aztec-levels of crazy man" - and they leave to go search for Nico.

[turtletotem]

If he wanted you, he'd ask for you

A/B/O fic for Cherik Week! Set post-XMA, or... almost-post-XMA. A little over 2k words.

Erik thought things had been going well.

He, Charles, Jean, and a team of architects were elbow-deep in plans to rebuild the mansion, with certain enhancements; it would all happen very quickly once it began, but had to be planned down to the centimeter, first. All the students who could be sent home safely had gone; the remainder, along with Charles and Erik themselves and a smattering of other adults, were staying in a camp of startlingly luxurious tents down the hill from the mansion site, alpha and omega students kept separate by the larger section of betas in the middle. No one had commented on Erik and Charles sharing a tent; everyone was sharing with someone, and if Hank McCoy had muttered something under his breath about keeping enemies closer, Erik had chosen not to hear it. He knew he had plenty to make up for.

But he was making up for it, he thought, in some small way. Helping with the students, helping with the mansion, helping Charles. It wouldn't bring back the entire city of Cairo, but nothing else would, either, including his death. Those were Charles's exact words, over a chessboard in the privacy of their tent, when they talked about the diplomatic efforts Charles was making on his behalf, and the scars inside Erik's mind where Apocalypse had used some form of persuasion power to steer Erik, Storm and the other horsemen in the direction he wanted them to go.

Erik had thought that too much had happened between them for him and Charles to ever return to the easiness, the deep understanding and connection they had once had, before everything went wrong. Instead, he was shocked speechless sometimes by how much of it was still there—and how much more of it he could feel waiting, behind scars and defensive walls, inaccessible now but still there, if they could find a way to bring it out of hiding again. They slept in their separate beds on opposite sides of the tent, but small touches were beginning to reappear—fingers that brushed as they passed a dish, hands clapping shoulders to celebrate a good joke or small breakthrough. Three days ago, Erik had dared to swipe his palm across the newly bald expanse of Charles's head and call him Professor Eggsavier. Charles had laughed and pushed him off, letting their hands linger together.

The next day, Charles moved into another tent, alone.

He hadn't explained it beyond a casual mention that they had a spare now that the Letson twins had gone home after all. He hadn't reacted to Erik's surely visible dismay and hurt, had acted like he didn't hear his stammered questions. He had simply disappeared into the other tent, and not come out since.

"You don't think someone should check on him?" Erik demanded, at the little outdoor kiosk that mostly served as Hank's office.

"He's fine." Hank sounded baffled by Erik's anxiety. "He's keeping in touch," he gestured at his temple, "any time I need him. He just wants a day or two to himself. Heaven knows he's earned it."

"Of course he's earned it, but you don't think it's out of character? He's not the kind of man that just takes a day or two to himself, he's always up to his eyebrows in everything that's going on—"

"What would you know about it?" Hank said irritably. "When have you ever been in his life for more than a month at a time? Leave him alone, Erik. If he wanted you he'd ask for you. Now if you'll excuse me, I have work to get done."

Talking to Raven was just as frustrating.

"Let me get this straight," she said, barely looking up from the math tests she was grading, because somehow lessons had to go on. "The man you've nearly killed multiple times, who is putting his neck all the way out trying to get you pardoned by multiple governments for the unforgivable shit you did in fact do, and that we can't prove Apocalypse manipulated you into doing—this guy has made himself somewhat less accessible to you, and you consider that some kind of emergency?"

"He's not 'somewhat less accessible,'" Erik snapped, "he's basically disappeared! He hasn't come out of that tent in three days now, not for anyone or anything. Not for Storm's nightmare, not for Carlo's broken arm, not for a potentially disastrous supply problem with the construction—"

"You make it sound like he's ignoring everyone! We've heard from him whenever we needed to." Telepathically, she meant. And they had, everyone had. Except Erik. Erik hadn't heard a word. "Leave him alone," Raven said, pinning him with a gold-eyed glare. "He'll come out when he's ready. You're the last person in the world who should push him."

She was probably right. But Erik was an old hand at ignoring good advice.

The fourth night, he dreamed that Charles was calling for him, calling for help. When he woke, there was nothing—no psychic echo, nothing—to indicate that it was anything but his own dream. He got out of bed anyway, and slipped through the camp to Charles's tent.

He felt resistance as he approached, a telepathic shield trying to turn him away. But Erik was too accustomed to the feel of Charles's telepathy; he wouldn't say he was immune to it, but he had the ability to question it, counter it. He clenched his teeth and pressed forward, into the tent.

It was silent inside. Erik stood still, letting his eyes adjust to the darkness, more complete here than out under the stars. Nothing seemed strange or out of place; the tent held all of Charles's expected belongings, his wheelchair waiting by the bed where Charles lay still and peaceful.

Too peaceful. Too still. Absolutely nothing unexpected. And telepathy was still buzzing at the edges of Erik's mind.

"You're altering my perceptions," Erik said. "Stop it. I don't know what you're hiding, but I'm not leaving until I find out."

"I could make you leave." Charles's voice, his physical voice, hoarse and strained; so the image of him asleep in the bed was definitely an illusion.

"Do it, then," Erik said, and waited.

After a moment, he heard a sigh—half-agonized, half-relieved—and the illusion melted away.

The tent was a shambles, Charles's books and papers randomly piled if they weren't thrown around the floor. The bed was a mess of tangled sheets, Charles sitting up against the headboard with his face flushed and chest heaving, and everything was heavy with the smell of—

"You're an omega," Erik breathed, staggering back against the wall of the tent.

He had never once considered that Charles might be an omega—and wasn't that strange in and of itself? Charles clearly wasn't an alpha like Erik himself, but Erik had always assumed he was a beta; betas were more than twice as common as either alphas or omegas, and his scent had never hinted at anything else. It wasn't as if Erik really cared. His feelings for Charles would have been the same, beta or omega or fellow alpha, and anyone who wanted to argue about it could meet the sharpened point of Erik's favorite paperclip. It didn't matter, but—some deep instinctive alpha part of Erik was thrilled beyond words, was already thinking about things like bonding and scenting and children, they could have children—

"I once hoped that my paralysis might at least mean being spared this," Charles said, panting and dashing sweat irritably from his eyes, "but it only makes it harder to ever—be satisfied."

"You're in heat."

"Yes, thank you, I am an omega in heat," Charles snapped, "do you have any other obvious facts to share with the class?"

"Why did you hide it? You've hidden it all this time—or do the others know?" They'd been so unconcerned with his withdrawal into solitude…

"Only Raven," Charles said. "I keep the rest from suspecting…" He tapped his temple. "As for why I hide it, I think you have enough of a brain to speculate."

"There are certain disadvantages, yes," Erik said slowly, stepping closer almost involuntarily, "but to go to these lengths…?" It had been hundreds of years since omegas were treated as chattel, decades since they faced serious prejudice. One might still encounter the occasional tasteless joke or even raging bigot, but that hardly seemed like enough to make an out-and-proud mutant live a lie.

"These lengths," Charles said bitterly, "ensure that no one tries to take advantage of my heat. No one can abuse what they don't realize exists."

Erik stopped, only a few steps away from the bed now. Charles's scent, sweet and smoky, was intoxicating—but his words had a dampening effect on any desire Erik felt. "Take advantage," he repeated. "Charles, who took advantage of you?"

Charles didn't answer, not aloud, but images flickered in Erik's mind of a stocky, brutish young man with greedy eyes. Erik had never seen him, but if it was who he suspected, Charles had once described that young man as having a mind that had never once thought of anyone but himself, in all his life.

"Your stepbrother," Erik said.

"He was an alpha," Charles whispered. "He knew what I was before I did. Only my powers kept him away—mostly. Usually."

"So you learned your only safety was in hiding." Erik didn't realize he had come closer again until he saw his own fingers trail across Charles's hand. He tried to pull back, but Charles caught his hand, held it tightly. His skin was fever-hot, and Erik's body wanted desperately to answer that fever with his own. He swallowed, forcing himself to stillness.

It was still incredible to him that he'd never known this. He'd shared Charles's bed for weeks, before Cuba—but an omega experienced heat only two to four times a year. Luck, good or ill, had kept Charles out of heat during that time, and during their brief reunion in Paris a decade later. His scent should still have given it away, but Charles was uniquely situated to disguise that, not in physical fact but in everyone's perceptions of it.

"So you've never had anyone," Erik said, "to help you through a heat? No one?"

"No."

"That sounds miserable."

"It is." Charles laughed blackly, writhing half-consciously against the headboard. He was, of course, naked—Erik couldn't imagine his skin tolerating clothing right now—and in a state of arousal intense enough to make Erik wince even as the sight made his mouth go dry. How much could Charles feel, there, now? He knew Charles did have some little sensation in that area, and with the increased sensitivity of heat…

"You're staring," Charles said.

Erik forced his eyes away. "Yes. I'm staring because you're beautiful."

"Beautiful? This is beautiful?" He had never sounded more bitter and broken, not even in the plane on the way to Paris.

"It could be." Erik looked down at their joined hands, where his thumb was stroking the back of Charles's hand, gentle as breath. "You have someone to help you now. If you want me."

"If I want you? You could be anyone right now and I'd want you! You understand that, don't you? Of course I want you, someone, anyone—but I can't trust anyone—"

"I can't do anything to you that you don't want," Erik said, tapping his own temple. "Everything's in your hands, Charles. You can even wipe my memory afterward. You could even wipe my memory right now, send me back to my bed with no idea this conversation ever happened."

"Give me one good reason I shouldn't."

Because you took my hand. It was too delicate to say aloud; Erik knew Charles would hear him regardless. You let me see the truth, and you let me take your hand.

Charles pulled him down and kissed him.

 In the morning, Erik woke sore and exhausted and contented down to his bones, at peace in a way he couldn't remember ever feeling before. The windows in Charles's tent were tied shut, but sunlight peeked around their edges and glowed faintly through the material of the tent itself, giving the space a sepia haze of morning. Charles was breathing slow and even, nestled against Erik's chest. His heat had peaked and broken, sometime during the frantic passion of the night. Charles had been overwhelmed enough to cry with sheer relief. That had never happened before, apparently; he'd always had to endure days of the heat slowly withering and trailing off, unsatisfied.

Thinking of it, Erik couldn't help tightening his arms around Charles and brushing a kiss against the crown of his head. He hated that Charles had suffered so much, so unnecessarily. Hated that he might suffer just as much again, next time, without Erik…

"That's up to you, love," Charles said sleepily, and Erik looked down in surprise.

"What?"

"Whether you're here next time," Charles said. "That's up to you."

"You're not going to wipe my memory and send me away?"

Charles snorted. "I don't think it would work now even if I wanted to. Or haven't you noticed we're bonded?"

"Is that what that is?" He could feel it now, the subliminal hum between them, the way their scents mingled together, the deep rightness of Charles's skin against his. Bonding wasn't the be-all and end-all that the poets tried to paint it as, Erik had known that for years. But… everyone agreed it was nice. If this was what it was, it felt nice.

"Look at that smile," Charles murmured, tracing fingertips over Erik's mouth. "I wasn't sure I'd ever see that smile again."

"You can see it anytime you want," Erik said, and drew him in for another kiss.

[1stunseeliefaelass]

Poisoned Darts and Words

Death and Strife found themselves accosted by a group of demons, who fancied themselves clever for their ambush. Despite how Death knew they were there before they got too close to ambush site. This fight was a simple one, almost insultingly so. Strife still had fun though, as per usual. Death meanwhile took this task on with some boredom. Killing the leader of this failed attempt was a little amusing though. However, once their blood had been spilt, Strife pointed out a something on Death's neck.

"The fuck's on your neck?"

"Hmm?" Death replied confused and feeling around for the object. He found it easily enough and only chuckled, "It's just a dart. Ha! These fools actually tried to poison me."

"So you're good then?" Strife asked him.

"Should be, so long as the poison is nothing I've not built up immunity to." Death states before they went on their way.

The two brothers continued to travel on for some time. Taking a simple road to avoid too much trouble. Being in the Fae Realm usually granted them the least amount of problems to deal with. However, Death was soon faced with one such rare problem. He felt seering pain throughout his body for a brief flash of moment, accompanied by the sudden blurring of his vision. He foolishly tried ignoring it, not wanting to worry Strife. But it soon progresses, the flashes come on stronger and for longer. He also becomes disoriented and his entire body flares up with intense heat and pain. Eventually it finally begins to overtake him, he can feel himself losing consciousness slowly.

He calls to Strife in a strained voice, "S-Strife...", before falling off of Despair's saddle.

Strife of course panics at first when seeing his older brother on the ground. It doesn't help when he feels Death's body is burning up as he lets out pained breaths. He eventually lifts Death onto his shoulder and lays him onto Despair's saddle, tying him down to be sure. Then he remounts Mayhem and quickly has Despair follow behind them as they try and find a place for Death to rest. This takes time, too much in his opinion. Eventually they find a town and Strife quickly dismounts Mayhem to knock on doors.

He hears from inside one home, "Does this man think I'm stupid? I'm not opening for a Nephilim."

Strife, stung but not surprised by the words, tries elsewhere but only hears, "Be gone from here you son of a harlot! I'll not have Lilith's spawn in my home!"

"WELL FUCK YOU TOO THEN!" Strife shouted at them before searching for other places.

He found no such luck, only being met with cruel folk or racist bigots. Finally a tavern owner came out with a gun, determined to see to it that Strife and Death left their town.

"You're not welcome here Horsemen, leave."

"One, that crappy shotgun won't stop me. Two, my brother's ill. I only need to find him a safe spot to rest, and a doctor to treat him." Strife told him.

"Your presence brings nothing but fear and destruction! Why should we aid you?! Wouldn't the universe be better off without you?!" The man shouted back.

Strife hid his growing hurt and anger as best he could before telling him, "We mean no harm, I just need help for my brother. That's all."

"I won't aid any of you Nephilim, what makes you any different from your kin anyway?! What makes you lot so 'special' that we should care whether you live or die?!" The man bellowed.

"WE SERVE THE COUNCIL TO KEEP THE BALANCE IN ORDER! TO KEEP YOUR SORRY UNGRATEFUL ASSES ALIVE! Yeah it's a thankless job, and I can live with that! BUT FUCK YOU AND EVERYONE HERE! PEOPLE LIKE YOU MAKE IT REAL DAMN HARD TO CARE ABOUT THIS JOB! IT'S HARD ENOUGH WITHOUT YOU RACIST FUCKS INSULTING US EVERYTIME WE PASS!" Strife shouted in pure rage as he snapped at last. Only stopping his rant when feeling a familiar hand on his shoulder.

Turning around he saw Death fighting to remain standing, using Harvester to achieve it. Strife quickly grabbed him and began helping to get him back on Despair. Whilst at it, Death told him,

"Don't bother.....let's just go.....it's not worth the trouble...THEY aren't worth it...."

Strife stayed silent, only nodding after a moment of silence. Then once Death was secure again, he remounted Mayhem once more. His final words to the man came as he began to ride away with Despair following closely behind.

"Should you ever find yourselves in need of aid from anyone, don't come crying to us. People like you, aren't worth saving."

The man said nothing back surprisingly, but seemed a bit stunned by those words. As if he really should've been at all. With that, Strife hurried his pace with Despair matching it with ease. Strife ultimately brought Death to his home, a calm, humble cabin within some woods. It took even more time to get there, and at that point Death was back in his disoriented state again. Carefully Strife got Death inside and onto a couch for the time being. He then called up War and Fury for advice on what to do. Only for both of them to hurry to his home. Fury brought various remedies whilst War asked Strife how this happened. After an explanation from his older brother, War settled down and began helping Fury when asked to. Fury asked for Strife to help too, but found him sitting on a chair nearby. He'd plopped down onto it after being weighed down by the events of the night, particularly with the town. However when Fury sent War out to find a doctor as fast as possible, she asked Strife to take over helping. This he finally did, all the while feeling worthless. Fury could tell something was weighing heavy on him, but wasn't sure what to say in order to ease his pain. Assuming any words could ease the storm in his head currently.

Overtime War did return with a doctor that was willing to help, or rather just brought Azrael. Not trusting any normal doctors to do it and having no time to search. Azrael quickly found the problem and aided Fury in treating Death for it. War took the time to check on his older brother, as Strife was uncharacteristically quiet. Clearly there was more to the night that he didn't mention.

"You've been quiet."

"Oh yeah? What about it?" Strife asked him with a bit of a snap.

"Only that I know fully well that you're only this silent when something is troubling you. Is it about Death?"

Strife sighed, "Death being sick is only part of it. The town we ran into didn't help things, AT ALL."

War noted his brother's growling of the last two words and inquired, "Why remain there then? They were a waste of time. Refused to lend aid. Why not just move on?"

"BECAUSE WHAT THEY KEPT SAYING BOTHERED ME OK!" Strife snapped at him.

Fury and Azrael both turned around briefly to glance his way. Fury herself looked surprised by that and dared to ask, "Strife, what do you mean?"

"Come on sis you know EXACTLY what I mean! All the shit we hear from people on a daily basis, it was all in one place tonight! Got to hear it all from one man in fact! Course I've no doubt that the rest of the damn town felt the same way about us! I just got tired of hearing it! I wanted to set the record straight! To shut em up somehow!" Strife yelled as he paced the room.

Azrael sighed, feeling he had little room to speak on such things. He still decided to say something at least, even if it wasn't much help, "Strife, I fear you may always face such cruelty from others. Just remember that ultimately words hold no meaning when ignored outright. Focus on the good, on your family."

Strife stopped pacing and after a moment of tense silence, slammed his fist into a wall. War placed a hand on his shoulder, "If you need time to blow off steam, I can spar with you outside."

"Nah man, I don't wanna hurt you by accident. Too angry. Just need to go relax or something."

With that Strife went upstairs to try and sleep it off. Only to forget that sleeping while angry is a bad idea. His night is a long one for sure. And mixed with his concerns about Death, it just made it nearly impossible to sleep at all. The next day, he got up exhausted in more ways than one. Death was already awake, feeling better as his body was finally healing itself. Azrael wasn't around, and Strife expected as much.

Seeing his younger brother's exhaustion he inquired, "Strife, are you alright?"

Strife froze a second before looking up to see Death awake, "Why ask that?"

Death just shook his head, "You look worse than I do. Are you that worried about me? If so I'm doing fine. Should be well within a day or two in fact."

"It's not just that. Last night was just....overwhelming."

"Ah, I see. You shouldn't let what they said bother you so much. As I told you, it's not worth it." Death stated calmly.

"It's hard to keep ignoring it, when you hear it as much as me." Strife told him sounding a bit depressed.

Death didn't know what to say for a while, then finally said, "You said our work is thankless, however that's not entirely true."

"You don't know that for sure."

Chuckling Death replied, "Actually I do know for certain. You see Strife, we can still thank each other for many things. In fact, thank you for making sure I was treated. Even if the journey wasn't pleasant to go through."

Strife simply told him, "We're brothers, I'll always have your back. You know that. Even if you piss me off sometimes."

"And I'll always cover your back if need be. Just know that much, no matter who says anything bad about us, or what you hear everyday."

Strife smiled at that, "Thanks bro, I needed that."

"Also, if you need to vent, just come talk to me. I'll listen for as long as you want me to. If it means you don't get overwhelmed anymore, I'll do it." Death said with a slight warmth to his tone.

"Yeah, I think I'll do that. Thanks man, seriously. But what if you're busy?"

"Then ask Fury or War. I'm sure they'll let you vent to them too. Now then, shall we get breakfast started?"

"I can manage, you stay put over there. You still got some healing to do." Strife tells him simply.

"Very well."

[lysandratrevelyan]

So, there's a weird part about growing up queer in a queer family, surrounded by fellow queers of all walks of life. You still get shit on by the world, and it hurts - hurts SO FUCKING MUCH - but there's a disconnect there, as well. After all, my family understands. They truly do understand the pain of changing what parts of you that you share with the world, with your friends at school and at their homes.

I already did this because of our religion, the additional editing barely registered.

I take that back, I was more open about being raised a Witch by other Witches than I was that sometimes I didn't feel like a girl or that girls and boys were roughly equally interesting. I was more open about the fact that we could name every single person who had passed on our religion going back over 500 years than the fact that several of my Aunts and Uncles in the community - both the Queer and the Pagan, and there were several that, like us, lay in the overlap - crossed gender boundaries in one way or another.

I grew up knowing first-hand how the AIDS crisis affected people. My Uncle Clemeth died when I was around 7 years old. I hadn't seen him in months because of the rules for the hospice house, after a lifetime of seeing him a few times a month. I'd barely seen his partner (not husband, because that was still over 20 years away, and not his domestic partner because that was still about 15 years off) in that time, because he'd been at the hospice house every day, every second he could, watching the love of his life waste away. The only person that could spend any time with him was the in-home caregiver who'd been caring for Clemeth before he got too ill, and I am very happy to say that the two of them are still together, still taking care of each other now as legally recognized spouses.

I grew up never worrying that my parents would be disappointed in whatever path I took. I was extremely privileged for that, and only wish I could do the same for my own kids (their father's family has them terrified of their own shadows, and I am slowly working through legal shit trying to get them away from that). I didn't have to worry that my parents would tear up my books or posters, destroy my jewelry or clothes over me choosing a different religious path. That I had been vocal since about 3 years old regarding which Gods called to me actually never factored into any of that. I didn't have to worry that my openly Bi parents, who were also openly polyamorous, would every shame me for my sexual wants or desires; they only made sure that I could talk to them about what I wanted or needed, and would help me safely explore.

I can still laugh at my mom buying me my first vibrator when I was 16, and the years later conversation in my twenties about how sex was weird as I'd recently discovered.

I can also still feel the warmth of her rage when she learned some of the shit that asshole pulled, and the way I felt safe telling her. I hope my siblings could feel the ice of my own when he tried to target them later.

I grew up going to Pride, marching in it, gleefully introducing my first girlfriend to my parents, even though we were only "out" to a handful of friends at school. I still think of her fondly, and hope she's well. I got to grow up around IT workers, social workers, authors, sex workers, tattooists, and people from every other walk of life. I got to dye my hair, cut it however I wanted. I got to choose when I got my first piercing, where it was (my ears, boringly enough, at age 4, though i plan on at least two more once it's safe) and when I wanted to gauge up they got me the jewelry and had me talk to some fellow poly Pagan friends about care and taking it slow.

When, at age 8 I was repeatedly trying to kill myself, my parents sought help. One of them sat me down and talked about her own struggles, and they found me a professional to talk to, and they made an effort to spend more time with me. Just because my problem was bigger than that didn't mean it didn't help, and they checked with me regularly about it; when I was in high school and spiraled heavily, they got me to the doctor, talked to her and let me talk to her privately, and reminded me to take the meds I was prescribed. When that med didn't help, they listened to me after I had to change to an entirely different med class, and shared their happiness that I was doing better.

They had learned after not listening to my younger sister, you see. My parents aren't perfect, and that whole talk I had when I was 8 scarred me heavily. Don't fucking tell your kids that you have it worse, okay? And maybe, just maybe listen when your kid tells you that the prozac makes them too manic and don't insist they can't be bipolar like mom's side of the family only depressed like yours, nearly killing your kid in the process. My sister is much better these days, but that was one of the first big experiences after the amnesia, and is still understandably bitter over it. Our older sibling and I are, too.

As an adult, I still had to deal with people being bigoted pieces of shit, now without the buffer of my parents. I had to deal with abusers who saw my barely acknowledged bisexuality as an easy target. I had to deal with classmates and coworkers mocking a later boyfriend for being gay. He wasn't, is still straight and cis, and unfortunately now a shitty dad, but because he taught ballroom dance that made him gay apparently. I still had to deal with lesbians insisting I just needed to pick a side. I still had to deal with homophobia, and biphobia, on top of defending my religion.

People fucking suck, okay?

As an adult, who grew up queer in a queer family surrounded by a queer community, though, it has brought me great pleasure to watch people try to make bigoted arguments, to convince me that somehow, at some time in some way I understood (understand) why it's a problem to let people be who they are. It's not a moral standpoint. It's not an ethical standpoint. They just really can't comprehend that I don't hate myself on some level, because I was never taught to. My exposure to that kind of bullshit was extremely limited to public school and visiting my grandmothers. Even then, the kids didn't know what they didn't know, and at least one of my grandmothers only cared that she got to see us.

Every place we went, every one of my parents' friends we visited, I was surrounded by people who were queer or part of my religion, and frequently both. I was aware there were bigots in the broader Pagan community, but my parents didn't have the time for that, so it wasn't really in my sphere. I could be me, in public. If I was a boy that day, I was a boy that day, and no one said boo about it.

Even now, years and years later, seeing the uptick in TERF bullshit and purity bullshit and people trying to rewrite the history of my communities (both queer and pagan, and they can all fuck right off), I'm not ashamed. I'm not confused. I am who I always have been. Labels may have changed with time as people find new words that fit them better, but even as safe as my upbringing was, we all still are part of the same community; the world outside still existed, my parents simply took the hits for me.

I guess the reason I'm writing all this, sharing all this when I usually keep my personal stuff offline is that I'm seeing a lot of queer people under every label talking about how they somehow can't do all... ^^this... for their own future kids - whatever form those kids come in. Y'all, my parents are a Boomer and a Gen Xer. I'm still doing what I can for my kids. There's not a cis-het person in my immediate family! You can do this.

Please don't give up hope, or leave that hope to the wider world being more acceptable. That acceptance comes at the cost of lives and loves and so much time. Raise your kids in the community. Adopt kids in the community. Be an Aunt or Uncle or Adjacent Adult Figure of whatever term fits! Let kids know themselves and that you are there for them. I believe in you.

[firebird-inkheart]

A Child’s Understanding p.2

(Please check previous post for warnings)

{Previous}

The afternoon sunlight blinded him the moment he stepped outside. Ace flinched, squinting even as he turned his head. Behind him the strangers’ mocking laughter echoed harshly in his ears. His palms ached where his nails bit in deep; his skin was tough and calloused, yet in that instant it threatened to split apart and let his frozen blood flow freely.

‘Cursed blood,’ came the bitter reminder. ‘Devil’s, demon’s. Poisoned, unclean, festering―’

He jumped as the hands clamped on his shoulders squeezed hard. The pressure banished the loud and hateful voices to the back of his mind where they could only murmur their loathing messages. Ace let out a shaky breath.

“They’re wrong,” Sabo said sternly. “That’s the one thing that will never be true, alright.”

It wasn’t a question, but a demand that beget the acceptance of fact.

“... Yeah.”

But he had heard so many other ‘facts’ which were contrary to his brother’s that it made it hard to be convinced, let alone sound convincing. Sabo sighed and let his hands slide away. Before he could really register the missing presence of their weight an arm wrapped around his shoulders. They walked down the steps to put a little more distance between them and the Yew. The obnoxious voices grew just a little quieter.

“Remind me again, what was it Chante told you, exactly?”

He scowled and shot him a look; seriously, why was he asking? Sabo knew damn well everything Chante had told him. They all got the same lectures when Chante deemed it seriously important.

A thin eyebrow rose back in challenge.

“I can parrot what she said until I’m blue in the face but it won’t have the same effect as you saying it for yourself.”

Ace bit down on his cheek and stared at his feet. Chante often sat down with him to simply talk about things no one had bothered to talk with him about before. Things like his feelings and stern but strangely gentle reprimands for his behavior. About who he really was. The blacksmith was full of many profound thoughts, with perspectives he’d never once considered before. Her strong voice, the voice he had gradually come to see as, well, not exactly a motherly one― Ace wasn’t quite sure how he felt about putting that label on anyone in relation to himself ―but someone he could respect enough to rely on, floated through his mind.

“The navy’s sense of justice is and always has been dictated by what the World Government is afraid of. And the government is afraid of everything that doesn’t immediately bow and grovel at its feet,” she had said. “That fear has turned you into a casualty as a result and for that I am so, so sorry. But there’s something I want you to know so listen to me very carefully…”

“My worth is not defined by the judgement of anyone.” 

Sabo leaned in a little closer, the corners of his mouth twitching up. “Sorry, what was that? Didn’t quite hear you there.”

Ace looked up, though not without glaring, each word cutting on his tongue as he tried to cement some belief into them. “My worth is not defined by the judgement of anyone.”

He pumped his arm and Sabo joined him in agreement. “Your worth is not for anyone but yourself to determine!” He grinned, flashing his gapless glory. “But it sure helps to know there are people that value you all the same. Right Hon?”

There was no reply.

“Honyo?”

Cacophonic; the sound of glass shattering against something solid and heavy rang through the air, immediately followed by an uproar of deep swears and shouts and one utterly unholy shriek. The boys jolted, running back into the Yew, nearly tearing the doors from their hinges as they bulldozed their way through. 

Aya had dropped several dishes to reach for the nearest man and strong arm him into submission; the knife he had been reaching for clattered harmlessly to the ground. One of the strangers, gangly as he was, turned on the barmaid only to find his face pinned to the ground by the foot of one of the cooks that had come out to investigate the commotion. The others surrounded a manic, snarling, green haired little girl brandishing a broken bottle.

Two of the men lunged at Honyo and she jumped, tossing herself at the man with the bowler hat. The men collided in a heap and bowler hat guy screamed. The man’s hat went flying as Honyo repeatedly bludgeoned him with her crude weapon and the man himself fell back in his chair, sending them both crashing to the floor. 

“TAKE IT BACK! TAKE IT BACK, TAKE IT BACK, TAKE IT BACK!”

The man with the large bow tie loomed over the screaming girl and struck, grabbing a fistful of hair― the little pompoms that held some of her hair up snapped from the force ―and wrenched. Hard.

Her head hit the table with a solid thunk!

The blood in his veins was all but screaming in his reeling mind as the last couple seconds finally caught up to him.

Bowtie man huffed. “That oughta teach you to settle do―”

“Get your filthy hands off her!”

He pitched forward as the boys barreled into him, their roars fierce and wild enough to compete with the Tiger Lord himself. Ace slammed a fist into the bastard’s head once, twice. Each hit was so powerful that his face bounced off the floor, leaving dark smears across the wooden surface. Bowtie man groaned and turned to jelly under his legs.

Sabo had rolled off the man and reached for Honyo as she picked herself up. She wiped the back of her shaking hand across her forehead― he saw red and his knuckles cracked loudly ―blue eyes shiny with fresh tears of pain and unadulterated fury. She readjusted her grip on the bottle. Sabo had barely wrapped his hand around her arm when she lunged.

A glint of light. A flash of silver. Ace didn’t have time to fully register everything as he leapt up, wrapping his arms around Honyo’s waist, and pulled her back. 

The knife in Bowler hat guy’s hand slashed through empty air, harmless.

“Take it back!” Honyo screamed again. “Take back what you said right now!”

“What the hell is your problem you little menace?!” Bowler hat shook harder than a leaf in an autumn breeze, brandishing his little knife in one hand while the other held a stained kerchief to a nasty looking gash on his balding head.

He could feel his grip slipping as Honyo struggled to reach out and keep attacking the stranger, her face alight with fire and fury. Sabo slipped his arms under hers and received an elbow to his face for his efforts. With a grunt the two managed to pull her back a couple more steps.

There was a long running understanding that pissing off a Roronoa was like inviting a storm into your house when you were better off leaving the door shut. But in that moment the only thing Ace could think as he and Sabo struggled to hold Honyo back, was that this was nothing short of a testament to the little girl’s strength.

“Us kids aren’t as stupid as you think we are!” she growled. “Adults like you that go runnin’ your mouths are the worst! You can’t just say another kid should die just because of who their parents are— It’s wrong and you better take it back now!”

His heart flew up into his throat and locked the air out. She had started a brawl because of― Because of that? Ace had never told Honyo about who his father was. He’d been too scared, was absolutely terrified right now, of the idea of her knowing and… and hating him. And yet… And yet she―

Bowler hat guy couldn’t seem to believe that all this ruckus had been because of his careless words either, his mouth hitting the floor for one short moment before incredulous chuckles filled the air.

“And what would a sniveling little girl like you know about what’s right and wrong? Don’t you know about the things that devil Roger did? Any kid of his would be just as bad― no, worse ―and shouldn’t be allowed so much as an inch of life!”

Ace ducked his head, twisting the fabric of Honyo’s shirt around his fists. Sharp eyes flickered down and back at the man, nostrils flaring. Pulling her arm back as far as she could get it with Sabo holding onto her, Honyo flung the rest of her weapon at the man and beaned him square in the forehead.

“Existing isn’t a crime you thick skulled bigot! It never has been and it never will be!”

His heart was being squeezed to death and filled to the brim with warmth all at once. It was too much. Dark eyes flickered up, startled.

“Existence isn’t a crime! Being born and living isn’t a crime! What should be a crime is people like you that go around saying children should die just because you’re chicken shit scared of their parents!”

A collective gasp raced around the room. Ace found it difficult to pry his eyes away from Honyo. For such a small kid she looked so big just then. She was rage and passion, a thin trail of dried blood smeared down her face from a small, bruising cut on her temple, and the shine in her eyes had finally broken free. Big fat tears rolled down her cheeks and dribbled off her chin. One fell onto his face.

‘She’s crying for… me?’

“That’s― That’s treason!” Bowler hat raved. “Treason against the World Government―”

And didn’t that seem to be the root of so many problems in this world. What a fool to admit his flawed thoughts stemmed from them.

The doors creaked, soft footsteps treading across the floor.

“I’ll have you reported! You hear me, I’ll―”

The presence that washed over him was familiar and warm. Often it reminded him of summer days spent lounging in the grass beneath the sun, where gentle winds would tease at stray strands of his hair and he would nap, content. But underneath all that was the warning of a blade that did not reveal itself for idle reasons. And it was being dangerously provoked at that moment.

“Now, what’s going on here?” Cheerful as always, as if he couldn’t bother with being serious; Ace had never felt more relieved to hear that voice.

“Poppop!” Honyo yelped, the same time the boys squawked, “Shin!”

Roronoa Shin came to a stop a few steps away from the disaster zone they all occupied, dusty blue eyes wandering over everything with faint curiosity. Absently he carded his fingers through his light hair and messed it up even more than it already was. 

When Ace had first met Shin he’d thought the man was a clumsy dope and wasn’t good for much despite his broad build.

That was one mistake he had been careful to never make again.

A small frown tugged at his lips. Shin shuffled closer to the odd formation of children― Honyo had stopped struggling now but there was still a feral glint in her tear filled eyes ―reaching out to gingerly cup his daughter’s face and examine her cut.

“So.” His voice was soft, a small, frightening smile replacing the frown. “Which one of you upstanding looking gentlemen hurt my baby bean?”

“That hellion is your brat?” Bowler hat was sweating bullets even as he blustered through with false bravado. “We were minding our own business when she attacked out of nowhere and for no good reason! If you think―”

Honyo surged forward causing Ace and Sabo to fall on top of her in surprise. “Liar! Liar, liar, liar, liar! You said a kid should die if their parent was a criminal and you still haven’t taken it back!”

Shin’s eyes twitched. He looked from his daughter to the man quaking in his just a little too nice boots. “My bean doesn’t start fights for no good reason. And that sounded like a damn good reason to me.”

Without looking back he said, “Why don’t you three head outside and wait just a minute for me, m’kay? I’ll take care of things from here.”

The blade had revealed itself and was baring its fang with a dangerous glimmer. Ace and Sabo scrambled to their feet, neither letting go of Honyo this time as they hauled her up, and made an immediate beeline for the doors.

Pleasant as ever, Shin returned his attention to the men, waving to Aya and the cook as if he was simply stopping by to talk as he usually did. They backed off, trading knowing looks. To the group of strangers, though, the smile he graced them with was as biting as ice.

“Now, let’s have a little chat, shall we?”

[gasp-iwrotesomething]

Can we get A15, A20, A32 with Cecelia? Love your blog) Thanks for all these wonderful fics

Thank you so much, anon, I’m glad that my blog and fics could live up to your expectations; I would be even happier to write this for you! Thanks for your request and I hope you enjoy!

A15: “It’s all my fault, I let this happen to you.”

A20: “Don’t give me that smirk, asshole! You almost died! …I almost lost you!”

A32: “Stay with me! Please!”

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

Everything slowed as claws slashed through the air, slicing into pale flesh--witch flesh that broke upon contact. Witch blood spatters from the wound, splashing through the thick air before crashing into dirt. MC clutches at the wound, shock and pain ripping through her body as she loses her footing, collapsing to the ground. Cecelia’s head whipped when she heard the dull thud, the uproar of MC’s heartbeat in her ears and the warden bellows, fear collecting in an icy puddle in her chest. “MC! No!” Panic grips her enough to bruise and she absently finishes off the goon she was battling, flinging herself towards MC just as the vampire she had been sparring bares his fangs--ready to feast. Cecelia is a scarlet blur as she takes down the aggressor, a beautiful mirage warping MC’s vision. The outlaw groans as blood crawls up her throat and the sickening taste of iron taints her taste buds. She sputters and spits it out, her teeth painted crimson from the blood. Cecelia wastes no time in checking MC, her midnight eyes shining under the full moon. Her fingers press to the wound impaling MC’s shoulder, blood smearing her pale skin as she struggles to ward off the blood. “MC, are you-how-?!” The vampire’s tongue knots as she struggles to formulate words, her fear beginning to drown her in its entirety. Beneath her fingertips, MC’s heart slows ever so slightly. A sinister lust for the taste of MC’s blood--her witch blood--clashes with the concern prickling Cecelia.

She fights against the urges she develops and focuses on the harmony of MC’s heartbeat, her vampire markings vanishing as she scrambles to help the outlaw. ‘Cec-Cecelia...” MC rasps as her eyes lock on the warden’s sprained features. “No, don’t... stop talking, you’re wasting your strength!” Cecelia quickly barks. Tears gather in her eyes the longer she stares at the gash in MC’s shoulder but she doesn’t let them fall--the last thing she needed was to rile MC up when she was sprawled out in the desert bleeding rapidly. Guilt cuts through Cecelia’s fearful remorse and she frowns, her rage suddenly spinning around to revolve around her. “It’s all my fault,” Cecelia shakily remarks, “I let this happen to you.” Even with blood flooding from her body, MC snorts and casts Cecelia a teasing smirk, her painted lips blending with the blood smeared along her lips. Her hand weaves through the warden’s rampant curls. “What are you t-talking about? Cecelia, you kicked ass out there... I was distracted, i-i-it was me who should be at fault here.” MC fiercely retorts, her chest jumping as she struggled to breathe. “MC, stop that,” Cecelia weakly pleas as the tears lacing her eyes overfill, flowing down her face, “you know damn well that that’s not true.” The warden withdraws her stained fingers and hastily shoulders off her coat. She presses the navy fabric against the spawn of all of the blood and pushes down. Hard. MC gasps and her fists clench, her eyes squeezing shut tightly. Cecelia’s heart pangs. “Come on, you’re alright. You’re going to be fine, MC, you hear me?”

The question was one that solaced Cecelia more than MC, the answer a scary reality. MC’s eyelids droop as the urge to slip under, to let go encompasses her. Cecelia detects this--both with her wide eyes and perked ears--and her chest tightens. She cradles MC closer as if her mere presence was enough to stop what was inevitable; there was too much blood lost for MC to stay conscious. But that fact doesn’t stop Cecelia from calling out to MC just as she slips under the blankets of unconsciousness, the warden’s raw shout the last noise to bid her goodbye. “Stay with me! Please!”

When MC comes to again, she’s sprawled out on a supernaturally soft surface, her head cushioned by something much firmer. Fingers card through MC’s short white hair, stringing through each strand intricately--almost as if there was technique involved, similar to styling hair. MC’s eyes flutter open and the first thing she’s greeted with is Cecelia’s piercing eyes, her florid eye shadow glittering heavenly with her blue-grey irises. For a moment, MC is caught in the art Cecelia portrays, her eyes ravenously drinking her in. Cecelia’s fingers pause as her eyes widen, a smile wide enough to bare her fangs alluring her mouth. “MC! Oh thank Goddess you’re awake!” Then those scarlet lips embrace MC’s in a hungry, passionate kiss, grizzly teeth grazing the outlaw’s bottom lip. Startled but gloriously touched, MC responds to the warden’s hard kiss with just as much passion. Their mouths separate seconds later and Cecelia cups MC’s face in her palms. The elation that oozes from the emotional warden is contagious and MC finds herself smirking back. “Come on, a vampire that bigoted taking me down? Maestro will have to put a little more work into his assassination attempts if he wants a tricky morsel like me under his belt.” Cecelia’s expression suddenly becomes grim, her chipped brows pinching together. All of the lighthearted atmosphere is sucked away like blood victim to a vampire’s mouth.

“MC,” she warns as her lips press together with thin stature, “don’t... don’t joke about that. Not now.” Cecelia’s voice wobbles as she struggles to speak, her eyes clouding with a trudge of tears. MC’s smirk deepens in an attempt to soften the glum expression and she traces the curve of Cecelia’s jaw, delighting in the way she presses into her touch. “I’m just trying to wipe that frown off your face, Cecelia. You’ve always taken a liking to jokes about that bozo Maestro-” “Not this time I don’t!” Cecelia snaps, scissoring through MC’s sentence as simply as paper. The interruption startles MC and her mouth shuts as Cecelia continues her closeted thoughts. “Don’t give me that smirk, asshole! You almost died!” Pausing as if she was brimming with sentiment that she hasn’t properly relinquish, the warden averts MC’s eyes as she speaks again. “...I almost lost you!” That outburst, more than any of Cecelia’s other heartfelt declarations, jostles MC in such a way that she was speechless as her face settled into a remorseful frown. She strokes her thumb across Cecelia’s cheek and smiles softly at her, heart a mellow staccato singing in the warden’s ears. “I’m sorry,” MC finally concludes, her emerald eyes downcast, “I didn’t mean to upset you.” Cecelia sighs, her head bobbing slightly in a dim nod. When her eyes open again, there’s a playful scrape to her serious sparkle. The sight makes MC’s heart flutter. “...don’t worry about it, brat.” 

And in just one murmured sentence, Cecelia and MC were back to their status quo of harmless bickering. Laughing gently, MC leans into the warden, seeking her solicitous warmth and receiving a brisk kiss to the top of her head. Though the outlaw knew recovery would be slow and agonizing, MC felt secure in the arms of her beloved vampire warden as she drifted off into a peaceful sleep, burrowed tight in Cecelia’s embrace.

She was content in knowing that the woman she loved would be there for her through thick and thin.

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

Thank you for your request! I loved writing this for you!

If you want to request something, here’s the Prompt List, here are the Guidelines, here’s Who I Write For, and here is where you can Request me.

[freedom-shamrock]

Bi the Pricking of my Thumbs #2

<< Chapter 1

Cautionary note: Though not shown in this chapter Chatdrien’s father is a bigoted fuckwad who finds Adrien’s sexuality repulsive.

Also on AO3.

Chapter 2

Marinette arrived at school early with her art portfolio case full of posters she’d stayed up half the night making.  There were several copies of five different designs, and she thought they would complement the ones the Gender and Sexuality Alliance hung up after school yesterday, to be ready for Pride today. She’d run the new ones by the group chat, and she was super proud of how well the rest of the team took this variation on their message.

She dashed straight for her advisor’s office, keen to get them approved so she and Marc could put them up before the school got too busy.

“Hey Nette!” Marc called, as she turned the corner.  They were standing at her advisor’s door, holding it open. “We’re all ready for you.”

She beamed at her friend. “Thank you so much for helping me rush this through.”

Marc shook their head. “No, Nette.  Thank you for realizing we were leaving out a whole group of our family who might hurt a bit more than usual this month.”

Monsieur Babatt pushed some things out of the way on his desk. “Marc says you got an inspiration last night that warrants urgency.” He patted the desk.  “Let me see the designs.”

Marc helped Marinette open the portfolio without spilling the posters everywhere. “Holy cows, Nette!  How many did you make?”

“Ten each of five designs,” she said, revealing the first one, a rainbow turtle hiding in its shell.  The text ‘ It’s okay if you’re not ready yet’ arched over the top.

“Did you sleep at all ?” Marc demanded.  “Oooh. I like how this one turned out.”

“I was motivated by rage,” Marinette reminded them. She’d also been able to use a bit of her Ladybug magic to create them faster than she might have otherwise, but that was a secret she shared only with Tikki.

“I take it this is an issue of personal significance?” Monsieur Babatt asked, turning over the posters to get to the next design. This one featured a male-coded student covering his rainbow shirt with a black button-down. ‘We’ll be here for you when it’s safe for you to come out.’

Marinette nodded. “I have a friend from another school, and he… he told his father last night that he wanted to come out this month.” Her eyes stung, and she wasn’t sure if it was anger at his father or hurt on Chat’s behalf. “I’m the only person who knows, and…”  Marc’s arm slipped around her shoulders, giving her strength. “His father threatened him.”

Monsiuer Babatt shook his head, frowning. “I’m sorry, Marinette. I can’t imagine how hard that would be. You’re a good friend to him.” He uncapped his pen and scrawled his initials in the lower right corner of all the posters. “I’ll go get a ladder and meet you two outside the art room.  We can start there.”

“You’re going to help?” Marc asked, surprised.

“This is a worthy cause, and I’m glad you’re both finding ways to include students who aren’t ready or able to celebrate the occasion,” the teacher said.  “We have about half an hour, and there’s a lot to do here. I’m happy to help.”

---

Though she was only running on about four hours of sleep, Marinette was energized by the positive reaction to the posters. She didn’t even mind when an akuma came up. It just gave her the opportunity to see how Chat was today, because her concern for him had migrated into the critical zone, and she was eager to reveal the more extreme measures she’d taken for the month.

She ducked into the bathroom, transformed and flew out the window, trailing the pink, purple and blue cape she’d added to her suit. She and Tikki had many fun jokes about the dangers of capes, and took that into consideration in the design.

Chat was already on the scene, crouched on the edge of a building, watching as the akuma smashed every piece of glass they could find. “Good afternoon my lovely Chaton,” she whispered as she dropped down beside him. “What have we here?”

He turned to her and his eyes went wide. “Wow,” he said, finally. “You made more upgrades.”

She caught the edge of the cape and swished it as a dancer might a long skirt or ribbon. “I felt a need to be more supportive this Pride.”

His face softened and his pupils expanded just a bit. “You did it for me.”

“You bet your leather clad ass I did.” She stood proudly. “I’m here for you, and not just for this month.” She tilted her head to the side. "You also helped me realize that your situation is probably not unique, and I want to support those who can't come out."

His eyes got a little extra glisteny for a moment. “Aren’t capes kind of… dangerous?” he asked. “I mean… I’ve seen the Incredibles.”

She held out the edge toward him. “Give it a pull,” she suggested.

He was visibly reluctant, but he gave it a little tug and stepped back, surprised when it came off in his hand.  “Woah.”

She beamed at him. “It’ll stick around for you, but if you let go or if someone else gets hold of it, it’ll vanish and reappear on my suit.”

“Wicked.” He tossed it into the air, almost mesmerized as it dissolved, only to fade back in draped over her shoulders.

"Now let's go deal with our smashy friend, shall we?" she suggested. "I have a quiz in one of my afternoon classes that I really shouldn't miss."

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Check out Chapter Three >>

And if you’re so inclined, feel free to support me over on Ko-Fi

[pr-ay-the-gay-away]

There's so much Brie Larson hate that it's crazy. I've not seen this much hate for a specific actress from so many people for a long time. I don't really know anything about her besides the fact that she's in the Marvel movies. I searched up her name on YouTube and almost all of the videos that came up were videos about how the cast hate her and that she's unlikeable and arrogant. I feel out of the loop. Apparently, she said something racist and sexist, but I don't know what? What did she do?

“Apparently, she said something racist and sexist, but I don’t know what? What did she do?”

The full on anti-Brie Larson hater-bandwagon campaign was in response to this speech.

“I searched up her name on YouTube and almost all of the videos that came up were videos about how the cast hate her and that she’s unlikeable and arrogant”

(Pro-tip: install a browser extension to block YouTube channels, and do that. No-one needs all of that vitriol in their life)

The reason you’re seeing a lot of these videos in the search results is because a lot of conservative couch-commentators are producing “analysis” videos in response to every bit of new media that has Brie in it. These couch-commentators are basically projecting their own prejudice against Brie onto every interaction or conversation that she’s involved in - they want to see everyone else around her hating her, because they want to feel validated in their own hatred.

It’s exactly like if you took a toxic delusional Camilizer and handed them a webcam and microphone - you’d get plenty of idiotic “analysis” videos of how the other girls in 5H “hated” Camila (or just reverse it so it’s some toxic delusional OT4 stan making the same content about how Camila was an epic bitch) LOLS.

We’ve seen this kind of bullshit before in the 5H fandom. The difference is that the Marvel Cinematic Universe (MCU) has a much much much (much much much) larger reach.

Two key takeaways from me; one comforting, the other cautionary:

1) Comforting thought: unless you live in a deeply conservative, already kinda low-key racist and misogynistic area (sorry to you if you do) most of the general public/casual fans of the MCU aren’t massively hating on Brie at all. Remember that people are entitled to their opinions when it comes to creative content, and if they struggle to access Captain Marvel, that’s their own deal. But as long as they’re not personally attacking Brie and making it about the misconceived notions of what she’s like as a person off-screen, try to give those people a bit of a break, but also ask that they do the same for you - you are totally entitled to love Captain Marvel without having to qualify it to others, but likewise, they are not required to qualify their critique of the movie to you. If you’re both willing to share your respective opinions and critiques and perspectives, that’s pretty much a sign of a functioning healthy respectful relationship.

2) Now the cautionary: the vocal anti-Brie rage machines who scream “reverse-racism!” and “reverse-sexism!” (honestly FFS give me a fucking break LOLs) are very much in the minority. Unfortunately they are also very vocal. And their voices are amplified due to the reach and accessibility of digital media platforms. These angry talking heads have taken to social media for a reason. You know how regular people (probably much like yourself) are incredibly weary of what they share and express on social media because of the high likelihood of whatever being shared could be misinterpreted and thus create unintended discord and disagreements? Well that is exactly the reason why these types of vocal anti-Brie rage machines post inflammatory vitriolic rants online. Their whole intention is to invite responses and to incite disagreements. In their minds, being publicly disagreed with is validation that they are fighting some kind of righteous fight.

You will not tackle this problem by entering into an argument with someone who was trolling around looking to start one in the first place.

Stop commenting on these vitriolic angry rant videos with your logic and reason. You’re not going to change their stance, they’re just looking to fight with you. Stop sharing your retort to these videos within your own sheltered social spaces - you’re not changing anyone else’s mind within your own network, you’re just preaching to the choir - what you ARE doing is exposing your sheltered little bubble of like-minded people to a polarizing extremist minority view, which only serves as a straw man to reinforce your own unconscious biases about what the world is like and who it’s comprised of. It’s just quick and easy validation for yourself, nothing else, nothing actually constructive or progressive (and it’s actually an exact mirror of what these haters are doing on YouTube, they’re just happy to broadcast more widely)

Instead of focusing on the couch-commentators who are hell bent on spreading their vitriol in the name of their righteous hatred for others, focus instead on the people who you can influence.

Do you have friends or family members who have bought into the anti-Brie sentiment? Converse with them. Like, actually converse. That means listening to them, acknowledging what they’ve shared, and raising your own sentiments and experiences and knowledge with them respectfully. Consider that there might be concessions to be made on both sides. Maybe someone has taken Brie’s comments personally because of something that has happened to them in real life - try to understand what that experience was for them and how it has affected them. Acknowledge their experiences, and try to find a constructive way forward from there.

If you have friends who are critical of Captain Marvel, don’t immediately jump to the conclusion that they must also hate Brie Larson and strong female characters and just women in general. Try to converse with them through their critique, as well as sharing your own. Maybe agree to disagree on some things. It’s entirely possible that you experience films and narratives very differently to others - this is completely normal. I cannot possibly experience Black Panther on the same level that a black person might. Acknowledge that some men (and even some women) are, from their own personal experiences, unable to experience Captain Marvel on the same level that a lot of women do. But those same people, if they are looking to show you the same respect, need to acknowledge that your experience is valid too.

If you’re lucky, like me, and you live in a progressive, liberal society, you’re going to mostly be responsible for checking your own defensiveness when it comes to men saying that they didn’t think Captain Marvel was great (or maybe they just simply don’t care as much). Yes, this is effort on your part.

If you live in a more conservative society where people around you are jumping pretty blindly onto the anti-Brie bandwagon because **stage whispers** they’re actually kinda already bigoted, unfortunately it’s going to be even greater effort for you. And honestly, I don’t know what that’s like, so maybe in some cases you actually just need to set your own boundaries. If there are people who are unwilling to engage in respectful discourse with you, you probably need to make the decision to not engage with them at all.

[likeshipsonthesea]

Have you seen pic online with the sign at a coffee shop that says "today your barista is 1. Hella gay 2. Desperately single. For your drink today i recommend: you give me your number (One request, Dex (if you do nursey/dex) is the one working at the coffee shop)

          The sign isn’t exactly enticing, but it piques Nursey’s curiosity. What kind of person writes that on a coffee shop message board? One, the profanity is a jarring, as though this is a college town, there are young families who might not take kindly to the language. Two, the propositioning, the tinge of desperation to it but also the boldness. Inviting anyone who walks by not only to come in and ask him out, but also risking the ire of bigots, the loss of business. And three, how the sign is almost vulnerable, in a way, the barista opening up to everyone without asking for anything in return.

         Of course, it’s very possible that Nursey is just deadass tired after staying up all night finishing that chapter for his editor and is just terribly over-analyzing a coffee shop message board.

         Still, he’s exhausted and could use with a pick-me-up to get him the rest of the way to his apartment so he can start the next chapter in order to avoid another last-night situation in the future. So he pushes open the door to the coffee shop/bakery, cutely named Bitty Bites, and walks right up to the counter, as it isn’t very busy.

         Instantly, the proposition of the sign becomes incredibly more enticing. The barista, who looks as tired as Nursey feels, might just be the hottest/cutest/most-beautifulist person Nursey has ever seen in his life. Despite his obvious exhaustion, his messy orange hair is endearing in how it peeks out from the front of a backwards cap, and his endless number of freckles are distracting enough that Nursey wants to lean closer to find out if that one cluster by his cheek is just one big freckle or a bunch of tiny ones. His eyes are a clear, bright brown that reflects the low light of the coffee house, igniting them into an amber, half on fire and wholly breathtaking. 

         (Not, of course, to mention that the guy is fucking jacked, because Nursey is not shallow and doesn’t notice things like that, but holy fucking shit this guy has arms for days. Is it entirely problematic that he doesn’t know the guy’s name and already wants to fall asleep on his chest?)

         “Hello, welcome to Bitty Bites,” the guy says, offering a dim, polite smile. “What can I get you today?”

         “You.”

         Fuck.

         The guy blinks, the bored look in his eye dissipating with the encroaching disbelief, and Nursey curses himself for being the biggest idiot in the history of idiocy.

         “Shit, sorry, I’m really tired, I didn’t mean– the sign said– I don’t know what I’m saying, fuck, sorry.”

         The disbelief in the guy’s eyes is slowly replaced with a soft amusement. “It’s alright, dude. We’re all tired, I get it.” He clears his throat and there’s a soft pink blush steadily invading his cheeks and if Nursey wasn’t gone before, this does him in completely. “So can I get you something that’s, uh, on the menu?”

         “Um, yeah.” Nursey looks up at the menu boards above his head and realizes with a dawning horror that he cannot for the life of him make a coherent decision at this moment. The boards are filled with an endless list of pastries and drinks, all of them with cute names that make Nursey want to order them, and it’s all Too Much. “Fuck,” he mutters, and looks back down at the guy. “There are a lot of options.”

         “There are,” the guy agrees. Nursey glances upwards once again, quickly drowning in all the heavenly sounding descriptions, only to look back at the barista when he clears his throat. His blush has gotten even darker, a deep pink now that looks delicious but sadly that, too, is not on the menu. “If you’d like a recommendation, I can help you out.”

         “That would be the bomb,” Nursey says and then makes a face at himself. The bomb? Can he just melt into the floor now, please?

         The guy just smiles and moves towards the drinks machine. “Do you like sweet things?” he asks.

         “Totally,” Nursey says, and watches as the guy begins to make a drink. It gives him a chance to look the guy over even better, and he finally notices the little name tag pinned to his apron.

         Dex. Huh. Weird name. Then again, can someone called Nursey really judge? 

         “Long day?” he asks, as an attempt at conversation. Dex looks exhausted, possibly from working the morning rush? It seems to have calmed down now, at least.

         “Oh, no.” Dex turns to offer him a smile, even as his hands move gracefully over the machine. “I just got on shift, actually.” He turns to grab something that makes a fairly loud noise when he turns it on. “I spent most of last night rereading an essay forty thousand times.”

         “You still in school?” Nursey asks. Dex seems to be about his age, but looks can be deceiving. Not that lusting after a college student would be bad, as he’s only a year out himself, but, well. It’s good information to have.

         “In my fifth year,” Dex says, and Nursey winces in sympathy. “I’m doing engineering, so lucky fucking me gets an extra semester.” Dex’s eyes widen. “Shit, I just cursed in front of a customer. Fuck I did it again.”

         “Hey, it’s alright,” Nursey says on a laugh. He finds it a little strange that Dex is so upset about cursing in front of a customer after the language he used on the sign, but Nursey guesses that it is a different kind of situation. “Pretty sure I already broke that rule earlier. Chill.”

         “Don’t tell me to chill,” Dex says, grumpy, but he’s smiling down at the drink in his hand. Nursey beams. Dex puts a cap on the cup and hands it out. “There you go.”

         Nursey peers at it. “What is it?”

         “Just try it. Trust me.” Nursey decides why not and takes a sip, groaning as it touches his tongue. It’s sweet as fuck, but something in it cuts it just the right amount to make it addictive and Nursey wants this stuff pumped into his veins, it’s so good.

         “Holy shit, this is so good, what the fuck.” Dex is downright red when Nursey looks back at him and, though the drink is amazing, that is even better. “I need this drink in my life.”

         “We recommend repeat visits, here at Bitty Bites,” Dex says, smiling despite his raging blush, and Nursey thinks back to the sign out front.

         “What about other recommendations?” Nursey asks, leaning over the counter a bit so he can grin at Dex, only slightly leering.

         Dex quirks an eyebrow. “What other recommendations?”

         Nursey falters slightly. “Uh, the sign outside?” Dex looks back at him blankly. “Asking for people’s numbers?”

         Dex’s eyes widen. “What?”

         At that moment, a small blond man comes out from a back room, saying, “Dex, honey, I’m gonna head home. You might wanna change the sign out front because–” He stops walking and talking when he sees Nursey, grinning charmingly. “Then again, maybe you don’t want to just yet.”

         “Bitty, what did you do?” Dex asks, and his skin is now so flushed that Nursey is certain if he touched Dex’s cheek (which he totally isn’t dying to do) it would burn his fingertips.

         The blond, Bitty, waves a hand dismissively. “Oh, I had a bit of fun with the message board today. You must’ve been real tired not to notice it on the way in.”

         “What did it say?”

         Bitty has the good graces to blush, but he doesn’t seem all that remorseful. “Oh, something about me being very gay and desperately single and how people should definitely be giving me their number.”

         “Bitty.”

         “What? It’s my bakery. And you know that cute hockey player I’ve been telling you about? Well, he was just so flustered that he dropped a fifty dollar bill in the tip jar, swore in French, and hightailed it outta here the second I asked him if he saw the sign!”

         “Nice, get that hockey ass,” Nursey says and Bitty grins.

         “Thank you.” Bitty looks to Dex. “See? The sign has been very helpful.” Bitty gives Nursey a sweeping up-and-down glance. He looks back to Dex and grins. “For both of us.”

         “Oh my God, leave. Go. Get out of here right now.”

         Bitty laughs brightly as he continues towards the door. “Have fun, sweetie!” he calls over his shoulder before the door closes behind him, leaving the tinkling of the bell to echo around the shop. Nursey looks to Dex, who is still flushing, though possibly not as violently, and refusing to look in Nursey’s direction.

         “So. Uh. You didn’t write the sign.”

         “No.”

         “And, uh, none of that stuff actually pertains to you.”

         Dex hesitates. “Uh. Well.” He glances up at Nursey and then darts his eyes back away. “I wouldn’t use the word “desperate” but I am, er, single. And gay isn’t the right word but I, uh, I play for your team, or whatever.”

         Nursey can feel the smile slowly spreading across his face. “What a coincidence.” He leans forward, closer to Dex, and he looks up to meet Nursey’s eye. “Because I am definitely playing for your team. We should team up.”

         “Oh my God, that was so bad,” Dex says, but he’s laughing and no longer making eye contact with the floor, so Nursey counts it as a solid win.

         “I’ll have you know that I am one of the funniest people currently alive,” Nursey says, faux-indignant.

         “Are you now?”

         “Uh-huh. I was voted funniest person standing in a coffee shop.”

         “By who?”

         “Everyone in Bitty’s right now. Technically, we only got one vote, but once I sway the cute barista to my side, I’ll have it cinched.”

         Dex is smiling, even as he shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

         “Ridiculously into you.”

         “Oh my God, I will pay you to stop.”

         “Cool, I accept payment in the form of checks, bonds, and phone numbers. Care to spare one?”

         “I don’t even know your name,” Dex says, huffing lightly.

         “Oh yeah. I’m Nursey. I mean, my name’s Derek Nurse, but everyone calls me Nursey.” Dex looks back at him for a few long moments, biting his lip, but eventually he releases the captive lip on a sigh and holds his hand out. Nursey doesn’t know what he wants for a few seconds and then Dex says, “Hand me the drink,” so Nursey does.

         Dex picks up a sharpie from the counter and writes something onto the side of the cup, handing it back when he’s done. “That’s on the house,” he says, nodding towards the drink. “For emotional distress, or whatever.” Before Nursey has the chance to respond, the shop door bell dings with the arrival of more customers and Nursey is forced to move out of the way.

         “Come again,” Dex says, his flush soft and enticing.

         Nursey grins. “Oh, I plan to.”

         Nursey leaves the shop feeling pretty giddy until he sees the sign out front once more. He frowns, stopping in front of it. Well. This just won’t do. 

         When he reenters the shop, carrying the sign to give to Dex with explicit instructions on how to hide it, Dex laughs so hard he has to sit down, and Nursey leaves once again, smiling and sipping his delicious drink adorned with Dex’s phone number.

[terramythos]

Review: The Stone Sky by N. K. Jemisin (The Broken Earth #3)

Length: 398 pages.

Genre/Tags: Fantasy, Science Fiction, Apocalyptic, Post-post-post Apocalyptic, Dystopia, Female Protagonist, Antagonist POV, First-Person, Second-Person, Third-Person, Gray Morality, Dark, Great Worldbuilding, Great Character Development, LGBT Characters, Diverse Cast, Trilogy, Perfect Score 

Warning(s): This is probably the most optimistic of the trilogy, but it’s still not a happy series. Abuse/torture, slavery, graphic violence and gore, and major body horror. References to child death. 

My Rating: 5 / 5 

**WARNING: THIS REVIEW (INCLUDING THE SUMMARY) CONTAINS MAJOR SPOILERS FOR THE FIRST TWO BOOKS. IF YOU WANT A SPOILER FREE REVIEW, PLEASE READ MY FIFTH SEASON REVIEW (X), OR, BETTER YET, JUST READ THE SERIES.**

My Summary:

The reckoning of the world has come. Essun, who has lived a life of suffering and loss, finally has a home to call her own. But she is one of the last living humans who can harness The Obelisk Gate and return the Moon to the world, finally quelling Father Earth’s rage and ending the apocalyptic Seasons forever. She knows such an act will  cost her life. 

Her daughter Nassun, meanwhile, has seen that the cruelty of the world cannot be reconciled. More powerful than her mother, she seeks the power of The Obelisk Gate for another purpose— to end the suffering of others, forever. 

And finally, Hoa reveals the origins of himself and the other stone eaters— the immortal, humanoid statues who have their own stakes and motives in this conflict. His is a chilling tale of a utopia built on the suffering of others… a cycle humanity seems unable to break, even 40,000 years after the Seasons began. 

Does humanity deserve another chance? Only one will decide the fate of the Earth.

Time grows short, my love. Let’s end with the beginning of the world, shall we? Yes. We shall.

Minor spoilers and my thoughts follow.

Here’s my dilemma— this is the final book in a series, and I find it impossible to talk about any final entry without reflecting on what came before it. For better or worse, everything ties together somehow in the last book. In this case I’d say “for better”, because this book was great, and an excellent way to conclude a thought-provoking and wonderful trilogy. But nevertheless, I’ll probably be discussing the series as a whole in this review.

So, yes, this was a really good conclusion. Definitely not where I expected things to end up, based on the opening premise, but that’s not a bad thing, and it’s been interesting to see how the story and characters have molded and changed. Honestly, I don’t have some master plan on how to style this review, except by discussing all the different parts of the story that really clicked for me.

I’m a sucker for “fate of the world” type stories, and I’m glad that The Stone Sky finally takes this direction. It’s really something to see how far Essun has come. She starts as a scared little girl hiding in a barn and is now a forty-something woman with the destiny of humanity in her hands. You can see all the steps that lead her to this point, but there’s something truly epic about any story that includes such a level of growth. It’s been an often-painful ride, but one I’ve really enjoyed nevertheless.

Obviously, I have to talk about the characters. Everyone was SO interesting. Even characters you were supposed to dislike initially had fascinating development over time. Schaffa is the obvious example, as we saw in The Obelisk Gate, but that continues in The Stone Sky as well. In this one there’s a minor antagonist from the previous book who gets called out on her bullshit and… changes her behavior accordingly. Hell, the leading antagonist of the entire series, Father Earth, the force that has caused the death and destruction of billions of people, has justifiable motives.

And you look at Essun, who is generally a good person at heart, and some of the terrible things she’s done (which is ESPECIALLY relevant since the narrator likes to see the best in her). Her daughter Nassun fills the “destroy the world” role, but even her motivations for doing so come from a place of compassion. It’s… interesting, to say the least. And that’s not to say that there aren’t minor characters who are pretty awful the whole time, but those are noticeably the irredeemable bigots, which makes sense for the type of story being told here.

You know what I mentioned in my Obelisk Gate review (x) about gray morality? Yeah. Everyone major is a complex character. Who knew?

As for specifics, I already named most of my favorite characters in my Obelisk Gate review, and that pretty much continues here. There are some new faces introduced (or re-introduced) in this one, but for the most part the focus is on an established cast, emphasizing how they’ve grown and changed over time. There’s plenty of examples. Essun, despite everything, has started to move past a lot of her trauma and open up to other people. Nassun has her own found family in Schaffa, but nevertheless continues to spiral down a destructive path. Probably the most significant development in this one is Hoa, our intrepid narrator, who finally reveals his origins and backstory. I found him fascinating because he directly states his motives several times, yet we don’t really know his intentions until this book. It’s been a ride back and forth, but I think he’s probably one of the most interesting characters in the series. He’s a far cry from the minor helper character he seems to be at first.  

While the first two books had snippets from Hoa’s perspective, he becomes a full-fledged perspective character in The Stone Sky, and reveals a lot about the world and general themes of the story. This entry also humanizes him a great deal. We already knew he identifies as a human, that he’s one of the oldest stone eaters alive, but not necessarily what that means to him until now. Most of his story explores how the world got to its current, cyclical apocalypse-state, tied to the origins of the stone eaters. Despite the time leaps, Jemisin keeps it all relevant and interesting; it never feels jarring to switch between disparate perspectives. That’s true for the other books as well, and I think it speaks quite well of her writing. One really satisfying part about Hoa’s perspective in this entry is we get an actual, canon explanation for why he’s narrating Essun’s life in second-person. Over the course of the series he lapses into first-person sometimes, or narrates in a very stylistic way, and all of that starts to make sense too. There’s even solid reasoning to the whole unreliable narrator thing! It was a nice touch to tie off the series.

This entry into the series also gives us a chance to look at long term worldbuilding. Specifically, there’s a LOT of slow burn/long con details about the world that we finally figure out here. One really interesting detail is the concept of “icewhite eyes”. Basically, it’s a rare eye color that’s commonly seen as a bad omen. The Fifth Season seems to play this straight; two named characters have icewhite eyes. One is the then-monstrous Schaffa. So, bad omen, check. The other is Hoa, who we figure out pretty early isn’t quite human (at least how we see it), and has mysterious— possibly sinister— intentions. So, check off the bad omen there, right? Except BOTH of these characters develop in unexpected ways. Schaffa becomes— of all things— a strong father figure for Nassun. Hoa is, well, Hoa, and full of spoilers, but it should be obvious by now he’s a pretty complex guy. Finally, in The Stone Sky, we learn where the negative beliefs about icewhite eyes come from, and it is… well, pretty fucked. It’s obviously allegorical, but the reader doesn’t really get the extent of it until this book, which makes it all the more insidious. It ties wonderfully to the anti-bigotry, anti-oppression themes of the novel, and does so by completely playing the reader.

This is just one example of many, and I’m willing to bet this series is a fun one to re-read due to all the future context. But now to focus on things that generally apply to the series, rather than something this book in particular focuses on.

Generally speaking, there are things about the world that I really like, now that I’ve had three books to consider them. One big thing that played with my expectations was orogeny as a concept; for all intents and purposes it feels like this world’s version of magic. But as the series goes on you learn orogeny isn’t magic at all; just an evolutionary trait future humans picked up (I mean, the term “oroGENE” implies this, but…). Not only that, but traditional magic does exist, and is very relevant to the story. The stone eaters were also super interesting. They were way different than most generic “fantasy races,” and getting their backstory in this entry made them even more compelling to me. They’re uncanny and sort of creepy at first, but the more you learn about them the more explainable their behavior becomes.

I’ve talked so much about the things I like about the series that I’ve neglected to mention the writing itself… it’s very good. Exquisite, even. I’m not sure how else to describe it— Hoa has a very strong voice— humorous (often bitterly) and cognizant of the little details. I loved the fun poetic bits that experiment with typeface and line breaks. There’s even a part where The Important Words Were Capitalized, which felt so natural with how people type now that I’m surprised I haven’t seen it much in literary works. The trilogy was very fun to read based purely on the writing. Even if it had been lacking in content, which it wasn’t, I think I still would have enjoyed it purely for the craft.

Certain themes are omnipresent in this series, and there were several that really struck a chord with me. Obviously, the cycles of oppression the characters face are allegorical to the real world. One thing I REALLY like about this series is how much it defends the downtrodden, something I feel mainstream fantasy often fails to do. So many series seem to WANT an oppressed class in their fantasy world, then are completely apathetic to what that means, or don’t bother to challenge the issues such an inclusion brings. It’s like “oh, well, this happens in the real world, so I should have some sort of allegory for racism/sexism/homo/transphobia”. Not so here— The Broken Earth is about the full implications of oppression and why it’s so wrong, why it’s so unjust. The Fifth Season’s dedication reads “For all those who have to fight for the respect that everyone else is given without question” and honestly that was the point I knew this series and I were going to click. Just because we are looking through a fantasy lens does not make these things any less horrible or ugly, and I’m glad the series takes such a strong stance against dehumanization and oppression.

Another overarching theme I was surprised impacted me so much was that of parenthood. A character early in the series says “Children will be the ruin of us.” It’s a haunting line in context, and thematically it sticks through the rest of the series. Essun’s motherhood is a central part of her character— striking because initially she has no desire to be a mother. She is, arguably, not even a very good mother in the traditional sense— but her protectiveness of her children ultimately defines a lot of the story. It’s hard to go into detail without broaching major spoiler territory, but it’s a consistent and heart-wrenching theme that persists all the way to the end. That particular line is literal for many, many events in the story.

I discussed representation in my previous reviews, so I won’t retread that much, but stories like this prove just how easy it is (and should be) to be inclusive. It makes sense that the cast is so diverse in this series, because it is very much about the oppressed and the issues they face. Wouldn’t make any sense to have that central concept, then focus on a bunch of straight white guys. But that being said, I think this series is a great example of how  writing can be better in terms of representation. This is the only fantasy series I’ve ever read where the main protagonist is a 40-something black mother. And there should be much, much more out there. Since getting into this series I’ve found myself looking critically at a lot of mainstream entertainment, and its failure to represent minority groups beyond a few token characters. It was a problem I was aware of, but this series makes it look so easy that I find myself even more annoyed that most people don’t bother.

I’m not going to lie— The Broken Earth is a pretty bleak series. A lot of really horrible shit happens to the main cast. Hell, the opening premise is that (a) a toddler was murdered by his father, and (b) the world is about to end forever, killing millions of people. Most of the early content focuses on a brutalized slave class, hated by society for the crime of having a certain evolutionary trait. But the series is also about the small moments of hope that shine through despite these things. Happiness and compassion are worth celebrating, because they remind us that there is something worth fighting for in the world, no matter how hopeless and awful things seem. We see characters who are victimized and beaten down ultimately come into their own truths and find their own families and reasons to live. So yeah, it’s a dark series, but I wouldn’t have had it other way. I hope someday I can meet N. K. Jemisin to thank her for writing these. They’ve given me a lot to think about.

[babybluebanshee]

Stuff I’ve had to deal with as a city librarian, mega edition

4/? 

My boss is on vacation, and whenever he does that, a whole bunch of chaotic shit just descends on our heads at once. We don’t know if it’s because he’s not there to nip stuff in the bud or if he just has some kind of calming aura about him that keeps this stuff in check, but we dread whenever he leaves for any extended period of time. 

Since I had a few of these backlogged already, I figured I’d give you guys another glance into the weird-ass world of librarians. 

---

- A woman couldn’t access her email, and flew into a rage because she thought were intentionally blocking her from getting in so we could “hack” her. Turns out she was putting a comma between gmail and com instead of a period. She did not apologize for yelling at us.

- A man called the library and I answered. I tried to do my little “thank you for calling the public library” bit, and he cuts me off to ask for “extension 2606″. I told him we didn’t have any extensions and I wasn’t sure what he was talking about. He sighed dramatically, then handed the phone off to someone else, saying, “Can you talk to this dummy?” A woman comes on and gruffly asks if this is Charlotte. I said no, this was the public library. She just said okay and hung up. No apology there either.

- The DAR were scheduled to come in one Saturday, but never showed up. Come the next Saturday, I was walking by one of our meeting rooms, and there’s the DAR inside. Turns out they’d changed the date of their meeting without letting us know, even hanging on to the keyfab that gets you into the building before it opens. When I poked my head into the room to figure out what the heck happened, they gave me a look like I’d personally stepped on all their toes.

- A guy with a huge cowboy aesthetic came in to do a college essay for a comparative religions class, asking for my help in finding some books. I asked him what kind, and he looked around, over his shoulder like he was afraid someone would be listening, then leaned very close to me and whispered, “I don’t wanna offend you, ma’am, but I’m looking for books on paganism.” I thought at first he was joking, but his face was dead serious. 

- A woman brought back ten audio books that were soaked in Dr. Pepper. When I told her that they were wet, she looked me square in the eye, said “yeah”, then walked out. 

- A ten year old boy threatened two girls in my book club because he thought they were making fun of him, saying he “should stab [them] with a knife”. I told my supervisor, who went and talked to the boy’s mom, and apparently all she did was say, “Oh, he’d never do that.”, and went back to whatever she was doing on the computer. I talked to her later and she tried to pin it on violent video games. Needless to say, he has no been back. 

- I was helping a woman in the genealogy room, looked up, and saw a massive bug crawl through her hair. She didn’t seem to notice at all, and it was all I could do not to keep staring. 

- The poor assistant director found three used tampons out in our parking lot. 

- There was some legal kerfuffle a few months back regarding the demolition of a building that wasn’t handled properly. This dude on YouTube (his channel basically consists of him “investigating” things like this, meaning he goes into municipal buildings and harasses the staff, using their irritated reactions as “proof” they’re crooked) made a scene at city hall with the city coordinator. We were terrified all the next day that he was going to show up at the library, especially because it was story time day. He never did, but we still had the fear.

- A woman brought her own DVD (I’m still not sure why), and left it on the copier. I thought it was one of ours and someone had just left it there, and when I picked it up to put it back, she said, “Oh no, that’s mine.” I thought she meant she was going to check it out, so when she came up to pay for some copies she made, I picked it up again and went to scan it. She said, “no, that’s mine!” and it finally clicked that it was her personal DVD. I apologized and explained why I did that, and she said “I can bring in the receipt if you want.” I thought she was joking and said no, I believed her. She left, then came back an hour later, pulled me away from my shelving, just to push the receipt for the DVD in my face and say “I’m not a thief! See, I told you I’m not a thief!” 

- The amount of people who just...don’t seem to understand why we ask for their library cards is staggering. Like, people will come in without their wallets or IDs for whatever reason, and get pissy with us when we tell them we aren’t allowed to check anything out to anyone without their card or driver’s license. Like, we don’t care if you’ve memorized your number or come in all the time. We wouldn’t waste the plastic if we didn’t actually need you to use the damn things. 

- I don’t know what attracts druggies to libraries, but it’s a huge problem. The amount of unidentified pills I’ve found (including in the children’s area) is jarring. One time, the children’s librarian found the finger of a rubbed glove, tied off with something brown inside. We called the police, and it turns out that’s a popular method for transporting heroin. 

- My coworker Allie discovered a child playing out in our parking lot, occasionally jumping out into the road. She asked if his family was around, and he said yes, they were inside at one of the programs. This kid’s family had just let him wander away and into the street. 

- I came in early one morning only to discover a portion of the ceiling in the computer lab had caved in.

- There’s this very sweet Asian lady who doesn’t speak great English who comes in all the time to print off things for her Sunday school class. She asked for help one night, and after the librarian had gotten her situated, the man sitting a few computers away started making hateful, racist comments to her. She even moved to a different bank of computers, and he got up and followed her so he could keep being a dick. The lady only told us after he’d left because she felt that unsafe.

- We had another bed bug problem crop up, involving a completely different person. Guess who had to go pull all the books that we suspected to be infested. I was itchy all night.

- In honor of the 50th anniversary of the Stonewall Riots, I expanded my LGBT history display from a small display case to two large tables. Naturally, bigots have been complaining about it. The worst one has been the couple who thought it was “insulting”, stormed out of the library, and complained to the city coordinator. 

- I had to make a membership for a man with a huge swastika tattoo on his arm. It was all I could do not to jump the desk and claw out his eyes.

[ifridiot]

Honey, Don’t Feed It

Sometimes you can’t help people, even when they’re the ones you most want to.

Naia meets a young Stryfe. 

Naia is not a babysitter.

Fact of the matter is, Naia doesn’t like kids that much. Didn’t like kids when they were a kid, and now that that tenuous connection to that subset of humanity is gone, they would rather avoid them as much as possible, thank you so much for asking.

Okay, maybe that’s not fair. Naia might suck with babies (they’re too loud and the fact that they cry but can’t explain why they’re crying gives them anxiety) but once kids are old enough to communicate they can handle them pretty well for small doses. Little kids could even be endearing, once they got over their fear of Naia’s extra limbs and intimidating size. Kids usually did better than adults when it came to Spider-man rescuing them; they held on and stared in awe and then they ran back to their parents or to their siblings or to whoever came to collect them.

“I’m not a child.”

It’s teenagers Naia really can’t stand.

“Kid, you’re like twelve, hush.”

Standing between the kid and the cops, Naia has their arms spread in the traditional peacekeeping posture, one set of palms spread toward the boys in blue, one toward the telepathic kid on the edge of murdering a pair of bigots. Honestly, even if the kid wasn’t a kid, Naia knows who’s side they’d be on.

Cops are always wrong, and bigots belonged in the ground, but the issue here was more that it was seven in the morning and the kid is obviously strong enough to kill the assholes he’s got caught in some kind of telekinetic death grip but isn’t. Which means he’s not the bad guy.

Now to get the cops to put their guns down.

The crowd that has gathered around the scene is doing that collective silence thing that always makes Naia a little nervous. There are a lot of witnesses -- and potential victims, if the kid decides to go off. Judging by the fierceness on his face and the creep laying on the cement with blood trickling from his mouth, eyes, ears, and nose, the kid has a lot of power. Thus far he’s managed to reel it in -- the pavement-creep is breathing like it hurts, and from what Naia has gathered, he deserves it -- but if people start shooting, Naia doesn’t think self-control is going to be the first thing on the kid’s mind.

Ugh, telepaths. Kids and telepaths. This is gonna be the death of them, this exact bullshit. Kids and telepaths, they both want to get inside your head and then get mad when your thoughts aren’t the ones they wanted to hear.

Kid, they project, trying to remember how Mom taught them to do this. Shielding and trying to hold a private conversation is difficult and weirdly exhausting. You promise not to kill anybody and I’ll get you out of here. Take you somewhere safe, help you out as best I can. But you gotta put those guys down and come with me.

They wince, almost lose their shields, at the force of emotion -- rage and contempt and a sort of pain threaded through it that Naia is pretty sure they’re not supposed to pick up on -- that is slammed back at them. They insulted me! They deserve to die!

Someone makes a helpless noise of agony, and blood starts gushing from one of the asshole’s nose. The kid has them suspended in air and, as far as Naia can tell, the two humans can’t move at all. Now one of them has a broken nose. That’s pretty fantastic control for a kid.

Dangerous, too.

Kill ‘em and the cops start shooting. You’re gonna have the whole damn city after your ass, even if you can wipe all of us out. Public enemy number one.

Why shouldn’t I? The kid’s telepathic voice is cold, dripping with condescension, but the emotions that twist through the telepathy are laced with uncertainty. The kid is lost, obviously. Naia doesn’t know the whole story, is pretty sure they don’t want to know, but they do feel a sort of vague sympathy for the kid.

Whatever pain he’s working through, being insulted by a group of anti-mutant bigots was probably the least of it. He’s a very powerful kid, but he’s just a kid, one who’s been hurt bad by someone he probably trusted.

Naia sighs.

C’mon, kid. Don’t make me side with cops.

There’s a startled sense of amusement, which is a hopeful sign. A question curls around their brain, wordless, just the impression of consideration and hesitation. It wouldn’t be bad, except Naia can feel the kid peeling at their telepathic shields. He’s damn powerful, but no one’s evidently taught him subtlety.

I am so subtle! The kid snarls, and Naia smiles under their mask. The anger fades a little, replaced by curiosity. You can get me away from here?

“The kid is gonna come with me,” Naia says out loud, keeping a steady gaze on the cops. Unsurprisingly, none of them lower their weapons, but everyone’s hesitant to shoot Spider-man after he’d saved so many people. He was a symbol, and most of the cops knew you couldn’t publicly execute a symbol without good cause. “He’s gonna drop the assholes and we’re gonna go. No shooting necessary. No one dies, you can take the creep on the ground to the hospital, it all works out.”

Put the idiots down, kid. Show of faith, c’mon.

And wonder upon wonders, the kid does. He doesn’t do it gently; he drops them like the sacks of shit they are -- it doesn’t take a telepath to find a Neo-Nazi when the jackasses love to advertise their nationalist bullshit on their clothes -- and in another miracle, the assholes stay down.

Glancing at each other, the cops finally lower their weapons, and Naia nods. “We’re gonna go. Make sure the guy bleeding all over public property gets to the hospital. Or better yet, give him a ticket for littering. Public indecency. Whatever.”

That said, Naia moves quickly to the kid’s side. One of the assholes cranes his head up to glare at them, and he growls, “Fuckin’ muties.” Naia wants to put a boot through his teeth, but before they can move, the asshole screams, blood pouring from his eyes and his nose, altogether too similar to the one unconscious over by the cops. He collapses face first back against the pavement, hopefully just passed out, and Naia feels the prickly tingle of the danger-sense just before the sound of a gun being cocked reaches them.

“Goddamnit, kid,” Naia snarls, and before he can protest, they’ve got their right two arms around him, holding him against their body as they leap up onto the roof of the nearest building. He shouts, and shoves away as soon as they’re both on their feet.

“You can’t do that,” he says sharply, hands balled into fists, glaring.

“What, prevent your dumb ass from getting shot?” Naia snaps back, and it’s gratifying to see his mouth fall open, shocked. “Kid, I had you out of there scot free, and now your fuckin’ face is gonna be up all over the city as a dangerous mutant wanted, consider him armed and dangerous. Half those people down there were filming that. Gonna be all fuckin’ over YouTube now.”

The danger sense prickles again, and they half expect the kid to lash out, but his head twists toward the roof access door, eyes still wide. Naia sighs.

“They’re coming after us. So let’s get the fuck outta here. I can stash you somewhere for a while. Couple hours, ‘til the heat dies down some and you can get out of town tonight.”

“I have business here, I can’t leave!”

Kids. Fuckin’ kids and telepaths, Naia could just about scream. “Rain check your business, dipshit! Now can you use the TK to float or do I need to carry you?”

They’d seen Cable do that a couple times, but he was supposed to be super powerful or something. And he was old, had a lot longer to practice.

Looking back at them, the kid scowls. “I do not need to be carried.”

“Then float. Let’s go.”

Really, with the kind of attitude this kid’s got, Naia half expects him to obstinately stay put, or maybe run off on his own. He seems the sort of kid to refuse help on principle, but he also has that wide-eyed touristy look, and his clipped, formal way of speaking reinforces the idea that he’s not from around here.

As if the metal chest plate and cape thing wasn’t communicating that clearly enough.

He at least stops trying to pry into Naia’s head as they lead him into Brooklyn, leaping from building to building until they get to a quiet, rundown neighborhood. Most of the windows on the building they lead the kid do have been boarded over, and the place sucks to be stuck in during winter, but on a nice September day it shouldn’t be too bad.

“This building is abandoned,” he says, sounding disdainful. “You expect me to stay here?”

They sigh, prying open the plywood-covered maintenance door and holding it for him to go in first. “I know it’s not the Ritz, kid, but I’ve got food and a place to relax instead of being hunted all over the fucking city and getting your ass handed to you by one of the masked guys who don’t have a soft spot for idiot tourist kids.”

He stares again, but only for a second, before glaring and scowling, stalking into the building with a swish of his cape. “I’m not a kid,” he grumbles, and Naia finds it really funny that he thinks that’s the part of their assessment that needs correcting. They drag the door shut and hurry to get in front of him, leading him through the abandoned building to the ground-floor apartment they’d appropriated as a safe house. It was one of the only ones that had a door in the front room that hadn’t been kicked down or taken off its hinges.

“I can’t believe you’re happy your room still has a door,” he says, still scathing in that snotty way kids who grew up with nice things had.

“You should be glad too,” Naia says cheerfully, closing the door carefully behind them. “Means no homeless people have broken in and pissed on the couch again.”

It’s not the nicest safe house they’ve had, but it’s not bad. No electricity, but the broken down couch was comfy and there had been a number of cats locked in the apartment when they’d found it. Most of them and left and never come back when they’d left the windows open for them to roam, but one big tom, old and possessed of a rusty, broken meow, had stayed.

Presently he was curled on the center seat of the couch, sleeping. The kid stood looking at the cat like he wasn’t certain if he should chase it away or leave it alone.

“Cat’s not gonna bite, just take a seat,” Naia says, amused. “Luce is nice, but he doesn’t usually like strangers much.”

This was a lie, but Naia told it to everyone they brought here because it made them happy when Luce wanted to get in their lap or purred for them. And it’s really not a surprise that he perks up when the kid sits next to him, shoved up into the corner of the couch closest to the door. He stares at the cat for a moment longer and then looks away, folding his arms across his chest.

“You said there was food.”

Naia snorts softly, moving into the kitchenette. There was a useless (and ancient) fridge, but since there was no electricity it was more a pantry than anything. Somewhere to store stuff they didn’t want Luce (or any other animal who slipped in through the cracked window) to chew into. They pry it open and take stock of what’s available. “Yeah kid, just gimme a sec. You a picky eater?”

“No,” he says, and somehow makes it sound like he’s being gracious by telling them. “And my name is Stryfe.”

“Strife?” Their eyebrows rise under the mask, leaning back from the fridge to look at him. He is staring down at the cat, who is now sniffing carefully at the edge of his cape. “Is that, like, a code name, or…?”

“It’s my name,” he says primly, head held up and jaw set. “It’s spelled with a ‘y’.”

“Ah, okay,” they say, sticking their head back in the fridge. “So your parents just hated you.”

It’s meant playfully, but they can feel the sharp way he stares at them, and it’s like all the breath in the room went out. A raw nerve, and one they just kicked hard. Fuck.

“Uh, sorry, kid, that wasn’t… That was a bad joke, I didn’t mean anything by it.” The kid starts breathing again, and Naia thinks that’s okay then. They grab a couple ramen packets and a can of chicken and step over the the counter. “So, what’re you in town for?”

His silence is telling, and they can feel him in their head again, pushing at the shields they have up, prying into them, looking for some ulterior motive, some hidden threat. They wish they were better at this telepathic shielding shit, because as it stands, they’re out of practice and it’s exhausting.

“Kid, I want to help. I’m not cooking for you so I can stab you in the back later. You think I’m gonna call the cops on you? I’m Spider-man, me and cops don’t exactly go hand-in-hand.”

The mental pressure eases somewhat, but doesn’t entirely disappear. For a long moment, he’s quiet, and they think he’s not going to answer. That’s fine, it’s not really their business, and they’ve already had a long night. Then, he says, “I’m from the future.”

Naia tries not to feel exasperation. Time-travel shit is always exhausting. They rarely have to deal with it, but they’ve been dropped into enough parallel universes to know that they’re lucky in that regards. They get pan-dimensional bullshit, let the X-Men and the Avengers deal with the time-travel shit.

“Oh,” they say as tactfully as possible, pouring a couple bottles of water into a pot and setting it on the camp-stove. “So what’s brought you, uh, to the past?”

“I’m cleaning up other people’s mistakes,” he says archly. “That’s as much as you need to know.”

Silence swallows them for a while, Naia focusing on cooking the ramen and draining the chicken and making the meal as palatable as possible. They’re running out of supplies in this place, so they’ll have to stock up soon, but they figure, what the hell, and dump a can of mixed vegetables into the ramen as well. Kid looks like he could use the fuel.

The kid eats with Luce curled up in his lap, eating with that careful sort of control that says he wants to wolf it but feels that sort of display would make him look bad. Measured and obviously relishing every bite. It would be flattering if Naia wasn’t busy trying to think about how much the future must suck if instant ramen with some canned goods tossed in is that good to the kid.

When they do start talking, they don’t talk about much. He seems pleased when they tell him the cape is a nice touch, almost smiling as he sits up a little straighter.

“I find it important to make a visual statement,” he says. Naia raises their water bottle to that, and tactfully doesn’t make any comments about drapery. The kid looks at them where they’re leaning against the wall and frowns to himself, dragging his fork through the broth that remains in his bowl. “Why do you keep the cat here if this is not your home?”

Naia shrugs, pushing away from the wall and coming to take his bowl. “He was here first. I figure if he wanted to go to a different home he would. He didn’t like it when I tried taking him out of here, so I brought him back. I make sure he gets fed and he has his couch. Also possibly he likes to hang out with the ghost of whatever cat-hoarder used to live here. There were a lot of cats when I took this place over.”

“That sounds stupid. Ghosts don’t hang around to watch cats.” They laugh, and he goes on a very serious diatribe about superstition being the crutch of a weak mind. Naia wonders if 4Chan is still big in the future. Kid sounds like he’d fit in real well with those sort of pretentious ‘intellectuals’.

While they wash up the dishes and put everything away, making note that they’re going to need more water here next time they stock up, too, they pull up music on their phone and play it to fill the silence. The kid makes faces, but doesn’t complain.

It’s a little past noon when they try to get the kid to open up again about what he’s trying to do, and he very clearly doesn’t want any part of it.  

“I have the matter in hand,” he says heatedly, arms crossing again, until Luce makes a plaintive sound at the sudden loss of being pet. He scratches at the cat’s neck, glaring daggers at Naia. “I don’t need help.”

“Well, you sure weren’t doing super hot on your own when I found you.”

He scowls and they soften a little.

“C’mon. You’re new in town, and this is a big place. I’ve been in the city all my life, I know where everything is. I can at least point you in the right direction.”

They have a little staring contest for a moment, and it surprises Naia that he’s the one to look away first. “I have to do this on my own.”

“Fuck, gimme a break. You were talkin’ so smart a minute ago, don’t shove your head back up your ass, c’mon. More hands makes less work.”

He huffs, glaring at them again, mouth pressed in a tight line. “I am on my own to prove a point, I do not need help.”

“Everybody needs help, kid.”

“I’ve told you, my name is Stryfe! I demand you stop calling me kid!”

The mask does little to hide Naia’s grin at that. If the kid weren’t sitting down with a lap full of contented cat, they think he’d have actually stamped his little foot. “How old are you, kid? Thirteen going on three?”

“I am sixteen, I’m not some child.”

Naia gentles again at that, at least a little. It’s all right to tease, but he’s so vehement, it’s clear enough that this is somehow important. Probably something someone’s pushed the kid into thinking. “The future must really suck if sixteen is when you have to start being an adult.”

“The future makes sense.” He proclaims, and Naia doesn’t know whether to laugh or just shake their head. “Once I finish what I came here to do, the future will be perfect.”

Setting their head to one side, they watch him for a minute. He’s focused on Luce, stroking over the soft fur of the cat’s head.

“If you’d tell me what you’re trying to to do,” they offer, tone as gentle as the voice modulator will allow, “I would help you.”

He looks back at them, suspicious but almost hopeful too. “You wouldn’t. And I must do it myself. That’s the whole point.”

“I’ve already been helping you. Why would I stop now?”

“You’re not unknown in the future. You wouldn’t help me.”

It’s hard to argue with an evasive time-traveler, but that doesn’t exactly inspire confidence. As much as they want to help the kid, he sounds a little like a baby villain. All brooding secrets and deep hurts, ugly intentions. “You gonna kill someone?”

“I have to.” He says it flat, like it’s the obvious recourse any sixteen-year-old would come to. “He… they ruined everything. I’m going to take care of it.”

“You can’t just kill everyone who wrongs you, kid.”

His face screws up, angry, furious even. “Can’t I? That’s what you do, isn’t it? What makes Spider-man’s judgement better than mine?”

He says it like it’s a gotcha, and it’s a little surprising, how hard the words hit. Naia wants to say something about how they’re at least an adult, old enough to throw their life away crusading against actual murderous assholes. Not everyone who upset them, not even everyone who injured them. They’d had experience. This kid was just angry -- justifiably, maybe, but… he needed help. He needed patience, someone to help him unlearn this arrogant shit he used to wrap himself up and shield him from the ways he’d been hurt.

But then he smiles, sharp and cutting, and says, “Or should I just call you Naia?”

The way he pronounces their name, it sounds like a taunt, like the sound of it is something to mock. His expression does nothing to disguise the threat implied in his words.

Really, Naia’s a little sick of it. They’ve been playing nice all day despite the kid’s shitty attitude, and Naia was never a patient, kindly person. They’re not a parent, they’re not a big sibling, they’re not required to put up with this shit.

"Kid,” they say, looking down at him, scowling under the mask as they square their shoulders, “your name is Strife-with-a-Y and you ‘ported back from the oh-so-enlightened future with the manners of a four-year-old and the fashion sense to match, so just because you picked my name out of my brain, don't act like you're superior. You’re angry, and I can respect that, but you’ve done nothing to give me any reason to respect you. Bullies ain’t worth shit."

They expect anger. Yelling, maybe a punch thrown. The kid’s obviously practiced in hurting people with his TK, so maybe something like that.

Instead, the kid looks like Naia punched him. His eyes, normally narrowed and angry, are suddenly wide and open. He looks startled, like he’s grasping for his anger but so completely unused to being spoken to like that that he doesn’t know how to handle it. Naia tries to imagine that, imagine going sixteen years without anyone snapping you back in place when you were out of line, about being that secure in your right to treat anyone and everyone like shit, and finds they can’t quite do it.

“Less than a decade from now, you die a failure,” he hisses after a moment of that stunned shock. The viciousness of his tone is especially taut, the sort of tone used to mask pain with anger. He wants to lash back and hurt them. “You die ugly. Slow. And it doesn’t even matter.”

“Yeah?” Naia snaps back, nowhere near as mild as they’d like to be. “That supposed to make me, what? Stop? I might die as a loser, but I sure as shit don’t live like one.”

In a second, the kid is on his feet, Luce hitting the floor with a noise of feline offense and rushing off to the other end of the safe house. “I should kill you myself,” He says, hands balled into angry fists Naia knows he wouldn’t bother to use. He’d do for them with the TK to keep his hands clean.

“It make you feel better, threatening the only person you had on your side in this era?”

Their head bounces loudly off the wall. They hear something crack and hope to any god listening that it’s the drywall and not their skull. Collapsed on the floor, they have a hard time getting their eyes to focus through the mask, blackness lancing through their vision. They feel more than see Stryfe looming over them, and grin crookedly at him from where they sprawl.

“You’re not worth killing.” He says, savage. “Me killing you would honor you.”

They want to say something. They’re not even sure what; a dozen tones dance through their head, ways to play what just happened out to distinct, impactful ends. There’s a part of them that wants to push the kid to doing it, but they don’t know if he’s really still moral enough to get the satisfaction of his feeling bad about doing it. And thinking that makes them feel weirdly guilty. Guilty for doubting that a kid could be so devoid of humanity, for thinking he might be so far beyond help.

He makes a sharp noise at that, and they can feel it, when he finally withdraws from prying at their mind. His cape snaps at the air when he turns sharply away.

Really, a good hero would shake off the likely-concussion, get up, say something clever and thoughtful that would get him to stick around. They would try to stop him, try to save him.

Naia stays on the floor, eyes closed, and carefully shore up their telepathic shields. It’s easier to make them strong when you’re not focused on other things, like standing.

The kid’s boots click importantly against the tile, and when he shuts the front door behind him, it’s slammed sharply in place.

[fallout4holmes]

Journal 14

The Personal Journal of Mr. S. Holmes Diamond City, The Commonwealth, 2288

It was slightly disorienting to wake up on a mattress near the the Railroad’s back door. My body protested as I stood and looked for my companions. Hancock was talking with Deacon, the small crowd of agents around them wearing smiles of disbelief. Deacon was animatedly finishing a story involving two Coursers, a stick of gum, and a super mutant suicider. Hancock reclined in his chair, inhaled a small puff of jet, and said, “If any of that were true, I’d be damn impressed. But let me ask you, brother… you ever meet a comic book hero?”

I’m certain Deacon knew exactly what Hancock was referring to, but he played along and the tale was begun. I decided to let them have their fun and glanced around for Valentine. I saw him talking to Dr. Carrington. I took a step toward them, and was stopped by Desdemona.

“I can't say I'm thrilled with having the Mayor of Goodneighbor here.”

She didn't seem upset, and in fact she was possibly amused. “He's been letting your agents operate in his town for years,” I said.

“I’m not concerned he's going to go running to the Brotherhood with our location,” she said, “he's just… unpredictable.”

“He's perfectly predictable. Good guys get helped, bad guys get hurt. That is more or less a direct quote.”

She chuckled, and turned the conversation to business. Apparently, there is a loosely affiliated group of raiders that has been causing trouble for the Railroad, a particularly sadistic lot calling themselves the L&L Gang who take great delight in finding and executing synths. Desdemona claimed the Railroad had lost more synths to them over the years than even the Coursers. They had a lead on one of the gang’s top figures, a man by the name of Lucky Tatum. He was hiding out in Back Street Apparel. As I’d be headed in that direction to return to Diamond City, she wanted me to deal with him. I agreed.

Valentine approached, “What's the plan?”

“How does eliminating a few members of a synth hunting gang suit you, Mr. Valentine?”

“Synth hunting, hm? I'd be lying if I said that didn't hold a certain appeal.”

“Deacon will join us,” I stated, but Desdemona answered as if it had been a question.

“He wants to help. How'd you guess?”

“I never guess,” I said with a wry grin.

She was unimpressed, but it doesn't matter. I approached the two men still engaged in verbal one-upmanship. “Mayor Hancock. Deacon, Valentine, and I are going to deal with synth hunting raiders, will you be joining us before you return to Goodneighbor?”

Hancock smiled sinisterly. “Sounds like my kind of trouble.”

“He's coming?” Deacon asked. “You uh, sure that's safe?”

“Safe?” Hancock laughed as he stood, “where the hell’s the fun in that?”

As we walked, I asked Deacon what the status was of the Courser he'd gone after. He said it was taken care of, but that I got to fight the next one.

“Courser, huh?” Hancock said from his position in front. “That must have been a hell of a - oh, shit!” he turned the corner, and immediately backed up, his shotgun at the ready, “If you got any explosives, now would be a real good time to use ‘em!”

The deathclaw’s roar echoed over the shotgun blast as it came around the building. “Don’t let it get close!” Deacon called out, “Pop a Stealth Boy if you got one!” and he promptly did.

Hancock swore, colorfully, followed with, “We’re in a goddamn alley, and he says ‘don’t let it get close.’”

Deacon managed to flank the beast, as Hancock, Valentine, and I continued our assault while moving as quickly backwards as we could until we cleared the alley and could gain some distance. Being attacked from all directions confused it enough for us to put it down with relative ease. As easy as killing a ten foot reptile of sheer muscle and rage ever is.

Once it was dead, Hancock sighed. “Could use some jet after that.”

Deacon limped over to us, wincing. “Another deathclaw down, another of my nine lives burned. Yay.”

“Are you alright?” I asked.

“Yeah, I’m fine, just a bruised rib. Ribs. Ribcage. Ow. Got hit by the damn tail.”

“Walking away from a fight with a Deathclaw is no small feat,” Valentine mused. “Nicely done, everyone.”

Hancock nudged the deathclaw’s head with the toe of his boot. “So what do you think it would take to train these things to just eat super mutants?”

“Well, first we’d have to find a baby and name it Fluffy,” Deacon quipped.

Hancock laughed, “Anyone up for deathclaw steaks? Nothing like eating a meal made from something that tried to eat you.”

“That’s like, every meal,” Deacon said as we moved forward. “I mean, except the vegetarian ones. Unless there are mutant man-eating plants out there. Attack of the killer tatos.”

“Brahmin don’t try to eat you.”

“Not yet.” Deacon spared a last glance at the deathclaw. He shuddered. “Man, I do not like those things.”

“Yeah, give me the chills, too,” Hancock admitted.

Valentine and I followed as Hancock and Deacon continued bonding over their shared terror and continued hypothesizing on the existence of various other life forms that could kill them yet would taste good.

“Holmes,” said Valentine, “you got a weird taste in friends.”

“Said the man at the top of the list,” I smirked.

“Doesn’t make it any less true,” he said.

After the deathclaw, Lucky Tatum and his crew of bigoted sadists didn’t stand a chance. It was a massacre. All four of us present hadn’t been necessary, but I knew why Deacon had wanted to be there. He didn’t say anything, and the sunglasses continue to make reading his thoughts difficult, but when it was all over he said, “No comparison to Deathclaws.”

“Yet just as necessary to deal with,” I said. “The circumstances are slightly different, besides.”

He looked at me, inscrutable for a moment, before smiling. “No giant tails to dodge, for one thing. I gotta see the doc when I get back to HQ. Ugh, won’t that be fun.”

“Found some ammo in here!” Hancock shouted from a far room.

Valentine spoke quietly as Deacon joined the Mayor, “If I ask what that was about, am I going to get a straight answer?”

“Deacon trusted me with details about his life, which to be perfectly honest I don’t know are true or not. My instinct leans towards truth.”

When it became clear that was all I was going to say on the matter, he said, “You could have just said ‘no, Nick, man’s got a right to his secrets.’”

I grinned. I don’t know for sure if Deacon was thinking of the creature or the gang from his life story when he said Deathclaws, but I thought the acknowledgement should be there, should he choose to take it. Perhaps the gang never existed, perhaps Deacon was never married, perhaps, perhaps… and yet. The possibility of its truth is enough to respect his wishes that it never be known. He went through the trouble of erasing the recording of it. That might count for something toward its validity.

Deacon said he would let Desdemona know the good news as we left the area. We said our goodbyes, and the three of us turned toward Diamond City. Hancock seemed to be enjoying our company, and avoiding his mayoral duties. As we passed the guards patrolling outside the Diamond City entrance, he grew silent and stern, exuding deadly confidence as each guard watched him pass.

“Would you like to come in?” I asked.

He frowned. “You know ghouls ain’t welcome.”

“That wasn’t what I asked.”

He chuckled, and said, “Nah. I appreciate the gesture, but we’d be makin’ Nicky here an accomplice or some such bullshit, and he gets enough crap as it is. I’ll sneak in on my own sometime. I’m countin’ on you to keep my removal dignified when I do.”

He left, and we went inside the city. “How’re you feeling?” Valentine asked.

“Fine. Why do you ask?”

“You were in rough shape before. Just checking on you.”

“I’m fine, Valentine, truly. We’re home, what is there to be worried about?”

He laughed softly, “Alright. Can’t blame an old synth for being worried. I’d hate to lose a partner to something so mundane as poor health.”

We checked in at the Agency before he told me to go home and spend some time with my son. I didn’t argue. I was glad to see Shaun, and together we worked on a few experiments in the workshop. Now it’s late, he lies asleep upstairs, and I sit at my desk in the living room. Codsworth is continuing his evening routine. Everything is as it should be. I stored the pack of mentats I found on a raider in the desk drawer. It’s tempting to take one, but this time I’ll concede to Valentine’s concerns, and get some rest.

[thetourguidebarbie]

Prompt Klaroline - argument - kiss in the rain - AU thank you so much

Sequel to the founder’s drabble I posted. For the nice anon and @itsnotacrimetoloveyouwho both asked for more. I hope you like it!

Caroline was curled up against the headboard of the bed wrapped in one of Klaus’s older robes, the comforter tucked around her hips. She didn’t generally steal his clothes, but he’d been gone for about a week so far and she liked having his scent cling to her skin. It didn’t help that it was freezing, the unusually heavy rain pattering against the stone outside thankfully not crossing the water-repellant spells on the windows. She’d also spent half the night with her Ravenclaws in the tower, teaching the older students how to create bluebell flames and comforting the youngest ones, most of whom were scared of thunder.

She’d also stopped by the dungeons to check on her husband’s charges and was glad to see that they were all gathered together in the common room with small cots the seventh years seemed to have conjured. The Prefects were making sure the fires stayed lit and that everyone was comfortable. Say what you wanted about Slytherins being cold and ruthless, but they took care of their own. She’d semi-reluctantly given points for the excellent transfiguration, making a mental note to reward her Ravenclaws later. A little rain wouldn’t prevent her from winning the bet with her husband.

If he ever came back, that was.

No, she couldn’t think about that.

Now she was tucked in bed resisting the urge to hurry and check on the other houses. Bonnie was no doubt sleeping with her Hufflepuffs in their common room, too protective to leave them, and knowing Tyler, he was keeping his entire house up with ghost stories.

Despite knowing that her students could handle themselves, she was still protective, and the only reason she wasn’t making the Ravenclaws march down to the dungeons so that she could keep an eye on both houses was because she knew that the first place Klaus would go when he came back was their quarters, and she fully intended on hexing him the second he returned.

She’d never been this angry at him in all of their ten years of marriage, her blood boiling every time she thought about how he’d walked out on them abruptly because of such a stupid disagreement. When they’d started the school she knew that he wasn’t exactly thrilled to teach children with no magical ancestry, not out of any feeling of superiority but simply because he didn’t think it was safe to have children blab to their parents about a secret world that those who didn’t understand would be determined to exterminate. Initially, she, Bonnie and Tyler had managed to convince him that it would do more harm to let them out in the world with no training, and he’d acquiesced.

Then one of his Slytherins was murdered during the summer by her family for being ׳unnatural’, and he’d lost his temper. He had cared for her, as he secretly did for all of his students despite his outward appearance of indifference, and he hated feeling weak and succumbing to his emotions. He’d thought of her as his charge, his responsibility, and he’d lashed out at the three of them for convincing him that the children of muggles could ever be accepted by their parents once they’d found about their powers. She doubted it helped that he had grown up with a father who had realized Klaus was different from his first burst of magic, learned that he was a bastard and beat him whenever he showed the evidence.

However, as much as she grieved for the girl, she couldn’t help but be angry that he was using her death to try to convince them that allowing her accidental magic to stay uncontrolled would have kept her safer because her parents wouldn’t have realized that she was a witch. Caroline thought it more likely that they would, and that letting the girl stay untrained would only make it more difficult for her to defend herself, possibly even sentence her to a life of wondering what was wrong with her.

Still, they’d disagreed on things before and he’d never left like this. She was starting to worry, honestly. Initially she’d fully believed that he’d just gone on a walk to cool down and would be back in an hour or so, but it was now clear that he’d either left or had been injured somehow, and the thought of him not coming back made her blood turn to ice. She’d been over her notes on her latest project what felt like hundreds of times, but never seemed to get very far, too distracted by worrying about his absence.

Though they’d traveled away from each other before, sleeping alone was always hard, her skin craving his warmth and his touch. It was even more difficult when she didn’t have a date he’d be back to look forward to.

Knowing that she wouldn’t be able to fall asleep any time soon, she waved her wand to summon a scroll from the shelf, hoping to get some reading done. Just as she’d settled in, managing to lose herself in the story, she heard the door open. She grabbed her wand, not daring to get her hopes up that it could be Klaus returning, and as she pulled herself out of bed to investigate she saw him in their sitting room shrugging off his traveling cloak, his hair sticking to his face, clearly wet from the rain.He looked at her, giving her a smile that she could only describe as tired. “Hello, love.”

She wasn’t sure whether she was more angry or hurt at his greeting, and though she’d spent the week creating elaborate fantasies of hexing him with something relatively harmless she found that she couldn’t get up the motivation to go through with it. She was angry at herself for being so relieved to see his face, but as soon as he took another step towards her, clearly intending to pull her into a hug, she found herself more angry at him for his gall.

How dare he think he could just walk in and pull her into his arms? That everything would be fine and she’d forgive him for leaving as soon as she saw his face?

“Don’t touch me,” she whispered, her voice hitching as she stepped back. As soon as she spoke she felt her eyes grow hot with tears, her emotions suddenly seeming to squeeze her lungs.

His stiffened, eyes widened slightly at her words, his lips parting for just a moment before he seemed to slump, his hand moving slightly as though he wanted to reach for her. “Caroline,” he murmured, his tone low and placating. “I’m so—“

“Are you sorry, though?” she interrupted, her voice hardening. “You just took off. I haven’t heard from you in a week. No letters, no visits… nothing. If you really regretted it I think you would have sent something, even just a note saying you were going to come back. You left me.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, reaching to cup her cheek, his lips thinning when she flinched away. “You should have known—“

“So now it’s my fault for not knowing that you’d come back?” she demanded, swelling to her full height.

“That’s not what I meant, Caroline.”

“Then what did you mean?”

He was quiet for a moment, clearly not knowing how to answer because he had meant it. He had just assumed that she’d know, that she’d just wait, and she felt even more furious at that. She couldn’t stay here with Klaus looking at her like that, expectant and slightly mystified by her anger, and she brushed past him and out the door of their quarters.

She wasn’t sure where she was going, but she knew that she had to take a breath, to recover from the rage from seeing his face. She could hear him following her and sped up her steps, finding herself at the front doors of the castle and opened them with a wave of her wand, walking out into the pouring rain. She wasn’t leaving, not really, but she needed the fresh air. She hadn’t realized how stifled she’d felt until she took a deep breath, fat drops of water falling on her face and hair.

She could hear Klaus’s footsteps, heard the door close as he walked to her, and she didn’t acknowledge him, just staring out onto the grounds, pulling the stolen robe more tightly around her to fend off the cold.

“You were right,” he said softly, his words barely audible over the rush of wind, and she stiffened, her mouth settling into a thin line as she resisted the urge to respond back that she obviously already knew that, instead remaining silent.She heard him sigh as he moved to stand beside her, their shoulders so close that they were almost touching, and she saw him look at her out of the corner of her eye. “I shouldn’t have left you.”

“You shouldn’t have,” she agreed, not wanting to give him a single inch until he showed that he deserved it.

“I walked around the grounds for a bit. Calmed down. However, as I approached the doors I realized that I was terrified. I thought you might think less of me because of what I said, that you would think that you married a bigot. I couldn’t face you. Not yet.”

She hummed, grudgingly acknowledging that his fear did make sense. She had no tolerance for bullying or bigotry, especially from those she was close to.

“I mean, what you said kind of did fall into that category,” she muttered, finally–finally–looking at him. “But I knew what you meant.”

“Good.”

“Did you change your mind about the students?” she prompted, bringing her arms up to wrap around her torso as she shivered, looking up at the sky to let the rain run down her cheeks, her hair already soaking and sticking to her skin. “The muggle-borns?”

He sighed. “I don’t want them to end up like me,” he murmured. “Cynical and angry, bitter about the world. An outcast because of a gift.”

“Wouldn’t it be better if they at least knew why they were different?”

Klaus was quiet for a second before he spoke, his voice quiet. “Yes, but I don’t know how to keep them safe if they do.”

Caroline had been thinking about it, Klaus’s reaction making a twisted sort of sense, and she was prepared for that. “I think I have a compromise.”

“What is it?”

“We visit the families in person and give them an explanation, like we always do, but we’ll go in pairs. One will go with the new student to answer questions, and the other will dose the parents with veritaserum to make sure they’re supportive.”

Klaus nodded once. “And if they’re not?”

“The student will have a permanent home at Hogwarts. We’ll take them in during the summers.”

“Have you spoken to the others about it?”

“Not yet, but I doubt they’ll object.”

“I agree,” he said quietly before turning to fully face her, his curls sticking to his forehead, face flushed from cold. “It may have taken a few days, and I shouldn’t have done it, but never doubt that I will always come back to you, Caroline. I swear it.”

She couldn’t meet his eyes because she knew that if she did, she’d melt.

She was still angry, still hurt and upset, but she also knew that he meant what he said, and despite her anger she believed him. She was also tired, wanted to be held close and get reassurance. Needed comfort.

“I don’t want you to come back to me,” she said softly, turning to look at him. “I want you to stay.”

He smiled slightly, finally reaching for her, his hand icy as he cupped her cheek, uncomfortably cold but somehow perfectly right. “I have no intention of leaving you, Caroline,” he said. He seemed to search her face before his eyes darted down to her lips and back to hold her gaze, and she almost held her breath as he bent down. She closed her eyes when his lips met hers in a soft kiss, one full of promise.

“I’m so sorry, my love,” he murmured, pulling back just enough to form the words, his lips brushing against hers as he spoke.

She answered by pressing her lips against his, needing his touch, his taste, and he responded in kind, his arms wrapping around her to hold her close.

Despite the rain pounding against them, the wind harsh and cold in a way that felt rough against her skin, she felt warm and secure. Safe.

[beaglelinefics]

The Wedding: Part 2

NCT Yuta X Male Reader

Writer: Jaime

Part One

Masterlist

           “Does this tux make me look sexy?”

        Yuta groaned from the bed as you tried on your fancy outfit and admired yourself in the mirror. The two of you had checked into the hotel just after the ceremony and had around an hour before you had to be at the reception, and he had been sulking on the bed the entire time. He hadn’t seen any of his family yet—thank god—but he knew he’d be seeing them very soon, and he wasn’t looking forward to hearing their attempts to get him to go out with whatever poor girl they had lined up for him.

        “Yuta, dude.” You glanced over at him in the mirror and frowned. “Babe!”

        “Oh my god, what?”

        “Are you okay? You’ve been groaning and sighing since we got here!” You carefully draped the snazzy jacket over a chair, slipped into a more comfortable—and cheaper—outfit, and took a seat beside your “boyfriend” on the bed. “Want to tell me what’s going on in that head of yours?”

        He sighed and flipped over so he could look up at you pitifully. “In an hour I’m going to have to face a family who up until this point hasn’t really believed I was gay, and I’m not completely sure how they’ll react to me having a boyfriend.” He shyly reached out to grab your hand and said, “They might say some things about you… I’m sorry for dragging you into this, Y/N.”

        “Hey, no, none of that,” you scolded lightly. “I can handle some mean comments from your family, but I can’t handle seeing you like this. Whatever they say or do to you… just know that I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

        Yuta smiled that pretty smile of his and squeezed your hand. After a month or so of hanging out, he was finally comfortable enough with you to pose as a believable couple. You had a great time together, and Hansol agreed the two of you could convince even him. The problem with all of this was you came to realize just how amazing Yuta was—in addition to how attractive he was—and you may or may not have developed a small crush. I mean, you spend enough time with someone like that in this sort of situation, and you’re bound to like them at some point. You just hoped you could survive the weekend and then get on with your life without kidding yourself into believing Yuta may actually like you back. This whole fake dating thing was harmful to your health; how could Yuta even look at you like that? Like he actually loved you? It just wasn’t fair!

        “Thank you, Y/N. Now let’s get ready and blow them all away.”

        He finally got up from the position he’d been in for hours and headed for the bathroom, probably to take a shower. He had admitted to you when he’d picked you up that he’d forgotten to take one this morning with how nervous he was about this whole thing. So thankfully he was going to remedy that. While he was off getting clean, you walked over to the closet and grabbed what Yuta had brought for the two of you to wear to this reception. Fancy tux and shiny shoes. Just the essentials. You took them over to the bed to lay them out nicely, even bringing over Yuta’s, and got ready to change. You’d gotten into the pants and were working on switching shirts when your companion exited the shower wearing a fluffy robe. You froze and stared at his in panic when you realized you were shirtless and very vulnerable; why had you decided to take a five-minute break and check your Instagram feed?!

        “Hey, Y/N, have you seen m…y…” he trailed off when he saw you standing by the bed half-naked and felt his body flush. He’d of course seen the pictures of you and Hansol on the beach when you two had celebrated your anniversary, but it was a lot different seeing your body in person. You had a very sexy body…

        “Have I seen your what?” you asked calmly, trying to seem as casual as possible, as if you walked around shirtless all the time. Well, I mean, you did, but that was in front of your roommates and any current boyfriend, not guys you liked!

        “Uh, my, uh… my hairbrush?”

        “Yeah, I think I saw it over here.”

        He watched as you wandered over to the desk and rifled through the bag he’d left on it, having far too good of a time admiring the way your muscles moved on your back every time you took a step. You let out a sound of victory when you finally found the lost item and grinned at your friend as you handed it over.

        “Thanks,” he muttered softly before locking himself in the bathroom again. He was fucked, man.

        “Hiya, Uncle Yuta!”

        Your “boyfriend” tensed when he heard the voice of a small voice call his name from behind him. The two of your stopped and turned to see a young woman attempting to calm down two energetic boys while another older boy smiled and waved. And meeting the family had now commenced. You felt your heart melt at how sweet the boy looked with his big eyes and dimpled smile. Pretty smiles definitely ran in Yuta’s family, that’s for sure. The boy left his mother’s side and ran up to you, throwing his arms around your companion happily.

        “Hey there, little one,” he greeted back as he returned the boy’s hug. “You guys want to take the elevator with us?”

        “We would love to,” the woman breathed in relief. She had finally managed to get a hold of her other two sons and herded all three of them into the lift with you and Yuta. “Who’s your friend here?”

        “Oh, right.” He slid his hand into yours and smiled at his family. “This is, Y/N, my boyfriend. Y/N, this is my cousin and the three little troublemakers she calls her children.”

        “It’s nice to meet you, Y/N,” she told you with a warm handshake. “I’m glad Yuta has found someone nice, and hopefully now my mom and aunts will stop their crusade. Forcing a girl onto Yuta is not going to make him straight. I mean, I should know.”

        “Pardon?”

        “I was pressured into a marriage that was doomed to fail,” she answered casually with a shrug. “After the birth of our third child, my husband and I realized we were both interested in the same thing: women.”

        “You’re kidding!” you laughed in surprise. “How’d your family take it?”

        “Let’s just say that this is the first gathering I’ve been invited to since I came out.”

        “She came out five years ago,” Yuta supplied helpfully.

        “Hey, maybe you’ll get an invite to Thanksgiving.”

        “Yeah, after I’m thirty maybe.”

        “Yeah, I wouldn’t hold much hope for that either,” she agreed. “Anyways, you look nice enough, and Yuta needed to find a nice person. Enjoy the festivities.”

        She waved to you both before corralling her children towards the table that held their name placards. On the other hand, Yuta led you straight to the bar. You watched him with raised eyebrows as he ordered some decently hard liquor and leaned against the counter to study his family.

        “Hey,” you started with a light hand on his arm, “we’re going to be just fine.”

        “I feel like I’m going to puke,” he admitted, and you could see that he did look kinda pale. He really did look like he was going to vomit.

        “Whoa, okay, no puking.” You placed a hand at the back of his neck and turned his head so he was looking at you and not at the party. “Just look at me, okay? We’re going to be fine. It’s just a party, Yuta.”

        “Y/N, my entire family is here,” he reminded you. “They’re all here, and they’re all going to hate the fact that I have a boyfriend.”

        “Not all of them. Your cousin over there doesn’t hate me.”

        “Well she’s gay too!”

        “Okay, so who cares? Yuta, if your family hates who you are, then you shouldn’t have to try and appease them in any way. My parents? They still won’t talk to me, and I came out to them six years ago. I’ve given them space and time to come around, and I still call them on Christmas every year, but I don’t try to appease them or make them happy. They don’t deserve that.” You smiled and rubbed Yuta’s cheek with your thumb reassuringly. “If your family doesn’t accept who you are, you owe them nothing. So let’s just go out there and have a good time, okay?”

        “…Yeah, okay,” he finally agreed with a nod of his head. “Let’s fucking rage, babe.”

        “Without the alcohol,” you added as he tried to grab the drinks he’d ordered. “We’re not here to get plastered. This is a classy establishment.”

        “Fine, whatever.”

        He quickly kissed your cheek before dragging you to the table that held your names. Wait a sec… did he just kiss your cheek? You were about to ask him, but then he was pulling out a chair for you and you had no choice but to sit there and smile politely to the other guests seated at your table. That sneaky bastard…

        “Yuta! So glad you came!” an older man greeted happily. “And you brought a friend! That’s great. So much better than showing up stag. You have a wingman now!”

        “Uh, actually, I don’t need a wingman,” Yuta informed his family member.

        “Finally got yourself a nice girl? Good for you, man!”

        “No, I—“

        “Yuta!”

        “Fuck me,” Yuta whispered when a shrill voice called to him. I mean, if he was offering, you had no—

        Suddenly a woman was shoving herself between you and Yuta and waving over a pretty girl from the other side of the room. You could only assume this was one of the aunts trying to set Yuta up with a girlfriend. What a bitch.

        “Yuta, I’m so happy you could make it,” the aunt was telling her nephew. “We missed you at the ceremony! We were so worried you wouldn’t be able to come, but I just had a feeling you would so I invited this lovely young lady for you to meet.”

        “Uh, hi, I’m Yuta,” he introduced himself awkwardly.

        “Here, let’s make some space for her,” Yuta’s aunt insisted as she started to push at your chair. Oh, hell no.

        “Look, I appreciate getting the invite, and of course I’d come to support my cousin in her union to what’s-his-face, but you trying to set me up with this girl is not okay,” Yuta told her as he grabbed your chair to keep you from being yanked away from him. “It’s incredibly rude and bigoted, actually, and I came here already with someone special. I’d like you to meet Y/N, my boyfriend.”

        He took your hand and pulled you up to your feet, glaring at his aunt as you just smiled and waved awkwardly. “Hello, pleasure to meet you,” you offered to the half of the room that was now paying attention to what was going on.

        “So you have a boyfriend now?”

        “Yes. I do.”

        “You bring a boyfriend to my daughter’s wedding and think we’d be okay with it?” she scoffed. “I go through all the trouble of finding a nice girl for you to meet, and you think it’d be fine to bring a boyfriend? That’s what I like to call ungrateful.”

        “Mom!” the bride gasped out in horror as she rushed over to the scene. “Mom, stop it! What are you doing? Oh my god, Yuta, I am so sorry!”

        “Oh, hey, congrats on the whole wedding thing.”

        “Thank you! Congrats on your boyfriend.” She leaned in and whispered, “He’s cute.”

        “I know, right?” Your eyes widened upon hearing Yuta agree that you were cute. “Where’s what’s-his-face?”

        “You know, one of these days you’re going to learn his name.”

        “Never see that happening.”

        She rolled her eyes and shoved him playfully. “Seriously though, I’m glad you came, and I’m glad you brought along the cute boy you’ve been admiring for a while. Now, Mom, let’s leave these two alone and go over here, shall we?”

        They left the two of you alone, and Yuta cleared his throat awkwardly when you turned to grin at him.

        “Let’s go dance!”

        He dragged you onto the dance floor and nervously started to move to the beat. All the while you couldn’t wipe that huge grin off your face, and he knew he couldn’t avoid the topic for much longer.

        “So,” you began casually, “you’ve been admiring me for a while?”

        “Y/N, can we just—“

        “Uh, no, sir, you need to answer the question.”

        “Okay, so, yes, I’ve liked you for a long time now,” he admitted with a sigh. “I remember seeing pictures of you and Hansol together and thought you were cute, and then we got partnered together in BioChem, and I was a goner. So when I got invited to the wedding and Ten suggested I get a fake boyfriend, I immediately thought of you.”

        “Why?”

        “Because I was hoping all this pretending would make you like me for real.”

        “Hm… interesting assumption.”

        He narrowed his eyes as you took the opportunity to take the lead. All of this was very interesting to say the least.

        “Are you making fun of me?” he asked.

        “Oh, absolutely. But I will say you got lucky here, sweetheart. All this pretending did make me like you for real.”

        “Oh, shit, really?”

        “Yep!”

        “…So, then, like… would you want to go out with me after this?”

        “Yuta, you will not be able to get rid of me easily.”

        “Good to know.” The two of you swayed there for a few moments before you realized Yuta was staring at you. “Can I… Can I kiss you?”

        A smile tugged at your lips. “All you have to do is ask.”