#fifteen splinter groups who all hate each other

[baejax-the-great]

The storytelling just doesn't care. It doesn't care! It doesn't care why the venatori would have fallen in line under Elvhen gods--something that must have involved a power struggle of some sort and a complete realignment of their beliefs. Or why the Antaam would be okay with this particular brand of magic, or how they would feel about allying with the venatori. For that, they'd have to show the antaam being people at all--which they don't in an overtly racist way.

The enemies are faceless and they are bad simply because they are bad. It's easy to do that with demons or the new "mechs" that now exist for no reason. But then every "bad" person just falls in line and says, sure, yeah, I'll align myself with the blight, a monstrosity that everyone in Thedas has been brought up to fear and revile.

Even Isseya, whose (terrible) storyline is that she became corrupted by her obsessive need to "protect" the griffons has a random line about how Ghilanain is good actually. This one could have made sense! She was an elf. She cares about creatures. She could have been manipulated into believing that Ghilannain would bring back the griffons. But they didn't develop it that far. They didn't do anything. Her story was just "evil woman bad" stab stab. Isseya and those wardens being alive brought up a million questions about the calling and the blight, and not a single person thought to ask them. Just, whelp, glad that's over with.

A compelling villain makes a compelling story. It's not the only way to make a compelling story, but it is one of the dozens of strategies they didn't use in this game because it would have required in engaging with their own setting in a way they absolutely refused to do.

[toledoendo]

Resetting the Bone- Part 3

A/n: trigger warnings: self-harm, shame

Peter walked up the stairs in the lake house, looking at the framed pictures along the landing. It was his tradition to look at these photos every time he climbed the stairs. He’d done this ever since his first time in the lake house. It began as curiosity, a means to learn about the time he had missed after Titan. Then, it became a comfort and way to ground himself. It was especially important for him in the summer before college to stand and soak in each image. Now, it was habit.

Tony never got tired of hanging more frames or updating the photos inside. Peter thought about how Tony loved his family and his heart surged. He jealously guarded the members of that family — Pepper, Morgan, Rhodey, Happy… and Peter. Tony was at peace and able to be with those he loved without hardship. Finally.

Peter wanted to protect his happiness. Not ruin it. Not abuse Tony’s generosity, as so many had.

Peter found his bedroom door open. His surging heart dropped sharply. “Morgan?” He asked on reflex, stepping in quickly. Tony was standing just inside, his hands in his pockets.

Tony gave a relaxed smile and shrugged disarmingly. “Just me, bud. I wanted to check in on how you’re doing this morning.” He motioned to the door, inviting Peter to close it so they could talk.

Peter tried to swallow as he closed the door. This was the part he dreaded most about his visits the last couple of months. The worry that May and Tony- and everyone else- were teeming with for him. He had caused such an upset since that night he’d called from the hospital.

To be fair, the ER doctors had released him; they’d determined he wasn’t in imminent danger because he didn’t want to die. No, not kill himself... He had told them the truth. He had done things the right way. The urges to harm were right there, pressing their weight against his forehead like a lover about to kiss him.

Going to the ER, Peter was hoping for immediate counseling or a recovery program, but that wasn’t what happened. It was like trying to warn everyone that there was a shark in the water and them choosing to wait until it bit. By the time May had made it from New York, Peter was exhausted in every sense. He didn’t want to talk anymore; the breaker in his brain had been thrown.

May had put her hands on his cheeks and forehead several times, searchingly, as if his face might tell her exactly where the fault was and how she could heal it. She knew better, but maybe that was just the panicked hope of parents at the first sign their children are hurt. Tony had done the same when he surprised Peter in New York after May had packed him up and took him home for a week.

It was immature, but Peter was embarrassed when May or Tony “checked on him.”

They shouldn’t have to do this, he thought.

Tony sat down on the bed and Peter reluctantly walked to him. He heard his nerves buzzing again. He felt much younger, some residual teenage sense of inadequacy in his chest.

Tony sat in front of him — the one he always relied on, the one who always supported him — with an expression practically asking to take care of him, to comfort him. But Peter knew what that meant. He hardened his resolve.

Tony wanted him to be healthy, part of his family, part of his peaceful new life, and Peter wasn’t ready to give up these suddenly important, life-quaking emotions. They were his and he was greedy with them. At the expense, he knew, of others. I just keep hurting everyone, Peter thought. I don’t deserve the life I had. Peter couldn’t look at him. His eyes found the floor. Bad son.

“Can I see?” Tony asked.

Peter jolted. He looked up and saw Tony’s hands outstretched, asking for his wrist. Peter shuddered then stiffened. Don’t do this, please. He wasn’t sure who he was talking to. “No,” he said breathily.

Tony relented easily but Peter clearly saw the worry on his face. “Okay.” Tony said. “You know, even with your advanced healing, you need to keep them clean so they don’t get infected.” Peter’s stomach went stone hard.

Damn it! Peter clenched his teeth, suddenly defensive. “They’re not… They’re just … superficial. Not deep.” I hate this. I hate this.

Tony‘s brow buckled. Then he took a deciding breath through his nose. “Pete.” His voice dropped, serious. “Last time—“

No, no, no, Peter said to the rising rebellion in his brain.

“— you kept going deeper—“

Peter huffed, though it wasn’t meant how it sounded. He’d just lost control of the breath he’d pent up. Tony paused. He stood and stepped toward Peter.

Peter whispered. “Sorry.”

Tony put his arms around Peter, pausing slightly to give Peter the chance to withdraw if he didn’t want the hug. Peter didn’t resist. Tony was warm. Helplessly, Peter leaned into him.

Shame flared behind Peter’s eyes. He wished he would cry and get it over with. How much easier would that be?

Peter used to cry all the time. If he was too tired, he’d cry. If he was hungry, occasionally, he’d cry. If Tony praised him, he’d cry. If he was stressed by school deadlines, workload, if he lost a competition in front of other people, if there was even a ghost of disappointment on May’s face, he’d melt into tears.

As much as he used to hate that about himself, Peter wished he could just sob it out and this could be over. But, he didn’t cry now, had not for a while... He was so locked down, it was useless to try.

“You don’t have to show me or tell me anything, Pete. I’m not trying to…” Tony sighed. He tread this conversation softly. No doubt he remembered how easily Peter could bolt. He was quiet a long time, swallowing. Peter could hear it, feel it against his collar. “I see the work you’re doing and I’m proud of you. I’m so proud, Pete!”

“I think I cut to get high.” Just say it. “I think I’m making all this up.”

Peter hated it, but wasn’t that the truth? During the week he spent in New York with May and Tony they had developed a relapse plan. In addition to seeing a counselor immediately and using the strategies he’d learned when he was fifteen, he would drop 4 credits to ease the stress of college. He would quit his position on the university student newspaper. And, he wasn’t even patrolling as Spider-Man. He had nothing to be stressed about. So what was the problem?

“Nothing is really wrong with me. I do this because I want to. Please. Don’t feel sorry for me.”

Tony spoke, interrupting his inner battle. “I just want you to know that I’m here. I’m with you.”

“This is something I’m doing to myself, doing to you— doing on purpose.” Peter continued. “And I’m not going to stop. I’m not going to stop. Please—“

Tell him.

I can’t.

“I know,” Peter finally said.

Tony pulled away. He looked at Peter and Peter felt genuinely sorry for him. “Are you using your timer between urges and following through?”

Peter nodded. “Mostly.” Anger flared up despite everything. Tony just couldn’t help mothering him, could he?

“How long do you set?”

“Five minutes.”

Tony nodded, thinking. “Will you try 10 minutes?”

Peter dutifully agreed. When Tony was quiet, Peter raised his eyes. He saw Tony’s jaw tighten and Peter wondered what was going through his mind.

“Pete,” Tony said carefully. “I’m scared that—“ He stopped. His thumb raked his forehead as he sighed.

“I’m okay.” Peter tried. “I’m doing so much better, really. Better even than a couple weeks ago.”

“I know.” Tony smiled. “You’ve been working hard.”

No I haven’t.

“Are you talking to May?”

“Yes.” Peter lied. Of course he was talking to May. She texted him nonstop and called most nights. But, he knew what Tony was asking: was he calling May to talk when he was feeling the urge to harm? No.

May had started her own publishing group and it was gaining traction. Peter remembered being six and May bringing home finished magazines to show him and Ben. “My layout was chosen!” She’d trill. Now that he was away at MIT, she was pursuing her career again. She was finally free to do it.

Tony had asked because Peter didn’t take the walk with him last night. He had hidden in his room. And now he had fresh cuts. Of course Tony figured it out.

Tony didn’t believe his answer. This gave him the courage he needed. “I’m scared you’re not going to call anyone when you… need to.”

“I will.” Peter’s voice strained.

“Okay.” Tony said, taking an unconscious step back. He was trying to lessen the threat, ease the pressure on Peter’s flight reflex. He looked at Peter for a long time. “I trust you, Pete. Just… I’m always here to listen. I love you, kid.”

“Thanks.” Peter said. His leg started trembling. Tony was about to walk away and give him his space again. Peter’s defenses always chose this moment waver. So scared of losing this relationship that a moment before he had been actively choking to death.

Tony squeezed his shoulder and smiled at him. Peter could almost believe he was proud of him. There was nothing he had wanted more at one time. Here it was for him. He was looking at it, offered to him, like it was a foreign object. Then Tony turned for the door. “Why don’t you listen to some music —“

“Mr. Stark!”

Both started at that. Tony turned to him questioningly. “Y’haven’t called me that in a while, bud.”

Peter shook out an exhale. His shoulder touched his left ear. Fourteen again, anxious tics and all, he stammered. “Can — can you—“ Goading himself to push through his instinct to flee, he fought the closing of his throat. This felt like gagging yourself to throw up. He ducked to his backpack and removed a foldable camping knife. He thrust it toward Tony, not able to look at him. “—take this, please?”

“Of course.” He heard Tony answer softly. “I’ll take care of it, okay?” Then he felt Tony lift it from his hand. “Do you want to talk?”

That was it. The apathy dissolved and Peter felt his legs swept from under him. He clenched his eyes closed and shook his head. A brutal sob broke out as he felt Tony hold him again.

Damn it. It was always like this. Splintered and unable to hold himself together, he had to interrupt someone else’s life to gather him up, put him in a splint.

I can’t talk to you. Don’t you get it?

“I’m here. I’ve got you.” Tony said.

Peter couldn’t bring himself to cling to Tony like he had. He was defying himself to even hand over the knife. Stuck between two places: complete destruction and health. Was this even a step toward recovery? Tony probably hoped so.

Tony was smoothing down his quaking form, talking in lullaby tones— “I’m with you. You don’t have to do this alone.” Even so, Peter couldn’t rest, but it felt great to cry.

[celticfeather]

Akatsuki Fic: Campfires. Ch 2. Cannibals

A brooding clan-killer and a man who prefers to see himself more shark than human are not the most likely, or friendly, of new partners. But hunted and hated, their backs on are the wall, and the Akatsuki starts to form a complex refuge for its members. Their endeavors blur the lines between men, beasts, and gods, and Itachi must either accept his complicity in evil, or contemplate revolt.

Ch 1 here: Dawn. https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13409132/1/Campfires

Chapter 2: Cannibals

-Uchiha Itachi-

Itachi crouched with his long fingers knitted before his nose, his eyes staring intensely out. He would not be killed by his own teammates. If he continued to try and save every peasant he saw, he would expose his true alignment. He would have to be judicious in his steps towards the light if he were to continue making them. He must appear a killer until, at last, he was allowed to die.

His eyes traced to Kisame. To be effective here, he would have to act less like a man, more like a beast, and he thought he had a fine teacher.

Word of a new mission had been shared from the head. According to Kakuzu, a terrorist organization had hired the Akatsuki to sabotage a maritime hostage exchange between the lands of Water and Lightning. Ideally, one of the ships would explode after the exchange. The commissioners intended for this to promote war between the Cloud and Mist. The Akatsuki team could expect at least twenty-five escorting enemy jounin. Kisame, Itachi, Kakuzu and Deidara had been enlisted for the task.

Kisame grumbled. "Returning to the Mist is not ideal for me."

Itachi mirrored the sentiment. He had not exactly enjoyed his last mission in the Land of Water. But first they had to meet Kakuzu and Deidara, who had received instructions to meet them at one of Kakuzu's meeting points in the coastal Land of Hot Springs. When the fire and water pair arrived, Deidara and Kakuzu awaited them.

"Decent group," Kakuzu surmised. "Serious, for the most part." His surveying eyes lingered on Deidara for a moment too long.

Appearing unaware of the slight, Deidara crossed his arms. "I don't know why he didn't keep us with our usual partners. My man Sasori is as impatient and deadly as you are, Kakuzu, hm."

"Our selection is obvious. I know hostage exchanges. You'll blow up the ship. Kisame is the ocean expert, and Itachi's eyes can cover us from afar. It's easy if you pay attention," Kakuzu said.

Deidara shrugged his haughty ambivalence to the elder's analysis. Kisame led them to the coastline of the Land of Steam that marked its border with the Land of Water. Itachi suspected Hidan had not been invited on a mission that required passage through his home state for two reasons: he was inept at stealth; and he was still recovering from their last encounter. The four entered a coastal marsh of mangrove trees, which at the current low tide, exposed a long stretch of mud and sand before the eastern ocean. The gray noon sky began to darken, fizzing rain drops spotting the fine sand.

Kisame tightened the strap on his sword to prevent its shifting. "We'll have to run several kilometers over open ocean until we find any ships. I expect that's no problem for anyone?"

"That could be taxing if we must later fight," Itachi said, staring over the gray frothing sea.

Deidara smiled at the opportunity to upstage Itachi. He was clearly not one to forget old wounds. "Can't handle it, old man?"

Itachi said nothing.

"We won't waste chakra wandering the ocean," Kakuzu said. "Deidara, you'll fly ahead of us. Find the ships, and we'll follow."

Deidara's only response to the order was a tight grunt. He sank his hand into the pouch at his hip, and the mouth on his palm proceeded to masticate the pure white clay. After a moment Deidara displayed his hand to the three other ninja, and the lolling tongue delivered a fine porcelain bird with long narrow wings like a gull. With a sign from Deidara's free hand, the clay figure expanded to the size of a shed. The sculptor mounted its sloped back and adjusted his eye scope.

"I'll circle in a figure eight when I find the boats. Someone shoot off a lightning flare if you lose me, yeah?"

With a powerful sweep of its wings, Deidara and his creation were stiffly alight in the buffeting ocean wind, and like a kite in a storm, the bird rose jerkily but rapidly. The three remaining ninja set out into the sucking, salty, sandy, surf. Itachi focused his chakra onto the soles of his feet and timed his steps to rise above each peak of the coming waves. Arms streamlined behind them, their feet glancing off the obtuse crest of each wave, the fire, water, and earth-style ninja streaked off towards the eastern horizon after Deidara's bird. The sky was a tumultuous gray and the ocean frothed a dark blue. Cold rain spat into their faces, the wind raged, and distant thunder boomed.

With his sharingan, Itachi had the best vision of the group, while the others squinted to find the white bird against the silver clouds. Because of this he assumed the lead of the surface formation as the storm worsened. Deidara's clay bird seemed to slow, as if in hesitation, and then began to loop two small figure eights. Itachi motioned for his teammates to continue east until they were directly underneath Deidara, and there the three ninja crouched low to the surface of the undulating waves. They could now see two ships in the distance, which meant that to ordinary eyes, the three ninja were also visible. Irksome as it was to balance on the tipping crests, the whipping storm provided much needed visual cover on the open ocean.

Deidara's bird pitched downwards, beak first, then pulled up to skid its belly across the waves near the three ninja. Deidara had been busy on his flight- stepping onto the water, the artist grandly presented a smooth white clay koi fish the size of a basket.

"She works underwater. Once we attach it to the Cloud ship's hull, I'll activate her from here, and, bang!" Deidara popped his fingers and his face lit with excitement. With a histrionic bow, he gave the ornately carved explosive fish to Kisame. "For you, my man."

Kisame smirked and raised the bomb in farewell. He released the chakra at his feet and plummeted like a lead weight under the waves. Itachi could see his shadow streak off toward the ships, about 100 meters away. The Kisame-shaped shadow swam without using its arms, faster than he thought possible for any human, though Kisame and human seemed separate concepts.

The three remaining ninja sank their bodies into the cold waves, until just their eyes and noses showed above the water. Itachi noticed a crest of hair like a shark fin arc above the surface on the way back from the ship. It was Kisame's signal that he had completed the task and attached the explosive.

Kakuzu identified a woman as the hostage entering the skiff with her captors. The peaceable exchange occurred, and she climbed back aboard her country's ship. Kakuzu looked at Deidara and nodded. The exchange was complete and the deed could occur at any time.

"Katsu!" Deidara commanded, two fingers raised, but no one heard him, because 100 meters away the Cloud ship's front half exploded.

Wood splintered into the air and a shock wave concussed the water's surface, sending up a spray of mist. Shinobi leapt out, perching like waterbugs on the ripples. But civilians onboard had no such talents. The shinobi swarmed like bees, trying to orchestrate a platform in the debris for the floundering civilians, and simultaneously search for foul play.

The Mist ninja on their unharmed boat did not flee. Nor did the Cloud attack them. Seeming rather confused, the Mist ninja alighted on the waves, and began to help the foreign Lightning civilians onto their surviving boat.

The three rogues, each a child of war, shared a perplexed look. Then back at the boat and debris. As far as Itachi knew, the Mist and Cloud helping each other was not accounted for in the financier's plan.

A hulking presence appeared among the surface-striding ninja. Itachi did not need to verbally identify the man for Kakuzu and Deidara, because with a furious roar he cracked a huge lightning bolt across the atmosphere. It was Ay, the fourth Raikage.

"That was not in the missive. We run- as fast as we can." Kakuzu said.

Itachi was unsure speed would be enough. The Raikage was possibly the fastest ninja alive. One of them might die that day.

Deidara extended his hand out of the water and expanded his previously shrunken bird. Kakuzu yelled at him not to do it, that he would be seen, but the young ninja was more interested in saving his own skin. Deidara leapt alone onto the bird and flew off, leaving Itachi and Kakuzu in the waves. Kisame was still nowhere to be seen and Itachi felt the situation rapidly spiraling out of control. Kakuzu swore with the skill of a man with ninety years of curation.

The low bird was immediately spotted by a Cloud kunoichi, who signaled it to her comrades. Deidara had escaped, but the sharp eyes of the Raikage met the clay gull and fell circumspectly to the easier prey beneath. Itachi tensed, ready to dive, but their eyes met and he knew they had been seen.

"Rendezvous at our beach at dusk," Kakuzu told Itachi. "We've gotta lose him."

Kakuzu rose fully from the water, released one of the masked beings from his chest, and skated along the surface towards the distant shore some five kilometers away. Twenty ninja, both Cloud and Mist, started after Kakuzu. The water-style masked beast ran alongside Kakuzu, then halted, pulsing a huge mass of water at the incoming team of jounin. Itachi made a sharp turn away from Kakuzu, and sprinted towards the coastline.

Itachi was aware he had gained his own pursuers. Once separated from Kakuzu, he skidded on the ball of his right foot and pivoted to face his opponents. A phalanx of some fifteen ninja ran towards him. He doubted they recognized him, but all the same he was greeted with the hospitality a clan killer deserved.

He parsed signs, inhaled deep, and blew a massive blooming fireball across the waves. Some were touched by the blaze, but others quickly put up a defensive water wall, minimizing their casualties. Good: Itachi did not want to kill anyone. A huge man stepped from behind the falling water-wall. His copper skin was beaded with droplets, his bleached hair was coiled back, and from his small eyes Itachi sensed an unbridled fury.

Itachi supposed the Raikage must have pursued either he or Kakuzu. Unfortunately for the Kage, he had picked the rogue whose eyes could strike a man still at a distance of twenty meters. With the incensed Raikage in his sights, Itachi felt his pupils spin and contract.

Tsukuyomi washed over his foe. Though it was a mere second to the outside world, the Raikage was inside the nightmare realm for seventy internal hours. But Itachi's intent was to incapacitate the Kage from further combat than torment him. He had no time or energy to waste on torturous mind games like with Hidan, and he neither want to enrage powerful enemies. Itachi's illusion abandoned the Raikage in a world where he was tied to a post, submerged at sea, with his nose just a millimeter above the soon as the Raikage collapsed among his men, Itachi fled.

The storm clouds hung low, the waves ripped high, the wind and rain whipped, and even Itachi's eyes could discern no shore. He was running, aware of a splitting pack of the Kage's incensed men behind him, and with each step Itachi took, he was less able to bounce crisply on the meniscus of the water. His toes punctured the water an inch down. Then two inches. Then his ankles, his calves, began to touch the waves. He was nowhere near escape, and he was out of time. He would have to use that. Spinning, he turned to face his pursuers, now surprisingly close.

Amaterasu! The black flames of his newest mangekyou technique enveloped the first row. The waves drowned their screams quickly; the inflicted dropping the chakra at their feet a heartbeat after being hit. Even in the frothing sea nothing could be done to help them, and Itachi watched them die painful deaths. If only he had more chakra, he may have been able to escape without killing his pursuers. Guilt probed at his chest, but he could not afford to reflect, because the wrathful technique had not spread to the second row. Five last ninja, panic and rage in their eyes, had closed in on him. Through his haze of exhaustion they seemed to come at him in slow motion, circling him like hunters around a wounded beast, raising glinting steel from their packs.

Itachi's chest heaved. He fell to his knees. Wet heat dripped from his eye sockets into the black water between his knees. He might be able to kill more, but he certainly could not run. He could not even stand. Panic welled in his chest as he felt the waves encompassing his shins. The running, the sharingan, fireball, Tsukiyomi, Amaterasu, it had been too much. In trying to spare the lives of some enemies, he may have just ended his own. His calves slipped into the water, then his waist. Knowing what came next, Itachi gasped a deep breath.

It was numbly quiet, refreshingly still, while his body remained unpleasantly cold. He looked up, and the disorganized splashing footprints on the surface seemed silent and insignificant. Slow and inexorable his leaden robes dragged him to the earth's core. His heart hammered away his remaining oxygen. He had to get out of here. But his sharingan had faded and the watery world became icy and dark. He fought against the increasing numbness in his mind, his thoughts racing futile like ants trapped in a sap of hypoxia. He imagined two black eyes in front of him. Sasuke? He reached two fingers into the abyss.

-Hoshigaki Kisame-

Figures fell from the surface like twisting stones from the heavens. Most of them were not dead when they fell.

The nerves on his snout sensed a blizzard of electricity firing around him. Each movement by a living thing, each command from a brain to its muscles, enacted a tiny electric signal which Kisame could sense in this form. It was impossible to hide from him. Chaos had erupted and the mission was not proceeding to plan. But king in his domain, Kisame was calm.

A familiar sensation prickled along his shark snout. Changing directions with a wide sweep of his tail, Kisame arced towards a particular fallen ninja. He felt his lips twitch.

Careful, Itachi. You are easy prey in the water.

The young raven had not fared well over the ocean. Itachi drifted some three meters below the surface, where the water was calm, and the gray light from the stormy sun was dull. The unconscious ninja floated mostly upright, with his chin tipped up. His long hair and robe were splayed behind him, with his arms spread like a martyr.

Catching the boy in the crook of his elbow, Kisame fired his tail. The long braid of muscle was magnificently more powerful than his legs when swimming. He dodged corpses, who, even underwater, fed black flames which warned a horrific static on his electroreceptors. The hellish chakra's flavor denoted familiarity, and Kisame's eyes slid to his passenger. Awarding the burning bodies a careful berth, Kisame steered away from the battlefield.

In a calm spot, Kisame lifted Itachi's head to the surface. The leaf ninja, though still unconscious, began to breathe again once his face was above water. Such a beautiful adaptation the Mammalian Diving Reflex was: unconscious humans breathe automatically when dry, but exhibit slowed heart rates and ceased breathing when their faces were wet.

Kisame observed the distant commotion. Ninja swarmed around the destroyed ship and fished civilians from the water. He was faintly aware of Kakuzu running off towards shore, felling pursuant ninja left and right, some twenty dead or dying in the water behind him. Deidara was dead or gone. He waited a moment at the surface, expecting Itachi to cough himself awake, but he did not. He took Itachi back under the water to swim covertly in the direction of land, surfacing for the benefit of his human cargo about twice every minute. Kisame had learned from drowning people in water prisons that seventy seconds was the threshold where a normal human would start to squirm. It amused him that today he used the knowledge to prevent someone from drowning.

His lessened visibility in the sandy water and the electric flickers of minnows and crabs indicated that he had neared shore, and rising to his human legs, Kisame stood erect and slogged into the surf. Itachi was draped at the waist over his shoulder and framed by his long dorsal fin. Kisame in this beastly form easily weighed seven hundred kilograms, with Itachi adding another sixty. His webbed feet sank heavily in the fine muddy sand that crowded at the roots of the mangrove shore.

Curling his claws into the back of Itachi's robe, Kisame swung the boy against the cagelike roots of a mangrove tree. Itachi looked like a waterlogged bird: small, delicate, with a weak bendy neck and thin limbs which were stupidly ill-fitted to the open ocean. His long dark brown hair had escaped its tie and hung limply around his face. It was much less dignified than the Uchiha prince's usual mien.

We don't have to tell the others about this, eh?

Kisame sat cross-legged to observe the boy and slung his fat tail out on the sand behind him. He had tasted little blood and saw no wounds. Was Itachi unconscious from the oxygen deprivation, or from the expenditure of chakra? If the former, he should be awake already. If the latter, it could be hours.

Lazily, Itachi's coal black eyes opened. Kisame stared into his eyes, expecting -wanting- their stoic depths to spark in fear at the sight of him. But Itachi flipped himself forward onto his hands, coughed roughly, and proceeded to retch salt water.

Well, it looks like humans mostly did not try to breathe underwater while unconscious.

On hands and knees, his back a concave arch, Itachi looked over his shoulder to stare at his hulking partner. "You're…. Different."

Kisame cracked a razor's smile. He could not speak in this form.

"Thank you, Kisame," Itachi said. "I am very lucky you found me."

Finding someone in the water was never the problem. The trouble was knowing to look for them at all. Fortunately, Itachi had a very identifiable presence, especially when he had incinerated half a dozen chakras in fire hellish enough to burn underwater.

"Would you have any fresh water?" Itachi asked.

Kisame's gear and pack were lost, he had not expected this mission to require transforming, but he had when he sensed the fighting. Kisame took a large leaf from a jungle tree, and with a simple jutsu he filled it with water and gave it to the seated Itachi. Itachi tipped the long leaf to his lips with both hands. He drank heartily, his adam's apple bobbing, and water dripped from his lips and trickled down his pale neck. Finished, he coughed lightly and pressed his lips dry with the back of his wrist. Kisame found the princely habit funny, because Itachi was still dripping everywhere else.

Thudd. A huge clay gull alighted on the muddy sand and Deidara strided down its sloping tail. He looked at the transformed Kisame, then at the washed-out Itachi, and back at Kisame. "What the fuck happened to you two?"

No one answered him. Itachi chose not to. Kisame had no choice.

Deidara shook his head. "Kakuzu's gonna roast me," Deidara muttered, contracting his bird back into a tiny clay piece.

"I will roast you," Itachi corrected him. The fire-style ninja stood with sudden aggression. He grabbed Deidara by the chest of his robe and pulled him to face his eyes like an academy bully.

Odd for Itachi. Kisame swung his long head to his partner for explanation.

"The Raikage was on that ship. Deidara fled on his bird, leaving Kakuzu and I to deal with the troops and escape," Itachi explained.

Hm. Kisame turned menacingly to the Stone Ninja. Certainly a few people could have fit on that bird.

"Hey sheesh, I'm sorry. I got spooked." Deidara displayed his slit palms to Itachi in a leave-me-alone gesture.

"Those who abandon their comrades are worse than scum," Itachi warned him.

"Comrades? You think we're comrades here?—" Deidara opened his mouth to laugh, but stopped abruptly. He froze under Itachi's now-red eyes, transfixed like a rabbit by a weasel.

"I'm sorry," Deidara whispered. Itachi released his robe and the other man retreated a step back.

A creaking and sloshing of sand arose from behind the mangroves. Deidara and Itachi tensed. But in this form Kisame could discern the old, earthy, angry chakra as familiar. A black corded monster, bearlike in shape with a folkish mask, loped from the roots alongside its master.

"Phew," Deidara sighed.

"Deidara," Kakuzu rumbled. "How old are you?"

"Uh, seventeen?"

Kakuzu absorbed the masked creature back into his body. But as he did, thin hairlike tentacles poured out from his stitched mouth like a lolling hungry tongue. He slurped them in before speaking again.

"Good. Young men's hearts are ideal."

Deidara looked at Itachi and Kisame for help. But Itachi, displeased, and Kisame, a giant semi-bipedal shark, offered the artist no reassurance. Fortunately, Kakuzu made no move to snatch the boy's heart just then.

Kisame decided this was a good time to transform back into Kisame the man. Or, Kisame the mostly-man. He extended his hand and Samehada's braided pommel appeared from his skin. The shark fins and tail receded, his spine shortened, and he stood erect and shirtless.

Kakuzu's eyes slid to him. "Neat trick. Where's your robe?"

"Lost it swimming," Kisame said, rolling his jaw as he talked to reaccustom himself to speaking. Really, his dorsal fin had shredded the robe the moment he transformed. Looking down, he was very pleased that his pants avoided the same fate.

"We need to head inland," Kakuzu said, and disappeared into the mangroves without waiting for responses.

Kisame's eyes slid to Itachi, wondering if the boy was yet capable of running. But sinking his chin into his collar, Itachi voiced no complaint, and he fell into step with the fleet.

-Uchiha Itachi-

Itachi was exhausted. He expected in a few minutes he may even collapse. Every once in a while Kisame might cast an appraising look at him, maybe his predator eyes smiled as if to say, 'you still alive?' Or maybe he imagined it. But after Kisame had dragged him out of the surf, Itachi refused to be the one to call for a stop. Night was falling, and soon enough, the others would not be able to see.

As he watched the backsides of Deidara and Kakuzu leap in front of him, he thought about the Akatsuki's flight from the ocean scene. If Deidara had not flown off like a coward, Itachi would not have had to kill those ninja today. Itachi had killed his clan, and multiple insurgents during his time in the Anbu, but each of those deaths had a greater purpose in protecting the Leaf. Today, he killed state ninja who acted in self defense. If he had been stronger, more enduring, he could have managed an escape with no unnecessary lethal measures. He looked at the old man running in front of him. In the same flight, Kakuzu had probably killed twenty people to his five.

Deidara broke the silence of their run. "Hey, uh, we wanna camp for the night?"

The four ninja halted. The elevation had increased enough that the mangroves were gone, replaced with a cold rainforest. In a quick survey of their surroundings, the men found a flat dry hollow between the dense trees large enough for four people.

"Should we build a fire?" Deidara suggested.

"It's not safe to," Itachi said.

"Sorry, I'm fucking freezing." Deidara revealed a piece of clay and blew a crater in the ground about a meter deep and around to hide a fire's light.

He gestured again at Itachi to light a fire. Itachi made no motion to comply. With a hmmpf, Deidara gathered a few branches, turf, threw them down his pit, and flicked an explosive spider the size of a marble into it. Clumsy flames coughed out of the pit. Then the blond teen busily set out finding and tossing in more poor quality wet fuel from their immediate surroundings.

Kakuzu sat next to Deidara's sunken campfire, mumbling something that they should keep it for an hour. Kisame, Deidara, and at last Itachi followed. Everyone was cold, soaked, and morale was low - perhaps the fire was not unwarranted. The four men shed what outerwear they had to dry, and crouched around the sunken fire in their underwear.

Itachi's companions looked smooth and sinister in the low, warm light. Kakuzu's skin was tan, thick, and fractured with stitching scars. Four masks peered out from his back, of which one was now punctured. Deidara's left pectoralis had a slit of what might have been an additional mouth. Kisame looked enough like a human except for the blueish skin and the gill patterns. Itachi looked down at himself. Besides a red Anbu tattoo on his shoulder, he was completely unremarkable.

They had some onigiri in Kakuzu's pack, which were by now, also thoroughly soaked. Itachi set an array of the eight rice balls on a banana leaf next to the fire.

"I'll find some meat," Kisame said, and the Mist Ninja stalked out into the blackness. But after twenty minutes in the dark, the man had only managed to locate one small fish. He presented it to Itachi, who as the group's expert with knives, cleaned it adroitly with a kunai. He slit the pink fillet into four delicate equal slices. He placed one piece next to each member's two allotted onigiri, which by the fire had become hot and crispy. Itachi set the offal on a leaf should Kisame want it. It was gone the next time he thought to look for it.

The men sat with a tangle of legs towards the fire. Kisame crouched, Kakuzu was cross-legged, and Deidara's legs were folded up beside him. They each ate with different manners too: Itachi was the most civil, and Kisame the least.

Deidara placed his ration of fish on his tongue and asked, "Do you ever feel bad eating fish, Kisame?"

"Do you feel bad eating pigs?"

"No."

Kisame showed his teeth. "People like you kind of look like pigs to me."

Deidara narrowed his eyes. He went back to poking the fire with a stick and sculpting a new creature, maybe a crocodile.

"Four mysterious ninja sit around a fire," Kisame announced in his rough voice. As with Orochimaru's, Itachi could not decide if it was threatening or friendly. "We should get to know each other better. We can make it a game."

"No, we should sleep now and reach the Frost Border as early as possible tomorrow," Kakuzu said.

Deidara ignored Kakuzu and looked back to the group's other talkative member. "Alright, Kisame, here's a question: when you turn into a giant shark, have you ever eaten a person before?"

"Define 'eat.'"

"Kisame..."

"I've bitten hunks from plenty. I haven't swallowed any parts though… I don't think."

"How do people taste?"

"Not particularly good. Our low fat and protein content isn't worth the energy to digest for cold blooded creatures. Therefore only starving, open-ocean sharks enjoy a meal of men."

Kisame tightened his lips to show his whitish gums, and held a finger to where his canine tooth should have been. "Sharks can measure these things with one bite. There are specialized nerves next to our teeth that help us discern if a meal is nutritionally valuable, you see."

Deidara, bewildered, did not ask any more questions. Kisame, having served his part in the game, traced his pinprick eyes to Kakuzu. "A little bird told me you killed two of your partners."

"They live on." Kakuzu gestured to the water and lightning masks on his chest. "Good hearts."

Itachi wondered what would happen if Kakuzu transplanted an immortal heart like Hidan's. Certainly the rogue had considered the possibility.

"Gods, you're all cannibals," Deidara muttered.

Cannibals? Itachi evaluated the word. Kisame tasted human flesh. Kakuzu took his partners' hearts. Deidara abandoned his comrades as bait. Itachi killed his family. They were no more than a band of leeches, gorging themselves on the blood of anyone unfortunate enough to cross their paths. Cannibals indeed.

Deidara stared at Itachi. "I got one: Itachi, how old were you when you killed your clan and joined the Akatsuki?"

"Fourteen."

"Were you a virgin when you did it?"

Itachi chewed his rice ball slowly. He did not answer.

Kakuzu interrupted. "How's it feel to suck yourself off with your own hands, Deidara?"

"Fucking divine!" The teen grinned and stretched out his arms to display the slurping tongues on his palms. Kisame guffawed and Kakuzu smirked. Itachi looked down, unable to hide a small smile.

Deidara yawned, and the mouths on his palms yawned too. He shrugged into his firewarmed robe and lounged cattishly on the earth, pillowing his head with an arm, and sighed satisfactorly. "Well, g'night, my murderous gents. Good job surviving today."

Irritation flared up in Itachi at the sight of Deidara's comfort. Thanks to him, only two hours ago Itachi had stared down the Raikage. "You're not sleeping on the ground."

Deidara's blue eyes flashed. "Stone Ninja, sleeping in trees? Yeah, right!"

"We should set a watch. We may have been followed," Itachi said.

"I'll do it, I have the most chakra left," Kisame said.

Kakuzu nodded. "Wake someone in a few hours."

The fire's light was out, but the earth and coals still radiated heat. Itachi dressed himself in his hot robe. He rose from the firewarmed earth, pinned his gaze on an arch in the tree above him, and tensed to jump.

A heavy weight on his shoulder halted his step.

"Maybe it's best for us all that you get a good rest," Kisame said, with a hand on his shoulder. Itachi stilled. He owed Kisame some heed after his help today. Itachi's presence on the ground was no further risk if Deidara and Kakuzu already insisted on sleeping there, and Kisame would watch well. Hesitant to indulge himself so freely, Itachi slowly laid himself back on a warm spot of earth.

He, Deidara, and Kakuzu arranged themselves in a lopsided triangle around the warm pit. Hooked in a loose Z, Itachi placed an arm under his head, curled his fingers into his thin hair, and tried to welcome the numb embrace of sleep. Past him, Kisame perched in the tree, one leg bent, the other hanging. His eyes swept down at his teammates, then stared out into the darkness. Itachi heard him crunching on a bone.

Author's Note;

Thanks again to beta myochiikurin! Any typos you find are due to my own overzealous editing ;)

The % complete of the next chapter is always posted on my (FF or Ao3) account profile. Thanks for reading, and I hope you stick around! Maybe let me know what you liked in a review, if you did?

Steadfast,

Celtic

Follow on FF: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/13409132/1/Campfires

Follow on Ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21019778/chapters/50400551#workskin

[onceabluemoonwrites]

Hallelujah - Chapter 1: Sunday Child (Complete)

Summary: ‘’There is blood on Giotto’s hands; The type you can’t scrub off. 

The first had gone down with a thud. The second with a howl. He didn’t keep count after the third. Giotto hates himself; The ease with which he ended lives makes him sick to his stomach. 

(He had been in a haze while killing, but he’s certain: He intended to do it)’’

Giotto’s life: A tale of loss, love, religion, betrayal and learning to love yourself. 

Disclaimer: I don’t own Katekyo Hitman Reborn.

FF.net | AO3 | Tumblr: 1, 2, 3, 4

My fic master list here.

‘’The road to Hell is paved with good intentions.’’

- Proverb

Chapter 1: Sunday Child

Giotto is born with a smile on his face, his wails joyous instead of upset. His aunt laughs and claps in her hands. ‘’Maria, hear, hear! He’s not even Christened yet and already singing hallelujah!’’

His mother strokes his nose and sighs happily. ‘’A blessed Sunday child, don’t you think?’’

They walk to the church singing, the baby nestled in the crook of Maria’s arms.

‘’Monday's child is fair of face, Tuesday's child is full of grace, Wednesday's child is full of woe, Thursday's child has far to go, Friday's child is loving and giving, Saturday's child works hard for a living, And the child born on the Sabbath day Is bonny and blithe and good and gay.’’¹

Their small, seaside town is not a kind one. They live on crime-riddled streets and poverty is a disease no-one can cure. Maria manages to feed her son, and while not necessarily becoming a beacon of strength, the boy grows willowy and hardy.

They need the money, so Giotto begins to work the minute he can, just like the other children his age. His hands become rough and his skin darkens in the sun, but his wild hair doesn’t lose its shine. Nor do his eyes, and his mouth always has a smile left to give. He’s a pretty boy, a dangerous thing to be in the darkest corners of the streets. But sunlight is free and even the sea becomes a black hole at night, only to sparkle when dawn breaks once again. Giotto doesn’t mind. Pretty boys learn to punch twice as hard, as far as he is concerned, so it evens out.

Maria watches with uneasy eyes, but he knows what he’s doing. ‘’Don’t worry, mama! I only fight in defence! I won’t shame the Lord’s teachings of love!’’

His eyes sing hallelujah.

Maria lets him go with a heavy heart, watching her son run off again. He uses violence as a means, but only when there is no other way. He is kind, generous, not afraid to defend others as readily as he defends himself.

He is good, there is no question about it, but Maria remembers being good doesn’t come without a price. She’s afraid of the day it will cost his smile.

It arrives when he fifteen.

He’s out with that gang of his, a red-head on either side and their comrades in arms behind them. He comes home with blood on his hands and hollow eyes. But still, hoarsely it falls from his lips: ‘’Hallelujah, mama. Hallelujah.’’

It scares her witless and she stares at the scratched kitchen table for a long, long time. The clock ticks on the wall, as a shadow falls upon her heart.

Where has her Sunday child gone?

Giotto is thirteen when he meets Cozart. He likes him. He’s steadfast, calm and confident, a mischievous smile in the shadow of his black cap. His hair is fiery red and his passion is just as great.

They team up, together with Giotto’s best friend G, to help out the people in their neighbourhood.

They’re fourteen when it isn’t enough anymore. The crime is not just stolen goods now. The outlaws are hurting people and the police are no help at all. Giotto is afraid that if they don’t do something, there will be no one left to save.

Then Franco is beaten up in front of their eyes and Giotto can’t take it anymore. ‘’I refuse to sit around quietly, watching as they take our town!’’

It happens in the middle of a bustling street.

Cozart is the one who voices their thoughts. ‘’We could be vigilantes.’’

Giotto clenches his fists and nods. ‘’If no one else will help us, then we’ve got to defend the town ourselves. However, governing that kind of group will require great leadership. And rain, nor storm, nor sun will be able to keep us away, once we have that. Just like the sky.’’

The group shuffles around, silent, shooting each other unsure looks until Cozart speaks up again. ‘’Giotto, there’s no one but you.’’

Giotto swallows. He doesn’t condone violence, but there’s a fire burning in him, so he straightens his shoulder and meets Cozart’s gaze. ‘’All right,’’ he says, ‘’All right.’’

With those words, he creates the Vongola, Cozart the first to trust Giotto with his life. Responsibility has never felt heavier.

They fight the monsters on the streets, darkness cloaking their youthful features. They’re only fifteen, but rule a reign of terror. They steal their enemies’ supplies, knocking them out before they know what’s happening. Their invisibility creates a bloodcurdling reputation.

After their latest raid, they sleep in a warehouse. Giotto wakes up with the smell of smoke invading his nose, Cozart, warm beside him, still asleep. Flames lick at the door opening, the heat unbearable. The air is thin and the world is spinning.

He shakes Cozart and G. ‘’Wake up!’’

‘’Wazzit- Fire?!’’

Giotto’s eyes dart around. Where is the exit? No, they’ll have to take the window.

The three boys have to crawl, but they get there. Giotto swings his legs over the ledge. The ground is awfully far away. He swallows, eyes darting from the splintered frame beneath his hands to the street stones far below. But G and Cozart already jumped and a broken leg is nothing next to dying. He takes the leap.

They watch the house go up in flames, G holding Giotto up. His ankle is swollen. The bad landing got him good. It hurts, but it’s nothing he hasn’t dealt with before.

The roof collapses and G shakes his head. ‘’It wasn’t an accident,’’

Cozart swears.

Giotto clenches his fists. The fire had spread too fast for a building made of stone. They should’ve known.

The worst thing is that Giovanni can’t miss this warehouse. He tries to support the Vongola however he can, but letting them sleep there was risky already. Now all his wares have gone up in flames. It’s cruel, but then again, that’s the reason the Vongola exists in the first place.

Protecting the town from the outlaws is a- Giotto’s eyes widen.

‘’Giovanni is in danger!’’ He wasn’t sure if the enemy was aware of their identities. But they knew Giovanni was their supporter if the fire was any indication.

Giotto’s gut burns as they run towards Giovanni’s house, his ankle throbbing. The shouts are already audible.

There is a body on the pavement. Its stomach is torn open, still bleeding, the face turned away. It’s Giovanni. Could he still- the glassy eyes take all hope away. It’s a corpse.

G bows over it. ‘’Looks like it was his liver.’’

Giotto closes his eyes.  A painful death. Giovanni must have lain there for at least twenty minutes before he succumbed. Stomach wounds are always nasty. The deeper cuts leave the victim unable to walk; The few minutes they have left are spent under their attacker’s mercy².

‘’Any other obvious wounds?’’

‘’Broken fingers. Looks like they kicked him while he was down.’’

Giotto wants to scream, the smell of gunpowder in the air. He is furious, has never felt so much resolve to stop this madness before. It burns his veins, travelling towards his hands and head, where it makes its presence known.

Giovanni’s wife and daughter are nowhere to be seen, but little Rosina’s doll is still lying next to her father. They were taken.

His dying will bursts free.

He bursts through the door, fire blazing. His nerves are tingling, but his ankle doesn’t feature. It isn’t numb; He just doesn’t feel it.

He’s completely zoomed in on his goal, hyper-aware.

The air smells like dirt and he is only keeping the cold at bay with the flames burning on his hands and forehead. A little girl is screaming.

He sees Lucia first. She’s covering her daughter with her body, snapping at the cutthroats cornering them. Her upper lip lifts into an animalistic snarl, but her limbs are shaking.

Of the two parties, only one has a knife. It’s not Lucia.

Giotto moves.

It’s impossible to keep his identity secret after rescuing Rosina and Lucia. Lucia doesn’t talk, silent as the grave, but Rosina is too small to understand and before the morning sun rises, everyone knows.

He walks the street and they sing Hallelujah. His name is on the lips of everyone in town.

Their eyes follow him. ‘’Vongola’s leader.’’

He passes the bakery, but all he can smell is the dock’s rotting fish.

There is blood on his hands, the type you can’t scrub off.

The first had gone down with a thud. The second with a howl. He didn’t keep count after the third. Giotto hates himself; The ease with which he ended lives makes him sick to his stomach. His footsteps echo.

(He had been in a haze while killing, but he’s certain: He intended to do it)

They put a mantle on his shoulders, crowning him like a King, just as Cozart did when he laid down his life in Giotto’s hands.

He manages to make it home before puking on the dirt floor, orange meeting brown. It’s disgusting and the world spins. The flames were orange too.

He grabs his hair and pulls, but the sour taste doesn’t go away, and neither does the memory of Lucia’s shrill voice after he slit her attackers’ throats.

There was fear in her eyes.

Is this what he’s become?

G sighs when he discovers Giotto on the floor.

‘’C’mon,’’ He hauls his friend up and drags him to bed.

Giotto nuzzles the pillow. G pulls up the sheets and tucks him in. It’s all no-nonsense, routine, but the hand on the brunet’s forehead isn’t.

“A fever. Figures.”

Giotto peers at him from underneath the blanket.

‘’I wouldn’t know what to do without you.’’

‘’Yeah, you would be pretty lost.’’

This is who they are, friends looking out for each other.

‘’We have to talk about the flames.’’ It’s been four days, and G is done avoiding the subject.

Giotto’s mouth is dry. Cozart is silent beside him, melting into the shadows of the rocks along the coast. There’s sand in his hair and Giotto’s hands twitch. He wants for nothing more than to reach out and brush through Cozart’s red strands. The butterflies in his stomach would distract him from the conversation.

He bites his lip; It tastes like salt. He doesn’t want to talk about this. Doesn’t want to face his screaming nightmares of fearful eyes and flames. Flames everywhere. He snorts. His feelings for Cozart are the least of his problems now.

A seagull cries in the distance.

G clicks his tongue. ‘’Do you think you could use them again?’’

Giotto stiffens. ‘’You don’t mean that.’’

‘’We need that power, Giotto. This is a war we can’t win. We’re three boys with what? Ten other men backing us? We should be thanking our goddamn lucky stars that Giovanni’s the only corpse among us yet!’’

Giotto turns to the other redhead. ‘’Cozart?’’

‘’We’re out in the open now, Gio. My aunt’s been getting threats and I bet your family received a fair share of their own.’’

He closes his eyes. This can’t be what the Lord meant the world to be when He created it. The Lord has plans divine; Giotto doesn’t know if he’s included in them, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do something about it. He has killed, he doesn’t have the privileges of the innocent anymore.

‘’Giotto, there’s no one but you.’’

He clenches his fists and squares his shoulders. ‘’If I try hard enough, I may be able to produce more.’’

They call them Sky flames, and rain, nor storm, nor the sun can keep the Vongola away.

Their enemies call them the demons and cross themselves to ban out evil. But the Vongola do not dissolve for they are no devils.

Angels, the people call them, Guardian Angels. Heavenly fire blesses them, flame burning on the forehead and on the hands, occasionally even on the feet. A cross.

‘’In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit.’’

It feels wrong when people say so. Giotto knows he is doing the right thing by protecting them, but he is a murderer. He has killed and for all the forgiveness the Lord may be willing to grant, he cannot forgive himself.

Cozart has to go back to his parents every spring but often returns to them in winter³. Years glide by and the Vongola grows. Knuckle, a learned man who was once a priest and Asari, a foreign nobleman looking to acquire a trading route, join the upper ranks. They are even assisted by another group once in a while, led by a tall, blond Frenchman.

They discover there is more than one flame. A range of colours emerge, but Giotto is the only one who bears the Sky flame. They call them after weather phenomena, whatever suits the flame the best. G has a red variant, which disintegrates everything it touches.

‘’You don’t need a flame for that,’’ Giotto grins one evening in front of the fireplace. ‘’Your raised eyebrow alone makes your subordinates wither.’’

G snorts and pulls his beer closer, tapping the moisture-mark covered table. ‘’If only it would pulverize that ego of yours.’’

Cozart bites his lip and turns away, but his shoulders are shaking with laughter. His cheeks apple and Giotto is drunk on his wine eyes.

Warmth spreads from his gut and Giotto’s face burns, tingly all over. But in the corner of his eye, he sees a mess of dark hair and flinches.

(He remembers them being dragged away; men kissing men⁴. To jail, some said. To be butchered, others whispered. Disgusting, some screamed.

The pavement colouring red.

He’d been small, then, but the half-moon scars of nails digging into his palms remain an everlasting reminder)

Hiding it from Knuckle was no use. Knuckle is a holy man, one who serves God. And Giotto… Giotto loves Cozart, with his wide jaw, red hair, narrow hips and chapped lips. A man. Sometimes he thinks Cozart might love him too, but that can’t be.

Especially not when Knuckle meets him in the chapel the next day and says: ‘’Man shall not lay with man as he does with woman⁵.’’

Sunlight streams through the stained-glass windows and colour pools through the room.

It strikes Giotto to the heart. His love for Cozart goes against the word of the Lord and Giotto feels so terribly guilty for betraying Him, even if only in thought. But he never apologizes, because it’s love, the most beautiful thing in the world, and he won’t deny it.

He understands why, but some part of him still feels betrayed, abandoned and hurt at the thought of his friend forsaking him for something so natural and good as love.

He opens his mouth, ready to defend himself, fists clenched, but Knuckle holds up a hand. ‘’It means either must be equal. Man cannot be woman, woman cannot be man. Love is what the Lord lives for, his ultimate goal.’’

He rests easier that night.

A young noblewoman comes to him, bringing her lover with her. They don’t fit in and that is why they suit the Vongola. By now Giotto has figured out nobody fits in with the Vongola because they’re too diverse and unique. He likes it that way. Elena and Daemon do too.

Elena is optimistic but sly. Her partner might be a cynic, but he is also cunning and believes in the Vongola with his whole heart, complimenting her as always. Daemon doesn’t look at Elena with moon eyes, but only because it’s obvious to him that she must’ve hung it in the sky.

Giotto can’t help but smile at them.

‘’What are they?’’

The blue haired woman laughed. ‘’A present. Or maybe a curse. It will depend on what you will do with it. I can see the future, but the future depends on choices. I trust you to make the right ones, Vongola!’’

Giotto swallows, looking down at the ring on his hand. No, he wants to say, I can’t carry this, but as always, he hesitates too long. When he lifts his head, she’s gone.

She’s a strange woman, Shaman Sepira.

They’ve been training their men for a long time, each of the inner circle having their own division, though everyone ultimately answers to Giotto. They’re good men, but the Vongola grows and grows and grows until one day, Giotto looks at his division and thinks: I don’t know that face. I don’t know her name.

I don’t know my men.

…

Are they good men, these strangers?

Dear Cozart,

Are you well?

I have

I am

The other day

I’m not.

He tries to reach out, but the words don’t come. A thousand crossed out notes, but all the same heading. And eventually, when the words do flow, he stares at the finished letter.

It contains: I love you, I need you, helpmeIamsoafraid.

He’s never told Cozart his awkward manners melt his insides, that his sleeping face ties his tongue and that the way he puts his thumbs in his pockets makes Giotto ache with desire to kiss his broad lips.

He sits down and rests his forehead on the table, arms next to it, dread heavy in his stomach. God, he is a coward.

He never sends the letter.

Giotto walks in on the incident in the middle of the street in broad daylight. They’re holding a little boy up in the air, laughing, taunting him. ‘’Ready to give us your money, kid? Wouldn’t want anything to happen to your little brother, would you?’’

The older boy, held back by two thugs, struggles, elbowing backwards. He hits the shoulder joint. The captor on the right recoils and the boy jerks arm free, punching the man still holding on to him. The left captor doesn’t let go, but his face contorts in anger. ‘’You’ll regret that, pal.’’

It happens in a flash.

The thug has flames on his hands, dying will flames, but he loses control and the red, red, red Storm flames eat the boy like acid.

Giotto burns, is there before he knows it, and throws the man off the teen. The boy’s face has melted, his arms and ribs eaten away. The smell of burning flesh is spreading, but so are the storm flames and it might be too late for the older brother, but the younger is still alive. Giotto snatches the crying boy up, but the flames are everywhere and he has nowhere to go and- The ring unlocks and Giotto finds the power to stop it all.

Afterwards, when the danger is gone, Giotto stares down at his hands again, bile rising up in his throat.

The rings are weapons.

He doesn’t have time to dwell on it. The boy is still there, his bottom lip trembling and his wide, brown eyes brimming with tears and something Giotto recognizes, but can’t name. He needs comfort. Someone to still his shaking limbs.  

‘’The bad men are gone now.’’ Giotto reaches out, but a woman in the crowd snatches the boy away, protectively hiding him behind her.

Her eyes narrow, ‘’No they aren’t. You are still here, Lucifer.’’

The crowd gasps and cross themselves, but no one protests.

Giotto frowns, eyes darting around. What- oh. The dying will flames. The knowledge had leaked to some criminal families and Giotto had assumed… But no.

The men he’d just defeated? Those were from his own godforsaken division and he hadn’t even noticed until she spat it in his face.

In a daze, Giotto turns around and walks home, hand touching his throat, eyes unseeing. His bedroom door falls closed with a thud. His hand slides down to his chest, and his fingers splay over his breastbone.

Lucifer was an angel before he fell, but he became the devil nonetheless.

His nails dig into his skin.

He remembers now. The boy’s eyes reflected Lucia’s, as they were all those years ago. Fear. He had become someone to be feared.

Giotto’s mind and heart tear.

(Nobody hears his screams that night because Giotto has lost the ability to release those long ago. He is utterly silent as he falls apart. It’s terrifying, in the way of a soundless newborn. And isn’t it? The Vongola ended an innocent life. How can he live with himself?

He cries himself to sleep)

‘’The future depends on choices. I trust you to make the right ones, Vongola!’’

When he wakes, he knows.

‘’I’m disbanding our military forces.’’

He seals the rings.

Footnotes

1.       Monday’s Child is a popular nursery rhyme, I did not write it myself. You can find more information on it here.

2.       On the liver: this is factually correct, as far as I could find.

3.       ‘’Cozart has to go back to his parents every spring but often returns to them in winter.’’ In chapter 308 of the manga, we see a flashback in which Giotto and Cozart meet for the first time. Cozart mentions that he is in Giotto’s town because he is visiting his grandfather. I took this to mean that he had family there, which he usually visited for a few months, before going back home to his parents.

4.       ‘’He remembers them being dragged away; men kissing men. To jail, some said. To be butchered, others whispered. Disgusting, some screamed.’’

From what I could find, Italy in the 1800’s had a relatively friendly attitude towards homosexuality, but for the sake of the story, and the fact that I wanted Giotto to confront the fact that his society does not accept his sexuality (as many queer people face today), I chose to dismiss this.

5.       On the ‘’Man shall not lay with man as he lays with woman’’ conversation between Knuckle and Giotto: this is a sentence in the Bible, which has MUCH discussion about it on its actual meaning and the exact translation. What Knuckle says about it is not entirely correct (or, at least, a really REALLY shortened version of one of the explanations).

You can find some more information on it here: 1, 2.

 To see more perspectives, you can simply search for the sentence on google.

Author’s Note

For anyone wondering when this story is set: I put Giotto’s lifetime somewhere around 1800. Most of my research for this fic was specifically set to this era. It is, however, hard to find information sometimes, never mind double checking them, so please keep in mind that not everything will be factually correct. Most of the biggest artistic licenses I knowingly took I will address in my author’s notes.

I’m planning on weekly updates for this story. There are four chapters in total!

I want to thank @i-w-p-chan for being here with me from the beginning, @operaeagleicelynlacelett for reading and commenting on my work, as well @ladyhallen , for reading and commenting, as well helping me with the quotes for each chapter! Next to that, I want to thank the Meet Me in the Pit Crew as a whole for their endless support and love!

Also, @operaeagleicelynlacelett wrote a poem based on this story (but with a different ending) and it is INCREDIBLE. Please go read it! You can find it here! 

[coolpolarbear123]

Band Camp Day 6

I guess I can march

August 25th, 2018

Day 1 | Day 2 | Day 3 | Day 4 | Day 5 | Day 7

HIT:

I guess I should start off by explaining the schedule for today. 

But first: DI is our drill instructor and SL is our section leader. Cool?

We started at nine again because we’re a good band, and it’s a shortened day, so we ended at five, ate dinner, then did evening activities at six instead of nine.

Except the band director let us out at four because we’re a good band, so we had two hours for dinner.

But let’s start at the beginning, because a lot happened today.

The picc inside jokes are currently: referencing the “Cha Cha Slide,” thighclaps, wanting to die and making every reference we can get, yeeting everything, gang sign, not last, and probably many other things I can’t remember.

We had three hours of marching rehearsal this morning.

Our section leader is back at it again with wanting to be hit by the van

Last night the seniors all got drunk to come to band with hangovers. Many seniors were not at band. My section leader was probably still drunk rather than hungover.

I heard that one girl threw up a lot

One girl chased geese with one of the fake geese we had? It was an interesting sight

One of the tubas brings a bassoon to band every day? Why?

Alright, so we ate lunch and headed to indoor band. We’re waiting for band to start, so one picc and I are sitting on a bench. Then another picc is walking by (she’s a librarian for the band, so I’m gonna call her “Librarian”), and looks at us and says, “I don’t appreciate all the thighclaps in the group chat” with a smile on her face.

So I immediately pick up my phone and put “#ThighClapsForLibrarian” in the groupchat

(I used her name, don’t worry)

So then everyone started doing that, and for the rest of the night, anytime we saw her, we would all say “Thigh Claps for Librarian” and give her a thigh clap.

Yeah she hated it

Nah she loved it

It was really funny. The DI and I next to each other in pregame, and Librarian is a little farther away, so later, when we were all on the field, DI and I were like “Thigh Claps for Librarian” and she wanted to die

Back to waiting for band to start, though, one of the piccs was about to enter the building, so we all swarmed her and thighclapped.

She promptly died of laughter

We were in sectionals, and SL was a mess. She tried to use this broken, splintered piece of wood as drum sticks (it was split in two). It did not work.

“I don’t think this is gonna work.” “Any of us could have told you that.”

While trying to find something she could use as drum sticks, she knocked over her coffee, which was in a travel mug that has a lid, but she didn’t want the lid, so she didn’t bring it in the first place.

All of us are dying laughing as she’s exiting the room to get paper towels.

Me: “You’re my favourite role model.” *Laughter increases*

“I will shank all of you” “Thank you”

There’s a lot of references to our band director uncomfortably holding all of our shoulders.

He asked me how to pronounce my name today

SL had her name tag in a weird place in her hood, and it was flipped, so it kept poking her in the face, and so at one point she just bit it and we lost it

SL really didn’t want to do sectionals today, and she was trying to be a good section leader, but we got her to end fifteen minutes early and so we talked about birthing stories

Piccs are weird, I know

I feel like my storytelling isn’t as good as it used to be (*cough* junior year of high school *cough cough*) and I’m sorry. These moments were super funny when they happened and I don’t know how to convey them

So we ate dinner, and it’s time for the evening activity: Hiking

Okay, it’s called something else, but the action is hiking, and if I tell you what it’s called, everyone who sees this will know where I am, so let’s not

It’s apparently a huge deal and tradition, so you’ve gotta show up to this one. Mandatory is a better word than optional for this one.

We meet at the practice field at six. The drum majors tell us to circle up. We do. They say it’s time for hiking... but first... let’s run pregame!

I’m sorry what.

Me: “What are we doing?” DI: “We’re running pregame!” Me: “That’s it--I’m quitting band.” DI: “You’re already in too deep.” Me: “I know.”

So we set for pregame, this is when thigh slaps for Librarian happens, and then: “Returning members, off the field!”

I’m sorry wHAT

So the newcomers have to march pregame. On our own. Literally let us die.

We did okay, I guess. I messed up a lot without people to guide to. We didn’t have our instruments, so I was able to shout stuff, though, like, “Dress down!” and “Wait for the line to go!”

So at the very end of pregame, we’re in a block for the SSB (if you don’t know that abbreviation by now there’s no helping you, please go read previous years), and the drum majors say, “You’re still at attention! Don’t break!”

Like, yeah, okay, we know. We’re standing, not moving. My shoulder hurts, whatever.

But then I start to realize what’s gonna happen, and I’m praying I’m wrong.

And we’re all the way at one end of the field, right? The cars and parking lot are behind us, and we’re pretty much staring down a road.

And suddenly there’s a noise from behind us

And then the returning members are running all around us, dressed in crazy costumes, using props, and doing their best to make us break attention. One girl had a cat, one dude was just skateboarding, one of the piccs came to thighslap in front of me.

She apparently did running thighslaps in front of other piccs. They broke, I think

Librarian came with a CD that had glasses drawn on it and put it right to my face so I could see my reflection. Once I realized it was her, I almost broke.

Anytime it was a picc that did something, I almost broke, basically.

One girl had a bird puppet that made weird noises that she shoved in my face.

And then it was done. It was finally done. “At ease” was said. We were free.

And then we weren’t.

“WE’RE ABOUT TO FIGURE OUT WHO FRESHMAN OF THE YEAR IS. ELIMINATION BLOCK.”

Elimination block. Where we get in a block and listen to commands as the drum majors give them. Mess up and you’re out.

Kill. Me.

The piccs are huddled. I go up to them.

“Not last, guys. Not last.” “We’re making a suicide pact.” “Not. Last.” “...okay.”

So we march in the block. And people keep leaving it. I see the occasional picc leave.

And then they have us condense. There’s maybe fifteen or something of us less. I’m not good with numbers, you know this. There’s a few piccs left. We’re not last.

And we keep going, and suddenly I get a glimpse of what’s around me. One girl. A piccolo. We’re the last two left.

And then she forgot to say “hit” and I was the last one.

And I won.

I’M SORRY WHAT

As soon as I’m at ease, DI flies at me with a hug, and she’s like, “WE’VE NEVER HAD A PICC WIN. NOT LAST, NOT LAST, NOT LAST. I’M SO PROUD, OH, MY GOD.”

I took a picture with past freshmen of the years. Apparently there was a curse that freshmen of the year would drop out of band the next year? The junior saxophone broke it, so there were three of us.

They made me promise not to drop out. As if I would.

And then it was off to the trails, finally.

Every keeps congratulating me on that--it’s weird

But hey, DI is happy

SL just wants to die

We get to the trail, and we hike up the mountain, and we get to the top as a band. It’s a fantastic view.

Along the way, many “’Cha Cha Slide’ off the mountain” jokes were made.

Pictures were taken

Piccs get naked happened (it was hot and a lot of us just took off our shirts and went around in sports bras)

Sliding to the right off the mountain was contemplated

DI took a good minute to complain about one of the piccs’ driving skills. Apparently it was brought up last night, and the drum major totally got into bashing it, and it was wild. DI got cut off early, though, because that picc player came up to us

It was the really nice DM who went off, I was surprised. But then again, they were all drunk.

Still, though, I agree. Her driving sucks.

then they had us all huddle up together. There were platforms, so they pushed the first-years back into the platform. Then, they had many seniors give us speeches.

These were, like, “hey, this is what band did for me,” speeches. Super emotional and all of that.

A picc went first, then another girl, and then DI went up with her friend.

This is when all the piccs lost it and started crying. The minute DI was crying, we were too.

Thighslaps for dad

Eventually SL was up there, and she just talked about how much she wanted to leave but never did ‘cause in the end it’s worth it. She forgot to state that part, but we knew it was there.

“I haven’t wanted to leave marching band this week, yet.” --SL (Us, later: “What do you mean--you’ve literally begged to leave all week. You said you wanted to leave earlier.” SL: “I didn’t mean it, though.”)

Thighslaps for mom

Finally, we all take a band oath, we sing the fight song and alma mater as the seniors cry, and then it’s picture time.

The piccs all thighslap/regular clap for the seniors, we took pictures (yes, one had gang sign), and then we hung around a little bit.

#YeetFor[Picc player]

I put it in the group chat. People repeated it. Picc player keeps trying to get us to stop. She had it coming. She knew it.

We hiked down, then. On the way, DI was like, “I feel like at some point someone’s gonna suffer through something and put it in the groupchat, and all of us are just gonna be like, ‘#thighclapsforso-and-so’”

Then the day was over and we drove back

It was a pretty crazy day

I have to say, though, my speech is gonna be thorough in four years. These posts will be easy to reference. (Future me, you auditioned last, got fifth chair, for detailed references. There are eight new piccs out of fourteen. There were fifteen. One switched to colour guard. She was a returning member.)

I’ll update the links eventually, but I gotta shower and e-mail my chem professor

[lukeysgirl]

The Note Tree ❋ L.H. Pt.10

Part T E N 

Summary: A cherry blossom tree, residing at the farthest part of the schools courtyard. Nobody dwelled there, and you didn’t care much for it. Until you kept hearing one song played over and over, with lyrics changed to touch at your curiosity. They knew you were listening, and one day you gave in and made your way to the pink tree. Waiting for you, a series of notes tied to a single strand of string.

Word Count: 5.5k+

AN: blAH here’s part 10 for you guys! im making this finally a bit more eventful as it was going slow. but here you guys go and i really hope you enjoy it very much! remember, 100 notes pls and thank you :) xx 

Parts: one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen, nineteen, twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five, twenty-six, twenty-seven, twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty.

I M A G I N E 

Wednesday

“We are taking the seniors to a trip in the woods!” The principal announces into the black entity worth of a microphone. 

Everyone was told to file into the auditorium immediately when the doors were opens and the morning announcements echoed through the corridors. More specifically, the seniors were requested. So, you trotted into the large room with ease, your friends easily finding you in the crowd as you chose seats towards the very back, left corner of the theatre. 

It was an extraordinarily large theatre, might you admit. The cozy, cushion red chairs were ornate in rows of three, each horizontal row owning about 12 seats before going down to the next ones. Overhead was another floor of chairs, just for the sake of using more space and having a cooler, higher sight to see kids reenact the horrid tragedies of Shakespeare. Because, honestly, what other play writers do people actually know that deserve to be mainstream? 

“Y/N, are you okay?” Alexis hummed beside you, nudging your shoulder gently in pure concern. 

“Yeah, I’m alright,” you croaked, your elbow planted upon the arm rest as you leaned your cheek against your fist. You lied; you were actually sleep-deprived and starved. After the tutoring with Luke, you were too stuck in thought due to Luke’s damned words and shameless stripping as his way to learn. It bothered you so much so that you couldn’t capture one wink of sleep. You were up all night, wondering in the dark about this blonde, blue-eyed dolt. 

“You don’t look too well,” Des hummed, bringing her gentle hand to plant it upon your forehead. The coolness of her fingers sent goosebumps around your body, but you ignored it with ease. “Your forehead is a little warm…” 

“I doubt I have a fever, or any sort of sickness for that matter,” you said in a hush tone, your eyes focused on the principal, who (in your head) started to sound like a character from Charlie Brown. Des relieved her hand from your forehead, exchanging worried glances with Alexis as Des turned to pat Savannah to inform her. 

“A few of your professors are currently handing out permission slips, regardless to those who are already 18 or above,” Principal Michaels spoke, having you chuckle from the way he held the wooden podium. The pale-white, brown mustached, green-eyed authority stood at the podium all high and mighty like he was some sort of god. “I apologize for such short notice, but it’ll be for this coming Friday and we should come back by Sunday…” 

You sounded him out, unable to keep up with his annoying, raspy voice. With not even a hint of sleep, you couldn’t be asked with a monotonous lectured about a trip that only needed 2 basic sentences: “we’re going camping” and “here’s what you need by Friday.” You understood that nobody could religiously follow you in your energy conservation belief, but you knew as fact that your fellow classmates were bored out of their asses. 

“Nice sweater,” chimed a male, pretty familiar voice, behind you. The girls turned, with the Principals’s voice acting as background to find Nathan right behind you. Sweater? How uncultured. But nonetheless, you looked down at the new Linkin Park sweatshirt with ease and released a curt smile. 

“Thanks,” you spewed simply, slowly focusing yourself on getting a few minutes of sleep as your eyelids began to sink down. So sleepy… if only I could just doze off for a few minutes…

“Y/N.” Nathan’s voice spoke right into your ear, having you snap your neck away and open your eyelids. You divert your eyes over to your right shoulder, where Des sat and Nathan’s face appeared at your outer periphery. “Are you tired?” 

“Just a bit,” you spat simply. “But keep in mind it’s morning and I’m in school, forced to study and interact with the likings of you, Nathan.” 

“Yeesh, cold,” Nathan hummed in offense. You saw a bit of his fluffy chestnut hair bounce to the front of his forehead, having you smirk. You recalled how Luke said he had ‘stolen’ Ashton’s haircut, and he was very true on his similar it was. But then Nathan’s eyes met with yours and an influx of Luke’s ocean eyes came into your mind. “You must be real tired if you’re this crabby. Want a supplement?” 

As Nathan dug into his pocket in search of his offer, Des brought her hand up and slapped him on the back of his head. 

“Fuck, Odessa,” Nathan groaned, using his free hand to rub the future bruise. “The fuck was that for?” 

“If you drug Y/N, I’ll literally rip out your eyes with my nails,” Savannah hissed, flashing up her pastel nails with fake diamonds encrusted upon it in a rather adorable form. Des quickly grabbed the blonde girls wrists, muttering ‘down girl’ as though she were a dog. 

“Relax,” Nathan spoke quietly, throwing his hands up in defense. “I’d never drug sweet little Y/N here. Besides, I know she isn’t gonna take it anyways. I just decided to offer for the slight chance that she should.” 

Already annoyed, you pull on the hood of the sweatshirt over your head. You ensured every spec of hair left out was tucked it kindly before folding your arms over your chest. Alexis did you the favor of gently placing her hand on the side of your head and tugging you over to lean on her shoulder. You emit a yawn, feeling tears well up in your eye sockets as you studied the several shadows of heads in front of you, blocking the view of the Principal. 

Your mind suddenly began to wander over the whereabouts of Luke R. Hemmings. You hated yourself for a brief moment, but succumbed to the reality of things: Luke is now someone kinda important. You couldn’t really explain to anyone, moreover yourself, but Luke is so persistent that he’s managed to put himself in your small circle of people. Fuck me, you thought. This is so annoying. I never asked for this. 

“Now, for those who have attended this school since middle school know how this very trip works,” Principal Michaels hummed, having you roll your eyes as you forced yourself awake for his blabbering. It might be important. “But this year we have decided to… revamp a few traditional customs.” 

The camping trip, though annoying, was an infamous tradition in the school. It was a 3 day trip to hell in which you ‘become one with the woods’ and ‘get closer together with your fellow campers.’ But basically it was a trip full of boring activities that included getting splinters when climbing trees, doing a safer version of sky lining, and getting wet in some lake. There are groups of 4 with teachers as the leaders and each team tries to rack up enough points in order to get some ‘cool prize.’ 

Your guess was an sharpened pencil that said ‘College Bound!’ or some corny shit like that. 

“This should be shit,” you muttered under your breath, feeling Alexis snort from your response. 

“A few e-mails showed up in my inbox with a more fun suggestion for the trip,” Principal Michaels hummed excitedly, reminding yourself of an old grandma content to receive several rolls of yarn. “So we’ve decided to allow students to be the camp leaders instead of our staff.” 

Several quiet chatters and murmurs ensued as you allowed your eyes to droop shut. 

“Maybe I can be a leader,” Nathan hummed, leaning once again on your chair as you felt his eyes on yours. “Would you like to be on my team, Y/N?” 

“I’d rather choke on acorns,” you replied bluntly, your eyes still shut while nuzzling nicely onto Alexis’ shoulder. Des snorted, having Savannah, reach over to rub your shoulder in praise. 

“You never fail to break my heart, Y/N,” Nathan coos, having you snort quietly as you resumed paying attention to what the superior had to say. 

“Unfortunately for those who wanted to be leaders,” Principal Michaels says with little to no sympathy. “The leaders have already been chosen.” 

Annoyed banter ensues as several students begin to chant their ‘boos’ and idiotic complains. Nathan shouted ‘that’s not fair!’ right behind you, having you hiss at him for producing such ear cancer from his mouth. You sat up, relieving Alexis’ shoulder as you decided to see the leaders step up and pretend like they’re the shit. But your eyes widened in great surprise to see the 4 alphas of your class to walk across the large stage before everyone. 

Front and guiding the other 3 was Luke Hemmings, which honestly didn’t surprise you all that much. Luke was always off doing something to get the attention, even if he wasn’t trying. But there he stood, as lanky and covered in black as usual. His curly hair was even more messy than before, seeing it more damp that it should be. Probably didn’t bother trying to dry it and add the disgusting chemicals the businesses call ‘hair care products.’ 

Oh, and following them was the deliciously tan Maori boy Calum, the pale party-monster Michael, and the sweet, and only mature one of the quad, Ashton. 

And, of courses, while the other male seniors groaned in annoyance, the rest of the girls broke their voices in cheers. The most you heard was the chanting of Luke, obviously the favorite for being the lead dog and audacious man who was anything but tame. You heard girls squeal, ‘I hope I’m in Luke’s team!’ and other very explicit terms you wanted to ignore. Your eyes scanned the area to see the red-headed, blue-eyed monster stand excitedly, waving desperately to get Luke’s attention. 

But even Nadia couldn’t capture the attention of the pair of ocean orbs. He looked around, his rouge lips stretched to form a lovely smile as he looked around the auditorium. You watched as he slowly made his way to your row, having you being to sling down to avoid contact. But the blonde asshole was too quick and spotted you, his pearly whites coincidentally shining as he shot you a wink. You huffed, rolling your eyes as you saw a student dash from his seat in the front row to go to the stage. He offered his hand up for a slap, in which Luke stretched his arms in pleasant surprise before bending down to slap his hand. You looked away, closing your eyes in hopes to fall into some sort of deep, 10-minute nap. 

“Simmer down, all of you!” Principal Michaels scolded, forcing your eyelids up to see his old, wrinkly hands wave the flood of students down. They’re already riled up, you thought. How the fuck are you gonna explain this? “They suggested the idea– it was only fair for them to be the leaders of the camping trip!” 

“Do they even know how to be leaders?” A boy hollered towards the middle-center of the bottom influx of students. Several of his mates agreed, having them stomp their feet on the floor in protest. Waste of energy, you thought. 

“God, look how good Calum looks,” Des swooned, having you chuckle as she waved her hand to produce air for the crook of her neck. You had to admit: Calum was looking pretty good. Super loose tank top, skinny jeans hugging his thick thighs nicely, tan hands ornate with small, but evident tattoos. Calum was just eye-candy to all. 

“Okay, but look at Michael– he changed his hair color!” Savannah squealed, bringing her petite hands up to cup her mouth. You emit a small burp, indicating that you required food and immediately. Your eyes divert to the forest green-eyed boy, seeing as his hair was no longer a fiery red. It was a blonde– maybe not as natural and strong like Luke’s, but a blonde with brown wisps coming from the roots at his scalp. It also seemed much longer than before, though you couldn’t make that assumption as you barely looked at the light-skinned boy. 

“Not gonna lose your ovaries about Ashton?” You hummed over to Alexis, who was gnawing on her bottom lip kindly. 

“I don’t need to highlight how amazing he looks,” Alexis muttered simply, her eyes stuck on the brown-haired man who smiled widely at everyone. “That’s a given.” 

“Point taken,” you said with a quiet giggle. Principal Michaels continued to emit details over the trip, in which you deemed mutable. Then, the student in front of you turned around and eyed you, having you furrow your eyebrows curiously. He dragged his upper arm over the back of his seat, with his forearm bent up. 

“Are you Y/N Y/L/N?” The boy hummed, his voice rather high and evidently suffering slow puberty. You blinked a few times before nodding skeptically, having the boy reach over to offer you a small, folded note between his index and middle fingers. 

“Uh, thanks,” you emit quietly, taking the note from the boy as he turned around and became just another figure again. You sit up more properly, allowing the hood on your head to droop off as you felt the paper substance in your fingers. You saw the infamous ‘-H’ on the very top before opening it. 

“Secret admirer?” Alexis whispered beside you as the three girls began crowding you. You nodded, your eyes finally focusing to see the words scribbled on the paper. 

‘Every time I go camping, I always getting so terrified because I’m really scared of the dark. Keep that between us though! Oh, btw, no tree 2day, sry :(’ 

You giggled, quickly closing the note before lifting yourself up a bit to stuff it in the back pocket of your jeans. The girls eyed you, obviously slow readers who didn’t get passed the first 3 words. You remained silent, allowing Principal Michaels words to flow through as you grinned to yourself. Afraid of the dark, stalker? You’re just narrowing it down for me, you thought to yourself. It was an easy situation see: go on the trip, see what night activities occur and stare at those who seem the most terrified. Easy. 

“The boys will choose who they’d like on their team,” Principal Michaels. “You can try and plead them to choose you, but nonetheless it’s their decision. As for the boys,” he resumed, glancing over at the tall boy band before him, “you’ll have to choose 24 students each as the senior class, excluding you boys, is 96.” 

“Fucking yikes,” you huffed, calculating the numbers in your head. 6 cabins, 4 people in each one, gender mixture being a possibility. “I sorta don’t want to go anymore.” 

“You’re going,” Des insisted as she slapped a permission slip on your lap before passing the small stack along to Alexis. You groaned, having Des roll her eyes before placing her hands on your shoulders. “It’s only 2 nights and you always want nothing more than to be out of the house.” 

“Well sure,” you began with a grumble. “But 2 nights with pure strangers being idiotic and attempting to scare each other with Brothers Grimm stories isn’t exactly what I like.” 

“How do you know you’ll be with pure strangers?” Hissed Savannah, leering over at you with her blue orbs worth of eyes. 

“Knowing the situation, I know as fact you’re going to be in Michael’s team,” you commented, receiving silence from Savannah as you snorted. “And then Calum is gonna take Des and Ashton is definitely taking Alexis so I mean… I’m not a genius but surely I’m good at reading the situation.” 

“…Except you actually are a genius and can read anything and anyone like a book,” Alexis points out, having you smile at her response. 3.9 Gee Pee Aye, just like Luke said. Oh fuck, I’m thinking about Luke. 

“Whatever man,” you croaked, taking the permission slip to fold into a small square. You stuffed it in the sweatshirt pocket, keeping your hands in there to gather some warmth. 

“Whatever my ass,” Des huffed, playfully hitting your forearm. “You’re going anyways and you’re going to have a great time in Luke’s team.” 

“Oh-ho, I’m not on his team,” you spat. The girls all leaned forward to stare at you, having you scoff at them as you tugged on the hoodie in reassurance. “I don’t care if he chooses me. I’m in Ashton’s and that’s settled.” 

“You baby, you don’t get to choose,” Alexis cooed with a gentle shove on the shoulder. “Besides, it’ll be fun– Luke likes you and you get along with him best.” 

“That’s because I see nothing in him and he’s super persistent,” you growled. “He doesn’t know when to let up. So I don’t care– I’m not in his team. That’s final.” 

“Okay then, Princess,” Nathan said suavely from behind. You let out a heavy sigh, feeling a headache collect in your head as his head peeped once again beside you. “Want to join my team?” 

“Die,” you spewed quietly. 

“I wanna be on your team!”

“Pick me, please!” 

“Yay, I’m in Calum’s team!” 

This sudden, abrupt camping trip has completely punched the little desire to be in the institution. You dropped your head in your arms in defeat, attempting to mute the chatter with the MP3 you gladly stole from Des without any complaints. Blasting Tyler the Creator in your head, your mind wandered in the pitch black darkness to see if you could sleep for just 5 minutes. 

You allowed yourself to peek up to see a big crowd of seniors surrounding the table of the infamous quad by the name of 5 Seconds of Summer. They looked somewhat stressed out, seeing as several students were hollering their names and pleads to join their teams. Dumbasses, you thought to yourself. So desperate for attention, then when you finally get it, you’re stressed out. You shook your head as Alexis joined the table with a tray full of food. Des brought lunch, and Savannah accordingly ate a big breakfast. You didn’t have the energy to start walking through crowds for food. Especially not with the weakness you own. 

“They have pizza today, you know,” Alexis teased, flaunting the cheesy slice of life on her tray. You blinked a few times before hiding your face back in your arms. 

“I’m not really hungry,” you lied, your head vexing you as a headache was ensuing and brewing quickly. You hoped the lie would have placed a believable facade around you, but knowing your friends, one of them would take a hint and stuff something in you. But before any of them could chime, a loudness entered the lunchroom that was incomparable to the noise that was already blasting. So you plugged the earbuds back in. 

Forcing yourself to sit up, your eyes darted to notice the infamous blonde monster enter the lunchroom. Crowds of students (mainly women) tailed after Luke as he walked in. Smug smile and all, you wanted nothing more than to punch it off his face. Luke’s presence quickly drew his other friends as Calum, Ashton, and Michael escaped their table and dashed over to Luke. They were really testing your boundaries it seems. 

You increased the sound of the MP3, practically breaking your ears with rap as you watched the boys stroll around the lunchroom. Their combined crowds made them look like they were going on a school trip, seeing as they guided them around. But as you did, a sudden dizziness began striking, having you drop your head into your arms once more. Your vision was now tilted, having your eyes divert every which way to notice the girls looking at you with wide eyes. You pulled off the earphones and stared at them with wonder. 

“Y/N, you alright?” Des began worriedly, her hand coming to plant itself gently at the bend of your elbow. You nodded, your eyes struggling to stay open. Fucking fuck, you thought to yourself. This sudden weakness from sleep deprivation and starvation was really getting to you, and you didn’t know whether to be pissed at Luke or yourself or both. 

“Y/N, you seriously don’t look well,” Savannah chimed, moving from across you to stand behind you. You let her hold your chin to tilt your head a bit up. Her free hand resided on your forehead, listening to her silver bracelets clink against one another as she moved her hand. “You seem a little warm.” 

“I don’t have a fever,” you groaned, attempting to swat her away. But you were too weak to even dare wave your hand any sort of high velocity. You loved your friends– you do, but they sometimes fretted over you far too much for you to actually handle. “Seriously, I’m fine. I’m just tired, like I usually am.” 

“Yeah, but you’re incredibly groggy and you’re not jolting away,” Alexis points out. Right as she said that, a fairly loud growl emitted from your stomach, feeling a painful twist as you let out a hungry burp. “Y/N, are you hungry?” 

“I just told you I wasn’t,” you huffed. “What part of ‘I’m not really hungry’ do you guys not get?” The girls watched you as your eyes lightened up at the sight of Alexis’ pizza. You really wanted at least a bite, just to relieve yourself of this excruciating pain before you could get home. “I’m fine, really.” 

“Okay then,” Des hummed, her brown eyes looking down at her phone before looking at you. “Stand up then. Lunch is almost over.” Your eyes darted towards the large clock in the lunch room, seeing her words ring true as you saw there was only just 3 minutes. Reluctantly, you forced your legs straight to rise from the cold, circular table. Throwing your legs one by one over the seat, your bend down to grab your bag. But mistakes were very much made when you quickly rose again and found yourself go far too lightheaded. 

“Fucking hell,” you muttered, bringing a hand up to your forehead. The periphery of your eyesight was suddenly splotching black as you took one step away from the table. But then a jolt of pain hit your head and you found yourself going limp. Slowly, you saw your vision going sideways again while you were close to colliding to the ground. The last thing you saw was a black figure wearing a Cage The Elephant dashing to you, your name being yelled loudly in a masculine, accented tone before everything went mute and you drowned in the black. 

“Nnn…” 

Emitting a croaky groan, your brain was finally regaining consciousness. Slowly, you allowing your eyes to flutter open. Your eyelids felt heavy, but you nonetheless forced them up to get shot by a very brightly lit ceiling lamp above. Feeling your mouth going very dry, you moved your tongue around and licked your lips, providing the moisture of saliva all around. Realizing that you just awoke from a slumber, you jolted yourself up to sit up and take in your surroundings. “The fuck am I…” 

“The nurse.” Oh, of fucking course. You turned to your right to see Luke Robert Hemmings sitting beside you, his elbows on his knees with his back slouched. His ocean eyes were no longer beautiful, and more dim and sunken. His hair was a little messy, probably from tampering with it anxiously. His rouge lips were normal, though his bottom lip was much more crimson due to the lip biting he’s probably been doing. 

Great, you thought to yourself. There goes my heart. 

“Why am I here?” You asked softly, slouching yourself to lean against your hand. That’s when you finally noticed. On your right arm, the sleeve of your hoodie was pulled up with your forearm exposed and being punctured by a needle. Your eyes dragged up the wire connected to it to see it connected to a big pouch of liquid. Artificial nutrients, you guessed. 

“You passed out in the lunchroom,” Luke replied, his stern face not faltered a single bit as you distantly stared at the needle in your vein. Luke sound a bit mad, like you did something to actually get him pissed. Not that you were an angel, but you doubted to have done a thing to get the blonde, pompous idiot mad. “Because you apparently were sleep, water, and food deprived.” 

“How’re school nurses accurate?” You wondered quietly, attempting to escape Luke’s information. You wanted to avoid being scolded, especially by Luke. You’d actually feel bad, and that would be very annoying, considering how tired and weak you still were. 

“Y/N, what the fuck were you doing with no sleep and no food or water in your body?” Luke growled, anger present on his tongue. You gulped, goosebumps suddenly crawling as you made sure to look away from the boy. You didn’t understand why you felt bad– it’s fucking Luke. Not even Sav, Des, or Alex. It’s fucking Luke Hemmings, Mr. I-Am-Too-Popular-To-Try-In-School. “Answer me.” 

“Cool down, blondie,” you hummed quietly, weakly raising your arm to wave him gently with your hand. You couldn’t move it too much, seeing as that was the punctured arm. You rose the other hand to cup your mouth to emit a yawn before crinkling your nose a bit. “I’m not dead and you’re not my guardian. I don’t see why you’re acting like some sort of worry warrior.” 

Suddenly, Luke abandoned his chair, the plastic dragged upon the white tiles as it was violently sent back. You looked over and flinched, seeing Luke look down at you with vexed eyes. His jawline was clenching, with veins dancing up and down his neck and temples. He then went and slammed his hands down on the bit of bed that you weren’t occupying, his face just a few inches from yours. 

“Stop being so fucking careless!” Luke exclaimed, practically barking as you stared at him blankly. The scruff ornate on his chin was collecting very small dews of his spit, you noticed. “You have to be more self-aware and give a shit about yourself because it’s not just you that cares about you. I fucking care about you, and you damn well know this because I’ve told you this before and I’ll say it again: I. Love. You. So stop acting like your damn choices don’t affect anyone else because my heart fucking stopped when you fell right before me.” 

You stared, somewhat stunned by Luke’s aggressive take. His blue eyes were so dark, the azure not sitting well with you. You noticed his under eyes seeming a bit pink– had he been crying? His lips were in a pout, not entertained and very unlike his usual smiley self. You suddenly took in his words and allowed your eyes to fall down to see his shirt. Cage the Elephant. 

“You were the one rushing to me,” you connected the dots, looking away to take this in. You wanted the silence, but Luke was obviously not going to give it to you. He moved and ended up in your view again, still quite aggravated. “Luke–.” 

“Also stop shutting down my feelings just because you believe I’m wrong about them,” Luke barked, having you blink a few times as he huffed. “I flipped my shit. I threw myself on the floor so your head didn’t hit the damn floor. I was not gonna let you get a concussion.” 

“You cushioned my fall?” You asked quietly, seeing Luke’s eyes soften as he revealed a curt smile. He stood up straight and turned around, clinging his thumbs into his jeans. Before you dragged your hands up to your eyes, Luke looked back at you with a sympathetic gaze. 

“Before you start, I’m not gonna moon you again,” Luke spoke softly, having you hesitantly put your hands down as Luke dragged his pants that resided towards the left down and showed his upper buttcheek to you. Your eyes widened a bit.

A large, black splotch was evident in the very pale skin. The outskirts of the bruise was red, the flesh obviously agitated from the fall. There were licks of purple and blue in there, resembling a night sky in a hilarious way. But you couldn’t help and feel genuinely bad. You were a burden to someone you didn’t ask to take your burden-causing ass. 

“Luke, thank you for catching me and whatnot,” you began quietly, having Luke pull his pants up as he turned to face you once again. “I’m also sorry that you did but… you didn’t have to. I know, you care about me and love me or whatever, but I didn’t ask for you to do that. You wouldn’t have gotten hurt and I wouldn’t feel bad and have to apologize if you just let me fall completely.” 

Luke just stared at you for a brief moment, before bringing his hand up to your forehead and flicking it. 

“Oi, the fuck was that for, Hemmings?” You spat, bringing your left hand up to your forehead to rub it. 

“You sound stupid when you rant invalid reasoning,” Luke said quietly, sauntering over to grab the chair back and sit himself back down. He winces. He folded one leg over the other, studying you wistfully. “Even as strangers, I wouldn’t want to see someone fall down, knowing damn well I could go over and prevent a way bigger damage that the bruise on my ass.” 

Your palm was tickled by the wool sheets of the gurney as you distantly studied your black leggings. Luke bothered you, but not only because he was a persistent pest. He bothered you because even when he was like this, he was only doing it out of genuine care and kindness. He spoke words of sentiment to you, about you, without any hint of embarrassment. His heart is real and soft and full of warmth and completely saccharine. It bothered you because if you weren’t so stubborn, this would be taken, with ease, as the first time someone has given you romantic love. 

“Where’s Sav, Des, and Alex?” You hummed, refusing to respond to his banter as you looked around to see the nurse vacant. It was just the two of you, it seemed. 

“In class,” Luke hummed. “There’s about 15 more minutes before school is over, so just regain your energy before you could go home. I can take you if you’d–.” 

“I’m good,” you quickly dismissed before letting out a sigh. You stomach grumbled, annoyed that you were still hungry. Your left hand subconsciously held your tummy, having you plot a plan to grab a sandwich before returning home. But it seems Luke was ahead of you on that. 

“Someone left you food, by the way,” Luke hummed, having you turn to watch as Luke grabbed a brown paper back from the floor and offered it to you. You grabbed it weakly, placing it on your thighs as you opened it curiously. “I didn’t look in it, I swear.” 

You snorted, digging through the bag to fish out a packed sandwich. You noticed it was from Five Guys, humoring you as you put it beside you before checking more of the bags contents. There was a Pure Leaf ice tea, lemon flavored and fairly cold. Putting that aside as well, you noticed a note at the very bottom. Picking it up, you tossed the brown bag away to your lower legs as you opened the note up. 

‘I heard what happened– please eat up! I almost had a heart attack tbh. Anyways, this place makes my favorite sandwiches so I hope you like it. Nobody knows this, but I used to be extremely fat. Like, really fat. But puberty did me good and I still eat about 2 boxes of pizza to this day -H’ 

“What a loser,” you muttered under your breath, rising a bit to stuff the note into your back pocket with the other as you took the sandwich and dropped it on your thighs. You opened it quickly to reveal a nice sandwich before you. Your mouth was practically watering, super excited to eat the delicious food. But before you could, you felt two large, calloused hands wrap around the one being pumped with nutrients. You look over and see Luke stare at you, his eyes warm and soft with a curt smile playing at his lips. 

“If I may, I’m going to use your invalid reasoning right now,” Luke hummed quietly. “You’re going to be in my team for the camping trip, and it’ll be my responsibility to take care of you. Don’t quote-unquote ‘burden me’ by being careless during that time, okay? But on a serious level, please don’t worry me. I’d hate for something to happen to you, especially when I’d be watching you.” 

“Luke…” you began softly but he was quick to let go of your hand. He rose from the chair and stretched a bit, emitting a loud yawn. He cracked his knuckles a bit, adjusting his hair as he continued to look down wistfully at you. He bent down again, his hands down on the bed as his nose was just a few inches from yours. 

“Get that permission slip signed, okay?” Luke requested calmly, giving you a blush-inducing wink. “A little birdie said you weren’t going, and I think that’s what you could do to pay back my services.” 

You groaned, realizing he was the reason you weren’t currently suffering a concussion and potential brain damage. 

“Okay, now shut up,” you growled, smashing the half sandwich again Luke’s lips. Luke chuckled, taking a bite before rising up again to make his way out of the nurse’s office. “Where are you off to?” You asked curiously, somewhat upset that he was leaving. 

“I’m off to tell Ms. Lee that you’re okay as well as to get your work for the day,” Luke chimed, walking over to the doorway. He then halted, turned around to lean against the right side of it. “Nice sweatshirt by the way.” 

With that, Luke Hemmings left you in the nurse, with food on your legs and your heart racing.

ooo look at me, productive and quick update wow. if you liked this chapter, pls lmk right ovah here, and ill see you at pt 11 xx

[commanderlexas]

Clexa Fic Recs ❀

This is for the anon that asked if I could recommend some clexa fics. The fics are in no particular order and I haven’t included the most popular ones because I know that most of you have read them already. I really hope you find some that you haven’t read yet. I’ve marked with a ♥ the fics I love a little more than the rest, but all of them are really good and that’s why their on the list! 

Like an Open Wound by Tanagariel (work in progress) Summary: Famous musician Clarke Griffin, known in the industry as Wanheda, is in the process of relaunching her career with a new image, to leave behind the negativity and bad press surrounding her. She’s going on tour very soon, so her manager decided to hire a team, to Clarke’s dismay, with the sole intent to keep Clarke safe from her extremely ravenous fanbase. Enter Lexa Woods, who has been tasked to watch over the very wild rock star. Finding a stubborn woman who was free-spirited had been nothing but a challenge for the disciplined security expert. Suffice to say that they were going to clash.Clarke and Lexa will spend the whole tour together and in the process learning that they aren’t so different after all. That maybe, they can find a common ground between being in the spotlight and the shadows, leaving both their hearts exposed, like an open wound.

when love becomes the reason by clarkesquad (work in progress) Summary: Clexa Fake Dating AU. The one where it’s not a love story, it’s a story of a girl who needs a plus one for her brother’s wedding (and a girl who needs to be at that wedding).Spoilers: It’s a love story. It’s always a love story.

♥ Something Suspiciously Close to Hope by hedaswolf (thebaddestwolf) (work in progress) Summary: Eleven doesn’t think she knew what love was until she met Clarke and Lexa. After years in foster care Eleven has learned not to get her hopes up, but her new foster parents Clarke and Lexa are making that a difficult task. A Clexa/Stranger Things crossover AU. (Now, a ficlet series!)

The Queen Consort by MadeInSpace (work in progress) Summary:  As the music swelled around them to announce the festivities ahead, Clarke only noticed how quickly the Queen dropped her hand.

Alexandria, Queen of the Amazons by Almaviva47 (work in progress) Summary: Queen Alexandria of Themyscira and Head Healer Clarke Griffin have been in love for over two thousand years. Duty and residual guilt have prevented Lexa from fully committing herself to Clarke, but a fateful day arrives, and Lexa throws all caution to the wind. Their love for each other is eternal, and eternal it shall remain. Amazon!Clexa with the sappiest ending I could ever imagine. Inspired by the lore of Wonder Woman.

♥ Suffragette by Willam89 (complete) Summary: Historical AU – London, 1913. After bombing the Prime Minister’s house, suffragette Lexa is being chased by the police. Lady Abby Griffin offers her a way out: she needs a maid to accompany her sick daughter Clarke to their estate in Lancashire, where she is supposed to live for a year. Even though she hates everything about the aristocratic life, Lexa has no choice but to pretend she’s Lady Clarke Griffin’s new maid, which proves to be a hard task when she finally meets the temperamental girl.

♥ we all have baggage (but let's rewrite our futures) by rochke11 (complete) Summary: A year after the death of her wife, Lexa and her daughter plan to spend the summer at her in-laws' lake house. They've barely been there twelve hours before their neighbor shows up with blonde, greasy hair and stained clothes with her two kids in tow. The story of a widow and a divorcee and the complicated relationships they have with their kids, and before long, each other.

♥ Splinter Hold by rochke11 (complete) Summary: Lexa has been street racing for six years. It's how she met her girlfriend - now fiance, Clarke. But the day Lexa proposes is the day she promises to give up racing for Clarke's sake. She has one last race and then she's done. But that last race ends badly, and suddenly Clarke is left dealing with something she never expected to happen, a Lexa who has no memory of who Clarke is.

String Bracelets by rochke11 (complete) Summary: Growing up, Clarke, Lexa and Costia spent their summers as best friends at Camp Rothenberg, from when they were seven until they were fifteen. Now 19, Clarke and Lexa have returned to Camp Rothenberg as camp counselors, but it's been three years since they last saw or spoke to each other. Both girls are haunted by the last summer they spent at camp together four years earlier and by the death of the girl who brought their trio together. Forced to spend the summer as counselors of rival cabins: The Grounders and Arkers, will Clarke and Lexa finally be able to reconcile, and will they finally forgive themselves and each other for what happened that summer four years earlier?

♥ Criminal by LittleAsianHellaGay (complete) Summary: She used to know her, a kind, quiet girl sitting a few rows behind her in Spanish class. Clarke never would have thought, the next time she saw Lexa, was under these dangerous and complicated circumstances. There is too much at stake, but how could she control her mind if she couldn't control her heart?This might as well be a desperately twisted romance between two people who were never supposed meet each other again.

♥ Steal the Bride by Tanagariel (complete) Summary: Clarke Griffin and Lexa Woods are one of the most talented actresses in Hollywood. Both have splendid careers and so far have done an incredible work in the film industry. However, they have never done a movie together, until now. What starts as a friendship as their characters develop becomes something else. The media can't help but notice the huge chemistry that they have and soon rumors of them being a couple begin. While both deny to the press their relationship status they will realize that they might be pretty wrong after all.

Give Your Heart a Break by Tanagariel (complete) Summary: Clarke Griffin, MD. Amazing human and pediatric surgeon extraordinaire suffers the loss of a very dear patient, which rattles her to the core. To seek solace she travels to the coastal town of Polis where she spent all her summers when she was a child and the place where she made incredible friendships and memories.Years later Clarke will find that the place has not changed at all, the same kind people will be there to receive her with open arms, well, not everyone. The girl who was her nemesis has become a gorgeous woman, a woman who is as haunted as her, who cannot deal with the loss of a dear one. It is in this moment when Clarke realizes that maybe coming back to Polis was not just to heal her own heart but to give that woman's heart a break.

♥ Are You A Kidnapper? (Because You Abducted My Heart) by 707 (almost complete) Summary: "If you don’t stop we’re never going to leave this room,“ Lexa pants, biting back a groan. "And I swear I will like you even less if Cage gets angry at us again.”

“Mmm…” Clarke agrees, licking down the smooth expanse of Lexa’s stomach. “Too bad you already hate me, right?"or the Abduction AU where Clarke and Lexa are wildly attracted to each other, but have too much pride to admit it.

Happy Endings by netafaye (work in progress) Summary: Clarke helps Lexa through a break up and they fall in love.

Bloodstream by daysofyou (work in progress) Summary: Clexa Zombie AU! Clarke and Lexa have been neighbors their whole lives and never really liked one another. Or, they liked each other too much and never understood each other. What happens when an infectious disease spreads rapidly around the world turning people into flesh eating dead, and Lexa and Clarke are forced to survive together. Love, fluff, survival and eventual smut.

♥ Two Weeks & Twelve Summers by KeepingSchtum (completed? - I think it’s missing an epilogue but it’s one of the cutest and fluffiest fics) Summary: Lexa lives in a small town resort, where the Griffins begin to vacation every summer when both Clarke and Lexa are 8 years old. The two girls grow up together, side by side, for two months out of the year before Clarke leaves at the end of each summer to head back home to Washington, D.C. As they get older, their relationship changes and matures and all it takes is two weeks to ultimately change their relationship, and their lives, forever.

Through the Looking Glass by RhinoMouse (work in progress) Summary: Clarke was born the youngest of her class of night bloods. No one expected her to win her conclave. Lexa is a guard cadet and the daughter of Marcus and Abby Kane. After taking the fall for a crime she didn’t commit she’s sent to the ground as part of a group of a hundred prisoners. Or our version of the role reversal fic.

loose me from hard care (and all my heart cares to accomplish) by gaydarwilliams (work in progress) Summary: The gladiator/ancient Rome "The 100" AU no one asked for.Clarke/Claudia is the Domina of the most prominent gladiator training school in Rome. Lexa/Livia is a captured Pictish warrior who finds herself thrust into the center of the city's most popular spectacle. Attraction, distrust, anger, betrayal, bloodshed, and lust all play out as the two find themselves entangled in the harsh political and social realities of Ancient Rome - and each other.

Dine and Dash by Thatoneloser_kid (It needs one more chapter to be complete but it hasn’t updated for almost 2 years, so I don’t know if the writer plans on finishing this fic) Summary: Clarke works at her fathers diner and a very pregnant Lexa comes in looking for a job

The Beau Monde by Thatoneloser_kid (work in progress - it hasn’t updated for a year though) Summary: When Lexa was dragged to another one of the overly extravagant parties held by one of her parents pretentious friends the last thing she expected was was to befriend a pretty blonde woman. She also didn’t expect said pretty woman to be married to the old man trying to go into business with her father

[adventures-in-poly]

Adventures in Poly: The Early Years [Part 1 of ?]

A memoir type thing that’s been banging around in my head for a few weeks and is only semi poly-related; under the cut.

My thoughts began to make sense in the summer of 2003. I was fresh out of freshman year of high school, my head still firmly in the clouds but able to grab some coherency amidst the chaos. The Order of the Phoenix had just been released, and I nurtured a soft spot in my heart for Remus and Sirius as if I had singlehandedly invented shipping. On the radio circulated a seemingly endless playlist of markedly exciting summer alt rock hits, just gritty enough to match the burgeoning glory days of emo that would later accompany a bitter autumn. My dad had just moved 8 hours south for work, following six months of unemployment spurred by a sudden layoff. My mom and I counteracted our sadness by turning it into a game, teaching him how to decorate his apartment and care for himself, pretending we were the Queer Eye guys as we pushed through the aisles of Target.

I had a boyfriend, the same one for over a year at that point. I thought I loved him, but there were problems. Our dates had become stale; fifteen minutes of hookups in his bedroom to the soundtrack of Dispatch or Dave Matthews, followed by about three hours of me watching him play music and pretending (to him and to myself) to be enthralled. He was a year older than me and receiving pressure to start having sex. I did as much as I felt comfortable doing at the time, which is much more than I would have chosen to do had I known more about consent. Earlier that summer, his father had caught me naked and hiding in a closet, and I don’t remember feeling as ashamed as I think I was supposed to. I remember feeling real.

My parents and I took a cruise vacation in August. I was beyond excited. We hadn’t thought we’d be able to afford it, but my dad got a job offer right before we would have had to cancel. I didn’t realize back then how important having two whole weeks with my parents together was for their emotional health. Everything just felt so good. When I lament nowadays about how nothing feels exciting anymore, I think about August of 2003, before I boarded that ship, two new CDs in my backpack (QOTSA’s “Songs for the Deaf” and 311′s “Evolver”), racing around all the decks with my parents and marveling over how grand it all was, how incredible this week was going to be.

My summer boy was tall, and extraverted, and tan. I don’t remember much else about him from early on in the week. The group I met in the teen club started off large and then splintered into something more closely resembling “popular” and “less popular”. He was sort of a leader in the popular group, won in equal parts by his physical and social attractiveness. He had hooked up with two girls already, a fact that made me quick to categorize him as “typical” and allowed me to ignore him rather than resent him. There was something that struck me as different, though. He was popular, sure, but he wasn’t like the hockey jocks from my school. There was something like a darkness. One night the group ended up in his cabin, and he showed us images from an Alex Grey art book, rhapsodizing about the curve of a skeleton or the colors of a pregnant stomach, fetus visible inside. The book must have weighed about five pounds, and he had chosen to bring it with him, and I had never seen someone so magnetic have so much substance.

The last day of the cruise, we found each other on a beach at dock, and he spoke more words to me within ten minutes than he had the entire week. We had never been friends, never had much reason at all to talk to each other, but that day he spoke to me softly, asked about my interests, looked me in the eye as he listened. I knew enough to jump to cynical thoughts that he just wanted ass, but too little to really believe them. And even if he did, why me. It was never me. It had never been me.

Back on the ship, we escaped to empty rooms together. I fought off anxiety-ridden nausea in the bathroom and oscillated between bouts of hating and wanting him. He invited me to sit beside him, and I knew exactly the game he was playing as he slid his arm behind my place on the back of the couch. I knew that I was one of many, but many that he had nevertheless chosen. I rolled my eyes and spoke in a deadpan voice, as if testing him, as if inviting him to give up, hoping simultaneously that he would and wouldn’t.

That night was shrouded in tragedy. A few days before, one of the girls in our group had showed up with a hookup, a guy who bought her booze and was slightly too old to get into the teen club. On Friday, he was dead, killed by a jetski collision in a fluke storm.

That night, we cried on the highest deck of the ship as the night air stung the corners of our eyes. We cried for our lost friend. We cried for the shock and for the fragility of life. We cried for the friendships that would dissolve after we disembarked. I cried for my confusion; for my lust and for my desire to receive comfort from him and for my infidelity and for what all of that meant. My summer boy rocked me back on a lounge chair and we kissed, and more, but not the most, and all the while I sobbed; I must have looked a mess. I kept pulling away, saying I couldn’t, saying I loved my boyfriend, but knowing that that wasn’t a reason. He should have listened to me. For the sake of consent culture, I wish he had. But for the sake of my needs, I’m glad he didn’t. I wanted to do what we did that night. I wanted to feel him. I wanted to let myself fall completely into him. If I could do it all again, I would, but I would shut away my guilt and absorb myself in the moment.

That autumn was one of the worst I have ever experienced. I mourned the friend who had died. I mourned my summer romance. I mourned the loss of several people I cared about. I mourned the experience he and I could have had if only I hadn’t cried so damn much. I mourned my morality. I mourned my shame. I wrote his name over my notebooks and screamed into a pillow, less for who he was as a tangible being, and more for how my world was crumbling, reforming itself. My heart physically hurt. I felt physically ill.

I tried to make sense of it all. I wrote. I wrote all the time. I scribbled until my knuckles went white and my pen tore the page. I stayed up until 2 in the morning, suffering five hour sleeps in order to justify what had happened. I took solace in the fact that my best friend from home came through for me, like he had year after year. Together, we lamented over why monogamy was required. We both understood that you could love your boyfriend and still find fascination in a kind and attractive stranger. We screamed over how little sense monogamy made, and why we had to comply with it. We didn’t know -- or at least I didn’t know -- that there was any choice in the matter. It didn’t occur to me that it might be possible to get what I wanted. And even if I had known, I lacked the patience and the conversational skills to ever achieve it.

My summer boy and I rarely spoke after that August. We both went home to our separate states and chatted occasionally on AOL Instant Messenger. He once name-dropped that he was listening to The Mars Volta; I instantly went to FYE and picked up Deloused in the Comatorium, and my life has never been the same since. That autumn, music saved me. The melodic wails of Cedric’s voice in and out of time with Omar’s guitar led me to new musical discoveries: the complex harmonies of Coheed and Cambria; the soft strums of Brand New’s strings; it all matched what I needed in a way that never made me feel better, but made me feel real.

In a way, my summer boy created me: indirectly, by introducing me to the music that would shape my teenage years and my emotional growth, and directly, by giving me my first taste of non-monogamy, however unethical it was.

[9r7g5h]

Remember All - P11

Fandom: Xena: Warrior Princess

Overall Rating: T+ (Rating subject to change)

Genre: General

Summary: Given another chance, left with her memories of their first time through, Gabrielle knows there’s only one option for her- let Xena live. Whatever she had to do, whatever she had to change to make sure that would happen, Gabrielle was willing to do it.

Words: 3776

AN: :D

Disclaimer: I do not own Xena.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, ???  

A Londinium that was in the middle of a party.

Even from down the river, the bonfires from inside the fort were visible, turning the sky above red and gold. Laughter and music played, cheers echoed through the night- a festival, perhaps? Or just the Romans celebrating their win over the Britannic people, a win they were sure was complete? Either way, Xena turned in the water and smiled, a cruel, wicked smile that would have sent shudders down the spine of everyone there if they hadn't already been shaking from the water's cold.

They had thought they were safe. They had let their guards down. They would pay for that mistake.

She wasn't worried as they approached, not anymore- the closer they got, the louder the sounds from inside the fort became, quieting their splashing as they approached the riverbanks, overwriting the sound of armor clanking and weapons accidentally smashing into each other as they dragged themselves free of the water. And Xena had been right- guards were light, and those few that were there seemed uninterested in their jobs, staring into the fort instead of out into the danger around it.

It didn't take Xena long to scale the fifteen foot wall, a pair of hand knives her way up- she seemed almost excited by the challenge, the way she smiled when she asked everyone around for their blades. Reaching the top, for a moment there was silence, a flash of silver darting down the length of the wall, and before any of them could react down below, three bodies fell from the top of the wall and landed besides them.

A rope followed after, Xena's face appearing over the side of the wall as she motioned for them to climb, and hurry.

While the men who had come with them from Chin just nodded at Xena in thanks as they crested the wall, well aware of what she could do and how dangerous of an idea it was to cross her, Boadicea's men were awestruck, their eyes wide with fear and their mouths slack from wonder as, the moment they reached the top, they all glanced back down to the bodies that laid beneath them. Gabrielle was the last up, the rest of the party already splintering off into their groups; a few to go take out the rest of the guards, a few to go cause a disturbance, and a few by Xena's side, ready and waiting to go open the gates for the army. Taking Xena's hand to help pull her up the last few feet, Gabrielle leaned against the wall for a minute, pretending to be winded, as Xena whispered her last few orders to the men coming with her. Falling in with the rest of the pack, she took off after the rest of them, all of them silent as they kept to the shadows. Already the sound of people fighting could be heard, meaning their men were doing their job. No sound from the guards, at least not yet, something that could be either bad or good, depending. And they went unnoticed, sliding around tents and the half done buildings, keeping to the shadows and alleys, slowly, ever so slowly, making their way forward.

Gabrielle broke off. It wasn't hard- Xena so focused on what was before them, so sure Gabrielle would be right behind her, she didn't even noticed when Gabrielle just stopped walking and slid into the most complete building, hiding in its empty hall. It wasn't tall, only three stories at most, but it was the tallest one there, and Gabrielle knew. Even Xena had known, had paused for a split second to stare at the building with a hateful gaze before waving them all on- if anywhere, this was where Caesar would be.

It was surprisingly empty; no servants, no guards, just a dark, quiet building. Because of the festival, or whatever the Romans were celebrating, Gabrielle decided as she snuck deeper into the building, sliding her feet and her arms partly outstretched to avoid running into anything. It didn't take too long for her to find the stairs, solidly built even in what must have been semi-rushed construction conditions. Sliding her staff from her back, Gabrielle slowly, ever so slowly, began to walk up the stairs, ready to swing the moment she saw something. Nothing on the second floor, just another empty, barely furnished room, but the third...

A light. The sounds of footsteps. A shuffle of papers. The sounds of someone completely unaware of what was waiting for them just a few feet away. Supposedly.

Her staff at the ready, Gabrielle leapt up those last few stairs, rolling into the room to avoid the sword swing that buried the blade into the wood of the door frame. Lashing out, she managed to catch her opponent across the shins with her staff, sending him stumbling back as he tried to avoid falling forward, right into her path. Grabbing the abandoned sword handle, she wrenched it from the wood and held it before her, the weapon a familiar yet strange weight in her hands from her last life, from when Xena had finally given in and trained her to use it, a weapon she hadn't used in a very long time.

She pointed it at the enemy...and sighed as Brutus stared at her in amazement.

"Where's Caesar?"

For a long moment he didn't respond, his head instead tilted to the side. Studying her, considering her, as if she was some sort of oddity he couldn't understand. Even when she pressed forward a bit, his own sword still raised and pointed directly at him, he said nothing. Only moved from where he had stumbled back to the table, where papers were scattered across the surface. Only when he had moved and taken a sip from his wineskin that he spoke.

"He's gone," Brutus said with a shrug, as if the information was common knowledge. Which, to the Romans, it might have been. "He left weeks ago, back for Rome. The council wanted to see him, make him explain why he wasted so many Roman lives on such a pitiful rock. He won't be back for months, if ever. I am Marcus Junius Brutus, and since you seem to have my sword, would you like to take a seat?" He nodded at one of the few chairs that existed within the room, and only sighed when she shook her head in refusal. "Your choice." Leaning back against the desk, he looked her over once more, nodding.

"You don't hail from Britannia, do you?" He didn't give her a chance to speak, instead shaking his head. "No, you're Greek, aren't you? Strange, for a random Greek woman to be this far west all by herself." As if realizing something, Brutus' eyes lit up- just as the sounds of fighting and Xena's chilling war cry rang through the night. "You're here with Xena, aren't you?"

Gabrielle stiffened, and that was all the confirmation he needed.

"Caesar told me about her," Brutus explained, nodding as if everything finally made sense. "He said she would come, and he was quite disappointed when she didn't show up while he was here. A pity; I know he was looking forward to pitting his wits against hers once more."

Still she didn't reply, her gaze and hand steady as she watched him, waited for him to get to the point.

"You know," he finally said into the near silence- only near, because the sounds of battle were growing louder, drunkenly slurred voices screaming for their weapons, only to turn into screams of pain as they were cut down. "You know who I am, but you’re still a mystery to me. Who're you?"

"Why does it matter," Gabrielle asked, taking a few steps forward, raising the sword so it was pressed against his throat. Even though it wasn't Caesar, and Brutus had, overall, been an ally in bringing Caesar down, it was still because of him that she and Xena had ended up in that prison, had ended up on those crosses. It was because of him that Ephiny had died, even if in the other world she had taken his life in revenge for that crime. She didn't trust him as far as Xena couldn't throw him. And with him here, even his men in complete disarray, she didn’t trust him to let the win be that easy.

"I would like a name to put with my captor," Brutus said with a shrug. "I'm sure the ransom note will be long winded and well written, they always are, but I'm curious as to who the ransom will be given to. You already have me," he pointed out with a shrug. "There's no harm in me knowing."

"Gabrielle," she finally muttered after a few long moments, searching his face for any sign of something she could use. Any flinch, any sign of an idea, anything she could use against him.

She saw it- a quick glance over her shoulder, a widening of the eyes in surprise, his gaze fixing back on her in an obvious attempt to hide what he had seen. All enough time for her to duck as the soldier that had come up behind her swung, his sword meeting the air where her head had been just a moment before. Rolling towards him, coming up on one knee, she lashed out with her staff, striking him quickly on the side with the one-handed blow, sending him stumbling to the ground. But he lashed out as he fell, his foot catching her in the side of her ribs, her staff clattering to the ground as she caught herself and struggled to breathe.

It only took her a moment to recover, the glancing blow more of a surprise then actually painful, and as he rose she did as well, swinging the sword two handed so the flat met with the side of his skull, sending him sprawling to the ground, prone. Alive, the low moan told her before he went silent, occasionally twitching from the pain, but down. Down and with his sword on the other side of the room, Brutus rising from where he had dived for the weapon with it in his hands.

She charged, sidestepping his first swing, raising her own sword just in time to block a blow from his own. Her eyes darted across him, looking for something she could use to her advantage- an injury, a weakness, an opening that would let her get inside his defenses. She wasn't a swords fighter, no; she had been trained, but had only ever used the sword once in actual battle, and never against someone as well trained as Brutus. She fought with her staff and sais and words and chakram, leaving the swordplay to Xena. She was enough against your average thug, but against a true swordman? She wouldn't last. So she searched for an opening, anything that would give her the advantage, let her win, even for a second, and-

And the sword clattered from her hand as Brutus twirled, the pommel of his sword hitting her wrist, the sharp pain enough to momentarily loosen her grip. She tried to turn with him, tried to pull off one of the moves that Xena had taught her, keeping him in her sight while she tried to regain her weapon, a complex move that included kicking the sword into the air without actually looking at it so she could avoid getting stabbed if he made the attempt. She turned, pivoting so he never once got behind her-

As her foot came down on her staff, the thick wooden pole rolling out from under her, sending her sprawling before him.

"I'm surprised," Brutus said, panting, as he stood over her, sword ready for the kill. "I didn't think you would be that good. Xena must have trained you well. But not well enough." He breathed deeply, trying to regain control of himself, before letting out a long, slow sigh. "It's a shame I have to kill you," Brutus added. "I don't know why..." His words trailed off as he looked at her, really looked at her, "but part of me thinks we could have been friends, in another life. At the very least, allies. And the rest of me will be glad to see you die." He shook his head, giving a little shrug as he shifted, leaning forward so they were closer. His sword pressed against her chest, right over her heart.

"Before I forget," Brutus continued, his voice turning low, "Caesar said something to me before he left. Something I think I should share, since it's for you." Shifting his arm so the point was towards the side, the edge now pressed against her throat, Brutus whispered into Gabrielle's ear the last words Caesar had said to him.

"Your changes mean nothing, playwright. You can't save her."

"Watch me," Gabrielle growled, though she didn't expect an answer. She couldn't expect an answer as Brutus coughed, a spray of red falling from his lips, splattering her cheeks and clothing in blood. He hovered there for a moment, teetering back and forward, wide, confused eyes turning to stare at the knife sticking out of his chest- the knife Gabrielle had pulled from her boot while Brutus had whispered his message into her ear. The knife she had flipped in her hand so the blade was facing towards him, the knife she had plunged into his chest the moment he had finished speaking; the knife she had used to commit her first kill of this life.

He fell onto her, shaking, convulsing, blood spilling from the wound as he grasped at the knife and pulled, opening the hole for the world to see. He tried to return the favor, his hand shaking as he scrambled at the blade, but already he was too weak to hold it, too weak to use it as a weapon, too weak to do anything but claw at Gabrielle with ineffective, shaking hands. Hands Gabrielle easily pushed away as she squirmed her way out from under him, wincing as she did; he had landed on her hard, too quickly for her to move away, and she would have bruises soon enough.

Glancing down, Gabrielle huffed as she saw the state she was in: her neck cut- not seriously, but it was enough- and bleeding from his sword jerking in pain, her top and stomach covered in Brutus' blood; she was a mess. Already a mess, it didn't matter then, did it? Kneeling besides Brutus, Gabrielle once more picked up her knife, playing with it between her fingers as she watched him. It would take a while for him to die, for his lungs to fill and for him to bleed out. A long, cruel death.

Gabrielle was willing to kill, but she wasn't cruel.

"I'll send Caesar soon enough."

Grabbing his hair, she tilted back his head and ran her blade across his throat, barely wincing as the splatter of blood covered her more. It was quicker, kinder this way, she reminded herself as she let him drop, stepping away so the pool of blood wouldn't cover her shoes. Better this, a quicker death, than to sit here and wait.

She paused for a moment, staring at the other Roman who laid at her feet- a young man, younger than herself, barely old enough to not be a child. She knelt down, one hand on his chest, the other on the pulse of his neck...nothing. He didn't breathe, didn't stir; he was gone as well.

She stayed just long enough to get her staff, leaving the bodies behind.

The battle was over by the time she reached the main clearing- the Romans had been drunk, unprepared for an inside attack, and it had been easy for Xena and the others in the party to get the gates open. Once they had been, Boadicea's army had swept the fort, capturing or killing any Roman that stood in their way. Not many had died; she could tell that from the few bodies still laying on the ground, by the few bloody patches of dirt that marked where the dead had already been moved. Most, it seemed, had surrendered to Boadicea.

Men stared as she passed, their eyes wide as they took in the slit on her neck, the covering of gore that crusted her front, the red coated knife she carried loosely in her hand. A few scrambled out of her way, accusations of her being a ghost, a banshee, falling from their lips as she wandered through the fort, making her way towards the gates.

She barely glanced at them, barely heard their words, only just enough for them to register that they weren't a threat. They weren't her goal; they didn't matter. Not now, now when she had to get to Xena. Not when she had to see with her own eyes that Xena was ok, her faith in her mission shaken.

Caesar knew. Caesar knew this world was a repeat, and even though he wasn't here, even though he was nowhere near, she had to see. Had to see that Xena was alright.

So she ignored the men that stared, ignored the whispers and their half-heard prayers, because they weren't a threat. And if they were? She still gripped the knife tightly, still held it as she knew it had to be held, knew exactly where to stab to put an end to any who stood in her way.

She followed the cheering, figuring that was where Xena and Boadicea and most of the army would be, celebrating their win, their largest victory over the Romans yet. The only victory many of them would have seen. She followed the cheers and the cries, slowly working her way through the roads of the fort, finally finding the gates. The gates and the clearing before it, filled with laughing, rejoicing soldiers she had just seen a few hours before, worrying about whether or not tonight was going to be the night they died.

The same people who fell silent as she took her first step into the light. It started slowly, only those closest to her stopping, staring, falling silent and stepping out of her way as she emerged from the gloom. She knew what kind of sight she presented, and a small part of her regretting taking this moment from them when they needed it the most. But the rest of her didn't, couldn't care, because none of them were Xena. Slowly, as if realizing something was wrong, the crowd parted, the merriment and celebration slowly fading as Gabrielle made her way into the center of the throng.

Where Xena, who had been talking just a moment before to Boadicea, caught sight of her. Caught sight of her and went pale, her eyes widening in panic as she took in Gabrielle's cut neck, the blood covering her front, and the knife in her red stained hands.

"Gabrielle!"

Xena didn't wait for the men to move for her; she practically threw them from her path, knocking soldiers into each other as she slid into gaps between bystanders, though soon enough everyone realized what was going on and moved for her, afraid of the whirlwind of elbows and jabbing fingers that came upon those who stood in her way. Soon enough she stood before Gabrielle, her hands shaking as she reached out towards her.

"Gabrielle?" Her voice trembled as she reached for her, her hand shaking as she gently, as if she was afraid her hand would pass right through her, cupped Gabrielle's cheek.

"I'm alright, Xena," Gabrielle said, leaning into the touch. "I'm alive."

"Who did this to you," Xena demanded, her hand reaching down to gently brush against the wound on her neck- a flesh wound, really, even if it did look nasty, something that would easily heal with just a little bit of time. But still, Xena's gaze darkened as she took it in, examining the wound, still a sliver of fear in her eyes as her gaze dropped to the rest of her, taking in the sight it all presented.

A fearful sight right from her nightmares, Gabrielle was sure; Xena had made it clear that losing her was the worst thing that could happen. To see her covered in blood, with a wound that, had it been a slight bit deeper, could have easily been the source? No wonder Xena was shaking, no wonder she was furious, no wonder everything about her seemed ready to kill.

"Brutus," Gabrielle said, giving a little shrug. "Caesar wasn't here; he left a long time ago."

"Where is he," Xena demanded, seeming not to care about the rest of her statement, instead only focusing on the name she had been given. "Where is that rat bastard? I'll kill him, I'll-"

Gabrielle cut her off by pulling away, leaving Xena's hand hovering in the air- her shaking a bit more evident, without something warm and living to remind her that the sight before her was just an illusion, that Gabrielle was alive and fine. Instead of speaking, instead of giving an answer to that question, Gabrielle just held up the long, thin knife she had in her hand, all of the blade up to the hilt still dipped red. It took her a moment, her eyes looking between the knife and Gabrielle's face, but soon enough it hit. Soon enough she understood.

Her face creased into something akin to pity as Xena held out her arms, trying to draw Gabrielle into a hug. Trying to hold her, to try and soothe away some of the pain she thought Gabrielle had to be feeling.

She let her. Gabrielle heard the knife clatter to the ground as she stepped forward, her staff falling besides it as she stepped into Xena's embrace, her head coming to rest on Xena's chest as Xena held her. Held her as tightly as she could, whispered apologizes and promises that it would be ok sounding in her ear as Xena just held her. Held her as Gabrielle closed her eyes and listened, allowing herself, for a moment, to believe her words.

Allowed herself to believe as, finally, the tears began to fall. Not for what she had done, no; Gabrielle had no regrets. But for what she had been, for what she had been able to pretend to be, and what she knew she had to become if she wanted to make sure Xena would survive.

[joulethieves]

👉👉👉 Number 9 for BOTH ask posts. All 4 charas/balvaan are non-negotiable.

9 [Headcanon Meme]: General Physical Contact:

Fran -

“Be still, Balthier,” Fran chides, her long elegant fingers flitting across her partner’s in calculated observance. Beneath her touch, Balthier seethes and tenses. 

“Do move along, then, would you? Ah–” Another hiss of discomfort. He hates to sass her given the circumstances he needs her help (when does he not, really), but by Ultima the splinter lodged into his finger is likely the size of a Salikawood root and no that’s not an exaggeration Fran.

The spiking throb in his hand is not much compared to the icy look she gives him here. “You will do best to practice patience. Deep, is this, and was your folly.” Her long nails press along the tired redness of his calloused hands for an easy way to pry the splinter from the flesh. Around them, lazy dust motes float aimlessly in the warm sunbeams weaving through the trees. Her touch is soft but only he knows the hardness with which they possess, her hands curved around the stock and foregrip of a crossbow or haft of a spear.

“Ow!” Balthier gripes loudly with no qualms to his partner’s ears. He bites his lip as he feels a sickening slide of wood from his flesh, and the familiar warmth of cure magic following. She spoils him, he thinks. Balthier sighs in relief, presses his thumb to the finger experimentally. “My thanks, Fran.”

“A souvenier,” she says, holding up the thin spike of wood to the sun. “I shall add this to the tally of your debt.” Her smile is in her eyes. Balthier’s is on his lips when he responds.

“I am forever in your debt, my dear. This is no news.”

Balthier -

“The theatre is a touchy-feely place. Now touch each other.”

Ffamran’s drama teacher at the Akademy always has the best quips, and the fifteen year old can’t hide his grin at rehearsal today. All in all, this is a place he can be most himself, delving into the roles of others, the worlds of others, the lives of others. He watches his fellow castmates struggle with the forbidden boundary of physical contact the Empire preaches so vehemently against in the minds of youths, and here, the drama professor attempts to beat it out of them. And if they’re going to put on a good show, may as well. With his feet propped up against the back of a chair in the near-empty theatre (against his professor’s strict command, but he is several seats up staring at the stage, so what does he know) Ffamran grins. The scene before him that his classmates are rehearsing is an impassioned dance scene of two star-crossed lovers in disguise at a ball, with just this one night to make last. 

And, with how far away they’re apart in this awkward dance, Ffamran wagers the only thing lasting will be the laughter from the audience. No, no. This simply won’t do.

Ffamran stands and walks down the aisle towards stage right, and his professor eyes him. “Ffamran. Your father bred you into ballroom dance. Care to help these two out?”

Ffamran grins. “I’d be delighted. Here,” and he walks up the stairs to join the two teenagers. He grabs the boy’s wrist and yanks him away from the girl with poorly-masked impatience he cares not to smooth over, “Let me show you how it’s done.”

He pulls her close, the crinkle in his eyes holding a smugness that doesn’t ever quite leave from that moment on.

Penelo - 

Night terrors plague the orphan and oft she is left ripped from her sleep by the sounds of her own screams. For long, she wakes alone in a room above Migelo’s Sundries, and shivers despite the dry desert warmth until sleep finds her again whether she wants it to or not. 

When Vaan returns from Lowtown after a six month leave of absence, after she thought he was dead, after Migelo refused to let her go down to the Lowers after the Imperials littered the streets and cast angry Rabanastrans down below, the first thing they do is push the two modest cots together to make one “big” bed. And the first night he is back, freshly bathed and finally fed after Faram-knows-how-long, she wastes no time wrapping herself around her friend’s middle like a vice. She feels his abdomen reverberate as he chuckles. 

“Pen, if Lowtown didn’t kill me, you just might.”

Penelo squeezes harder. “I thought you were dead. I’m gonna hug you like this, get over it. Also, you’re a good little spoon.”

But there’s nothing to get over, and they fall asleep just like that, like they will every night.

Vaan -

“Y’know, once you guys start becoming sky pirates, I’m gonna have to start charging you for this,” Vaan grins as he lifts a Lowtown orphan no older than seven from the ground by her arms and plops her above his shoulders. She squeals in delight. 

“Take me to the uppers! Let’s go! I wanna show Penelo how tall I am!” she demands, tiny dirty hands gripping his flaxen locks with more force than necessary but he doesn’t complain. 

“Roger that, captain,” Vaan responds, holding her thin ankles with his hands before taking off. Behind him, the shouts of other orphans call down the magicite-lit alleys of Lowtown.

“Come back soon! Me next! I wanna go to the fountain!”

At Migelo’s, Vaan kicks the door open and bounces in with the girl bobbing on his shoulders in child-light squeals. “Pen, look how tall Lotto’s grown!”

Penelo wants to say something about not kicking doors open of the shop where they live for free but instead just stares up at Lotto, who is smiling down at her with a gap-toothed grin. 

“Wow! How’d she do that! She must be eating her vegetables, huh.”

Both orphans before Penelo scrunch up their noses. “Ew, no way!” they both say in unison, and Lotto collapses onto his head in a fit of giggles. Vaan squeezes her ankles and winks at Penelo. 

“Anyway, gotta run. I have a few more passengers to pick up.”

“Mind the door, would you, Vaan?”

“Man, that’s a nice door,” he comments before kicking it open. He’s dashing down the street, childish giggles in his wake. 

9 [Domestic Meme BalVaan]: Do they act different when they’re in private/public?

Balthier’s limbs splay langoriously about the rickety seating in the Whitecap as he nurses his Madhu, Fran opposite him. Too long has it been since they’ve stepped foot in Balfonheim and he can say with some fondness that he’s missed it. Long has their journey been and long will it continue to be - back in the web of sea and sky pirates makes him feel a bit like his old self, before ugly wrought faces of the past decided to snake themselves back into his happy life of sin and debauchery. 

Speaking of sin and debauchery, Balthier wonders where the errant street-orphan that burrowed his way like an insistent little sandbug into his bed last night is up to on their first afternoon in the city of pirates. He thinks of the night prior, and the Madhu isn’t the only reason he’s grinning into thin air. My, a lithe boy indeed. He’ll have to thank Penelo for teaching Vaan to bend like that, no doubt. 

“Ah,” Fran’s lilted voice pulls him from his reverie, which he also must thank her for, because blood was running south fast at the memory, “it does not take him long to find the heart of Balfonheim.” Fran is looking down from their balconied perch at the door, and Balthier follows her gaze to land right on said errant street-orphan. Balthier chuckles at the sight as Vaan enters. Why, he can nearly see the boy’s heart hammering out of his chest with the pure adrenaline of it all. He’s nearly beside himself, mouth agape in a toothy grin, head turning left and right as if he were a hatchling chocobo fresh out of the nest. How cute. Balthier watches and thinks to beckon him up, but nay - Vaan has an awful knack for finding him whether or not he wants to be, it won’t be long until–

Oh.

Oh no.

Balthier nearly knocks over a chair in his haste to stand as he watches a group of nearly five burly sea pirates approach the sunkissed Dalmascan immediately with a bodily interest nothing short of licentious. Oh dear oh no this is not to happen, Balthier thinks as he weaves with little grace or regard through the packed tavern. How foolish he was to think Vaan would not be immediately regarded as - well, there are lots of plundering jokes to be made, let’s just say that.

By the time Balthier pushes aside a burly Bangaa pirate that snarls at him, he has reached a wall of muscle. A wall of five heaping hunks of muscle, adorned with tattoos and reeking of fish. Their backs are to him as they surround Vaan and why are they so tall? Suddenly Balthier is reminded why he hates sea pirates. Not a subtle lot, are they.

“I’m Vaan!” he hears Vaan say in a response over the backs of the oafs before him.

“Vaan, eh? New here, are ya? We’ll have t’show you a-”

“Ah, Vaan.” Balthier’s voice is a smooth ripple over the clanging cacophony of their choppy diction. Just because they live on the sea doesn’t mean they must sound like it. Rough and tumble, too much for his liking. Balthier slides through the sea pirates like ice across glass, and hooks an arm around the boy’s shoulders, tugging him close, very close. “Was wondering what took you so long. Come, let us drink.” 

“Huh?” Vaan grunts, and Balthier can feel five pairs of eyes narrow on their forms. 

“Bah,” one says. “Balthier always gets the pretty ones.”

Balthier wagers he should recognize the voice but cares not to rifle through the files of his memory and place why exactly he knows any sea pirate personally. He writes off the recognition as a mere stamp of his glorious reputation, and leans his head against Vaan’s. His eyes flit across his newfound audience and he grins.

“Sorry lads,” he says in a way that implies he most certainly is not. “Finders keepers and all.” And here, he presses his lips to the crown of Vaan’s sunsoaked flaxen hair. “Come along, Vaan.”

“Huh?” he says again as Balthier drags him off. “Hey, I was making friends. Did you see that one guy? He had a freaking eyepatch.”

“Vaan,” Balthier continues, guiding him up the stairs to where Fran waits with a grin, “You’ve a lot to learn about what friends mean to men stuck with only each other on a boat in the middle of the Naldoan Sea for months on end. You can thank me for teaching you the easy way.”

[thelostandforgottenangel]

AU Facts

Did this just for fun so please enjoy my friends!

The turtles don’t wear their full gear while relaxing in the lair – just pants and masks if it’s an off day – hoodies that are customized to fit over their shells during winter

  As they get older they are not required to train but do it anyways now that Leo has started leading the training practices while their father watches from his seat to keep an eye on the teen girl

  Splinter lived in the lab the turtles and him were created for three years before being freed into the sewers

  Like the turtle’s Raven is skilled in several things – having taught herself to cook and bake, loves to sew and after years of practice became good enough to repair and make clothes for her family, does most of the cleaning in the lair just out of boredom… learned mechanics and how to work on cars by watching Donnie and Raph

  Leonardo and Raphael are both 26 but a few months apart in age, Donnie is six months younger then Raph (25-26 depending on the time of the year), Mikey is a year younger than his three older brothers (24-25)

  None of the turtles are actual blood siblings

  Raphael even though he cares for the girl deeply starts to push her away a few years after she comes to live with them fearing he will hurt her if he lets her too close but slowly she breaks his walls down considering him her best friend even though he acts like he hates her

  The guys have rap battles at random to roast each other

  Donatello was blind until he was eight when Splinter was able find him some glasses in the garbage but as he got older the frames were smashed several times so he found a way to make his own to his prescription and now just orders them when he needs a new pair

  Splinter started teaching the little girl ninjitsu at the age of 5 – she may be years behind her older siblings but the rat saw fit that she start earlier then his sons   (Boys started when they were 8)

  3 nights out of the week are family nights so they have dinner together usually a homemade meal before either watching movies or playing games together, very rare is when Splinter is out of the lair do the siblings head to the surface to hang out for fun

  Mikey clings to Raphael more than his other brothers

  The teen gets several smaller jobs to help support the family once she learns to deal with her deep set fear of the humans bringing in more money for their needs, she is more mature than girls her own age and can sometimes act more like a mom rather than the youngest sibling

  Michelangelo having painted every room in the lair goes out to the tunnels around the home to work on his art, or takes off to Leatherheads part of the tunnels to get some peace and quiet from his brothers

    Leonardo’s love for Japanese culture was so intense he not only learned to speak the language he uses it almost as much as he does English becoming fluent by the age of thirteen, his room is decorated with art and writings from the country his brother’s managed to get over the internet

  On junkyard runs Raphael hangs back watching for danger while guarding Don’s shell before making his way to the front to feed the guard dogs playing with them and the puppies while his brothers look for things for their home so he can see the night security building and warn them if he leaves

  Donatello carried two jobs at the age of fifteen as not only a computer technician but also as a customer service assistant for people having trouble with their systems

  When younger they had to teach the girl several things – at the age of four even with very little physical contact with people of any kind the girl had a full vocabulary and to an extent could read but her way of speaking was confusing

  She was fascinated with  horror films of any kind that even the turtles couldn’t watch

  Birthdays were never really celebrated until they had a home but each of the turtles picked a day they wanted to celebrate their birthdays on: Leo picked February 13, Raphael May 11, Donnie picked November 20, and Mikey being the goof he is picked October 31. Raven’s real birthday actually falls the day after Raphael’s on May 12 but she always forgets it going all out for her brothers – usually they remind her

  Mikey and Raph takes shifts cooking with the teen during the week

  Like Donnie, Raven is a coffee addict

  Raphael actually has a good voice and when younger used to sing to his brothers – now you have to tempt it out of him when he’s either in a really good mood or drunk

  They choose nights when they go solo

  Patrols are never in groups unless it’s a mission, they split into teams to patrol parts of the city on more difficult nights but on the easy nights they divide the city into four parts each turtle taking a portion

  They take turns being teamed up with their human sister

  Splinter has a soft spot of animals and tends to be unable to say no when one of his children bring home a stray pet – he loves Mikey’s kitten

  The first time one of them (Donatello) got hurt in front of her during training the little girl had whimpered running to the turtle’s side looking the wound over before trying to clean the wound herself – Mikey practically ran screaming in horror to get their father as the little girl licked the wound to stop the blood… (It’s gross but she grew up without proper role models so seeing animals cleaning wounds on the streets stuck with her)

  Mikey was the one to figure out the child they took in was smart when she accidentally hacked into Donatello’s computer to get the parental lock off the youngest turtles game system

  Donnie buys groceries by using the online orders having them delivered to the building just over the lair where Raven or Casey poses as the owners of a small business and the teen travels to the store only for small items

  None of the mutants knew the girl was good with electronics until she was playing with her computer he had made her and managed to unlock Don’s system playing one of his games with him before they even knew she was doing so

  Raphael’s favorite treat is brownies

  Raven being raised alongside the guys had to learn not only how to fight and protect herself she was taught how to keep up with them being slightly slower, jump over areas no human could manage, and hide in an instant before she was allowed out of the sewers with them so they played games to prepare her for things that may happen on the surface

  The very first time they ever took the girl to the surface was with her brother’s for a junkyard run that was supposed to be an easy night; it turned into a fight for their lives. The turtles finally seeing that the innocent kid had a much darker side when they were in trouble. She fought several men hand to hand with ease before ultimately killing two Foot soldiers before she even realized she had done so

  The guys take great joy in teasing their baby sister for being so small or pushing her into doing things they would have gotten in trouble for – Splinter never disciplines her for them if his sons were involved

  Raphael looks to Leo for advice when he really needs it even though they fight alot

  Although she doesn’t get sent in there a lot the teen’s punishment in the Ha’shi is to stand/balance on a bamboo pole with one foot while doing anything from stitching clothes or reading her textbooks to force the girl to focus her mind

  Raphael and Leonardo are usually the ones the teenager is teamed up with being the most protective of the girl, the other reason is nether of the younger turtles keep that good of an eye trusting her to keep with them. Donnie’s mind is always wondering and Mikey get distracted

  Raven having been told to stay away from Leatherheads place without one of her brothers with her fearing their friend could hurt her if he doesn’t recognize her never listens to them, she tends to believe the mutant would never hurt her on purpose and always gives him the benefit of doubt. Somehow the two are the best of friends even though she risk her life every time she steps foot into his home

  The kanji carved into Raphael’s shoulder is a constant reminder to watch his temper after flying into a rage in the middle of a sparring session with Leo in which Leo caught him with his sword accident cutting his brother over his lip unable to dodge fast enough when Raph attacked raking  the longest prong across his brother’s eye almost taking it out leaving the scar over Leo’s eye once it healed, after being sure his big brother would be okay he ran to his room and cut the symbol into his flesh without his father knowing until he fell ill when it got infected

  Raven  although with her fears of human’s warmed up to April within hours of them meeting due to the young reporter found the girl’s weakness (Coffee)but Raven took well over a year to warm up to Casey never getting to close to the man while he was conscious still not fully trusting him but after seeing her brother’s screwing with the man for fun she makes an effort to sneak attack him the moment he gets to the lair finding it funny when Mikey shouts out the score

  Mikey has a small fluffy white, orange, and gray kitten he named sweetie after he rescued the poor baby from the tunnels without his brothers knowing hiding the sweet little fur ball in his room until the morning it got out and attacked Leo’s leg while he was meditating – it is never to be spoke of since Leonardo never heard the tint angel playing beside him screaming just before he fell off his meditation perch just as Raphael finished his workout causing him to be mocked for weeks afterwards – and due to it being able to get the best of the blue banded turtle the kitten is practically worshiped by the others

  With enough begging from the young girl each of the turtles have been forced to have a peel off face mask at least once in their lives – Mikey’s the only one who willingly gets one every week when April comes over to do one on the girl

  Leo tells the lamest jokes but yet there are still funny

  Raphael had a Pitbull puppy when he was a kid but had to rehome her due to she didn’t like Donnie walking through the lair late at night

  When the weather gets bad or the tunnels are flooded around their home the teen makes the family pot roast stew and small sweet treats to cheer up her cabin fever ridden siblings always making plenty so they have tons of extras – as soon as the guys are busy she dishes up a few servings into several tuber wear bowls making sure they will survive the journey before slipping out of the home. Due to where he lives it’s hard for him to get out and find food once the seasons grow cold so the family tends to bring him groceries at least twice a month. Making her way through the overflowing tunnels to his home to be sure he’s fed – she’s sure to check and watch her back while wading through the deep water just in case he’s out finding the croc is always grateful for her caring thoughts and food

  They created a personal holiday where one day out of the year Mikey can’t pull pranks or be annoying – they also have on the same day where everyone has to prank one another and the loser actually does chores for a few months  by themselves and Mikey usually loses

  When hurt of upset the teen shuts down – she never shows weakness and rarely cries in front of the family

  Being older brother’s each of the guys taught the human girl something  personally even though she learned a lot by just watching them:  Leonardo helps her one on one in the dojo to achieve her lessons faster if she’s having trouble while also teaching her to speak several different languages so if the need arises she can pull off any disguise and throw off enemies, Raphael even though told not to by their Master taught the girl to drive not only the garbage truck but to also operate a motorcycle before she was fifteen got in trouble then took to teaching her several fighting skills, Donnie being the educated turtle saw the curiosity the girl at a very young age and started teaching her several things from medical training so if he’s not around she could deal with injuries of all severities to honing her hacking skills until she is just as good as him, Michelangelo taught the girl how to swim and draw finding a hidden talent she possessed for awesome anime characters

  Even though the teen plays stupid around others she’s just as smart as her older brothers and acts as though she’s older then the turtles

  Raphael spends the most time next to Leonardo in the Ha’shi – Mikey is in close third whereas Donnie rarely gets sent into the room unless he’s in the middle of something with his brothers

  To stop Donatello from licking the icing off their pop tarts the young woman buys the genius coffee flavored so he will eat the entire thing practically abolishing his nasty habit but his brother’s still hide their breakfast items

  Raph has several tattoos including one for each of his family members

  The guys tend to go into a hibernated like state during the winter making it harder to wake them

  Michelangelo, Donatello, and Leonardo get sick at least two times a year whereas Raphael is rarely ever sick but it was always easy to tell when they weren’t feeling well.

~ Mikey would act like he was completely helpless and whoever was taking care of him would practically have to do everything for him – he turns into a child that constantly needs cuddles.

~ Donatello was usually always sick since it seemed like his immune system was slightly weaker than the others, so he locks his self in the lab going over everything he could find on the internet thinking he had something that was worse than just a cold – in the end where he would only be down for a day or two it’s dragged out into a week-long ordeal.

~ Leonardo basically sleeps for hours as if Donnie would have drugged him; the oldest turtle becomes completely unresponsive to the world easily knocked out cold from the smallest illness so nothing disturbs him no matter how loud Mikey tries to be

~ Raphael, when he does manage to come down with something turns into that giant teddy bear he is on the inside becoming strangely affectionate and needy to any form of comfort the other’s will give him – so when he’s sick he curls up on the couch and nuzzles up to anyone that gets too close, usually it’s the girl who’s trying to take care of him

  Donnie having gotten tired of hearing the unpleased opinions of his brother’s about his eating habits and the unnecessary energy it takes to leaving the lab for drinks or food found and fixed up a refrigerator he keeps stocked with Soda’s and snacks

  Raphael and Mikey are the ones who do tattoos for the brothers

  Once a year the family goes up to the cabin in the mountains for a few weeks – two months at the most to train, recover, relax before heading back home

  Leo makes his own candles and takes great joy in making them for his Master

  Mikey although he can be messy is very organized, he likes to collect things – comics, action figures, manga, anime, you name it he likes it and has a place for everything in his room. So it may be messy but when he feels like it his room can be organized almost just as well as Leo’s

  Raphael actually had the teen help him make his Nightwatcher uniform without her ever knowing making her think it was for a Halloween party they were having

  Raven is fifteen when she starts to have nightmares and flashbacks remembering a life she never knew she had, remembering her mother, the details that wound her up in the sewers, faces and voices she doesn’t know seem so familiar but never tells her family

  Raven had been going out with the turtles for three years when her true bloodline was revealed to them, during a battle with the Foot Raven gets cornered by Shredder away from her family but just as the man is going to kill her he stops to look her over almost in shock before ordering his men to release her. he apologized for their rudeness referring to her as princess before he tells her of a life she doesn’t remember… her real name was Anastasia, of her mother who he took in off the streets and got her cleaned up of drugs, how he cherished the young woman… and was so happy to find out she could help him continue the clans bloodline

  It is then that he tells the teen she is the heir to the Foot clan and her mother was killed for kidnapping her and going on the run when it was revealed that she was to be raised as a deadly assassin that would someday take his place over the evil organization

  He literally comes out to tell the girl she was his daughter when she doesn’t believe him

  The simple fact of learning she is the offspring of their enemy destroys her and then she becomes hell bent on training so  she can prove she’s nothing like the evil man and vows to disband the clan if she ever takes over it

 Though the family is against killing it unfortunately happens - Leo and his brothers feel bad if they do worse then injure people when it comes to the enemy ifs family over them... Raven although raised  the same beliefs has little remorse for the men that try to hurt her family

[quatschmachen]

Indeterminate Forms

Welcome to the 2020′s y’all.

XXXX

The phone conversation did not go as Étienne planned.  He was somewhere on that awkward plane of existence between the plane of being shocked and mystified.

He was shocked that Calvin had even phoned him, or even knew that he was in Edmonton. Honestly he had kept it under wraps not wanting to cause much fuss about his arriving. It was one of those unavoidable business meetings that he had contemplated skipping.  However, after having Élyse yell at him for being stupid when she discovered that he was literally thinking of not going, he ended up slumped on the plane, stomach in knots, contemplating if there were better ways to die.  He planned to be there for the three days of the meeting and then get the fuck out of dodge. He had quite honestly been avoiding visiting Edmonton, because even though things had seemed well and resolved with Ed vis a vis friendship between them after his party, there was no way he was going to stomach actually seeing Ed be happy in his natural habitat. Yes it was one of those silly feelings of raw salt, but after being added back to Facebook the onslaught of happy relationship in a way acted as some splinter in his soul. Probably it could be stated to be jealousy, the idea that good relationships could exist, and that somehow they were still together and apparently taking up another sport? When the hell did they have time to rest?  

What had not helped these feelings, was the fact that, even though they had made up during his birthday bash week, when Ed had gone back home their communication had simply not picked up from where it had been before the entire complicated mess had happened. Honestly, he had been expecting at least a few skype sessions a week to keep up on each other’s lives, but apparently Ed was too busy renovating his house and adopting three chickens to sit down and chat to him on the computer. (He was pretty annoyed at all the cute chicken photos Calvin kept posting, that featured Ed playing with them, like who the heck would have thought of building chicken puzzles?)

He had realized that he was being an idiot, and had decidedly shelved any feelings of distress that he may have felt those few months after his 375 birthday bash, when he understood that while they may have made up he was most definitely not the priority in Ed’s life anymore. Honestly he was extremely glad for Ed that he seemed to be looking so happy, that his eyes were sparkling in the photos, he had never looked so good. Living with Calvin seemed to be exactly what he needed, and it was just irritating to admit to himself that everything that Ed apparently needed could not be provided by him.

So be it then. He had worked on making his own life better, extended friendships, was even having a casual ongoing friends-with-benefits situation with Isa. It was the fact that sitting on this plane, heading to a city he had not been to for many years, everything was suddenly resurging all the feelings he had managed to repress, the hurt and confusion… the realization that no matter how hard they tried the past would not come back…

His friendship with Ed had finally reached that mellow stage of distant friendship, where there were sometimes conversations but more often than not, due to the tugs of their busy life, the friendship was forgotten like an old mix tape at the bottom of a drawer. Taken out now and then, as now, usually with a burst of unexpected feelings triggered by situations instead of songs.

So when Calvin phoned him up, his voice inviting him to ditch the hotel and come spend the night with him and Ed, Étienne was attempting to figure out what had happened.

“How did you know?”

“Your Facebook selfie at the airport?” Calvin replied amused, “I doubt anywhere else has a shrine to Oilers hockey.”

“Oh.” Fuck. Étienne had only wanted to show off the weird bagel he had found, he had completely forgot about background giving him away. “Ehhh really I am fine –”

“Where you at now? I’ll pick ya up.”

“Oh well I dunno… I’m on some bus that will take me to the city train?”

“Century Park, gotcha. See you in fifteen buckaroonies.”

Hence the conversation not going as Étienne had planned. He knew it was a bad idea to show up the day before for the meeting tomorrow. He had begged Élyse to go for him, but after giving him a Look before showing him her packed schedule he had to concede that he had to suck it up for this one meeting.

Her reassuring words “you’ll be out of there before you even landed” did not ring true now.

With a sigh he gazed out across the countryside. Fucking Calvin McCall. The idiot. The man who he tried to hate as much as possible, but to his great irritation was not able to. Seeing the Ikea pass by, he wondered how long it would take him to reach the train station.  Was Calvin actually going to show up? Did Ed know about this? Why oh why had he posted that stupid photo… The bus pulled up to the station; grabbing his bag, he got off and looked around. For a moment he thought perhaps he could run away until he heard his name being shouted, and his eyes landed on a large red truck, with Calvin standing beside it looking excited.  Calvin was looking good, no longer was he such a bean pole, he had filled out slightly and obviously had been working out. His face was slightly sunburnt, and Étienne suspected if he were to remove his shirt there would be a farmer’s tan underneath. As he walked closer, he also noticed with some surprise that gone was the ever-present hockey mullet, and instead his hair had been trimmed rather professionally, sharpening him somehow. Etienne mused that perhaps he would not want to cross Calvin when it came to business dealings.

Eyebrows raised Étienne took a breath and then with resolution walked towards him. “Calvin, how do you even climb into that thing? The door is higher than your ass.”

“Howdy to you too,” with ease he reached forward and grabbed Étienne’s bag, Étienne releasing it attempting to play everything cool and ignore that his heartrate had picked up a little bit. “This truck does a magic trick.”

“What, it shrinks?”

“No, no,” Calvin responded, a smile playing around his lips as he opened up the passenger door for Étienne, “The electric step goes down… see?”

With some fascination he watched as the step did in fact go down, making it easier to high jump into the passenger seat. He had known about such things, but had not ever experienced it personally. Where he came from monster trucks was not the fashion.

After Calvin was also seated, Étienne managed to grumble, “Not sure why you need a vehicle that is partially an Olympic sport to climb into.”

“Oh god…” laughing as he shoulder-checked, before pulling out, Calvin added, “You sound like Ed when I bought this.”

“Oh? Well… it makes sense… he is shorter than me… does he need a foot stool as well to climb in?”

“Practically.”

Why was it so easy to talk to Calvin? He hadn’t talked to the man in over a year since their last brief conversation at a city meet.  His feelings honestly were rather mixed concerning him, and he was annoyed that there was a large part that had grown to like him. Probably due to the fact that during the last city meet Calvin had managed to save him from being stuck in a group activity with Lucas, calmly stepping in and changing the dynamic. Glancing over to Calvin, who was humming a little tunelessly as he drove, eyes focused on the road, Etienne focused on the back of his neck, fascinated by the shorter hair.

“What happened to your hair? It’s so short.”

“Eh, wanted to try something new, Ed said it was time for me to look the part of a businessman… and honestly it seems to be working. My deals have increased rather well since the haircut…” pausing at a red light, Calvin shot Etienne a smile, “What about you? Growing your hair out to become a hippy?”

“No.” The response was a little sharper than he meant, and awkwardly Étienne decided to change the subject that was bothering him, “Does Ed know? That I am coming over?”

“Of course not, but he doesn’t need to know until he gets home,” came the prompt reply.

“Wait what – you invited me over to his house –”

“Technically our house now, I’ve been there for four years ---”

“And he doesn’t even know? I mean he doesn’t even know I’m in the city,” Étienne protested.

“Ummm you know my stance on that, you were being a Grade A weenie there, Étienne. Not letting us know you were coming to town.”

“That I should have told I was in the city?” Étienne huffed as he looked out the window, his eyes drawn to the river below, “I just don’t want to cause awkward city situations…”

“Umm hmm. It’s just some Western hospitality that’s happening Étienne, we’re not inviting you over for dinner and an orgy.”

“Of course,” Étienne mumbled focusing on the passing river bank, the truck passing off the bridge towards the large hill up into downtown. “Hey… you have some new buildings up.”

“Yeah, Ed’s actually grown half an inch and he won’t shut up about it.”

“Doesn’t that mean he needs new pants?”

“Naw he just let the cuffs down… he’s really good at alterations… hell he attacked all my clothing first thing. He made them fit me better.” Pausing at a red light, Calvin winked at Étienne, “Good thing you’re not going to be here too long, otherwise he might spruce you up into something people might desire.”

“Uhmmm, I am very desirable thank you very much,” Étienne retorted, his eyes widening, “Mon dieu, is that the new arena? It looks like a giant… blob.”

“Don’t tell Ed that.” The light turned green, “If you look out your window as we pass you will see the statue of Gretzky…”

“Oh god not that statue,” Étienne groaned, “I remember it outside Skyreach…”

“Mmhmm. A phase that never seems to end unfortunately.”

“You would suspect something was wrong with him if he didn’t like Gretzky.”

“True, true.”

Finally they reached Ed’s house, Calvin pulling his truck into the neat and tidy garage next to Ed’s smaller truck.

Neatly leaping out, Étienne looked around the large garage, “I never understood this about Ed, why does he always have a truck? Especially when he keeps talking about public transportation and greenhouse gases.”

Giving a shrug, Calvin opened the garage door, “No way I could explain it in a manner you could understand. C’mon buckaroo, I gotta get dinner going.”

He had not seen the renovations in person, and coming in from the large garage which was connected to the back alley, he was not prepared to step out of it into the back garden. The backyard was neatly segregated, rows upon rows of vegetables growing on one side of the sidewalk, some planks laid out between the verdant greenery. Around the vegetable portion was a strong wire fence, no doubt to keep the chickens out. In the far-left corner stood what could only be described as a lifted chicken mansion. Three chickens were waddling around the yard pecking at the grass and clover. One of them was pecking at an apple which had fallen from the trees -  somehow it had managed to roll free of the nets which had been neatly set out under the branches with the purpose of catching the apples. Around the lower trunks seemed to be some weird sticky stuff, and when he looked closer he realized it was an ant catcher.  There were some other fruit trees which he had no idea what they were. Along the back of the house was a large patio made of some dark wood, a table and some Muskoka chairs set out. A BBQ gleamed in the sunlight, and nearby, as if it was not enough, stood a metal fire pit.

Finally, with great reluctance, he looked at the house and let out a low whistle. It was about three stories now, the old bungalow completely gone. It had a dark blue siding, and large windows. However he could not spot any solar panels.

“I thought this was an eco friendly house?”

“Yeah… those fancy roof tiles are secret solar panels, so are the windows,” Calvin replied indifferently as he walked up the pathway keys in hand. “And we run on geothermal heating… really self sufficient.”

“The garden is huge!”

“Yeah. Now he has me as slave labour his obsession has increased… this year we’re trying more heritage tomatoes. Ed ended up going to that friggin’ Enjoy Centre in St. Albert and after seeing a talk by friggin’ Jim Hole about friggin’ tomatoes he comes home with all the friggin’ tomatoes and I swear to god if I have one more friggin’ caprese salad I am going to go out and murder a cow –”

Entering through the back door, Calvin carefully set down Étienne’s bag on the landing, before removing his cowboy boots and placing them in the cubby. He expertly put on his pair of slippers and climbed up into the kitchen, “The purple ones are the guest slippers.”

“You do know I have to check in at some point, right?”

“Eh? You can just stay in the guest room, Ed’s not gonna mind. Save some money.”

“Calvin I’m booked in–”

“Did you pay already?”

“No.”

“Cancel.”

Étienne protested as he followed him to the guest room, the room he theoretically knew about but had never actually stayed in previously.  The room was a pleasant shade of cream, with white lacy curtains, the bedding a neutral pattern of blue squares. On the wall hung a vintage photo of the High Level Bridge.

“You sure this is a good idea, Calvin?”

“Yes.” Placing Étienne’s bag down on the bed, Calvin steered him out of the room. “I gotta go get some food. Do you want to see the basement expansion?”

“Of course, I have not been here since the place has been renovated.”

“Not sure why not, you’re always welcome y’know. Ed’s mighty proud of his basement…” descending down the stairs from the main floor, they entered what was obviously a gaming room. Walking past the pool table, Calvin opened another door which had more stairs.

“Is this the murder hole?” Étienne joked.

“No, it’s the cellar… well larder… cellar…” Calvin responded and as he turned on the light Étienne’s widened as if he had found the portal to Narnia.

“What?” He gazed at the two rows of shelves, stacked neatly with various jars, pickled items, jams, neat bags labelled ‘apple chips’.  There were other items too, such as a tub of potatoes, another tub of onions. If there was an apocalypse tomorrow, Ed would be ready. There was also a rather well stocked wine cabinet which he admired.

“Yeah Ed’s gotten into food preservation too, haven’t bought jam in three years.”  Apparently not dazzled by this plethora of food, Calvin walked over to one of the two freezers at the end of the room and opened it up.

“Wow, this is amazing…” Étienne breathed gazing at the jams with interest.  “What does that other door lead to?”

“Ice room.”

“…no way. You mean like with saw dust? River ice?”

“He freezes tap water into large cubes. He’s paranoid that when the electricity goes the freezer will melt and all his hard work will disappear.”

“Hard work?” Étienne looked at the freezer with more interest, “What do you mean?”

Calvin was standing beside it, and he motioned in. “You see these containers?”

“Yes?”

Étienne stared at the piles of frozen food, tin trays of various sizes with a simple white lid. On each lid was written the name of the food and the date it was made.

“Ed uses the stuff he’s grown to make meals that are ready to go. Super handy especially during the work week when we are on the go.”

“What do you mean….” Étienne frowned,” Are you saying Ed has literally made all the food in this freezer?”

“Uh yeah? Hasn’t he ever cooked for you?”

“Well yes but… I mean never lasagna… usually a soup when I’m sick… or something…” come to think of it whenever Ed visited his fridge did get full of food for some reason. He had never thought of Ed being so productive with food. Ed never brought it up the fact that he loved cooking with him. Not liking this line of thought, he turned once more to the jams and idly picked one up. “What is this chocolate cherry jam?”

“Ohhhhhhh there still is some? I thought I ate it all! I looooove it. It’s sooooo good. I eat it right out of the jar and Ed yells at me... says something about other people needing to be able to eat it… pshaw… Grab it, I’m suddenly feeling peckish.”

“Ok…” Étienne’s eyes couldn’t quite take in all the neatly preserved food around him, he felt like he was in heaven. “So even these apple chips?”

“From the trees outside. Usually we have more but hey it’s nearly time to make more.”

Furtively Étienne grabbed a bag of the chips, and followed Calvin out of the cellar.

“Why do you have so much food? Are you able to eat it all?”

“Of course not,” Calvin laughed, “Ed donates what he makes to various organizations, let me tell you he is very popular when it’s the holiday season. It’s his way of giving back to his city.”

“Oh.” While Étienne knew that Ed liked to cook and make jams, he had not realized the extent that Ed had gone to growing his own food. In a way it felt bittersweet, as if he should have known all about this information. Thinking you knew someone well only to realize there was a whole other dimension that was hiding on another plane. Whenever he remembered visiting Ed, he remembered the bungalow, its sides needing paint, the neglected fruit trees in the back and the garage that could barely hold a truck.

In a way this entire renovation felt like Ed had undergone a transformation when he was not looking, sloughed off the chrysalis to turn into a butterfly that he would not even recognize. His anxiety about seeing Ed in person increased. Sure Calvin was being very friendly, acting as if this was just a common occurrence in his life, but Étienne still wondered how Ed would react. Hurt? Surprised? He was beginning to doubt that Ed would even recognize him at this point. Somehow, it felt like in the past few years Ed had managed to grow more than he had in the last twenty. In a way the idea of meeting Ed was like meeting a stranger.

Thoughts in this unpleasant swirl, he followed Calvin into the kitchen and sat down at the blue Formica table, feeling somewhat reassured that not everything had changed. Ed had had this table since the 1950’s, and laying the jam and apple chips on top of it, he smiled remembering the numerous times that they had ended up having sex on it. That was in the past now, and as he watched Calvin bustle about the kitchen, preheating the oven for the lasagna, the scene drove home the fact that his part in Ed’s life was over. At least, the extent he had played in Ed’s life. It was ironic that with the advancement of technology and the ease of communication over the years, the times when they were closest was when it was the most difficult to speak.

He was overwhelmed with nostalgia for the old bungalow, this new place too shiny and foreign, the marble surface of the counter seeming to scream ‘you don’t belong here anymore, you never belonged here.’

Trying to distract himself he opened up the bag of apple crisps and popped one into his mouth, hating the fact that they tasted absolutely delicious. Calvin slid the lasagna into the oven, and then sat next to Étienne with a sigh. “Woof, this should be ready by the time he gets home in an hour.” Lazily he reached over and grabbed a couple apple chips munching on them. “Do you mind if I bring my laptop in here? I need to finish up my work…”

“You were working?”

“I do have a job,” Calvin rolled his eyes as he stood up, “Lucky for you I was taking a break and caught your photo. Have no clue as to your logic on not contacting us. Geez Ed’s going to lose his nut when he finds out.” Giving a smile, Calvin left Étienne alone in the kitchen.

Not exactly sure what to do, Étienne sat there eating the apple chips, his eyes roving around taking in the magnets on the fridge holding up various photos, lists, and a City of Edmonton recycling guide. Leaning forward, he took another look at the photos. Calvin and Ed in large cowboy hats clearly at the Stampede, arms around each other laughing at something just beyond the camera. Another one was of Edith posing awkwardly outside the cat café, she was wearing a cat themed dress and obviously wanted to just get inside the place already. Another picture featured Calvin and Caroline lying on a beach somewhere, Caroline wearing a ridiculously huge white hat and a white bikini with red polka dots. Calvin was wearing sunglasses and a speedo, he lay under the shade of the umbrella, but it was clear in the photo that his legs were turning red with sunburn.

He nearly passed over the next photo, the context not immediately clear. He had to take a second glance when he realized with surprise it featured him in it. It was an older photograph, obvious from the style of glasses and the cheesy nineties clothing they were both wearing. Calvin was also in the photo, and Étienne remembered that it had been one of those city meets. They had been in Winnipeg at the time, and he had been irritated at how Calvin kept trying to hang out with them (especially since he had been trying to get Ed into his hotel room for some afternoon delight). His smile was tense, Calvin oblivious was cheerful as ever and between them stood Ed giving a sort of fake smile towards the camera. It was odd that Ed had put this photo on the fridge, it wasn’t the most flattering of them.

With a clatter Calvin entered the kitchen again, and set down his laptop. “Want some coffee?”

“Yes please.” Taking out his phone, Étienne decided he could at least aimlessly scroll through Facebook for a while. “What’s your Wi-Fi?”

“Eh it’s that sticky note on the fridge,” Calvin lazily responded, waving his hand in the general direction.

Standing up, Etienne peered closer at the fridge, finding the sticky and entering in the information. His tummy rumbling as the smell of the lasagna began to permeate the kitchen.

The silence between him and Calvin was rather companionable, the tippity tapping reassuring that there was still some business left to do in the world. A half hour had passed before Calvin shut his laptop down, stretched, and looked over to Étienne. “Sorry about that, it was on a tight deadline, had to get it in. Anyways, how have you been?”

Once more Étienne found himself surprised at how easy the conversation between them flowed, losing track of time, not even factoring in that Calvin had to get up and pop the garlic loaf into the oven to heat up, until he heard a door slam.

“I’m home!” Ed’s voice rang out.

“Hey Ed! Guess what—”

“Hold on Cal, just let me get changed.” Ed cut him off, and there was a brief glimpse of him going down the hallway, fingers already loosening his tie, suit jacket lazily slung over the crook of his left arm. It was apparent he was desiring to escape his work clothes.

“Oh well…”  Calvin sighed as he glanced over to Étienne. “It’s going to be a gamble what he comes out in.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh… you’ll see.”

As if to prove his point, Ed reappeared wearing the rattiest Oilers sweat pants known to mankind, there was a large hole that had been patched up on the knee and it was clear the elastic was about to break at any moment. The shirt that he was wearing was no better, it was tired, the floral pattern faded, and some sort of paint stains were splattered over the left sleeve. His hair was all messy from the quick change, and he had obviously not bothered to comb it, the effort apparently beyond him at this point of the day. Etienne was arrested with the fact that Ed had let his hair grow longer, it was at that point where it was not quite his style in the 80’s but no longer so short that it had to be neat.

“Hey Cal, thanks for getting the lasagna ready,” Ed was saying as he entered the kitchen. That was about the point that his eyes landed upon Étienne. His expression transformed from calm to one of complete horror, and he froze there for a moment, before looking accusingly at Calvin. “Why- why didn’t you inform me we had a guest?” he managed to ask in a squeaky yell.

“Well, I was but you just didn’t want to listen to me.”

“Uhhh I need to change,” and he quickly left once again, his face bright red in embarrassment.

“Why did he-?” Étienne didn’t finish the question, just raised a brow at Calvin.

“Because apparently only I am the person allowed to see him in his lazing-about-the-house clothes?” Calvin responded with a small smile, “I think he’s dying in the bedroom at this point, trying to figure out what to put on that’s both comfortable and clean.”

“He didn’t need to change though,” Étienne responded, understanding completely the concept of lazy house clothing.

Ed had reappeared before Calvin had a chance to speak, this time in neatly pressed jeans, and a paisley button up shirt tucked into them, a buckle in place. His hair had been expertly combed, almost as if he was about to go out for dinner.

“Uh, hey Étienne. Didn’t know you were dropping by?” The raised intonation indicated that he wanted to know what the hell was going on.

“Oh right well, I have business here for a few days, honestly I was planning on staying at a hotel, but Calvin here insisted I come over.”

Ed was setting the table, “Oh no that’s nonsense, you should stay here for the night, we have a perfectly good guest room-”

“That’s what I told him!” Calvin interjected.

“–no need to waste money on a hotel.”

“Well, Calvin made me cancel, so I am here for the night.”

“Great. Good. What do you want to drink?” Ed had already opened the fridge and pulled out two beers, apparently reading Calvin’s mind as to the exact drink he desired with lasagna.

“Beer is good,” Étienne responded.

Pouring the beer into a frosted glass (Étienne was rather surprised that Ed had been keeping two glasses in the freezer), Ed set the beers down, and then got one for himself (but not in a frosted glass.) He felt a little awkward that with his arrival Ed apparently was missing out on his pre-prepared frosted glass, but knew if he were to bring it up Ed would just look at him like he was an idiot.

The timer beeped and Ed took the lasagna out, expertly dividing and serving them the same size of portions. This action was repeated with the garlic bread, and after he had refilled the drinks, he sat down.

The only sounds for the first few minutes were the forks scraping against the plates as they attacked the meal, Étienne inwardly crying in happiness at how delicious it was, but also glad that he didn’t have to think of anything to say.

“You can slow down Étienne, it’s not going to run away,” Ed wryly observed, and with a start Étienne realized he had nearly finished the lasagna, the other two still had plenty left on their plate.

“Well… it’s so delicious, it reminds me of some I had many years ago,” he responded.

“Mmm of course it does,” Ed responded with a small smile, “It’s Papa Giovanni’s recipe, remember when we went to his restaurant in ’92? I ended up taking a cooking class with him and memorized all the recipes… which was lucky since he died two years later.”

“You what?” Étienne frowned as if processing this, “You mean you have been capable of making the lasagna I have been craving all this time and you didn’t bother to inform me!?”

“You never mentioned it?” Ed responded rolling his eyes, “I can make many things Étienne, perhaps if you stuck around for a bit you would discover this.”

“Maybe I will,” Étienne responded as he broke a piece off his garlic crusty bread and began to mop up the lasagna.

“What brings you to Edmonton anyway? You say business but not what it is.”

“Transit meeting.” Étienne responded.

“Oh, the one Edith was supposed to go to, but shoved onto me?”

“Wait- you’re going to be at the meeting tomorrow?”

Giving Étienne another Look, and in the slowest most patient tone ever, Ed said, “Perhaps if you had sent me a message, I could have told you this and saved you the hassle of booking a hotel? Why, were you trying to avoid me on purpose, Étienne?”

“Uh,” Étienne was not sure what to say and probably the answer was clear upon his face, because Ed and Calvin seemed to share a glance with each other that to him said ‘we are communicating without words because we are a perfect couple who can read each other’s minds through the power of gay love, and fuck you Étienne.’ The exact reason why he had wanted to avoid this situation in the first place.

“Ah well I suppose even the best laid plans get disturbed by idiot blonds in big trucks,” Ed sighed out, earning a jab from Calvin’s elbow. “Owww.”

“You’re so rude, Ed! I am an idiot blond in a large truck.”

“Riight, whatever you say, darlin’.”

They had finished eating, and Calvin stood up, went over to Ed, gave him a small kiss on the forehead and picked up the dirty dishes, moving them to the sink.

“For puddin’ we’re literally going to eat chocolate cherry jam out of its container.” Calvin announced.

“What – Oh my god you didn’t find my secret stash for guests,” Ed moaned.

“No, I didn’t, Étienne did.”

“It’s still not dessert, just eating jam!”

“I was kidding, obviously it is…” With a flourish, Calvin opened the freezer and pulled out a tub of Moose Tracks, “Ice cream!”

They ended up moving out onto the patio, the warm evening sun washing over them as they ate ice cream, drank beer, and watched the chickens.

The awkward moment of before seemed to slip by, their conversation turning to catching up on each other’s lives, and perhaps with the aid of beer, relaxing them.

The evening seemed to pass by a little too fast, and after figuring out what time they were to be ready, Étienne found himself tucked into the guest bed freshly washed, wearing his travelling pajamas (basically a sport shirt and pajama pants).

Staring up at the ceiling he tried to make sense of his day, surprised at how easy it was to sink back into conversation with the two men, begrudgingly thinking that he had even missed talking to Calvin on such a casual basis. Hell, he was jealous that Calvin got to eat like a king every day. Closing his eyes he drifted off to sleep, a sense of peace permeating him. Peace or being full with lasagna at least.

[toggle1-mrfipp]

I’m going to talk about RWBY V4

Because why not?

A bit late to the party I suppose, but everyone is doing it and I do have some thoughts on Volume 4 of RWBY, so I thought I might as well get some things off my chest. I’ll be starting from what I disliked the most and work my way up from there.

Blake’s Story

To be perfectly honest I found Blake’s share of the volume to be somewhat unbearable, it doesn’t really offer anything new for her, it’s just a retread of what she went through the in the first three volumes: she runs away from something that troubles her and a friend has to pull her back and tells her she is wrong. She runs away from Beacon and her friends in a bid to protect them from the White Fang, but she heads straight to her parents? We learned a lot about Blake’s pre-Beacon life and the more I learned about it the less I like it, her and everything about the Faunus storyline. While I can’t say it exactly contradicts anything we knew about her, the reveal that she was the daughter of the then-leader of the White Fang and now-leader of Menagerie does not gel with what most people were thinking about her life. Most people thought she had to struggle and endure a lot for the fight for equality, but she grew up in a tropical paradise, in a giant mansion, on an island where the populations seems to entirely Faunus? The biggest problem with this storyline is that we never see any sort of racism against Faunus, Weiss, Roman and Cardin were the only people who showed negative thoughts against them, and even then it doesn’t feel like I think it’s supposed to. Cardin seemed like an asshole to everyone, Torchwick was too enjoyable of a character, and Weiss’ views seemed like they were retconned back in V2. She came to Beacon thinking that all Faunus were murderers and thieves and given the proper chance would join the White Fang without hesitation, then she later says she came to Beacon to make things right by the SDC Faunus workers? Even Menagerie, which we were told was overcrowded and kind of shitty actually looks great, easily one of the better looking and more scenic places in the show with tons of space to in the jungles to expand. Overall this makes the White Fang seem like nothing more than cartoon villain henchman who are villains just because the heroes need someone to beat up. There was a moment, however, where we were introduced to the idea that Adam was leading a splinter group of the White Fang, but that idea was killed not even a minute it was introduced.

Another issues is that Blake is the daughter someone who led the White Fang and is now the leader of the Faunus capital. The name “Belladonna” should be a much more known name, Weiss of all people should have called Blake out on that, but no one ever says anything about it, not even when her name was on screen of the Vytal Tournament for the world to see.

Blake and Sun also suffered as characters. Blake was just unpleasant in most of her scenes, being snappy and dismissive towards anyone who tried to talk sense into her, and while I would have understood this sort of attitude given the situation, the fact that they’re repeating the same arc for her won’t let me. Sun somehow got it worst because outside his last scene with Blake everything that come out of his mouth is terrible, it’s like the writers simply can’t write him as anything as being a shitty comic relief. I’ve mentioned it before, but the things I hated most about the SSSN vs NDGO fight was that it was nothing but bad jokes for the sake of them, and none of them hitting, and that seems to apply to Sun on his own. It’s like they made no effort to write him in any serious manner.

0/10 honestly.

Yang’s Story

At the end of V3, out of all the characters Yang had been unloaded with the most baggage. She lost her arm and she was left behind by most of the people she cared about, put that on top of previously established abandonment issues, she had the most work to do when it came to her own personal demons. Out of everyone, she should have been a gold mine of things to work with, but we got nothing from her. While the first scene with her was good at establishing where she was in life, all the issues she had were introduced, glanced over, and were seemingly resolved in no time. She more or less was given fifteen minute, and the only thing that really happened was that she was given a robot arm at the end of her first episode, and had it on by her second. That’s the exact thing I didn’t want to happen, and it really makes me think that the fact that she had lost her arm will never be brought up in any meaningful light ever again.

3/10 here.

Weiss’ Story

While Blake’s story was terrible, and Yang’s was disappointing, Weiss’ was boring and predictable. It went like I thought it was going to go, hit all the story beats I knew it was, and there was nothing I didn’t expect. Like Blake’s, it’s just redoing her previous story and adds nothing really new aside from Whitley, who seems like the most last-minute addition of a character I ever saw. The moment I saw him I more or less guessed what his role was going to be, just to be an obstacle in Weiss way who just happens to be a Jacques 2.0, and it just seems redundant, and I don’t expect anything much more than that from him. I actually even lowered my opinion of Weiss because of the time skip, since V4 was about 6-8 months after Beacon, but she spent all that time moping and staring out her window? She really did nothing during that time to further her own goals? She wants to run the SDC, but all she did during that time was be sad? It really makes me wonder if she actually has a plan for the SDC since she didn’t seem like she really worked for it, that she was just expecting it to fall into her lap.

Then there’s the summoned knight. On one hand, as a Jojo fan I appreciate her knight since it would make Weiss a Stand User (it’s just a great sword variant of Silver Chariot), but from a narrative perspective I hate it. Things like Dust, Aura and Semblances have always been vaguely defined, and the way Weiss’ powers work makes it look like it’s just magic and that she can do whatever the writers want. With what she had to start with, Weiss already had a very variable moveset, so there didn’t seem like there needed to be a power up like that, which seems like a separate power rather than a branching ability of what she already knew. Then there is tying it to her character development, but that’s something that should have been from the start instead of 1/3 through V3. They should not have introduced something like this so later into her character development if it was going to matter this much.

So 5/10 for her.

Honestly the WBY stories fell like filler for the most par with the obvious end goal of each one to get them to Haven and have them meet up with Ruby. Splitting up the team seems more like a novelty than anything else, like they did it because they could but never put thought into what to do with that. It’s just the tournament all over again. It presents interesting ideas, but the way it follows them up is a massive let down.

Ruby/RNJR/Oscar/Villains AKA Main Plot

While I disliked WBY’s part of the volume,I have to say I much more favorable view the actual plot part.

At first I was rather skeptical of Hazel, Watts and Tyrian,Tyrian in particular, but after his encounter in RNJR and Qrow, Tyrian is on a fast track to becoming a favorite villain of mine. He was an enjoyable character to watch and his interactions with the heroes were great, and the reveal that he has this fanatical worship of Salem to the point where her being disappointed in him is enough to drive him to tear-ridden lunacy was just fantastic, and it gives me high hopes for Hazel and Watts. This volume also did a lot in turning my opinion on Cinder around. I disliked her very much because she was always over confident and smug without me feeling that she really earned it, skulking in the shadows being vague and mysterious for the sake of it with master plans, even though most of her victories were more of a result of her opposition’s failures than her successes. They tried to play her as this all seeing chess master, but the writers but they had to stick her into the spotlight, but she was terribly boring and all the other villains around her were so much better than her. Then V4 comes around and she is the broken and mute cripple who struggles to even stand up, she is the bottom tier of Salem’s followers and is openly mocked by her superiors, and the Maiden powers she tore Beacon down for seemingly came with a devastating weakness she didn’t even know about. Back in V3 she said she wanted to be powerful and feared, but she is now the antithesis of that, even though Beacon was technical success for her, she ended up being the opposite of what she wanted, and I want to see where this goes for her.

Oscar was also something I want to see where it goes. This random nobody farmhand who seems to now share head space with one of the more mysterious characters in the show now being shoved into the plot could lead to some interesting things, and I like their interactions enough to see how this goes for them, and what happens with them and what this means for the both of them.

We also had a surprise moment with Raven and Qrow, and everything about that scene was gold. All I wanted from Raven was for her to be a piece of shit who ran out on her family because she simply didn’t want to there, and I was afraid that they were going to pull some “greater good” angle with her, but not did they do what I wanted them to do, but they also made her the leader of a tribe of bandits that go around and pillaging and burning down villages. Her entire conversation with Qrow makes me want to see her again and more of her view on the world and her relationship with the people in her past.

The remaining members of Team JNPR also each had great moments this volume. We saw Jaune’s own way of grieving regarding Pyrrha, and as a Souls fan I appreciate that his weapon is now just Ludwig’s Holy Blade, and while I would have liked to see how Ren and Nora were dealing with this loss as well, we were given a gold mine on their backstories and history together, and everything about this was fantastic in itself. Then through those flashbacks and the fights in the ruined Kuroyuri the show was able to take huge leaps to redeeming the Grimm as actual threats. The Nuckelavee is the kind of monster I wanted, this unsettling and powerful creature that is more than just a fodder mook, if they’re able to keep their monster designs on par with this, then I’d be fine with the heroes tearing through Beowolves by the dozens if we get more monsters like this.

There were a few problems, of course. I liked the globetrotting aspect of their journey, but seeing as how Weiss, Blake, Yang and Oscar all took much quicker ways to Have it loses its appeal real quick. The Relics is also a problem because it seems to instantly outshine the Maidens since they seem to be the exact same thing from a narrative view, and there didn’t seem like there need to be both at the same time.The Haven airships coming to find RNJR was also a bit of a cop out.

Then there is Ruby Rose.

I’ve already talked about this but I’m going to better explain my views. After V4 ended someone tallied up the total lines between each character, and they found out that had it not been for her closing narration, Ruby’s line count would have gone from most number of lines, to third, just below Blake and Jaune, which has led to some people complaining about Ruby’s role in the story and that Jaune was stealing the spotlight from her. Personally I don’t see it as this way, at least not entirely, since I don’t view the number of a character’s lines as a very important part of how much impact or meaningful they are in the narrative. For example, even though Sun comes in fifth almost every line he has is garbage and not worth the time watching him, and even though he is not in the top ten, I much more enjoyed Oscar’s side of the story than Blake’s, who came in second in line count.

I’m been rewatching Samurai Jack recently to get caught up with the new season coming up, and it makes me appreciate how much a character’s presence can speak for them without them ever saying anything at all, there is a lot of silence in those episodes, and more often than not Jack will have less lines than anyone else around him. “The Princess and the Bounty Hunters” is a good example of this, since Jack only show up in the last two minutes, he says nothing and you don’t even get a clear look at his face, but that one scene ends up being the heaviest and most tense moment in the episode because of how much weight he carries into the narrative.

Ruby’s problem isn’t that people are stealing screentime from her, it’s that she has little to none narrative presences by default, and this isn’t even a new problem. All the way back in V1 when she had her argument with Weiss, that seemed to put more focus on Weiss than her, and it wasn’t until the last few episodes of V3 did she actually start taking the initiative in the plot and had all those hero moments. For the most part she didn’t matter in V2 to the point where anything she did could have been done by anyone else and there would be no changes. The only time where Ruby’s actual character mattered was when she shared scenes with Penny, and those aren’t going to happen anymore, and while she did have those hero moments in V3, they feel more like she had them because she was the Default Hero instead of them being important to her, that she was given them because of course she’s doing all the cool stuff, she’s the hero so she gets them by default. I don’t even really like how they’re trying to set up this Ruby vs Cinder fight since that seems so default, when I’d rather JNR fight her instead.

Ruby Rose’s writing is less about other taking from her, and more about her just not being given much to begin with. You could remove Jaune, Nora and Ren from the show, but then Ruby would just be overshadowed by Weiss, Blake and Yang and their stories, and outside removing every other character in the show, that won’t make the writing for her better. She needs more narrative presence, she needs to actually be important and carry weight for the story, and until they stop writing her as the Default Hero and figure out what they want to do with her, any other changes they make won’t matter.

So main plot stuff gets a 8/10.

V1: 6/10

V2: 2/10

V3: 7/10

V4: Averages out to 4/10

Also a shout out the World of Remnant pieces this volume, since they were actually good. Back when WoR was introduced, I thought they were a good idea, RWBY had precious little screen time as is, so I this seemed like a good way to get around explaining things that the average person in-universe should know, but the ones were got in V2 and 3 were hit and miss, mostly miss. They either repeated information to the point of being moot or revealed plot important details that should have been in the show proper. The ones we got this volume were well informed, they told us details of everyday facets of this world, giving us what we needed so the show could dedicate itself to explaining on a more detailed level. I think we now know what the average informed citizen of Remnant should know, and I feel that’s what World of Remnant should try to accomplish.

[tacky-thoughts-blog]

Broken Skies: The Everlasting Storm

Another short story. This is meant to be read before part 2 of Broken Skies: Wispen.

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

Long ago in the grassy plains of what would one day become the Stormlands, lived a group of nomads. These nomads were from a scarce species called Humanity. Though there were several tribes, each numbered only around twenty, or so. They lived incredibly harsh lives without peace. Many died to the great storms, and those who were lucky fell not in brittle age, but in glorious battles in their youth. There only respite from the never ending winds was when they found thin turf to dig under. Eventually these place of thinner turf became known as, “Dom” a word given to the nomads by a speaker of the old tongue.

Humans are a simple species. They can rarely use magic, and their constitutions are not so grand. Even so they aspired to be great, and because they sought greatness only the strongest could lead them. The strongest came to be known as, “The Storm Master” to show that they could lead their people through the most perilous storms.  Each of the tribes, of which there were exactly sixteen, would meet every five years to, select, or replace the Storm Master. Originally, all tribes were one, but differences appeared over time between their views, and they splintered. The Storm Master is considered the highest position to these nomads. To be Storm Master, is to be the greatest of the nomads, to represent strength, and to live for the people. All band under this personage of the sky. It can never be said enough how important this person was to their people. The nomads worshiped no deity above themselves. This was not from pride, but from fear. You see, they did not worship a deity, but they acknowledged one. Tlaloc, the everlasting storm that tormented them. The name stood for another, a god that once lived here. Tlaloc was betrayed by a human. The human sold his location to his killer to satisfy his own greed. Tlaloc cursed these lands with his dying breath, “For he who has sold me for avarice, I bring prosperity.”

According to legend, prosperity did come. It rained, even in the farthest deserts, it rained even in lands that were so parch they lacked life. The sky poured its sorrow for its master's death. Tears of prosperity. There was so much food that everyone was fed. Even the poor could drink wine, but the rain did not stop. Rivers and lakes bore forth from already inundated earth. Crops died, buildings washed away, forests flooded, and people cursed the sky. Humanity became nomadic, wandering the everlasting storm lost in it. To leave one, was simply to enter another. The landscape washed away, and with it went the gratefulness of humanity. They cursed the sky for its piety for its lord.

The Storm Master was originally intended to calm the sky, but he failed, and the title began to represent a new ideal. One who could defy the sky, one who displayed the will to lead through the storm. Such was the new hate for the sky that had taken so much from them that their language itself change. No longer would they admonish each other in the name of Tlaloc. Everything for the people, not the lord's will. The latter half dropped out of common vernacular in time, but the former remained, even in modern times it is a symbol of strength. The Storm Master represented this ideal.

It was a shocking day when humanity first discovered a dwarven city. In the middle of this almost endless rain stood a single great city. Hope for peace welled up in their hearts for the first time since their fall from grace. With haste they met with the city’s leader, and discussed plans to stay. However the dwarves were more clever than the nomads. They signed a contract to stay in exchange for work. The humans could finally settle down, though only as something unfortunately close to slaves. Rights did exist in name, but were often never enforced.

The humans were thankful for peace, and would exchange it for nothing… all except two that is. Vencor and ----, the two prime candidates for the now absent title of Storm Master. Both were currently around the age of fifteen.

----, was staring into a massive body of water. A lake that resided in a large indentation in the landscape. Several smaller bodies lay around it. These lakes are known as the crater lakes, a marker of some long forgotten time.

Behind him stood his best friend, and the only person he trusts, Vencor. A boy of the same age. He, like many humans during this time was wearing rags without any shoes, a marker of their social status. Humans are forbidden from wearing proper clothing.

Vencor placed his callused hand on ----’s shoulder, “Why do you stare so intently into this battered plain?”

---- exhaled deeply with solemn eyes, “The elders said they come from a time before ours… don’t you ever wonder what could have made such destruction?”

Vencor rolled his eyes staring off with his friend. He did not share ----’s sense of sentiment for the past, nor for its mysteries, but he would often humor him.

“A fight between gods maybe, or a giant’s tantrum.” He said while looking off with disinterest.

“Maybe…”

Patting his shoulder before lifting his hand, Vencor declared, “Don’t worry about it. I think we should concentrate on helping the others.”

“You’re right… We have to figure out how to change things for the better.”

Vencor lifted his hands in the air, “Exactly! I can’t stand the way those filthy toe biters treat us!”

“Vencor! I agreed to help fix the situation, that includes both sides!”

“Yeah, yeah. I’m sorry, it just slipped.”

“...”

---- stood up and looked to the distance, “Do you really think another negotiation will be enough?”

Vencor smiled, “Of course! They’ll listen eventually.”

The two of them have, on numerous occasions made negotiations with the governor of the region, who lived in their town. Normally an adult would have such talks, but none but them cared to improve humanity’s standing.

The governor’s estate was the largest building in the as of yet unnamed town. It was built from various materials mined from the mountains to the south. Many of the human houses were constructed from turf, so it, and the other dwarven abodes, really stood out in comparison.

Governor Barrick is a very short, very fat dwarf. Other nobles mocked him by stating he was, “Two feet tall, and five feet wide.” Of course those measurements were false… mostly. With a very serious, judicial expression he glared at the two humans across his desk.

Vencor spoke first, “We would like it if you could provide better hou…”

Barrick interrupted him, “I’m gonna have ta stop ye there. We ain’t gonna fix up da livin conditions of ya humans at the present moment, an’ we have no plans ta do it later.”

---- spoke up, “But why? It won’t even cost that much!”

Barrick partially rolled his eyes before reorganizing his gaze, “Listen ta me smooth neck, we ain’t do’in it cause we got no incentive ta. If ye wan’ta change dat, then ye betta start bring’in in ta grass clippins.”

Vencor let out sigh of frustration, “How are we supposed to do that if no one will pay humans reasonably!”

Barrick stood up, and began shooing them from his office,”Git outta er’! It ain’t me problem! Jist git da clippins, or bare ye lip ta da swamp wolves! An’ don’t come back er’ either!”

Vencor, and ----, sat in an alleyway adjacent to the town square.

“What now?” asked ----.

Vencor sighed, and looked at the sky that was oddly clear today, “I don’t know.”

“We still have the armor, we stole from my father.”

Vencor shook his head and sighed once more, “The Storm Master’s armor is worthless without the title.”

“...”

Vencor’s eyes widened at a sudden thought, suddenly everything became clear, “We could stage a rebellion!”

“What?”

“Yeah! There’s no way we could convince the others to help, but we might not have to…”

---- showed immense worry on his face, “We can’t do that! There’s no way humanity could recover from that!”

“Yeah… you’re right… We should head home. It’s getting late.”