#MY MOTHER MARIA STATUE OVER THE ROOM IS JUDGING ME

[sychar]

DYING- (LITERALLY)

(Reblog your answer!!)

[lovelysnake1994]

Tony grinned excitedly as he watched his step father leave the house. He had been waiting to sneak off for the entirety of the morning.

Howard was his greatest concern, with the help of Wanda he could manage to sneak out unnoticed by her sister Natasha.

Tony was Howard's late wife's son, Howard seemed to accept him early on into their marriage. However, soon after their wedding Tony's mother fell ill. After a year of fighting for her life, she lost. Leaving Tony with Howard and his two sisters. Tony then found out Howard wasn't who he had originally appeared to be, he was vile, and cruel.

Upon Maria's death he made Tony his servant, denied him basic necessities, and forbade him from attending any events they went to as a family.

Natasha made Tony's life even more miserable with her jeers and taunts. Though her sister, Wanda, was kind to Tony. She brought him meals after Howard refused him the right to eat, and occasionally helped him with his labor tasks. She had been the only good thing in his life, that was until Tony met a mysterious guy in the woods.

He had been on a short trip to pick up Howard's new tailored suit, and on his way back he took the nearest shortcut through the woods. As he was walking he heard the snap of a twig and turned around to see a handsome guy struggling to get up. Tony offered him help and he was instantly infatuated.

He assumed the man was a peasant too, judging by the clothes he wore. "I'm Steve."

Tony smiled sweetly and shook the blonde's hand. "I'm Tony."

Tony headed to the garden where Wanda awaited him. "Natasha is occupied, and Dad will be arriving home before sundown." Tony nodded gratefully and took off, his mind far away.

***

Steve changed into his casual clothes hastily, he was beyond late for his escapade in the woods. His royal duties had kept him occupied all day, and he feared that Tony would take his absence the wrong way.

He hadn't told Tony that he was the prince, because over time he had found that it ruined his relationships before they even started.

He wanted someone to be interested in what he had to offer, not just his royal status.

The day he met Tony he had gotten lost in the woods and had scuffed up all his clothes. He found Tony and was immediately immersed in the brunettes beauty. It had been a few months since Steve and Tony had been seeing each other, and they were both smitten.

Steve mounted his horse hastily and took off. His thoughts consisting of the brunette beauty that had stolen his heart.

***

Tony had waited patiently for Steve to arrive, it was getting dark out and Tony was beginning to head home. He was disheartened that Steve hadn't bothered to show up, but was also concerned for his well being. He knew Steve, he must have had a good reason to not come.

Just as Tony was starting to head back to the Manor, he heard leaves shuffling nearby. The initial panic he felt soon turned into relief as a familiar face came to view.

"Hey." Steve sounded breathless, and that's exactly how Tony felt as he gazed into the other man's eyes. "I'm sorry I'm late, I lost track of time while I was fulfilling some- erm tasks."

Tony looked at Steve uncertainly before nodding.

"No worries, I understand. Though you must know I can't stay for much longer. I have to head back to the Manor before sundown."

Steve sighed in disappointment.

"Well at least let me walk you through the woods."

Tony agreed, and the two set off. They talked the whole way, their chats always came naturally.

Talking with Tony didn't feel forced like it did when he spoke to the women his father insisted he marry.

Their easy, lighthearted conversations were one of the many reasons Steve was actively pursuing Tony.

Steve wasn't sure how his parents would react to his choice of partner, but he hoped that his happiness would assure them that Tony was the one for him.

When they neared the end of the road Steve kissed Tony's hand gingerly. "When can I see you again?"

Tony blushed, and struggled to think under Steve's gaze. "I'm able to see you this Thursday."

Steve shook his head dejectedly. "The ball is on Thursday." He muttered

Tony looked at Steve, surprised. "You're attending the ball?" Steve cursed his stupidity.

"My master is going, I'm attending to provide him assistance." He lied easily, Tony cocked his head.

"Isn't it a ball to provide the prince with eligible bachelors? Is he attending as a worthy candidate?" Tony chuckled. "I suppose he is." Steve smiled.

"Well I've heard the prince has rejected every candidate he has been introduced to, so I hope your master isn't expecting much." Steve laughed, he hadn't known the public was aware of his selective nature when it came to a love interest. "I must go now, surely we'll run into each other again. There's no need to set a date anymore." Tony grinned brightly, and Steve nearly melted. "May I kiss you before you leave?"

Tony's hands wrapped around Steve's neck. "I don't know why you insist on asking my permission, I'm yours."

Steve's knees suddenly felt weak, Tony was his.

Hearing those words come from Tony made Steve oddly giddy inside.

Steve captured Tony's lips in a searing kiss. He knew that his heart would forever be Tony's, and though that excited Steve for the future, it also made him fear that a life with Tony wasn't written in the stars

after all.

***

Tony sighed dreamily, as he always did after seeing Steve. Wanda watched Tony in amusement as he sunk into her bed and hummed a cheerful tune.

"I'm absolutely dire to know about your time in the woods." Wanda smiled and joined Tony on the bed.

Tony smiled as he remembered how wonderful Steve made him feel, regardless of the amount of time spent together.

Tony told Wanda about his kiss with Steve. The kiss had certainly not been their first, yet it made Tony feel like it had been. Every moment Tony spent with Steve made him feel like he was falling all over again.

Tony and Wanda chatted lightly for a moment when something across the room caught his eye.

"What's that dress for?" Tony asked, eyeing the elegant creme colored dress with great interest.

Wanda grinned. "It's for the ball." She had a far away look in her eyes, as if she were imagining herself dancing the night away already.

"You wish to try your luck with the prince?" Tony looked concerned, he didn't want her to get too hopeful only for her to be let down in the end.

"Well yes. Admittedly it was my father who was the one that insisted both Natasha and I attend the ball, but I'm growing very excited as the day nears."

Tony was glad to see Wanda so excited over something other than his own love life.

She had spent so long hearing Tony's romantic stories, and it spurred her on. She longed to experience all the things Tony had shared, Wanda filled with anticipation at the new possibility.

"I'm glad you're pursuing something, or rather someone, that you want." Wanda blushed.

"I only advise you not to hope for too much, I've heard the prince is exceedingly hard to please."

Wanda nodded understandingly.

"Steve's also going to be attending the ball." Tony fell into his dreamy haze again and Wanda rolled her eyes affectionately.

"Maybe I'll see him there, I'll be sure to look for a 'dashing man with stunning blue eyes and a breathtaking smile.'" Tony laughed as Wanda recited Tony's description of Steve.

"I better head back downstairs before Howard finds us here." Tony picked up the broom he had previously abandoned and started to walk off.

"Wait" Wanda called, Tony turned his head and regarded her with a puzzled look.

"Why don't you go to the ball?" A beat.

Tony busted into laughter, tears rolled down his eyes as he clutched his stomach. Wanda frowned at him and watched as Tony fell to the ground and continued laughing. She even felt like joining in, but her pride was far too big.

"I haven't laughed like that in a long while." Tony said once he sobered down.

"Assuming you're done with your childish antics, I feel the need to tell you that I'm serious."

Tony looked at Wanda, confused. "Wanda, you know Howard won't let me go. He doesn't want me to represent the Stark family in any way."

Wanda pursed her lips in thought. "But there must be a way to get you to the ball, don't you want to see your own prince?" Tony nodded, he thought that Steve being called a prince was fitting, he was Tony's dashing prince after all.

"Then let's find a way to get you to attend the ball, without my father's knowledge." Tony agreed hesitantly, if Howard found out about their plan it wouldn't end well. Yet, Tony found that it was worth it if he could dance the night away with the man he loved.

***

"Tony." Wanda hissed, Tony peered around to see if he was being watched before he met Wanda in the garden. "We're going to the ball, wait half an hour before you take the horse." She gestured to the elegant horse next to the stables.

Tony agreed before wishing Wanda luck, she certainly needed it if she wished to captivate the prince. With that, Wanda set off towards the carriage awaiting her.

***

Steve eyed the dancing people disinterestedly, he had a partner after all. He would tell his parents about Tony soon enough, for they were growing frustrated with Steve. He knew they wanted him to marry, he could only hope that Tony would find it in his heart to forgive him.

Though Steve had lied to Tony, he was absolutely certain that he was the man he wanted to spend the rest of his days with.

Steve's parents were looking at him encouragingly. "Go ahead, son. Dance with some of the people here, after all you've been in search of a spouse for far too long now." Steve resisted the urge to roll his eyes.

"I'm in no rush to find a spouse father, though you're most certainly eager."

Joseph was torn between amusement and helplessness. "I worry about you son, I encourage you to lead with a partner by your side, you are to be king soon."

Steve looked out into the dance floor warily, he decided that he wouldn't put off the inevitable any longer.

Steve wandered around, socializing with the guests. He hadn't asked anyone to dance yet, and it had mostly to do with the fact everyone seemed to be eyeing him like a piece of meat.

Steve met a pair of kind eyes across the room, he could tell the girl was modest, and he appreciated her simplicity. She wasn't flashy, for she hadn't worn any expensive jewelry, yet she carried herself elegantly. Steve went to greet her, he thought speaking to a genuine person would be a nice change.

"Hello." Steve smiled at the girl, she hurried to bow down. "Your majesty." Steve regarded her with an amused look. "There's no need for formalities, it makes me feel like my father." Steve grimaced, it made the girl laugh.

Steve smiled at that, he decided he liked her laugh.

"Would you care to dance?" The girl took his hand and nodded, with that Steve swept her off onto the dance floor. "I'm sorry for being so terribly rude, I never asked for your name."

"Wanda"

***

Joseph and Sarah watched as their son danced with the mystery girl. "Do you reckon she's the one, darling?" Sarah asked as she continued to watch the dancing couple, Joseph shook his head firmly.

"His heart is not in it, perhaps it is a possibility that he has already given his affections away."

Sarah eyed her husband suspiciously. "Are you suggesting he's been seeing someone?"

Joseph shrugged. "It would explain his unpredictable absences." Sarah considered the possibility, though the turmoil in her stomach didn't allow her to do much thinking.

Joseph looked at his beloved son sadly, he hoped he had been right. All he knew is that his son deserved to be happy, and that would accept any suitor Steve chose into the royal family.

The two parents weren't the only ones that had been watching the dancing pair, Howard smirked at the sight of his youngest daughter dancing with the prince, his night was going much better than he had expected.

***

Wanda felt like she was in a dream, she never wanted the magical night to end. She looked up at the prince dreamily, they were bound to be married soon if he felt for her as strongly as she did for him.

Wanda was so blinded by her desire for love that she hadn't noticed the respectful distance Steve kept between them, or Steve's friendly nature.

Steve started to lead Wanda into another dance, when he caught sight of a certain brunette.

Tony looked confused when he saw Steve on the dance floor with Wanda.

Steve cursed himself and pulled away from Wanda abruptly, he didn't know what to do, Tony wasn't meant to be there. Wanda grinned when she saw Tony, and she dragged Steve along to greet him.

"I'm glad to see you could make it, don't worry, Father is out in the gardens."

Steve and Tony looked at each other as if they were complete strangers. For once, they were both dressed nicely and not in the usual attire they wore  they met up. "Tony, this is Prince Steven."

Tony blanched. "Prince?" Wands nodded, unsure of the reason why Tony looked so crestfallen.

Steve reached out to clasp the other man's hands into his own. "Tony.." He pleaded, Steve knew it would be difficult to get Tony to listen to him.

"I don't understand." Tony stammered.

"You're not the prince, are you?" Steve swallowed thickly, he couldn't lie himself out of this problem.

Steve's silence spoke volumes and Tony snatched his hands from Steve. "You've been lying to me!"

People were starting to watch the scene that was unfolding.

Wanda's confusion rivaled Tony's, what on earth was Tony on about? "Please, let's step out into the gardens to talk." Tony scoffed.

"There's nothing to talk about, this is complete madness!" Tony raved. "This ball was thrown for you to find your future spouse!"

Steve was very aware of the people who were now watching the spectacle. "You know I deny every marriage request, you told me so yourself."

Tony backed away slowly. "That doesn't change anything, I can't deal with all of this right now."

Wanda was still painfully confused, did Tony and the

prince already know each other?

"What is going on?" She demanded, Wanda's question went unnoticed as Steve tried to explain and apologize to Tony all at once.

It was all so overwhelming, the crowd's murmurs, Wanda's questions, Steve's sudden revelation, so Tony ran. He weaved his way through the crowd of people and ignored Steve's pleas for him to return.

The only thing he knew for certain right then as he ran out of the castle, was that he hadn't ever felt as betrayed as he did in that moment.

[sdvbrsb]

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[reflectionsofacreator]

Ezio’s a Painter

I somehow kinda glossed over this during my ac2 and Brotherhood play throughs, mostly because I kept meaning to make a larger post about it, then kept putting it off. I guess that’s now. This is probably old news to a lot of people, but I wanted to write a post on it anyways. 

This is a researched theory, not explicitly confirmed, either via verbal or textual evidence. That being said, there is a mountain of worldbuilding evidence, if you go digging and give some thought to it. 

So early on in ac2, when you’re introduced to Ezio’s family, Maria Auditore, you hear this gem of a conversation as they walk through the city: 

Maria: Self expression is vital to understanding and enjoying life. You should find an outlet. Ezio: I have plenty of outlets.  Maria (dryly): I meant besides vaginas.  Ezio: Mother! 

During the outing, she leads him to meet Leonardo da Vinci, a family friend and local artist. This is the first time Ezio’s met Leonardo, and when Leo asks what Ezio intends to do with his life, Ezio says something about being “A banker, I suppose”, like he doesn’t really know what to do with his life. 

It isn’t until after the trial and murder of his father and brothers that Ezio truly becomes friends with Leonardo, and receives upgrades. It’s implied to take a few days, and Ezio doesn’t exactly have anywhere to go, so it’s likely that he ended up staying over at Leonardo’s while all of this went down, or over at Paola’s. It’s likely that Ezio took an interest in painting because of Leonardo, though this is never outright said. 

Now, Ezio being a painter isn’t touched upon at all until you get access to the Auditore Villa in Monteriggioni, and even then it’s not exactly called attention to. At most, you get the ability to wander around, and see Ezio’s room. In one of the corners is a painting of Ezio’s first victims, Uberto Alberti, the man directly responsible for the Auditore’s murder. 

Notice how it says “my”. 

This is something that’s actually happened in Ezio’s life. The Animus can only take so many shortcuts with his life, but the important things tend to stick there, in some way, shape, or form. Rebuilding Monteriggioni was important to Ezio, so it was incorporated as an economic mechanic. Painting was important, so we have portraits of the people Ezio’s killed. 

As ac2 progresses, Ezio’s room slowly fills up with more and more with portraits of the people he’s slain, all listed with a date of death, their name, and who they are. A few of them have personal descriptions, always written in first person, versus how the Animus uses second person to denote things. 

The language choices aren’t precisely significant in an earth shattering way, but it’s important enough to note it. It’s part of why I feel like these portraits are actually made by Ezio himself, instead of simply being commissioned-- the simple fact of the use of “my, I” etc. 

If you go downstairs in the villa, you can see an artist easel, as well as painting supplies. I, initially, thought maybe it was supplies for Leonardo, but at that point in 1476-8, Leonardo wasn’t living with the Auditores in their Villa. But they’re clearly there for a reason, meaning that someone in the Villa used them. This is the kind of environmental storytelling that I really enjoy, where there’s depth that you can dig for, but it’s not exactly the forefront of things. 

Additionally, Ezio’s home is filled with an art gallery, with whole rooms and halls dedicated to the stuff. This is true for Brotherhood even, after the loss of Monteriggioni, but the art gallery in the Tiber Island Hideout is much smaller. 

What’s interesting in ac2 is that most of the paintings that Ezio owns relate back to the stories of the gods, or of Adam and Eve, which is ironic considering the nature of the Assassin’s Creed backstory. Or it could be simply really subtle forshadowing, though of what I’m not sure. 

All the paintings that Ezio owns in Brotherhood, that aren’t his, are works from Raffaello Sanzio da Urbino, better known as Raphael. I checked -- all of them are by Raphael, whereas the ones in ac2 were from an assortment of artists, Leonardo among them. It just strikes me as a little odd that every single painting in his Brotherhood era gallery is by Raphael, but who am I to judge. Ezio’s just missing a statue from Michelangelo, and he’d have scored a Renaissance Trifecta. 

Ezio’s habit of painting his victims continues on into Brotherhood, where his targets are the focus of much larger paintings. His works in ac2 are roughly 2 feet at most, while the works in Brotherhood take up at least a whole wall’s worth.  

Another thing to notice is that the portraits in Brotherhood instead have more of an artistic look about them. Compare how all the portraits in ac2 look like simply in game renders with filters, versus how this painting of Lucrezia looks. 

Stylistically, the portraits in Brotherhood clash horribly with Raphael’s paintings, but I suspect that’s due to the artists taking more freedom with how they want to portray Ezio’s art. It’s much more modern than the time period would suggest his painting would be, but we ignore that because they’re cool looking. 

Ezio had nine paintings in base ac2, with the dlc adding on an extra two paintings, and sixteen subjects between all of them. Brotherhood has six paintings, and six subjects. Of the two groups, only one person is painted twice: Rodrigo Borgia. 

They both fit into the same sets as they’re painted in, with the first matching the other severe paintings, but I kinda feel like that’s more an art direction choice than a choice of Ezio as a painter/character. Obviously more thought was put into the Brotherhood paintings, so they have more life to them, and more detail, but even then, Rodrigo’s portrait doesn’t exactly stand out among the set. It’s still interesting to see the differences between the two, and kinda wonder at what they say. 

I’ll admit that the timing for Rodrigo’s first portrait is kind of ... odd? The attack on Monteriggioni happens almost directly after Ezio’s confrontation with Rodrigo, so there isn’t that much time for him to paint the man. I do feel that’s more of an issue with the games being made several years apart-- the player should get Rodrigo’s portrait after Ezio beats him at the end of ac2, and Brotherhood wouldn’t come out for another year or two. 

I kinda posit that Ezio painted the first one over the course of years, slowly, probably in the timeskips between sequences 12/13/14, and it wasn’t until Ezio beat the man at the end of ac2 that he considered it “finished” and put it up.

Admittedly I’m thinking of doing a series of posts where it’s just the various portraits, just because I can, and I kinda want to show them off. Maybe. 

Anyways Ezio’s a painter and I’m not going back on this. Take it as you will. 

[mymarvelbunch]

Be Your Own Hero - Steve Rogers x Reader (epilogue)

Masterlist

Summary: You’ve lost all your family and most friends in The Decimation. Refusing to believe their deaths are permanent, you dedicate years to find a way to reverse it. Upon finding something that might help, you search for the Avengers’ help. It’s Steve Rogers x Reader, but in reality it’s mostly Badass!Reader. Also, Non-American!Reader.  

Warnings: none!

Note: Y/Co = your country. Y/Ci = your city; Y/N/L = your native language.

Previously: When you stopped talking to take a breath, he asked, “May I kiss you? You didn’t gave me the opportunity to kiss you back in Morag, and I really, really want to show you how mad you were to think I’d leave you for Peggy.” Unable to answer that with words, you nodded. His lips reached yours, and everything else faded away.

Epilogue

Two years later

Sam Wilson was a great Captain America. Not only he was good at his job, the fact that the mantle that once belonged to Steve was now in a black man’s shoulders gave everyone hope for a better future.

“You must be really proud of him”, you said over coffee.

He smiled and nodded. Despite having moved to Y/Ci, Steve and you weren’t living together. He rented his own apartment near yours. You still saw each other everyday, though. You kept teaching him to speak Y/N/L [A/N: ignore this if you speak English], and all about your country’s culture and habits.

You were welcomed back as a hero. Later, you found videos where Steve told the international press that, without you, they would have never been able to reverse the Decimation. There weren’t many details, since no one wanted to make public the fact that they discovered time travel, but enough to make it clear your role was essential in bringing everyone back.

You received many invitations to join psychiatric residency in many big cities. Invitations. No one had ever heard of such a thing before. In the end, you stayed in your home city; its residency program was one of the best in the country anyway, and you missed your family too much to leave them behind.

Steve, on his part, thrived as an artist. His history as former hero gave him celebrity-like status, which helped him greatly. Of course, Steve being Steve, he helped promoting other artists of all kinds, from drawing/painting to writing, acting, dancing... everyone loved him. Who wouldn’t?

Moments like these reminded you how lucky you were. Everyone loved Steve, but he chose you. Out of millions, he chose to love you and be with you. Sometimes it was still hard to believe that.

But he always did his best to remind that no, this wasn’t a dream, and yes, you were worth his love and affection, and you loved him for it. You talked about the subject a few times after the day you confessed to each other. He knew you had trouble adjusting to your hero status, and given you kind of retired with him, this situation was unlikely to change. You still saw yourself as an ordinary woman who did what she had to do, and there were days you forgot how much effort you made to get there - the years you gave up to achieve your goal, the lack of self-care - so Steve would often remind you of them.

Your family and friends also played a part in that. Whenever you felt down (usually because of something regarding your job) and thinking you weren’t capable, they’d remind you of what you’ve done two years ago. Being a doctor couldn’t possibly be harder than that, right?

Right. You just had to remind yourself of that sometimes. It was easy to fall into a routine and forget the path you took to get there.

Steve suddenly spoke up, interrupting your train of thought. “Hey, Tony invited us to Morgan’s birthday next Saturday. Are you busy in any way?”

You frowned, trying to remember any commitment. “No, I’m free”, you finally answered. “But he should have invited us sooner. I’m not sure we’ll be able to find plane tickets to New York in such short notice.”

He smiled. “Oh, that won’t be a problem”, he said. “He convinced Strange to teleport us if needed.”

Your eyebrows arched at that. “Well, if that’s the case, you can tell him we’ll need it.”

Steve’s smile widened in an odd way. “Great. I’ll tell him.” He stood up and went to get his phone at his room. You took the time to get yours and message your mother friends. What to get for a 5-year-old rich girl?

.

For some reason, you had expected the passage through Strange’s sling ring to bring you some nausea or dizziness, but you felt nothing as you crossed the minimally small path between Steve’s apartment and Stark’s home.

It was themed birthday party, but you couldn’t recognize which cartoon it was. Pepper told you, but since you had never heard of it before (it was possible it didn’t even air in Y/Co), you forgot it pretty fast.

Everyone was there, even the Guardians of the Galaxy. Apparently, Tony and Nebula had bonded in the three years of the Decimation, to the point Morgan called the blue alien ‘Aunt Neb’. Thor, Loki, Valkyrie and Sif were also there, and Thor/Sif and Loki/Valkyrie seemed to be the couples. “Wasn’t Valkyrie lesbian?”, you whispered to Steve.

“I don’t think Asgardians view sexuality the way we do”, he whispered back. Fair enough, you thought, and proceeded to greet Clint, who brought his entire family to the party. There were many kids, presumably from Morgan’s school. Parker seemed to like to play with them, while the girl who looked like his girlfriend stayed far from the children.

Carol had showed up with a woman and a teenage girl. She introduced the woman, Maria Rambeau, as her girlfriend, and the girl as her goddaughter. Apparently she had been staying more on Earth than outside it, even though she still had missions on space every and then.

Bucky, Natasha and Sam seemed to be a trio, now that Clint and Steve were retired. Tony settled down as well, leaving the ‘superheroing’ to his friend Rhodes and to Parker. He still spent quite some time on his workshop, though, and his works included a new Vision. Wanda was happier with that than she probably should, but who were you to judge?

King T’Challa (and his wife, Queen Nakia), Princess Shuri and General Okoye (along with her husband you had never heard of until today) had come as well. Wakanda had gotten a lot of spotlight over the years, since they revealed to be the most technologically advanced nation in the world. T’Challa’s decision to share of their knowledge to the world was source of many polemics, because everyone had an opinion on how much he should share. He seemed to be handling everything gracefully, though.

Overall, the party was great. You caught up a lot with the friend you hadn’t seen in a year, and had fun. There were many times you forgot that you were among heroes, and that you were considered one.

Near sunset, most of Morgan’s classmates had gone home, and most guests were Avengers. You were talking with Loki about Asgardian medicine (of which he had a great knowledge than you expected a royal to have) when Steve called you. “I wanted to show you something”, he said.

You excused yourself and followed Steve to the riverside (the Starks lived near a river, how cool was that?). “It’s beautiful at sunset”, you said truthfully. “Is that what you wanted to show me?”

“Not really”, he replied, “though it’s a nice bonus. Actually, it’s a gift. Mind if you close your eyes?”

You shook your heard and did as told. When he told you to open them, you were greeted by the sight of Steve on one knee, holding a small velvet box.

Oh. My. God.

“Y/N, you should know by now how much I love you”, he began. You found yourself suddenly unable to breathe. “You are, without a doubt, the best that has happened to me after I came back from the ice. You came into my life in one of the craziest ways possible, and wormed into my hear without even noticing. You are the most amazing woman I’ve ever met, and you deserve all happiness and love in this world. And all I want to do is to give you exactly that. I want you to be the first thing I see in the morning and your voice to be last sound I hear before falling asleep. I want to show you every day how special you are. Please, allow me to love you for the rest of our lives, the way you’ve always dreamed of. Y/N Y/L/N, will you marry me?”

Your legs were shaking. Actually, your entire body was shaking, and you found you couldn’t speak. Was this truly happening?

Slowly so you wouldn’t fall flat on the grass, you crouched down and grabbed his face. You felt tears in your eyes as you finally managed to whisper, “Yes.”

His smile was so bright it nearly blinded you. He carefully opened the box and slipped the silvery ring on your finger. You barely had time to admire it before he grabbed you by the wait, stood up and lifted you, kissing you right after. You smiled into the kiss, remembering an early interview when you went back to Y/Co.

“If you could go back in time, would you have changed anything about the past three years?”

You had wanted to giggle at that - you were able to go back in time if you wanted to. But you restrained yourself.

“I don’t see anything worth changing, ma’am”, you replied instead. “Our mission was successful in every possible way.”

You had brought your family and friends back. You were about to make your dream of becoming a psychiatric come true, you had great heroes as true friends. And now you were about to marry the love of your life, Steve Rogers.

Yes, your mission was successful in every possible way, indeed.

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

Aaaand it’s a wrap! Thank you for everyone who liked, reblogged and followed this story. This AU was a concept I had thought of for some time, and it seemed perfect for an imagine - a genre I’ve wanted to try for a long time. Feedback is always welcome.

If any of you wants to see more of this AU, you can ask for drabble suggestions! I’m always open to new ideas.

Taglist: @autobotgirl15-blog​ @starstrucknature @cheeseburgersstuff​ @aamzter2013

[douxreviews]

Roswell, New Mexico - ‘Pilot' Review

Before we get started, let’s address the elephant in the room.  This is not a reboot of the 1999 WB show Roswell.

It is a show based on the same Roswell High books as the ‘99 show.  So yes, there are similarities.  And if you liked the show, you’ll probably enjoy this one too.  But if you thought a high school drama built around star-crossed lovers trying to hide the existence of aliens from the government and their parents was on the cheesy side, you may still want to give this a shot because while the themes of otherness and acceptance are still there, the characters and plots have all grown up.   And if you never saw the original but science fiction that’s heavy on alien metaphors with a side order of science is your jam,  you’re in for a treat.

I promise I will not spend every episode comparing the two versions.  Art is a product of its place and time.  The expectations viewers have for the shows they watch have changed. Therefore, each iteration must be judged on its own merits. What are they trying to say and how well do they achieve their narrative goals?  For all their similarities, these two shows are saying something very different.

In many respects, the original show’s focus on Liz and Max’s love story sucked up much of the narrative oxygen in the room.  The larger themes of alienation and acceptance,  when they occurred, were almost solely through the metaphor of the aliens on earth.  Here we address similar themes from multiple angles.  By embracing diversity, in terms of ethnicity, gender, sexual identity, immigration status, and, yes, human vs. alien, they hammer home the idea that being “other” doesn’t necessarily make us different.

The feelings of otherness are not limited to our alien friends.  Liz doesn’t fit in not only because of her father’s real, and her suspected, undocumented status but also due to the town’s residual hatred regarding her sister Rosa’s actions.  Alex is a military man from a military family in love with a man who despises authority and refuses to conform.  On paper, Kyle looks perfect.  He’s a good-looking doctor from a respected family but he’s so lonely he’s willing to have a romp with an ex in his car while knowing she’s using him.  Each of them is desperate to find a connection, and that desperation has the potential to lead down some dark paths.

Don’t get me wrong, at its heart this is still the love story of Liz and Max; two outsiders with an undeniable attraction for each other but separated by facts that would give Romeo and Juliet pause.  At least those two were both human.  Yet if not for Max’s love for Liz, we’d have no inciting incident.  Liz would have died in a random shooting and he, Isobel, and Michael would have quietly continued their existence in Roswell with no one the wiser.  Instead, Liz returns after a 10-year absence and Max refuses to lose her again.

His actions are not without repercussions.  Liz is no longer a half-smitten high school student.  She believed she was shot, her uniform had a bullet hole, there is a handprint on her chest, and no visible injury.  No self-respecting scientist would let that mystery go uninvestigated which only leads her to more questions.

Thanks to her aborted fling with Kyle, he knows something is up too.  Unfortunately, for all involved, Kyle goes to a far more dangerous source for answers.  Now the secret Max, Isobel, and Michael have been harboring for over 20 years, that they are the aliens from the 1947 crash, is in danger of coming out.

Add to this the mystery of Liz’s sister’s death.  As far as the residents of Roswell are concerned, Rosa, as her father put it, “took drugs, and she drove, and when she died, she took two innocent girls with her.”  We know that’s not true or at least not the whole truth.  Max, Isobel, and presumably Michael have something to do with Rosa’s death and whatever that truth is would spell an end to Liz and Max’s budding romance.  So, of course, she’s going to find out, right?

Regardless of whether the trio is responsible for Rosa’s death (and does anyone really believe Max and Company deliberately killed her?) their fears of exposure are both real and well-founded.  Sergeant Manes and Kyle’s dad were involved with Project Shepherd.  According to Manes, this project was created to protect humans from any threat that aliens might pose.  However, Manes has already made that determination.  And he isn’t subtle about his position on the monsters that landed in 1947 or the killers he believes they are.

What Have We Learned:  

For starters, we know that Max can heal, Michael can move objects with his mind and Isobel can affect people’s thoughts.  We also learned that Isobel used that ability ten years ago to send Liz away when she started reciprocating Max’s feelings for her.  And apparently, Max isn’t the only one who’s been carrying a torch since high school.  In Michael’s case, there was a lot more to the relationship than simply mooning over Alex from afar.

I happened to love the original show and I’ve always been skeptical of reboots.   So, I approached this with a healthy dose of curiosity and very low expectations.   However, the complexity of the characters, the adult themes, and the not-so-subtle commentary on the differing views on aliens of all stripes left me impressed.  Consider me all in.

4 out of 5 glowing handprints

Parting Thoughts:  

I loved the nods to the original, such as Crashdown’s waitress uniforms.

Project Shepherd is a military exercise, right?  Was Kyle’s dad in the military too?

Liz’s confession to Max regarding her mother and sister’s mental issues sounded like a legitimate plea for information and not just a line to get Max’s DNA.  Please tell me that’s going to get explained at some point.

While we’re on the theme of things they better address, Michael has a chemical similar to meth coming from his trailer.  Huh?

And what’s Maria’s story?  She got the short end of the stick as far as storylines go.  I want to know what’s with the fortune-telling?

Quotes:

Liz: “Every small town has a story, but my hometown has a legend.”

Arturo: “I like it here.  I like making milkshakes for tourists dressed like little green men.”

Max: “I’m not one of the bad guys, Liz.”

Max: “So, where you been?” Liz: “Denver, working on an experimental regenerative medicine study.  We were onto something special, but of course we lost funding because someone needs money for a wall.”

Kyle: “So, we could do the awkward exes small talk thing, but I’m guessing that’s not why you’re here.”

Valentin: “For God’s sake, Evans. Shave.” Max: “I heard you ranting about patriarchal dress codes and grooming standards last week. I’m just aligning myself with your feminist agenda, Sheriff.”

Hank: “Isn’t that the Ortecho girl?  I thought she went back to her own country.” Maria: “Uh-uh, Hank.  You’re not distracting me from my money with your thinly veiled racism.”

Isobel: “The good old days.  Just three happy kids who aren’t in danger of being dragged off to the Pentagon by men in hazmat suits because someone couldn’t keep his superhuman healing hands to himself.”

Isobel: “Fall in love with someone else, Max.  Anyone else.” Max: “It’s been ten years, Iz.  If I could have, I would have.”

Kyle: “This is probably a bad idea.” Liz: “I thought we were ignoring that in favor of the whole sex thing.”

Liz: “This is probably a bad idea.” Kyle: “If only someone said that earlier.”

Kyle: “If you see the handprint go to Manes.”

Liz: "Michael outscored me on every AP exam.  I thought he would get some scholarship, change the world.” Max: “I don’t think Michael likes the world enough to bother changing it.”

Max; “She can never know what happened to Rosa.”

--

Shari loves sci-fi, fantasy, supernatural, and anything with a cape.

[ladysalvaterre-blog]

a walk on the wildeside

chapter 6

A sharp double knock on my door awakened me and I immediately knew who was at my door. At the same moment, I wondered why exactly my grandmother Eleanora Kennedy Garrison had decided to grace me with her presence. I quickly shot up, ran my fingers through my hair in an attempt to groom it, and then moved to the door to face my formidable grandmother.

“Grandmother.” I say with a smile as I open the door.

“Addison Kennedy, acting sloth-like is highly uncouth for a woman of your age. You should be up with the sun to make the most of your day.” My grandmother says, floating into my room to perch herself on my reading chair.

“Yes Grandmother.” I mutter under my breath.

I close the door to see her arch a perfectly groomed eyebrow in my direction.

“Nothing Grandmother.” I say.

“Well then, what is this I’ve heard from your sister about a falling out with your father’s friend’s son?” That’s my grandmother, short and sweet and to the point.

“He crossed a line that he shouldn’t have, and that’s that.” I said quickly, really hoping to avoid a Grandmother Inquisition.

“Then what’s this I hear about you fighting with his mother. I mean, Georgians can be highly uncouth at times, take your father for instance, but a lady never snaps at an elder.”

I hold back on reciting the fact that her grandmother by marriage, my first namesake, was from North Carolina. Then I do exactly the opposite of what I should have done. I snap at my grandmother.

“Well Grandmother, I think and exception can be made in this case where the elder was trying to replace my irreplaceable mother!”

“Young lady, what has gotten into you? I will admit, I do not think highly of your father, but he would never replace Helen. Frankly, I would have him thrown out on his rear if he ever attempted such a thing. Nevertheless, it seems in the years you’ve been away from home, your manners have deteriorated. Where’s this husband of yours? Why isn’t he here keeping your Georgian genes in line?” Grandmother asked.

“He isn’t here, Grandmother, because we are getting a divorce. He seems to think that I serve a better purpose sitting pretty in New York City rather than seeing my family here.”

“Ah, I see. The Beausejours are a respectable family but they have always been greedy for fame. No wonder that boy married you, your mother does come from one of the most respectable families on the East Coast. Nonetheless, this does not excuse your recent behavior. I may be old, but my brain still functions perfectly. Now, Addison Kennedy, what has happened between you and the mother-replacer’s son?”

I sigh in defeat, there is no getting out of this one.

“He confronted me over an issue from six years ago that was never resolved.” I said quietly.

My grandmother let out a barely audible gasp. “Dearest Addison, please tell me that this issue did not happen after your mother died.”

“I’m afraid I cannot Grandmother. In fact, it was a mere two weeks after she died, at graduation.” I told her, upping my usual vocabulary to her level.

“What happened my dear?” Grandmother asked, composing herself.

I steeled myself for the flood of painful memories about to inundate my brain.

--

I walked up to the podium in my blue graduation cap and gown to give my valedictorian speech. I looked out in the crowd to the three people who I wanted to see. I saw a thumbs up from Ellie, still wearing all black. Personally I would rather be in all black too, but I was lucky that my school’s graduation gowns were a dark blue. I looked to Lucas, and saw a big smile on his face. Then I looked to Dad, for whom it was surprising to be out of the house after two weeks. He still had on a dark suit but he smiled a weak smile to ease my conscience. Then the woman sitting next to him caught my eye, she was giving him an evil side eye. Then I saw a man sitting behind my dad, boring holes into the back of his head with his eyes.  I lifted my eyes to scan the crowd and saw so many people judging Dad. Tears pricked the back of my eyes, and I began my speech, since edited since the death of my mother.

--

After we all graduated, finally free of high school and childhood, I went to my dad and hugged him tight, afraid after these two weeks he’d float away. Ellie came up behind me and sandwiched me between herself and Dad. Very glad I had worn waterproof mascara that morning, I started crying.

“Your mom would have been so proud Adds. She was even planning to give you this.” My dad told me, pulling a box out of his jacket pocket. I recognized that box from when my mother would get ready for big parties when I was little, always letting me hold the box if I pinky promised to be super careful.

“You probably already know this, but these are your great-great-grandmother Mary Addison’s pearls, which she brought with her from South Carolina when she married your great-great-grandfather. Your mom said from the moment you were born that she wanted you to have this necklace. She always thought you’d look so beautiful in it.”

Even though it was small, I saw a small tear trickle down my father’s face, probably from remembering her telling him about that.

He held out the blue velvet box to me. I extended my hands to carefully take the box from him, then I gingerly opened it. There, nestled in a little bed of silk, was my namesake’s prized possession. A thin strand of Chinese river pearls, owned by her adventurous older sister, who traveled to Asia in the late eighteenth century. My mother had always told me the story of my namesake and her precious pearls. The reason they were so special was not because how rare and special they were, but because that was the one thing her parents let her have to remind her of her sister after Sarah Elizabeth (the older sister) died in childbirth. Mary Addison was closer with Sarah Elizabeth than she was with any other of her ten siblings. If Mary Addison had to have one possession of her older sister’s, it was those pearls. They had been passed down to the next female in the line of Garrisons. When Mary Addison’s son, David, married Helena Isaacson, they were her something old for her wedding. When Helena’s son married my grandmother Eleanora Gilles, Helena gave her the pearls as her something old. When my mother married my father, my grandmother gave her the pearls as her something old.

But the next thing my father told me shook me so deeply, I couldn’t remember any of the history behind the pearls.

“She wanted to give you these early because, being a mother, she already knew it was only a matter of time before you got married. She even said she knew exactly who you’d marry.”

My throat went dry and my stomach flipped. She thought I was going to marry Lucas?

“Will you put them on?” My dad asked quietly. “You already look so much like her, I just want to see you in something so important to her.”

I nodded, swept my hair up in one hand, then turned around. My father tenderly clasped the three hundred year old Garrison (technically Shelton) pearls around my neck, and I felt like I was choking on all the expectations of my heritage.

I gave my father a quick hug and left to find Lucas.

I walked around the gym, then saw Lucas getting a hug from his mom. He turned to see me, then smiled broadly. At that sight, my stomach sunk lower, and I couldn’t swallow with the pearls hanging around my neck like chains. I slowly walk towards him, all the thoughts of my family swirling in my overwhelmed brain.

He goes to give me a hug but I hold out my hand, stopping him.

“What’s wrong Adds?” He asked, clearly surprised I refused one of his hugs, which I never do.

“Goodbye, Lucas.” I say shakily before turning on my heel and walking away.

I can already feel my heart and brain start to clash, I want to ease my father’s pain, but then again I want Lucas, and I’ve always wanted Lucas. Then I think about how sad my father looked behind his pitiful smile during my speech. My thoughts moved to a guy my grandmother had mentioned a couple of time, Andrew Beausejour. His dad Ferdinand is a big wig lawyer who spends most of his time between NYC and Saratoga Springs. My grandfather almost married Ferdinand’s sister Alba. Andrew came from a good family, it’d be a socially advantageous match. I let my eyes skim around the room to find Andrew, looking sharp in his custom Tom Ford suit, hugging his mother Maria. They would help Dad’s status, me making the match my mother didn’t. I might just have to look into that.

--

The tears I had fought to hold back flooded down my face, trailing the first few that slipped out.

“Addison dear, please don’t cry.” My grandmother said, surprisingly quick to comfort me despite her age. She wrapped her arms around me in the same hug my mother used to give me.  “Everything will be alright darling. He’ll realize how sorry you are and come back, good as new.”

“But Grandmother, he won’t,” I sobbed. “I tried to avoid the question and that made him angry so he snapped, then I snapped, and then when I said maybe I wanted a change, he told me maybe I should go to Georgia and die like mom.”

I felt my grandmother’s spine steel, ever the protective mother of her only daughter.

“That boy has crossed the line.” Grandmother said, her voice so cold it could rival the Arctic Circle.

“Grandmother I miss him! I miss his hugs, I miss his smile, and I miss him being there for me whenever I needed him! Why was I so stupid?” I sob.

“Addison Kennedy Porter, look at me.” She says sternly. I tilt my head from my position to look at her. “You are not stupid. You were young and dealing with the loss of your mother. Your father was suffering greatly and you wanted to ease his pain at whatever the cost. You made a mistake. You have admitted that. Today some words that cannot be taken back have been said, but that is what happens when people who love each other clash. There are bound to be wounds inflicted. Quite frankly, I saw worse fights between your father and mother. When those two fought, it was like World War III, but that was because they were so close. Addison, please do not let childhood mistakes and words said in anger separate you two. I will admit, I am not a fan of this Lucas Wilde because of what he has said, but from what your sister tells me, he loves you very much and never wishes to hurt you intentionally in his right mind. Your return to Saratoga Springs has brought back all of those feelings of pain from your high school graduation. He’ll come around and realize the error of his way, believe me Addison, he will.”

My sobs eventually subsided, but I was still in awe. My grandmother was not all the stuck up snob I had believed her to be.

“I love you Grandmother.” I whispered as I leaned into her again.

“I love you too Addison Kennedy.” She said to me, wrapping her arms around me. I felt proud to bear this woman’s middle name.

Then I made a decision that could mess me up big time. I decided to go find Lucas.

[stephicness]

Hey there :3 I totally love your hc/scenarios, they are awesome! Bc I'm Ravus trash (xD) I wanted to request smth - like how would he react, if he fell in love with his childhood friend (who also serves the Nifs army and secretly has a crush on him as well)? How would he confess/first kiss/first time/whatever xD :3 pretty please

Why, hiya there to you, dear anon! c: Many thanks foryour comments. I’m super glad that you enjoy my writings! It really warms myheart knowing that. qUq

But hm… For your question, I normally have a hardertime answering these ones because I’m not exactly the significant otherdescribed, so I can’t really gauge what they would say in the moment sinceeveryone’s different. But let me try to tell you a story of a childhood friendship and romance~ A long one, so look under the read more!

Ravus Nox Fleuret twenty years ago, the young prince ofTenebrae. A bright young child many years ago, a musical prodigy some say aswell, and a mama’s boy. He often had a hard time making friends when attendingthe private school his father enrolled him into, and he often kept to himself.He wasn’t particularly well-liked among his classmates, but he at least tendedto his studies while also balancing out his responsibilities as the prince andas the future heir of the throne of Tenebrae. He always did his best to servethe needs of his kingdom and to make his parents proud. Even at eight yearsold, Ravus was a studious kid. Never interacting with the world unless itinteracted with him. A lonely world of responsibilities that would have drivenany child insane.

And yet there was one person that managed to keep himsane. The only person who seemed to bother ever visiting him was a youngservant from the kitchens – no more than a year or two younger than Ravus wasbut already working so hard to serve the Fleurets. The child servant would alwaysdrop by whenever Ravus was in the study practicing the piano. A bright andtoothless smile they wore, a pleasant and happy aura around them that wouldilluminate even through the darkest of times. They always did their best tosneak in and slide a different pastry every day over to Ravus. Just enough forthe prince to catch the pastry out of the corner of his eyes before he ceasespracticing. And just like every morning, he’s greeted with a bright and cheery‘Mornin’ Prince Ravy!’

He couldn’t help but frown in return. It’s Ravus, not Ravy.

At first, Ravus was curious as to why the servant was sohappy to interact with the prince, considering that his routine was so strictthat he couldn’t afford to socialize with someone as lowly as a servant. Especiallyone as dirty as they were. Covered in flour and cake batter most the time,always with some sort of bandage around their fingers. Ravus honestly didn’twant anything to do with them. He just wanted to get back to playing the pianobefore his instructor would scold him for not practicing. But it seemed likethey wouldn’t be leaving any time soon. The merely strolled on over afterpushing the pastry toward Ravus before they sat on the piano stool next to himand poked at the keys.

“Lady Sylla wants you to eat. But they didn’t make itpink enough.” The servant smiled again, scooting the pink cupcake to Ravuseagerly. “I made it! Extra frosting. ‘Cause Lady Sylla said you like it!”

“It is Queen Sylva.”

“Lady Sylla. Right!”

The young prince frowned. What a scrappy kid. But itseemed like they just had a hard time pronouncing his mother’s name. Lady Sylva.But he wasn’t going to be able to correct them any time soon either. Ravusmerely let out a sigh, taking the cupcake before he licks off some of thefrosting from it. The prince stopped, looking down at the cupcake with big eyesbefore he looks to the servant. That dumb smile never left the child’s face asthey watched in return. The prince quickly turned away, stuffing the cupcakeinto his mouth and devouring it like a predator attacking its sugary pink prey.

“Ya like it?!” Ravus gave a quick nod, face stuffed withthe pastry and mouth covered with pink frosting. The servant grinned andbounced happily in their seat. “Imma make you one for breakfast every day then!Okay, Ravy?”

Ravus glanced away, swallowing the cupcake finally as hewiped away the cupcake with his fingers. “…Maria told me I am not allowed tohave sweets.”

The servant placed a finger over their lips as amischievous smile formed. “Just don’t tell ‘em then.”

The sneaky pink breakfast cupcakes became a routine astime passed. First, it was a rather strange nuisance of having to hide from thepiano instructor whenever the pastry chef-in-training would visit with cupcakesand other pastries. But the more the servant would visit, the more Ravus beganto value the morning pastries with them. They would end up sitting there andtalking about nothing or everything. Rarely was there ever an in-between. Thecompany was pleasant, and it was nice to have a chance to not be alone with hisown thoughts. Sure, sometimes the thoughts of annoyance would come to mind asthe servant would go on for hours about their dislike for pastries withoutcolorful sugar or chocolate on them. But if they were willing to sit there andlisten quietly as Ravus practiced the piano, he could at least give them thechance to talk about pastries.

And despite having many topics to talk about, not oncedid the pastry deliverer question or judge the prince for his status. Yes,they’d have to refer to Ravus as ‘Prince,’ but it seemed that ‘Ravy’ stuck moreas a nickname than the title of Prince. Ravy and the little servant would merelyspend their time together for the next eight years after their fateful cupcakeexchange.

Eight years, and Ravus had become a young man ready tostart learning more about the crown and the chance to aid his sister and motherin their duties as Oracle. Sixteen years old and ready to become king already.A noble boy and one that was respected and admired for his dedication to hisfamily. And as he grew older, his friendship with the servant grew as well.Their morning pastries were matched with afternoon snacks, evening walks,weekend hanging out, and so much more. The servants in the castle began tothink that the young man spent more time with the servant than he did playingthe piano anymore. Not that Sylva or the others really minded. It was ratherpleasant to see the prince of Tenebrae finding a friend he cared about. Someonethat he adored. Someone that he… Loved.

No… It couldn’t be that. Could it? The prince could only shakehis head of the thought and quickly go back to his studies.

Until one day, when Sylva and Ravus sat together as theyoung boy showed his mother the composition he was practicing, there was a softknock on the study’s door, followed by the faint sound of sniffling. Silva gotup, answering the door and looking down at the tiny servant. The smile theservant usually wore was broken and weary as poofy and teary eyes looked at upat the queen and held the pink cupcake up to her. “’G-Good morning, yourmajesty. I-I brought Ravy breakfast!”

The sound of the servant’s cracked voice caused theprince to stop playing the piano, quickly getting up before going over to hisfriend. He hesitated, trying to make sense of the saddened look on the servant’sface. But when he looked up to Sylva as if begging her to do something aboutthe tears, Sylva merely nudged her head at Ravus. She would be disappointed ifhe didn’t do something. So Ravuscarefully avoided crushing the cupcake in the servant’s hands before he wrappedhis arms around them and pulled them into a strong and comforting hug. Sylvasmiled at the two, kissing the top of Ravus’s head before she let the two be.

Ravus let out a sigh, rubbing the servant’s back beforehe guided them to go sit down. “What happened? Why are you crying?” He had totake the cupcake from his companion, or at least, what was left of it. With howtightly the servant crushed the pastry, there was little left of it. He merelytook out a small handkerchief and began to wipe away the remnants of thecupcake mess from their hands.

“My dad told me that I’m not allowed to see you again…” Ravuspaused at their words, looking up with a shocked expression. What…? “He said thathe was okay with it at first, but not anymore. He said that he wants to quitserving the Fleuret family and leave tomorrow.”

“But… But you can’t. The party for King Regis and PrinceNoctis is tomorrow.”

“Dad says I’m not allowed to go tomorrow. He even slammedhis hand on the table and yelled at me too…”

Ravus frowned, shaking his head as he wiped off the pinkthat now stained his friend’s skin. He seemed to press a bit too hard whiledoing so, but they didn’t say anything about it. “You can’t just leave and stopserving my family. And you can’t just spring this news onto me without anynotice. It is foolish, and you can’t simply just leave!”

“I don’t want to leave either.” They pressed the back oftheir wrist to their eyes, the tears just continuing to fall. This was thefirst time in eight years that they’ve known each other that Ravus had seenthem cry. “I just wanna be here with you, and-and cook for you like usual. Andhang out with you. And just stay with you. And-And…!” They choked on theirwords by this point, their sobbing turning into a near wail of sadness as theypressed their palms to their eyes to cease the tears. “I don’t wanna lose you!”

Ravus’s gaze hung low, the prince becoming quiet as hiscompanion wept. He didn’t want them to leave either. Eight years of theirbonding, and Ravus couldn’t even see the color pink without thinking of theservant that he would spend his days with growing up. With them leaving, thatwould mean no more spending the mornings talking until his piano instructor yelledat them both, no more of them sneaking by Ravus’s room and lazing about untilRavus grew tired of his studies and lazed about with them, no more pinkcupcakes or smiles from the pastry chef. No more of them… Ravus felt his frowngrow deeper before he wrapped his arms around his crying friend and squeezingthem as tight as he could.

“I command you stay here. You must stay. You are notallowed to go.” Ravus frowned before he pulled back and looked down at thepastry servant. “What if you snuck away during the party tomorrow? We couldhide you away, or perhaps I will tell your father that you are ordered to stayhere. With me.”

They sniffled, whipping their eyes with the back of theirarm. “You can do that…?” Ravus’s face twisted. He probably couldn’t, but hecould still try. But before he could reply, two arms wrapped themselves aroundRavus. Surprised at the gesture at first, Ravus returned the embrace, restinghis head on their shoulder. “I hope you do! I don’t wanna leave. Who else willeat my cupcakes?”

The prince let out a chuckle, looking down at the servantwith a soft smile. “We will find a way for us to be together still, so do notlose hope. After all, I cannot imagine myself not having my morning cupcake.Pink frosting and all.”

“You promise? You promise that we’ll get to be together?”

Ravus nodded in response, leaning closer before placing akiss on top of the servant’s forehead. “I promise.”

The servant ended up laughing with excitement and joybefore they hugged Ravus once again, nuzzling their face into his chest. “Ilike you the most! You’re the best, Ravy.”

Ravus paused for a moment, his cheeks reddening slightlybefore he hugged them in return, placing another light kiss on top of theirhead. “I like you the most too…”

The high commander suddenly blinked hard as his attentionfinally came back to reality. He had lost track of time, it seemed. The momentpassing in the mere blink of an eye as he pondered on what seemed like aneternity ago. Ravus’s eyes faltered, turning down towards the ground as hestood in his place. He wished the moment would have been frozen in time, histhoughts to recollect the past, to cherish it. But it felt like time alwaysmoved forward. A pity that such innocence was left in the past.

And so, he stood there, the bouquet of pink roses tuckedinto his arm as he carried the small box in the other. He had the moment tospare that morning to visit them. To see them once again after so long. A longyear of hardships and trials that challenged Ravus and pushed him to nearlybreaking. And yet, here he was. He was there, surviving, alive and well. Helooked down, giving a small nod before he set the flowers on top of the marbleheadstone stepped back. He held the box in his hands, staring down at theheadstone. Silent. Quiet like his mornings have been for the past twelve years.But this time, it feels deafening. The high commander felt his breath shaken ashe exhaled and took a seat in front of the headstone. With shaken hands, he openedthe box, taking out one of two cupcakes and setting it down in on top of thememorial. The other he took for himself, but both were covered in bright pinkfrosting.

It wasn’t quite the same as before…

Ravus let out a small sigh, putting the cupcake pack intothe box as he hung his head once again. He shouldn’t have come here. He shouldn’t have tried to relive this moment again. It would never be the same. He shouldn’t have come here. He shouldn’t have made their friendship a routine. He shouldn’t have told the servant to come with him to the party. If he hadn’t done that, then maybe Ravus would have kept his promise. He could have done something more. He could have kept them by his side, to have them nearby, to tell them that after all this time… The commander shook his head, closing his eyes as he gripped the box tighter.

“I’m sorry… But I promise: we’ll get to be together soon.”

[nicholemhearn]

Asylum Fraud Isn’t What You Think It Is

By nature, I am a skeptic. When I read the statistics on the numbers of individuals being denied asylum every year, my first thought was how frustrating and difficult it must be for asylum officers to encounter so many people whose stories were untrue, and to weed out those who were honest.

At the same time, as a new parent myself, I could understand why a desperate mother might tell a story borrowed from a friend or relative who secured asylum in America. Even though this is—in part— what I expected when I left to help mothers and children seeking asylum, it could not have been further from the truth. Without exception, every woman I met was genuinely terrified to return home. Unfortunately, that fear—albeit credible—is not reason enough for the U.S. to protect them because the law does not provide protection for everyone seeking safety.

To illustrate the intricacies of this nuanced difference, I’ll use a story I heard during the week I spent working with asylum applicants at the South Texas Family Residential Center in Dilley, Texas. Being one of a handful of family-friendly detention facilities, it was a place where a child could remain with their mom; a blessing for many families crossing the border and facing months of potential separation.

One scorching morning in Texas, I met Maria (named changed) and her six-year-old daughter who both received a negative determination following their initial interview with the asylum officer, and were facing removal proceedings.

In her initial credible fear interview, Maria told the asylum officer about her neighbor and close friend, the wife of a high-ranking official in the MS-13 gang. The wife, Sarah (name changed), became increasingly frustrated with the extreme physical and sexual violence inflicted on her by her husband, and she began to drink heavily and provoke him and the gang. She even had an affair.

MS-13 began stalking her; they would not let Sarah leave her home except to visit Maria. The controlled what she ate, what she wore, and who she spoke to. The watchful gang members regularly let themselves into Maria’s home to make sure Sarah was obeying their rules.

Then Sarah disappeared. In Maria’s neighborhood, that means the gang murdered her. Days later, when Maria was on her way to work in the dark early morning hours, an MS-13 member with an assault rifle stood in the middle of the road with his gun pointed at her car, forcing her to stop. He told her in no uncertain terms that she had fifteen days to leave any area controlled by the gang, or they would kill her, her mother, and her two children. Maria swore that Sarah never talked to her about the gang, but the members who stalked their homes believed the were conspirators. She insisted she knew nothing, but the man did not listen.

Terrified, Maria sped home. She could not sleep or eat for days. She finally decided she could afford to flee to the United States with just one child—her daughter.  She prayed that she could hide her young son with his father in another city. She was forced to leave her mother, who she had not spoken with in over a month; she hoped she was not dead.

Maria’s tale is hair-raising. Having to choose a child and leave your mother in imminent danger is unthinkable for most Americans. Few rational people would question Maria for fleeing her home in the night with nothing but the clothes on her back and a spare set for her daughter. She was—is—terrified to go home.

Even though Maria’s fear was palpable, and the threats against her life and that of her family credible,  Maria’s life was not threatened because of one of five protected grounds, and she did not qualify for asylum based on that story.

Asylum is a legal status that the U.S. (and many other countries) grant to a person based on evidence of past harm or credible evidence of future harm (like a death threat) because of  that person’s race, religion, nationality, membership in a particular social group, or political opinion. Generally, someone claiming asylum must also credibly demonstrate that the police cannot help them—or are the aggressors—and that relocation within their home country is not a viable option.

As an attorney well-versed in immigration law, I understand the mechanics of asylum, but the women I met did not. Many told me stories about years of traumatic abuse, violence, threats of death, inaction by their government and their police, and the moment that finally forced them to flee hundreds of dangerous miles to the U.S. Unfortunately, these harrowing tales do not qualify them for protection.

In fact, given our tight asylum definition, nearly half of all applicants do not meet the legal requirements for asylum; on average, we granted just 26,000 asylum requests each year.

The Trump administration wants the public to believe that because claims for asylum are up and the rate of denial of asylum claims are also up, and that there is rampant fraud in the asylum process. Namely, the administration wants Americans to believe that people claiming asylum are making up or exaggerating their stories. These fraudulent seekers, claims the administration, “game the system” because asylum status allows them immediate legal entry, access to certain benefits and assistance programs, and a path to becoming U.S. citizens.

He is not entirely wrong. There’s been nearly an 1,700% increase in asylum claims over the past decade. But the increase in the number of asylum applicants is due to a number of  a number of reasons; the most obvious reason is that there is unprecedented violence and gang activity in Northern Triangle countries just south of the border. Asylum requests by citizens of El Salvador, Guatemala and Honduras made up 72.9 percent of total claims in fiscal year 2016. In my experience, all but one woman I worked with in the Dilley facility was from a Northern Triangle country.

Despite the influx of asylum seekers, the rate of denial of asylum claims has remained relatively steady, hovering around 50 percent over the past decade. According to the Transactional Records Access Clearinghouse (TRAC), an immigration data analysis arm of Syracuse University, the Department of Justice (DOJ) Executive Office for Immigration Review (EOIR) reported the following rates of denial per a Freedom of Information Act (FOIA) request. As of the end of September 2016, overall asylum denial rates for FY 2016 rose to about 57 percent.

Looking at the rate of denials alone is superficial because it ignores a lot of procedural inefficiencies. The data here refers to the denials issued by an immigration court, not the to the initial screenings conducted by an asylum officer at detention facilities. In Dilley, positive credible fear determinations neared 90 percent in May.  

One of those procedural inefficiencies is time. Immigration court hearings often occur years after a person or family is granted initial status at the border. In that time, witnesses and paperwork are often lost or destroyed, making it more difficult for a judge to assess the validity of an asylum seeker’s complaint.

Contrary to popular belief, it is extraordinarily difficult for someone to qualify for asylum in the United States. But a denial does not mean their claim was fraudulent. For Maria, the story she recounted to the asylum officer was her most terrifying encounter, but not the one that could potentially qualify her for asylum.

This is a big problem. Even if asylum officers—many of whom are empathetic individuals—spend extra time with an applicant trying to tease out more information, they are not successful. It takes time for anyone to open to a stranger, let alone to relive a traumatic experience. Using a translator—which officers are required to do—can also stunt the interview. Maria told me she did not want to tell her asylum officer more because the translator was a man, and she was scared and embarrassed. Another woman mentioned that while she spoke Spanish, it wasn’t her native language, and she did not know what questions were being asked. She did not know how to tell the asylum officer that she spoke an indigenous language, and was embarrassed because of the stigma of some indigenous people face at home.

The presence of a child in the interview also silences many mothers. During my interview with Maria, we hustled her daughter into a nearby playroom with tv and toys. Maria wanted to spare her daughter from knowing about threats made to the child’s life. Within minutes, her daughter—like so many other anxious children—panicked when she could not see her mom. Inevitably, a helpful guard paraded the child around the room, door to door, holding her up to the small glass windows until she found Maria. Although comforting in the moment, the presence of a child in the interview is a detriment to open and honest preparation and disclosure.

More than anything else though, having a lawyer makes a difference.

Success Often Turns on Having a Lawyer

Asylum applicants who are represented in any immigration proceeding have significantly higher chances of getting a positive determination. According to TRAC, the evidence shows that have an attorney is almost a necessity to winning asylum in court.

And let me cut you off at the pass—it is not because attorneys are telling clients what to say—it is because attorneys are telling clients what not to say.

Maria had unintentionally used her time with the asylum officer—over an hour—telling a story that does not matter. By parsing through the rest of Maria’s life—which was punctuated by violence due to her sexual orientation—it was much easier to highlight other details that provided for a more succinct, likely successful case.

For the unrepresented, there has been a steady upward march in denial rates, from 73 percent in FY 2001, to 90 percent in FY 2011. In 2016, more than five out of every ten represented asylum seekers were successful, as compared to only one out of ten who were unrepresented.

Highlighting the absurdity of the interview process of pro se clients are the questions that are occasionally posed to the children of asylum seekers in order to establish credibility for particularly difficult cases.  In Maria’s case, the asylum officer asked her six-year-old who her mom was afraid of at home. Pausing to consider the question, the child responded, “the police.” The asylum officer presumably found the child’s response undercut her mother’s stories about threats from the gang.

When I asked the girl and her mother what the child meant when she said that her mom was afraid of the police, her mom told me that many children confuse the police with gang members because they both carry large guns and wear uniforms.

When I asked her daughter if she understood the interview questions, she said in no uncertain terms  that she had no idea what the asylum officer was asking, and just answered “yes” to her questions because the officer smiled when the child said yes.

And, of course, this is magnified when a child faces an immigration judge or asylum officer alone. In the now infamous clip of Last Week Tonight with John Oliver, John Oliver highlighted cases of pro se clients as young at two years of age, including one where a child asked to be returned to the country of “Pizza.”

Fixing the mess…

…is easier said than done, but a fix is urgent.  All of the changes imposed by the administration in recent months—separating children from their families, instituting the zero tolerance policy, and changing who qualifies as members of a particular social group—must be countered (at the very least) by increasing the procedural safeguards available to individuals seeking a legal immigration pathway. Chief among them is providing counsel. 

For Maria and her daughter, earlier counsel might have saved her and her daughter from removal to a home where they may be killed by one of the same enemies we condemn in the U.S.

The post Asylum Fraud Isn’t What You Think It Is appeared first on Niskanen Center.

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