#his fathers legacy dragging him down and his sisters love pulling him up

[revelisms]

Thinking about Terzo to the tune of Father Lucifer, and Dancing With a Ghost, and Portrait of a Dead Girl:

A son shackled by expectation, but never shining so brightly as he did on those stages; who piecemealed love from sex and sex from heartbreak and heartbreak from anger, and who grieved a little boy he never was but could have been; who copied his father's paints, and sang for his mother's leer, and called his eldest brother Nonna not as a tease, but because he was the closest he could claim;

Who loved a forbidden love and scorned its forbiddenness and had it ripped from him, without permission; who cried as violently as he grinned, could twist a crowd's affections around his finger but couldn't put three friendships to his name; who pulled black silks from his wardrobe and smeared a skull on his skin and said, Yes, this is as I am, as I am meant to be: your Son, your Shadow, your Nothing—

Who carried a golden award in his hands and a spike in his heart, and was still good, despite it all (or tried to be, or couldn't be)—

Who Secondo called the imbecile and Primo called little boy and Copia called only brother, brother, brother—

(He was not his brother. Not by blood, by their bastard father; only by Sister, and Sister alone—)

Who at fourteen saw a copper-headed child slumped at his side, with eyes pleading for belonging, and put a hand on his shoulder instead of through his teeth; mumbled, It's alright, little thing, instead of, Who do you think you are, taking my mother from me—?

Who sauntered on a purple-glistened stage, knowing the performance would be his last, with the weight of the world in his smile and a microphone squeezed in his hand, and thought, Is this it? What you have always worked me towards?

Who entered his retirement with a chip on his shoulder and a weariness in his bones, piecemealed love from sex and sex from heartbreak and heartbreak from wrath and said, Here I am, eh? Your last "son." Your Legacy.

Who smiled, thin and brittle, at the siblings that stumbled over still calling him Papa; who would correct them, with a grousing tease and a dimpled thing that didn't reach his eyes—It's just me, sweetness. The titles were, eh...never a sticking point, no? You have little Coppie to sing your praises, now—

Who would make coffees in hand-painted cups and carry them stiff-boned, black-clothed down the halls, knock-knocking on their Monsignor's door, finding Primo's fish-pale eyes glowering from his desk with herb roots scattered like snakes over his parchments—

What is this? I bring you the Devil's ambrosia, and you greet me with maggots?

Who his brother swiped the soil from his varnish for, permission given with a bland sigh and an extension of a bony hand; told him, Sit down, Zito, and nudged his half-touched plate of breakfast towards him. You are not eating.

Who gave a child's giggle, and slumped like an old man: still ancient, still fourteen, still glaring at the floor with a smile that didn't shine.

It is not Copia's fault, Primo had muttered. It is not your fault.

Who dragged his thumb through a frayed sleeve, his nails painted and chipped, and sneered.

How is it not?

Who stood at the gates of Hell, with the Unnamed manifested in his finery: a demon no longer born of flesh and blood, who he could not see, could not touch, could not remember—

I miss you. I miss you, so much—

Who tied on black silks and carried leather bound books and took up his helm at the pulpit—not as their Father, but as the esteemed Replacement, as he had always goddamn been.

Who smiled to a congregation who looked for a beast's claws, and found human hands; looked for a beating heart, and found a stone-hardened knot.

Let me ask you now about the subject of Pride.

Not the pride of their litter, surely. Not of his father's own ghost.

(But who could have been.

Hell below, who could have been.)

[kurozu501]

suddenly realizing that the scene in presage flower where shirou sinks into a watery void while remembering kiritsugu’s last words is going to have a powerful parallel in spring song when he’s floating in a watery void while illya’s speaking to him for the last time.

[dreamwritesimagines]

Twisted 21 - Nowhere to Run [Spencer Reid x Reader]

A.N.: Thank you so much for your wonderful support my loves! Here’s the next chapter, I hope you will like it as well, and please let me know what you think of it! ❤❤ Ily, kisses! ❤❤❤

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Murder, serial killers, violence, manipulation, mentions of sex, drinking, smoking, blood, nightmares.

Word Count: 4300

Summary: Everyone needs a shelter.

For all your life, your sister had always said she hated watching horror movies with you because you would always criticize every character and their choices in the movie.

Who would even stay where they were when they knew there was danger outside, when they knew there was something coming for them?

You had never thought you’d learn the answer first hand;

Because there was nothing else to do, and because that was exactly what you were doing.

Spencer and the rest of his team had sent you away from that basement so that you could get some fresh air and at least attempt to get away from the greeting written on the wall with blood but you knew it was impossible.

There was no running away from that, you had seen it already.

You dangled your legs off the pier back and forth, keeping your gaze on the lake that looked so calm that it was almost like a painting. Funny, you hadn’t ever stopped to enjoy it when you were still a child, you had never actually sat there on the pier to take a breath, wrapped in the safety that would soon disappear.

The footsteps coming closer pulled you out of your thoughts and you turned you head as Spencer sat down next to you.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you croaked out and he ran his fingers through his curls.

“Do you want me to take you home?”

You shook your head, “I’m not sure what home is for me at this point, to be honest with you,” you murmured, “Besides I heard the other agents talking, you guys are going to be pretty busy the moment the rest of your team gets here.”

He heaved a sigh, biting inside his cheek but you kept your gaze on the lake.

“It makes it official right?” you asked, “All these murders…It’s not really about my father’s legacy. It’s about me.”

He stole a look at you, “Y/N…”

“It’s okay professor,” you said, “Trust me, I’m not going to run and scream.”

“The profile is changing constantly with every piece of evidence-“

“Spencer.”

He let out a breath, pursing his lips.

“It is pointing that way so far,” he muttered, “It doesn’t matter though. His legacy or an obsession with you, we’re still going to catch him.”

A silence fell upon you and you cleared your throat, pointing at the woods on the other side of the lake.

“Mina and I used to play the princess and the monster over there,” you said, “I mean… It was either me who was the princess or Mina and I were saving some imaginary princess because Mina wanted to be friends with her.” You used air quotes, “I don’t know whose shock was more fake when she came out, mine or mom’s.”

He let out a small laugh, “Yeah?”

“Mm hm, and right over there,” you pointed at the right, “Linc chased me with a worm in his hand to scare me off, and I ended up falling into the damn lake.”

“Ouch.”

“Yeah,” you nodded, “Then Mina pushed him into the lake too and we all got grounded for the whole weekend.” You let out a breath and pointed back at the cabin with your thumb, “And right there, dad showed me how to kill someone for the first time.”

His head shot up, “What?”

You scoffed, “He didn’t tell you that during those sessions?”

Spencer shook his head, frowning.

“He taught me…” you wetted your lips, “How to- how to hunt, that’s what he called it. Predator and prey. After teaching me how to analyze places to find a weapon, he taught me how to find my way in the woods. Just in case. He used to um-“ you cleared your throat, “I don’t really remember all of it, I don’t know how much of it are nightmares or memories, but I remember once he dragged me here in the middle of the night, and he opened the door and there was this man…”

“Petal honey, don’t get so close to him,” your father called out from the kitchen he sharpened the knife as you took a step closer to the man who was gagged and bleeding profusely, still whimpering on the floor. Even in the dim light you could see the look of terror on his face and your heart skipped a beat as you turned your head to look at your father.

“Daddy, he-“ you shifted your weight from one foot to other, “Maybe we can just leave him like this. He’d be dead by the morning.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” he asked before getting closer to you, flipping the knife in his hand and the man started yelling through the gag, but it was muffled. Your father extended his hand, motioning at the huge teddy bear you were hugging closer to your chest and you bit on your lip, then handed him that.

“You can get the teddy back after you answer 3 questions right, you know the rules,” he told you, “Alright, if I wanted him to die quickly, where would I stab?”

“Jugular.”

“Where’s the jugular?”

You pointed at the man’s neck, “There.”

“Good. What if I wanted him to suffer for hours with just one stab wound?”

You paused and scrunched up your nose, forcing your mind for the information before you looked up at him.

“In the stomach,” you said, “Stomach acid hurts.”

He thought for a second, then handed you the teddy back.

“Good job honey,” he said and walked to the man with the knife in his hand.

“I couldn’t do anything,” you pressed your lips together, “For hours and hours he tortured him and when we got back home, I went to bed and the next morning I wouldn’t stop shivering, I kept throwing up and my mom thought I had the flu so we ended up not coming to the cabin that weekend. I know how he—” you clicked your tongue, “I know how he pretends to be a normal guy. During those interviews, that documentary, even in those sessions with you he keeps pretending like he’s normal, but I know him. I know the real monster and I…”  you sniffled and cleared your throat, “Profiler or not, you have no idea what he’s capable of. He put me through actual hell, Spencer. No wonder I can’t remember half of this shit, I think I’d lose my mind if I did.”

“Y/N…”

“I didn’t stop him.”

He frowned, “How old were you?”

“Seven.”

“You couldn’t have stopped him even if you wanted to,” Spencer told you, “You were a child.”

“I could’ve told someone,” you murmured, looking at the lake, “I could’ve done something.”

“You were a child,” he repeated, “Children trust their parents, okay? You know it as well as I do that he’s a master at manipulation. Whatever he has done, it’s not your fault.”

“I doubt those bodies in the basement would agree with you,” you managed to say and let out a humorless chuckle, “Besides, I’m my father’s daughter, remember? You told me so yourself.”

The impact of your words would’ve been surprising if you weren’t so distracted by your own misery. He pulled back as if you had just slapped him, his hazel eyes searching your face and he swallowed thickly, opening and closing his mouth like he was at loss for words.

“I didn’t mean—” he paused, shaking his head “Y/N, that wasn’t the truth.”

You grabbed the cigarette out of your purse and lit it, dangling your legs back and forth over the pier.

“It’s fine,” you shrugged your shoulders, “You’re not the first person to think that, and weirdly enough, you’re not the first ex to think that either-“

“That’s not what I think,” he insisted, “Nothing about you even suggests that you’re anything like him, behavior or psychological wise. I just wanted to—“ he hesitated for a moment, his jaw clenching, “Hurt you back.”

You tried to smile, still keeping your gaze on the lake as you exhaled the smoke.

“Congratulations professor, you’re pretty good at that.”

A silence fell upon you both as you twirled the cigarette between your fingers.

“I’m sorry,” his voice was so gentle that you turned your head to look at him, “I really am. I never should’ve hit below the belt, not like that.”

“Don’t worry about it.”

“Y/N.”

“No really,” you insisted, “I don’t want to talk about that anymore, I’m just so—“ you closed your eyes for a moment “God, I’m just so tired Spencer. You have no idea how tired I am.”

“I know.”

“And it just doesn’t end,” you murmured and opened your eyes, “Right? I haven’t had a good night’s sleep in months now, and everything is getting so out of my control.”

“It will end soon.”

“But we don’t know that,” you insisted as almost a hysterical laugh escaped from your lips, “Do you want to hear the worst part? I don’t think this feeling will ever go away. At this point, I don’t even remember how it feels like not to be afraid.”

He heaved a sigh, then looked over his shoulder when Luke approached you two.

“Sorry guys,” he said, shifting his weight, “But um- Reid, we need you in there.”

“Can’t someone else-“

“Don’t,” you shook your head as you stood up and dusted off your jeans, “Seriously. Besides, the sooner you catch this guy, the sooner…I don’t know, the sooner things go back to normal, whatever that means.”

“You can’t just drive home like this.”

“I’ll drive her,” Luke said, making you turn your head,

“Dude, aren’t you needed here too?”

“I’m going to go back to help out Rossi,” he said, “Not all of the team has to be here, I mean-“ he nodded at Spencer, “We’ve got our genius here, he’s got it covered. I can take the babysitting duty.”

“No pastries for you anymore.”

“I would like to rephrase my statement,” he said quickly, making you smile before you shrugged your shoulders.

“Alright then, let’s go.”

“Y/N-“ Spencer started but you shot him a look.

“I’m fine,” you said, “Go do your Sherlock stuff, professor. Solve the case so that I can start planning weddings again instead of hanging around creepy cabins. I’m just gonna go home and get drunk, so you’ll probably get a voicemail or two from me, just saying.”

“Can’t wait,” Spencer smiled softly and you followed Luke to your car, then handed him the keys and got in the passenger seat. He started the car and you slipped a little in the seat, leaning your knees on the dash.

“How are you holding up?” Luke asked you and you heaved a sigh.

“I feel like I’m in a horror movie to be honest with you,” you muttered, “Who the fuck writes on a wall with blood, I mean like who are you, Michael Myers?”

“I didn’t mean the case,” he stole a look at you and you raised your brows.

“Ah, that,” you said, “Well, I don’t have a bff that sets me up with people in night clubs, so there’s that.”

He hissed in a breath, “Garcia told you.”

“Mm hm,” you looked out of the window, “No hard feelings, don’t worry. I dated lots of frat boys back when I was in college, so I’m very familiar with the bro code.”

“You dated frat boys?” he made a face and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Yeah I started from the bottom and worked my way up to the genius back there.”

He chuckled, “I take it you still haven’t told him you threatened a serial killer because he happened to threaten him?”

“I would’ve done the same for anyone.”

“Bullshit.”

Your jaw dropped, “I let you drive my car and this is the thanks I get, Alvez?”

“Okay trust fund baby, I’m driving you home, you’re not doing me a favor.”

You let out a small laugh, “Eh, I’m not that bad.”

“Your sister threatened a whole police department using lawyers.”

“They had it coming,” you said and he cleared his throat.

“If it makes you feel any better, it was an actual fiasco.”

Your head shot up and you turned to him, “Hm?”

“That whole thing with Reid. He’s not over you.”

“He will be,” you murmured, “Eventually.”

“Do you want to hear why it was a fiasco?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s an exaggeration-“

“He spent the whole night talking about you,” he cut you off and your jaw dropped, “Yeah. More like, she asked him about his job and he mentioned the case, then talked about you and how you couldn’t be the killer for hours. For a second, I thought he’d go up to the DJ booth and start broadcasting from there.”

You could feel the warmth spreading through you, but you nibbled on your lip, trying to ignore it.

“I really hurt him Luke.”

He stole a look at you from the corner of his eye.

“I know,” he said, “That’s pretty clear. I don’t know which one is worse, that you hurt him or that it doesn’t seem to change anything on his part.”

You could feel the burning in your eyes but you slipped a little in your seat and kept your eyes on the road.

“Yeah,” you murmured, “I don’t know which one is worse either.”

                                                   ***

The worst thing about nightmares?

There was no escape from them, and no amount of booze could make them go away.

You woke up to your own scream and leaped out of the bed so fast that you got caught in your sheets and fell on your face, your ears ringing. You could feel the bile burning your throat, so you covered your mouth and rushed to the bathroom to throw up into the toilet, barely aware of the sobs rocking your body. You wiped at your mouth and stood up on shaky legs, then brushed your teeth, still breathing hard.

You were there again, in that graveyard with your father, but this time you couldn’t brush it off as just a nightmare.

It was way too detailed, way too familiar to be a nightmare.

You wiped at your forehead and washed your face with ice cold water, desperate for some sort of a relief and leaned over the sink, closing your eyes for a moment.

“Fuck this shit,” you rasped out to yourself before turning the tap off and raised your glances to look in the mirror.

Well.

You looked exactly like how you felt.

You still didn’t trust your legs but still managed to leave the bathroom, Making your way to your bedroom was more than enough to give you goosebumps, but you snatched your phone off the bedside table. You almost dropped it because of how badly you were trembling with fear, but managed to hold it tighter, found his name in the contacts and took the phone to your ear.

He answered immediately.

“Hello?”

“Spencer, hi,” you said, still taking deep breaths, “I um… I had this- this nightmare and I- I need to talk to you. Can we meet somewhere?”

He hesitated for a moment, “Are you okay? Why are you breathing so fast?”

“Not a panic attack,” you wiped at your nose, “Not yet anyway.”

“Okay, I’m still coming over-“

“No!” you cut him off, then licked your lips, “No I can’t…. I can’t stay here right now, I need to get out of here. Can we please meet somewhere or-or-“

“How about my place?” he asked and you heard the unmistakable clinking of keys, “You can’t drive like that, I’ll come and pick you up, wait there-“

“No I’ll just take a taxi.”

“Y/N.”

“I’ll take a taxi, just send me the location,” you told him and hung up, quickly got dressed, got into your coat, then went downstairs when your taxi arrived. You still felt like you could throw up again, but the cool air coming from the open car window helped as the driver started the car after you gave him the location.

There was a beauty in the city at night, especially in chilly nights like these. The small raindrops falling down your face offered some kind of a small comfort while you tried your hardest to ignore the images flashing through your mind, taking a deep breath, letting the cold air fill your lungs. You leaned your head to the open window, closing your eyes and letting the noise of the city drag you out of your own mind.

By the time the taxi pulled over, you were almost lost in your thoughts and only when the driver let you know that you were there you opened your eyes. You paid him, and looked up at the building before making your way inside.

It was almost strange how you hadn’t seen his apartment when you two were dating, but now here you were.

After the break up. At three in the morning.

You wiped at your nose and fixed your hair before you knocked on the door and tried to control your breathing, but that felt way too difficult. As soon as he opened the door, everything you had planned to tell him in your head disappeared and you looked up at him in complete silence for a couple of seconds, you had almost forgotten how he looked when he wasn’t in his work clothes. A warmth filled you, the urge to rush into his arms taking over you but you managed to fight the urge and stepped into the apartment, desperately searching for the right words.

“I had that nightmare, again.” You turned to him as soon as you entered the living room, stumbling over your words, “That graveyard nightmare, but Spencer I think it wasn’t just a dream, I think you were right and it was a memory and there was someone else but I can’t see a face and—“

“Y/N.”

“And I think we were there because of me because it all just connected, we were at that graveyard and he was actually digging a grave and I can remember the face of the victim but not—“

“Sweetheart, breathe.” he approached you in three long steps and his warm hands cupped your cheek so that he could look at you better, “I’m here, I’m listening, okay? Just breathe and tell me. Slowly.”

You swallowed thickly, looking up at him.

“I had that nightmare again,” you managed to say, “But I think that’s a memory.”

“Okay,” he nodded, “How?”

“Because at the graveyard, dad told me something,” you said, “He was- he was digging a grave, and he said, Remember, you’re not supposed to make them bleed if you can’t kill them. And I remembered when that happened, back at the cabin, during the training, I… I untied one of the victims and pretended like he got out of them somehow.”

His hand slipped a little so that he could brush his fingers over your neck, almost soothing you.

“It didn’t work,” you shook your head, “As soon as he got out of the cabin, dad hunted him down and dragged him back into the cabin, he had lost way too much blood to make a run for it. Spencer, that’s a memory, not just a nightmare.”

“There was another person with you? At the graveyard?”

“He took the victim to the graveyard later on, but yes. There was someone, I just…I can’t remember who,” you heaved a shaky breath, “You need to tell the team-“

“We’re already checking the graveyards within the driving distance to the cabin, I told them today.”

You blinked a couple of times, “Did you?”

“Yeah,” he said and his eyes searched your face, “You’re shaking.”

You tried to smile and wrapped your fingers around his wrist, running your thumb over his warm skin, “It’s cold out there.”

You were lying, he knew you were lying and you knew that he knew, but neither of you commented on that. He hesitated for a moment before he pulled you closer to him, letting you bury your face into his chest as he held you tight and you inhaled his scent, closing your eyes.

He was right earlier. This was an addiction.

“Were you sleeping?” you muttered into his chest before you pulled back to look up at him. He scoffed and shook his head.

“No,” he said, “I was working on the case.”

“You really need to sleep.”

“It’s ironic to hear that from you,” he pointed out and that made a smile warm your face.

“Ah but I did sleep,” you said, “I just woke up because of the nightmares. It still counts as sleep.”

“I doubt that,” he said and you turned your head before you started walking around the room.

Spencer’s apartment was more or less what you imagined, to be honest. Contrary to yours, it was darker and obviously older. The wooden desk was covered in papers and books, there was a library by the corner of the room almost stacked to the brim, and overall it reminded you so much of him that just being in his apartment made you feel-

Safer. Better. Calmer.

“Lovely place,” you commented as you approached the library to drag your fingertips over the cracked and old spines of the books and out of the corner of your eye, you saw him shift his weight.

“Yeah it’s not- it’s not like yours but I like it.”

“Not like mine?” you looked over your shoulder and he cleared his throat.

“Mm hm.”

“I like it better than mine,” you said and he frowned,

“Why?”

“It looks like someone is actually living here,” you motioned around and he tilted his head.

“Is that a good thing?”

“It is,” you said, “I mean I can see….you in here. I can’t see any part of me in my apartment.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, “My mom has this person who designs her houses, she designed my apartment too. It’s pretty but it’s just not me I guess. It’s kind of sad when you think about it.”

He hummed, his eyes watching your every move and you pulled a book from the shelf, holding it up so that he could see the title.

“You don’t strike me as a Petrarch guy,” you tilted your head, “Are you?”

He raised his brows and stole a look at the book in your hand.

“I do not pray, since there is no purpose, that my heart should ever burn less fiercely, but only that she might share part of the fire.” he recited and your jaw dropped before you pouted.

“I hate bluffing with you,” you commented, making him chuckle and you stifled a yawn while turning the book in your hands.

“You can’t work for the whole night if you have a guest.” you gestured at the wooden table and he shrugged his shoulders.

“I won’t if my guest promises she’ll try to sleep.”

“I don’t like this deal.”

“That’s the deal you’re getting,” he said and you clicked your tongue, then walked to the center of the room and sat down on the floor before you lied down.

“I have a bed, you know.”

“I don’t want to get comfortable and fall asleep yet. I want to enjoy this more.”

“Enjoy what? Lying on the floor?”

You shook your head and kept your gaze on the ceiling, the dim light of the apartment and lights from the outside creating shadows there.

“I don’t have that…mind numbing fear right now,” you managed to say “I want to make it last. It’ll come back when I wake up tomorrow, trust me.”

He looked like he wanted to argue with you, then heaved a sigh and sat down on the floor as well, leaning his back to the leather armchair. You tossed him the book and he caught it mid-air, shooting you a quizzical look.

“Read me your favorite,” you said and he smiled slightly.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah. I mean, it’ll help me get out of my head, and it might help you….ignore the fact that your night club date was terrible, apparently.”

He raised his brows, “Luke told you?”

You tried to stop your smirk, but it was impossible,

“Yeah he did,” you said and bit inside your cheek for a moment, “Thank you though.”

“For what?”

“For believing in me.”

His gaze on you was gentle, “I wish you would believe in yourself too,” he told you, “You’re not what he tried to turn you into.”

You dragged the tip of your tongue over your lip.

“Spencer?”

“Hm?”

“Do you think we should move on?”

He took a deep breath, his brows furrowed in thought.

“Yeah,” he murmured, “We probably should. But do I think we can move on? I don’t think so.”

You nodded slowly, that burning in your eyes getting even worse as he turned the pages until he found what he was looking for, then cleared his throat and started reading.

“I have offered you my heart a thousand times

O my sweet warrior, only to make peace

with your lovely eyes: but it does not please you

with your noble mind, to stoop so low.”

You smiled to yourself, painfully aware of why he picked that one, then closed your eyes, his voice washing over you.

“And if some other lady has hope of it,

she lives in powerless, deceiving hope:

and it can never be what it was to me,

since I too disdain what does not please you.”

Chapter 22

[lambourngb]

a skeleton of something more [2/6]

previously here. malex wip fic. a short serial leading up the premiere.

spoilers for the trailer and promo, will be instantly AU. If I’m going to the trouble of writing a malex fix-it for the season 3 opener, why not fix 2x13 too?

**** THEN **** 

After Alex closed Tripp’s journal, he met Michael’s gaze across the table at the Crashdown. 

His golden-brown eyes were heavy with pain, the reminder of how his mother’s story had ended was still fresh between them despite the span of months since the fiery end of Caulfield. What had resulted in being the fiery end of them, even though Alex hadn’t known it at the time. The look of sleeplessness in Michael’s face reminded Alex, that outside of this small piece of Nora, he had the weight of Maria still in the hospital recovering from the pathogen Flint had released. The press of the Deep Sky ring in his pocket warred with the hesitation to place one more burden on Michael, would the abacus of their fragile friendship balance out?

He flashed to that last argument in Michael’s bunker, a disaster of his own making, thinking he could believe in his father, but thankfully harm was averted at Crashcon. That recent memory was motive enough for Alex to decide. Whatever happened next, he needed Michael on the same page with him.

As Isobel moved to leave the table, explaining to Michael that she needed to check on Max, Alex held Michael’s gaze deliberately. Then he folded his fingers down, until the last three fanned out in a downward W. 

“After what happened with Maria, maybe you should come with me, Michael. You can help me shake some sense into Max,” Alex heard, tuning back into Isobel’s voice. Her eyes moved back and forth between them, a crease of suspicion wrinkling her upturned nose, as she stopped on him. “It’ll be a good distraction.”

Without looking at Isobel, Michael’s eyes remained trained on Alex’s hand. “No, thanks, I’m good here. I’ve had my fill of stubborn ass people who don’t want to listen to sensible advice from me, so I’ll catch up with you later, Isobel.” 

She made a dismissive huff but did not argue, leaving with the barest semblance of a polite goodbye to Alex, but that was typical Isobel Evans. Michael waited until his sister was on the other side of the door, before speaking quietly, his gaze finally moving up from Alex’s hands to his face. “I haven’t seen you flash that sign to me in years.” 

“Glad to know you haven’t forgotten it.”

“You, making the ‘wait for me, I want you now��� signal? Nah, that’s been burned into my brain over the years.” Michael said it with a faint trace of bitterness. “I guess news travels fast, Maria only dumped my ass this morning.”

Alex winced and looked down, swallowing the surprise and spark of hope that welled in his throat at that disclosure. It was better to concentrate on the unique talent he had of stepping on landmines around Michael, than wonder about what had happened with Maria. It looked like he was still good at causing harm without intention, judging by the stung bite in Michael’s voice. “Fuck, I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I wouldn’t have-”

“No, I’m sorry,” Michael cut off his apology firmly with a wave of his hand, calling a time-out. Alex waited, his teeth pressed into his lower lip as Michael rubbed his eyes with a weary half-smile. “I’m being an asshole right now, and that’s not fair to take it out on you. It’s been a shitty day already, and — anyway, … you definitely know how to get my attention, Alex.” He tilted his head, self-deprecation on his face, “for better or worse, you’ve always been good at that.” 

It had been the sign they had developed whenever their paths had crossed over the years while Alex had been on leave in Roswell, but it had started that summer after high school. After Michael’s hand had healed poorly from Jesse, the last three fingers had been left frozen in a claw, it had been a shared fuck-you to his dad to use it to form their own secret communication. A three-fingered W, turned upward meant it wasn’t a good time, and he would find Michael later; turned downward, well, that meant it was safe to approach him, and it had often ended in a hurried blowjob in his car. Perhaps he should have used more care in using it now, but Michael wasn’t the only one running on the fumes of insomnia and stress. “Sorry, I needed to talk to you, and I wanted to make sure you didn’t leave with Isobel-”

“It’s fine, really. It’s not a bad memory either, remembering that we had our little secret language.” Michael wiggled his fingers in reassurance, his left hand still wrapped with a bandanna. “I can make that signal a hell of a lot easier now, too. But anyway, what did you need?”

There was still a voice inside Alex’s head that said ‘you’, no matter how long it had been. He shoved that down deep, along with his curiosity about Maria, and concentrated on his purpose. “Your advice on something, and then if it’s not too much to ask, your help.”

“Anything.” 

Alex blinked, nonplussed by the easy acceptance. 

Michael gestured encouragingly, “seriously, anything, just tell me what’s going on because the way you’re hemming and hawing, it is freaking me out.” Suddenly, all expression washed out of Michael’s face as a horrible thought occurred to him. “Did you get deployed or something?”

“Not exactly, not how you’re thinking,” he winced at the earned glare from Michael as he continued to stall while the words still tripped and fumbled around his mouth, heedless to the mounting frustration between them both. He sighed, and regrouped. Pushing the closed journal aside, Alex dug into his pocket and laid the signet ring on the table before Michael. “Let me start at the beginning, I found this in my dad’s things.” 

“Jesse never seemed like a jewelry kind of guy to me.” Michael picked up the ring, examining it closely with a sarcastic smirk. “Other than parading around town with that wedding ring, when everyone knows your mom left him back during the Bush years, Dubya that is.”

“My father is all, was all, about appearances.” Alex placed the photo of the group on the table, sliding it over to him. “That ring marked his membership in this paramilitary group called Deep Sky. Every man in that photo worked at Caulfield, at one time or another.” He tapped his finger over the face of his father, then moved it to the right. “That’s my dad, and that is Ricky Long.”

Michael frowned, pulling the picture closer to squint at the faces. “Wyatt’s dad?”

“No, Forrest’s.”

“Nazi guy? Seriously?” He rubbed at his chin, the stubble longer than usual painting his jawline. Alex dragged his eyes away with effort as Michael considered that information. There was a reluctant understanding in his eyes, having recalled that Forrest Long wasn’t just ‘Nazi Guy’ to Alex, but someone who had expressed interest in Alex. Personal interest. “I guess that’s something you guys have in common then, dirtbag dads.” 

He didn’t look thrilled to admit that to Alex, but it was a mark of how far they had both come as friends that Michael had said it anyway regardless. It was kind of him. It was the same type of empathy Alex had extended toward Michael, when he had expressed interest in Maria. Cut open, bleeding under his skin from all the ways he had squandered his own chances, he had said something similar to Michael once upon a time. That was what love was all about. Then he had kept saying it, until he believed it most days because wanting Michael to be happy was the easier ask.

It was a gracious sentiment that was entirely wasted by Michael when it came to Forrest Long. 

“It would be, uh, something to bond over, if I hadn’t noticed that Forrest wears the same ring now.” 

Michael’s eyes sharpened. “Family heirloom or do you think he worked at Caulfield?”

“I don’t know, but he is an ex-Army vet.” Alex tapped the photo of the members gathered together, “That was part of what I’ve been looking into, identifying everyone who worked at Caulfield right until the end. As for Deep Sky, I don’t know if it’s military service, Caulfield, or a family legacy that ties every member together, I just know that Dad kept in touch with those who were involved at the prison.” 

“Makes sense, Jesse was able to get a hold of the atomizer and pathogen that Charlie developed from somewhere. For all of his strutting around at Crashcon with a uniform on, that didn’t look like it was an official use of government property.” 

“Right, it definitely wasn’t, and before you tell me to leave it alone-” Alex began, remembering Michael’s response to the investigation into 1947. He had considered Alex’s actions back then to be an act of futility, something that could only hurt by being revisited. The past being the past, unable to be altered. 

This time Michael cut him off, “No, I was wrong about that. I, um, I finally realized that just because I don’t see you connected to that place or the rest of your family, doesn’t mean you don’t. And while I wish that you didn’t, Alex, if digging into this gives you some sort of peace over it, then do it.”

Alex looked down, feeling the weight of relief that Michael understood. After his father’s body had been removed, after the questions and lies had been spun, he had spent the entire night sleepless over having been made into an effective weapon to force Michael’s compliance. Helena had known where all the weak spots were thanks to Flint, and had armed herself with a depowering agent. Once Flint was recovered, there was nothing stopping him from employing a similar tactic in the future.

“If anyone’s going to destroy me, it might as well be you.” Michael had once declared with a bold carelessness that had infuriated and terrified Alex at the time, but that was nothing compared to now having a lived experience to back it up. His mind had easily used the memory of Maria’s collapse after the faintest exposure at the Crashcon and had exchanged her with Michael, being torn apart molecule by molecule, by an invisible threat.

Give him an enemy that he could see any day, especially one that bled. 

“I’ve been fighting so long, I don’t know what peace looks like anymore.” Alex held out his hand for the ring, and Michael gently laid it in his palm, brushing his fingertips over Alex’s skin. A lifetime of controlling himself kept the reaction off his face as he rubbed his thumb over the raised emblem of Deep Sky. “But I have learned recently that when something seems too good to be true, it is.” 

Neither of them mentioned Jesse and his performance from the last few months, but Michael frowned again, “Wait a second, you think Forrest targeted you on purpose?” 

“A member of a secret paramilitary organization just happens to ask me out after I was involved in the destruction of Caulfield? You really think that’s a coincidence?” Alex raised his eyebrow skeptically at Michael, before looking out the window to watch the pedestrians on the street. 

“I think you’re the hottest guy in Roswell, so I’m not surprised he asked you out.” Michael flushed a little when Alex turned back to stare at him in surprise over the flattering comment. “Seriously, you’re a catch, but I will agree, it’s not a good look that he’s got that ring. But maybe it’s crap he wears because of his dad, and he’s got no idea he’s parading around?”

“You’re being awfully generous.”

“Isn’t that what you want? Because last time I checked, you were the one telling me that I should have faith in people, even if they give me no reason to.” Michael flattened his hands on the table, drawing Alex’s attention to the bandanna on his hand again. That damn fight kept echoing between them to Alex’s dismay, but Michael didn’t let him linger over it, “While I stand by what I said about Jesse, ‘cause he messes us both up, all I know about Forrest Long is that he is way too interested in Nazi history and he has good taste in guys.” Michael wetted his lips, nervously to tack on, “I also know that I trust you, and your instincts, so if you say there’s something not right about him, then I believe you.” 

“There’s something not right about him,” Alex repeated seriously.

“Then I believe you, so what do you need me to do?”

“He wants to get close to me for some reason, probably related to what I know about aliens, so I’m going to let him. And I need you to back me up in case something goes wrong, and maybe use that lock pick you have in your brain?” Alex waited until Michael nodded in agreement, feeling the swell of gratitude at his support. Anyone else would probably think he was being paranoid, or that this was a delayed reaction to his father trying to kill them, but Michael, for all of his previous counter-arguments, had never truly believed in the good of humanity. Maybe in a few days, Alex would feel guilty in relying on that. Maybe in a few days, his suspicions about Forrest would be eliminated.

“He’s involved in running the open mike night at the Wild Pony with Maria, so I thought maybe I could perform a song or something? He drives a Prius, and while he’s listening to me sing, you could slip out mid-song and insert this into the code reader of his car.” 

On the table was a small device that mimicked a thumb drive, small and black. It was the type of technology that Alex had used in the Air Force, tracking terrorists abroad. It had taken a fair amount of searching to purchase the equivalent stateside to have on hand. Michael picked it up curiously, turning over his hands.

“It’s designed to download the GPS history of his car,” Alex explained, before rubbing the back of his head in thought. “That’s how I uncovered what my dad was up to, first by tracking his movements. If I let Forrest take me home, I can gain access to his laptop and phone.”

Michael furrowed his brow in concern, “You’re really willing to go that far? And what if he is involved in something shady, what then?”

“My father and brother both used me to get to you, there’s really nothing I wouldn’t do to keep that from happening again and if it means playing along with this guy, letting him lead me to the members of Deep Sky? Then I will.” If anything, his words only deepened the concern on Michael’s face, but Alex had been committed for a long time. Since the red level threat. Since the short ride to the recruitment office. Maybe as far back as his guitar going missing in the music room.

“I’ve slept with guys for worse reasons.”

CONTINUED HERE

[ktheist]

CEO!JK + - prompt list - + #47 “You’re seriously like a man-child.”

“ooh, you wanna kiss me so bad.”

“you’re seriously like a man child.”

muses. ceo!jk 

genre. e2l / arranged marriage

word. 2.6k

warnings. implied smut

synopsis. your family legacy is falling into ruins. your father is on his deathbed and your mother and sisters have never worked a day in their lives. their only hope is the jeons - the family of the fiancé you abandoned.

x

it can’t be said that you know nothing of jeon jeongguk per se. for one, he was lightly nudged in your direction by his mother at the age of 6 because he’d been hiding behind her legs since the jeon’s arrived. clad in navy blue kindergarten uniform and gripping tightly onto the brown teddy bear he uncreatively called ‘teddy’, he’d stolen a glance at you for a split second and fixed his gaze to the ground.

“____, say hi to jeongguk, you’re going to be seeing each other often from now on,” your mother nudged you from behind, her voice awfully sweet in the presence of mrs. jeon and her extremely shy son.

you’d found out at 11 years old and him 13 years old, what ‘seeing each other often’ actually entailed.

“i don’t wanna marry you!” you’d screamed in his face when you were left alone by the adults.

“i don’t wanna marry a kid with snot running down her face 24/7 either.” jeongguk’s retort, though held no substance, still made you wipe your nose on your sleeve after you’d left him and locked yourself in your room.

at the age of 13 and him 15, you’d managed to escape the clutches of your family by proposing the idea of attending a prestigious boarding school in zurich where you’d spent most of your adolescent years skipping classes and crashing parties.

by 18, you wanted to laugh at your teachers’ relieved faces when your name was called to receive your diploma, marking the end of your great era in that school.

that was when your mother called you back to south korea, claiming that she’d missed her youngest so very much. but you’d continued to make excuses to stay in zurich, applying for a scholarship and getting into a local university there.

none of your friends knew anyone from home and you’d only passingly mentioned that ‘oh, i don’t talk to my family much’.

but just as you were finishing your degree, the news of your father in his death bed latched onto your limbs and had you hopping onto the first flight home.

“what do you mean? so we’re broke?” yuqi’s voice cut through the air like a knife. even her ray bans couldn’t hide her burning gaze.

to think you willingly walked into this mess of a family.

“yuqi, let dad speak,” miyeon glares.

minnie asks after a lapse of silence, “dad, what do you mean the company’s wounding up?”

your father, a man with greying hair and cheeks losing most of their fullness, stares at nothing but the ceiling, as if seeing the angels welcoming him.

“do you remember uncle jee?” even breathing seems difficult for a man that used to work out everyday at the private gym and always invited you to join in on his healthy lifestyle, “he transferred all the company’s assets to his name and fled the country. even his family doesn’t know-”

“oh, for heaven’s sake!” your mother cries, shooting up from the sofa farthest from the bed - you should have known something was wrong when a wife wasn’t waiting by her husband’s bed and took the seat that’s on the far end from her husband, “just admit that it’s your fault! you trusted him too much even though i warned you about him! you ruined this family!”

“i should’ve brought popcorns,” soyeon says from next to you, shooting you an unapologetic - heck, even entertained smile - when you craned your neck out of mild disbelief.

this family’s a little fucked up in the head.

but they call you the black sheep that got away.

“so what now? do we have to... work?” soojin asks, a horrified look spreading across her face.

those several inches nails aren’t made for work. that’s for sure.

“the jeons...,” he coughs, “jeongguk promised to help us rebuild the family business because my father - your grandfather, supported the jeons when they were starting out.”

all of a sudden, seven pairs of eyes turn to you as if you’re the rabbit in a cage full of wolves. the air turns chilly as if someone’s turned the ac to a minus degrees celcius.

“well, don’t look at me, i haven’t talked to him for 9 years,” despite your hands held up and your shoulders almost making your neck shrink into your body, all they see is a little gold piggy bank.

“what? what about the times when we talked on the phone? you sounded so close!” your mother’s source of rage shifts to you.

“well, i mean, he’s pretty active on instagram-” you couldn’t even properly finish your sentence when a hand lands on your shoulder and you’re staring into your reflection in yuqi’s ray bans.

“start talking,” her cherry lips curl as she holds out your phone that you don’t even notice she’s swiped out of your hand bag which, “hey, how did you-” you remembered was zipped shut.

x

“you got something to tell me?” the jeongguk before you wears a smirk that exudes confidence and billion dollar legacy backing him up.

no longer the shy kid that avoids the gaze of those he’s not used to and keeps his head hung low. if anything, his chin is looking too tilted for your liking. though you can’t say the same for the muscles that fill out his suit and wraps around his biceps a little too snug.

he’s finally foregone the side swiped bangs and grew it enough to have it tied back into a man bun, enhancing his sharp jawline and proving once and for all that puberty isn’t just for anyone.

the hesitant hum reverberates against your chest. you can only hope that it’s not audible for persons besides yourself, “you look great.”

his head drops as he chuckles but you can still see the way his jaw clenches, cutting off every humor that’s ever present before looking straight at you through his lashes, “can’t say the same for you.”

you resist the urge to shoot up, handle of your handbag tucked in the juncture between your arm and forearm and strut out of the restaurant without looking back.

“that rotten attitude of yours hasn’t changed i see,” allowing the smile to sneak up your face, you feel your nails digging into your palms underneath the table, rooting you back to your reason for being here.

“it’s the thinking you’re better than me for me,” he states, back leaning against the chair.

“oh, baby, i am better than you,” the words escape your lips as naturally as breathing does.

“i don’t know about that, i certainly wouldn’t bring an on-and-off boyfriend of mine to a restaurant where my potential clients usually go to,” there’s a gleam in his eyes.

but before you can dissect the meaning of his words, the sight of a familiar jet black haired man trudging from toward your table with a distorted expression and waiters hurrying after him from a few steps away - catches your attention.

“___! baby, i’m sorry!” if you look closer, you could see the tears welling up in his eyes when he spots you.

“eric,” the hiss under your breath is venomous, threatening, “what are you doing here?!”

“i’m here for you, baby. i realized you’re the only one for me,” he drops to his knees, pulling out a velvet red box from his pocket. the waiters that were chasing after him now freezing, looking at each other back and forth before eric proclaims his undying love and his desires to, “i don’t want to live a life without you- marry me, baby!”

“stop,” you say curtly, body involuntarily leaned forward to make sure your voice reaches him. the sight of a smirking jeongguk adds to oil to the flames growing inside of you, “stop it. you’re acting insane, right now.”

“...i promise, i’ll never cheat on you again...” eric goes on, tears freely streaming down his cheeks as his shoulders sag, “i even tattooed your name on my chest.”

the italic curls of your name is inked in black a few inches underneath his left collarbone, probably where his heart is supposed to be. but at the moment, all you can see is jeongguk’s leisure wine drinking, “oh my god, security. please, take this man away, he’s disrupting lunchtime.”

the two waiters seem to snap out of their initial trance, marching over to eric and gripping his arms with all their might before dragging him away at the manager’s instructions. it’s only then, do you notice the flash of camera from one of the tables on the farthest left side of the restaurant, its position allowing for a full view of your expression and possibly only a view of jeongguk’s back.

“you,” a whisper slips out of your mouth once you’ve assured the manager that everything was settled and you’d continue eating, “you planned this.”

“what an assertive deduction. i almost thought you would’ve missed it altogether,” he remarks, a look of pure awe spreading across his face.

“fuck you, jeon,” slamming your fist against the table, you slip out of your chair and march out of restaurant, fully aware of the eyes that follow you until you’re out of sight.

x

no word got out.

sns was oddly silent about the incident at the restaurant but your sisters know anyway. shuhua knocks on your door, fixing you one of her calming smiles before dropping the bomb.

“mother and elder sisters don’t know, i’m not gonna tell them but i think it’s better if you talk to jeongguk about it.” is what she suggests.

but she doesn’t know he was the one that orchestrated it, as if your life was a show and he was there for a good time. either way, to ease your sister’s heart, you make your way to jeongguk’s office.

he made you wait for a good two hours, having his assistant retell that he’s busy and can’t be disturbed at the moment. but once you’ve had enough, you barge into his room, nails digging into your palms at the lack of meeting partner and the man’s too casual appearance with his blazer draped over his recliner and his sleeves folded up till his elbow.

“i heard you were in a meeting,” you announce, making sure to glare at the secretary that stopped dead in her tracks when you managed to slip past her and through the door of jeongguk’s office.

“as you can see, i’m quite busy,” he nods, hands gesturing at the open mac in front of him.

“what are you playing at, jeon jeongguk?” a smacking sound echoes through the air as you slam your palms on his mahogany table, glaring down at him “because i swear to god, i will make sure you regret messing with me.”

but instead of the panic you hope to raise, a chuckle trickles out of his lips, “ooh, you wanna kiss me so bad.”

how the prettiest pairs of lips could smirk like that is beyond you. natural pink lips, curving deviously as his bunny lips peek innocently underneath. you don’t notice you were staring until his voice fills the silence, forcing you to tear your gaze away from those kissable lips and meet his gaze.

“you really do wanna kiss me,” there’s that gleam in his eyes - that of realization and something - something - you can’t pinpoint.

gone is the boy that used to tell you your pigtails are lopsided and proceeded to fix it for you - he made it worse but you didn’t really mind because it was the effort that counted.

but that was almost a decade ago.

“you’re seriously like a man child,” you shake your head, the initial reason of marching over to his office now shoved to the back of your mind. the last thing you want is to be in the same room with a man who seems to only be interested in making someone else’s life his own personal entertainment.

but before your fingers brush the metal handle of the double doors, another hand brushing on top of yours, feather-light fingers pleading for you not to walk out on him.

“i’m sorry,” he doesn’t sound like the jeon jeongguk you’ve come to know within the short span of time - like a man stripped off his cards and games, “i went too far.”

you don’t - can’t - say anything but your body isn’t exactly listening to your mind’s instructions to move out of his grasp. out of his presence.

“i didn’t know the reporter was there - i made sure he’s keeping his mouth shut after you left,” his breath is hot against your neck and his front brushes against your back but not really touching.

“why did you do it? why did you bring eric all the way here?” you pray to thank the stars for the strength in your voice despite the feeling that’s slowly disappearing from your knees.

“i found out  you guys broke up because he cheated.. i wanted to make sure he knew you were mine,” his clicks his tongue, “i didn’t know you dated such a psycho-”

your world spins for the briefest moment before you come face to face with a wide eyed jeongguk.

“first off, you don’t own me,” you announce, arms coming to cross over your chest in show of protest, “and second off,” the semblance of surprise and panic finally slips through his facade when your hands grip his collar, “kiss me.”

the last thing you remember is jeongguk nodding ever so slightly before his eyes flutter shut just miliscends before yours. you feel his arm band around your lower back, free hand digging into your hair and pulling you closer into the kiss. he tastes like mint and lemon candies that your nanny used to give you and you’d give it to him, saying something like “it’s my favorite candy but i like you so i’ll let you have one”. you don’t miss the small jar he keeps on the side of his desk full of those candies.

but the matter of this and getting married in order to save your family from falling into ruins are two different matters altogether.

and somewhere down the line, you find yourselves still arguing about the littlest of things.

“um, what do you mean that red roses aren’t romantic? it’s literally the symbol of undying love,” surprisingly enough, it’s jeongguk that’s fighting for the fiercer shade of the petal.

“you think fuchsia pink doesn’t symbolize love?” you roll your eyes.

then comes the time when your mother and magically healed father asking for a grandchild to which jeongguk grins, “we’re working on baby jeon.”

(you’re married and the petals themed in your wedding are both fuchsia and garnet)

“excuse me?” you turn to him, brows arching. that alone warrants a break of cold sweat on jeongguk’s forehead as he cautiously laughs.

“i mean, w-we’re not ready yet.”

rather, you’re not ready to forego your child-less phase in exchange for late night awakenings and learning cry-languages.

but you’re not exactly being careful either, what with the two of you finding the holes in time to slip away from your family and into your childhood room only for jeongguk to slam you against the wall and bend you over the vanity.

“jeongguk did you bring a condom?” you ask.

“i’ll pull out,” is all he says and you’re barely listening as you clasp your palms agaist your mouth, trying not to let out the moans pass through your lips.

when you go back to your family, jeongguk’s arm is around your waist and you both sit together as you joke and laugh with your sisters whilst jeongguk raises a glass to joining your dad at the gym.

x

note. hope yall enjoyed!

see drabble game! for how to request!

[dawnsedits]

From the Ashes of Secrets - Chapter 2

Shang-Chi spoilers!

Katy loves him.

He can’t believe it.

Chapter 1 ~ Shangqi/Katy ~ 1.3k ~ AO3

Shangqi stared at her. At Katy. At his best friend. At his girlfriend. At his partner. At his… everything.

She loved him.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen this coming. They had been going slowly, sure, learning to balance this new side of their relationship with the multiverse of madness they had been plunged into, both of them nervous about wrecking their friendship no matter how often they said nothing ever would. But despite the obstacles, despite the uncertainties, they had grown closer, steadily, naturally, falling in love as easily as they breathed, until he found himself wondering how he had ever not loved her.

Maybe he had. She had been his first friend after he ran away, his first friend in a foreign country. She was the first person to stand up for him since his mother died. She welcomed him into her family without a second thought, and she had showed him how to be a kid again, giving him back the precious gift of youth that his mother’s death and father’s rage had so brutally stolen from him. Time with her buried the pain and guilt of everything he’d lost and done, and it wasn’t so strange to think, looking back on it all, that maybe part of him had loved her all along.

But how could she ever love him in return?

Sure, she hung out with him now, when he very carefully pretended that he was just a dorky guy who liked karaoke and not wrecking other people’s cars. It was easy to befriend someone like that, easy to let someone like that into your life. She didn’t know, though.

She didn’t know anything.

She didn’t know about the blood staining his hands, about the nights he woke up in a cold sweat, his subconscious forever trapped in the feeling of the man’s life draining away beneath his hands. She didn’t know that he had stood by and watched his mother die, or that he had abandoned his little sister to the uncaring fist of their revenge-obsessed father. She didn’t know that, for seven years, he had wanted to be a killer.

She didn’t know that part of him, the darkest part of him, sometimes didn’t even regret the kill.

His own mother would hate the person he had become. So how could Katy – kind, caring, wonderful Katy – ever dream of loving him?

It wasn’t like he could even tell her.

The opportunity had come up before, time and time again. A lull in the conversation, her mother or grandmother trying a little too hard to pry the details out of him, nights when he was drunk enough to be miserable but not quite drunk enough to be brave. But when they were young, he was terrified of being sent home, and when they were older, he was terrified of her knowing. Because if she knew…

If she knew, he would lose her.

If she knew, he would lose his everything.

So he kept his mouth shut. He looked away when she looked like she wanted to ask. He pretended he couldn’t fight. He hid everything he could, from the callouses on his hands to the muscles on his abdomen to the scars on his back. And he lied. He lied again, and again, and again, over and over for a decade.

He wished it had stopped on the bus.

But no. Even with two men holding him back and a third in his face, he kept trying to hide, trying to maintain the illusion he had built, and his father’s man hurt her for it, hurt his best friend because he was too scared to protect her, right before the bus careening out of control nearly got her killed.

And even then, he didn’t stop. He tried to shut her out. He left out the not-so-tiny detail that he had killed the man. And Xialing had to be the one to tell her what a horrific brother he had been.

It was a miracle she was still by his side at that point.

Surely she would leave, though. Surely she would bail when she saw his father’s brutality, the brutality he had inherited. Surely, at some point, as they got dragged deeper and deeper into his past, she would recognize that she had let a monster into her home, and she would get herself out and have nothing to do with him ever again.

He wouldn’t blame her. Katy was loyal, yes, but she was smart, too – smart enough to know that he wasn’t worth risking her life.

But… she didn’t.

She stayed. He nearly let her fall to her death, and she stayed. She saw him killing on that scaffolding, saw him nearly kill a man who was trapped beneath him, and she stayed. She listened to his confession, listened to him say that he would kill his own father, and she stayed. She was plunged right into the heart of all the darkness that had forged the liar and assassin she grew up with, and when it was all over…

She chose him.

She didn’t run. She didn’t kick him out. She didn’t even flinch. She didn’t do anything he had always been convinced she should do if she ever found out.

She only pulled him closer.

And sitting on the shoreline, watching the lanterns float away, peace and grief wrapped around them in equal measure as she laid her head upon his shoulder, he started to think, for the first time in a decade, that maybe, just maybe, someday, he could be worthy of her.

So he laid his head atop hers, breathing easy for the first time since they had met, and silently vowed beneath the stars that he would try to be everything she thought he was.

He told her everything. He taught her how to fight. He saved the world a few times. He did anything and everything he could to earn the awe when she watched him fight, the sparkle in her eye when he made her laugh, the trust she placed in him to keep her and her family safe in the crazy world they were suddenly a part of.

And it worked. As time went on, as he embraced his mother’s legacy and used his father’s greatest weapons for good, as he let his walls down and stopped waiting for the world to come crashing down around him, the constant terror and self-loathing faded, turning to security and confidence as she helped bring out everything she had always seen in him, from the dorky kid who screamed at her to slow down to the Avenger who came soaring in on the back of a dragon to save the world.

Yeah. Life was so much better than he had ever dared imagine it could be.

But ten years of thinking something was a hard habit to kick, and the darkness would always be lurking within him, so lying in bed that morning, part of him still couldn’t believe that she was here, at his side, loving not the façade he had hidden behind, but every inch of him, the good and the bad, the dark and the light.

She loved her best friend and an Avenger.

She also loved a broken man and a killer.

She loved him.

Katy sat back a little, the golden morning light glowing around her like a halo. “Did I- Did that freak you out? Because you don’t have to say it back, I just- I thought-”

He kissed her.

She froze for half a heartbeat, surprised, and then melted into it, bringing her hand up to cup his cheek. He held her closer with the arm that had been wrapped around her all night, his other hand caressing her cheek, slipping into her hair, cradling the back of her head with all of the tenderness he had once thought his blood-stained hands incapable of possessing. He kissed her until they broke apart just enough to breathe, Katy tilting her forehead to rest against his, her hair falling around them like a curtain, a soft smile painting her face with bliss, her eyes drifting shut as she savored the moment.

But his stayed open, memorizing her smile, tracing the curve of it with a delicate thumb, wondering at how incredibly lucky he was.

“I love you, too, Katy,” he whispered.

[millllenniawrites]

enchanted (Poe Dameron x Reader)

part one of dear love of mine

summary: The last thing you wanted was to fall in love. That was your sisters’ job, to marry and have a small army of children for your mother to dote on. But when the man courting your eldest sister brings a mysterious guest to stay with your family for the summer, you may not have a say in the matter.

words: 1.5k

warnings: afab!reader; reader has a last name; regency au for the aesthetic but it’s historically inaccurate for the *vibes*; slow burn; sexual themes throughout; eventual smut; warnings will be added as the series progresses

a/n: the series i’ve been talking about for months is finally here!! Totally was supposed to post this yesterday but I forgot. I started outlining this after reading @writefightandflightclub ’s Regency Femdom Week 2020 fic Of Rears and Vices and watching Bridgerton was like taking steroids so here you go!! I haven’t done an actual series in a long time so i’m super stoked about this whole thang. this is a short chapter cause I want you guys to get to know the universe and the characters but the next few are gonna take some time because they are long bois 

__

You sat at the window, looking down at the long drive that led up to your estate. Lord Barnes was supposed to arrive before lunch and, though your stomach rumbled, you didn’t take your eyes off the horizon.

“You’re almost more nervous than I am.” Ana called.

You blinked quickly to allow your eyes a moment to adjust from the bright light outside to the dim interior of her room. Your sister stood in the doorway, her hair glinting in the sunlight. Her blue dress complimented her features and, even without the sun, you were sure she would have been glowing.

“You remember that I’m the one he’s courting, right?” Her slippered feet whispered against the floor as she crossed the room, hopping up into the window seat across from you.

“Of course I remember.” You flailed your leg out, striking her in the shin with your foot. “It’s only the happiest day of my dear sister’s life.”

She tossed a scrap of paper into your lap. On it, scrawled in a neat print, was yet another declaration of love from the strapping Lord Barnes for your sister.

You read aloud, “My dearest, Ana, how I do miss your gaze. The stars here are truly incomparable, having seen your eyes— Is this what men think is charming?!”

She snatched the paper from your hands. “I think it’s charming!”

As you laughed, you snorted, sending her into a fit of giggles right alongside you.

“I really do think he’s going to propose this time, Ana. And you know I’m happy for you.”

The summer prior, Lord Barnes had been in town on business, settling assets after the tragic death of his father. To distract himself from his mourning, he had begun going door to door, learning the names of the people who lived in the county he had so suddenly inherited.

Ana had not stopped talking about him since and, if his letters were any indication, he was just as charmed as she was.

“Of course I know that.” She turned around, flopping herself back into your lap. “You also know that by my marrying Lord Barnes, I’m helping you secure a suitable match.”

“A suitable match!” You couldn’t help but laugh again. “For Siena, yes. For me?”

“You cannot keep your nose in those books forever! I cannot let you. Don’t you think you’ll get lonely in this big house all by yourself?”

“A marriage would simply hand over our family’s legacy to whatever man decided to sign the papers. I do not think that is what Father would have wanted.”

She rested her elbows on your legs and leaned her chin onto her palms. “I think Father would have wanted you to be happy.”

With a roll of your eyes, you shoved your poor sister out of your lap and onto the floor. She landed with a soft grunt and a flurry of skirts and immediately tried to clamber back into your arms.

Ana loved to remind you that you would be tasked with taking care of the family property once your mother passed. She had seen it as such a burden that, even as the eldest of three girls, your parents had decided she could pass on the responsibility. Siena, the youngest of the three Dean daughters, was just as enamoured with the idea of marriage as Ana was, so the future of the estate had passed to you without complaint. Their wish was to be romanced and married. Yours was stability. And with your father gone, your mother wasn’t about to keep any of you from your true wishes.

Siena was in her room, no doubt pruning and prepping for the arrival of Lord Barnes — it didn’t matter that she wasn’t the sister he was coming to visit, she had reminded you —  and you did miss her presence as you and Ana shoved at each other and grappled for her letter. It was moments like this was you cherished, knowing that soon, handsome men would arrive and sweep your sisters away. Your house would be left empty of two of the most precious things you had ever beholden.

“Girls!” Your mother shouted, breaking you out of your thoughts.

You and Ana squished yourself together in the window seat. A dark carriage had begun it’s way up your drive.

“Girls!” She shouted again. “Come down here!”

You and Ana raced out of her bedroom and down the long staircase. Both out of breath by the time you reached the bottom, you clutched each other.

Your mother and Siena stood side by side, their arms crossed. They were mirrors of each other, their coiled hair pinned into place and eyebrows furrowed in distaste.

Siena turned her nose up at your giggling, but you could see a glint of playfulness in her eye. Though she tried to appear sophisticated, her twelve-year-old spirit wasn’t easily quelled, much to your mother’s dismay.

“Are you sure you’re ready to get married, sister?” Siena’s voice was soft, more like silk than sound.

“He hasn’t proposed yet. You needn’t be so serious.” She skated over to Siena and wrapped her arms around her sister’s middle, swinging her around.

“And when the Lord Barnes proposes, Ana will be quick to get ready. Just you watch.” Your mother winked at you before grabbing Ana’s arm, pulling her off Siena. “They are about to arrive. Go look presentable.” She shooed both your sisters towards the front doors before limping along behind them.

Mister Kirk, your family’s butler, stood off to one side. He was a thin man, the grey hair atop his head so thick that it looked as thought he might topple over at a moment’s notice.

You nodded your head to him. “Thank you for the work you’ve done setting up for our guest, Mr. Kirk.”

“It is my job, Miss Dean.” He said softly. Your sisters would have teased you about the fondness in Mister Kirk’s face had they been there, but the opening of the front doors had thoroughly distracted them. “And it is guests, Miss. More than just Lord Barnes is set to join us for the summer.”

You cocked your head but didn’t dare say more. It must have been a new development. Why else would your mother not share this with you?

You didn’t wait for Mister Kirk to elaborate, heading towards the open doors of your home.

The carriage pulled up right in front of the steps. A footman hopped down from the back of the carriage, setting a stool out before opening the door.

Lord Finneas Barnes stepped out of his carriage, grinning up at your family. “Hello Ladies Dean!” He called, waving grandly.

You all curtsied, a chorus of ‘Hello Lord Barnes’ causing his smile to widen further. “There’s no need for the formalities. Please. Call me Finn.”

Everything about him was refined, down to the buckles of his shoes. His dark hair had been done in waves, tight to his head, giving him the impression of wearing a crown. And he walked like it. His smile was sweet, but everything else about him oozed boldness and masculinity.

You could have sworn Ana nearly swooned beside you. A curious mischief glittered behind her eyes.

When you looked back to the carriage, another figure was stepping through the door.

The stranger tossed his head, his thick curls bouncing back away from his eyes to reveal his sharp features. He was dressed in blue, clearly a military uniform. Various pins on the front of his coat winked in the sunlight. His dark eyes quickly took in your family waiting on the steps and his dark eyes stalled when he reached you. Mouth quirking in a slight smile that had your heart racing, his gaze passed on.

The two men ascended the steps. Your mother curtsied again, the rest of you following behind her.

You could not take your eyes off the mysterious gentleman.

“This is General Dameron, I presume?” Your mother asked.

“The one and only,” Lord Barnes boasted, clapping the gentleman — General Dameron — on the back.

The General bowed. “Thank you for hosting us while the Barnes estate is renovated, Lady Dean. Your invitation for me to join Finn here was the best surprise I’ve had since the Coast.”

The Coast. You vaguely remembered hearing about the war from the girls in town last summer. They’d had brothers and fathers go to fight — and come back victorious, if your memory served you — but as your household was of only girls, you hadn’t been particularly invested in the news of battles that did not impact your family.

“It’s not a problem.” You heard your mother say.

Ana griped your arm, viciously whispering, “He’s quite handsome,” before dragging you back into the house.

You glanced back over your shoulder at the General and your mother politely discussing something — the topic of conversation could have been the weather for all you heard of it. It was as if your ears had been stuffed with cotton.

The General’s dark eyes met yours again and your breath caught. You tore your gaze away, snapping your head around to face forward.

It would be the last you’d see of him for the rest of the day.

[wullu]

First few episodes in, I had a feeling that Flower of Evil could become a part of my 'fave dramas of all time' list but I didnt want to raise my hopes cause you can never fucking tell when a drama decides to turn on you and let you down.   

Anyway, no worries here cause Ep 16 just cemented FOE’s place on that list. 

I will be honest, I came for the thriller and deception aspects of this drama. But I ended up staying for the romance. As the drama went on, some of the logical aspects of the plot confused me but the emotional satisfaction I got from the romance made up for everything. I swear to god, it really did.

Some thinky thoughts under the cut for why it pinged all the right buttons for me. Strap yourselves in. It’s a long and passionate and somewhat confused essay about why I loved Flower of Evil and why I rated it 10/10

Ep 16 was polarising for a lot of people and I understand why. In some ways, it upended all the previous episodes.

The amnesiac reset was not easy to watch, especially since it put Ji Won in even more agony than before. How much did she need to suffer before the fruits of her love were realized? Howevuh, the way I saw it, the amnesia reset established a few things that I believed the drama has stayed true to, all the way from the start to the finish.

Here is the thing, names carry so much baggage. When children are named after a much beloved and deceased relative, it can be one of two things. One, it is a way to honour an important part of your life but also allow the child to be a fully realized person. The second,  the name becomes a prison when it is given to you without any choice in the matter and where you are not allowed to be you.           

For Hyun Soo, the name Baek Hee Seong has all these memories and emotions attached to it and while his feelings were not any less real, they are tainted by the foundation they began on. The foundation being a deception.

For Ji Won, his name really doesn't matter. Because at the end, she doesnt view him as Baek Hee Seong or Do Hyun Soo. For Ji Won, he is her chagiya, her person, her husband. And for Eun Ha also, it doesn't matter if her father is Baek Hee Seong or Do Hyun Soo. He’s her father first and foremost and her most favourite person in the whole world. 

Both Ji Won and Eun Ha accept him for the person he is and the role he plays in their lives. 

But for Hyun Soo, Baek Hee Seong will always be the constant reminder of the very thing that ripped apart the fabric of his family life. That’s not the kind of baggage you want to bring to your relationship. Ji Won remembers so many of the good times they had together .But for Hyun Soo, those moments didn’t feel like his because they weren’t attached to his name. It is Hyun Soo more than anyone else that needs the distinction between the two names. Baek Hee Seong was his life for 15 years and it is also the most horrible reminder of how he hurt Ji Won (a person he loves more than anything else in the world) and Eun Ha by having them become a part of his deception. And he also knows first hand what it means to live with an axe over your head, always ready to drop.

15 years ago, Baek Hee Seong was a chance at a better life, a way to escape the shackles of his father. But over time, the thing he thought would set him free dragged not just him down, but also Ji Won and Eun Ha. More than a physical thing, I consider the amnesia plot point to be a thematic reset. Do Hyun Soo links him to his father, but at the same time, it also links him to his sister (one of the good things in his life). 

In ep 13/14, he asks Ji Won why must he suffer all of this? Why must he experience all this pain? 

And if you further follow this line of thought, you can see why he’s so angry.    

Why must he adopt another persona to adapt to the world? Why wont the world adapt to him being Do Hyun Soo instead? These are very valid questions. Our society is very big on ‘being yourself’, but at the same time, society contradicts itself by also saying you can only be you and acceptable by conforming to a very limited sphere of uniqueness. Hyun Soo knows the fallout of this firsthand.

Ji Won has given him all of her from the start. But he has only given her Baek Hee Seong. By going back to being Do Hyun Soo, he reclaims all the emotions he felt in the preceding 15 years and attaches them to his real self. People said that he was just like his father and a psychopath. But he gets to prove everyone wrong. 

He’s capable of love, he’s capable of empathy and emotion and he’s also capable of being loved. He achieves all these things in spite of the legacy of his father’s name and his own name. He is loved just as he is. 

Just as Ji Won submitted to the mortifying ordeal of being known, so is Hyun Soo now. He wants to show Ji Won all the original parts of him and love her as Do Hyun Soo   And isn’t that the realest indication of a loving relationship? Someone knowing you for being you and still loving you. 

And as for Ji Won, time and time again she has made it clear that her happiness lies in Hyun Soo’s happiness. If he isn't happy, she cannot be happy. Does it make her seem sacrificial? Yes. Did she have a choice in it? Also yes. And she made her choice. No one else made it for her. She’s given so much of herself to this relationship, but I don't think there is any other way she would have it. In that way, Ji Won has a very singular sense of perspective. It’s the exact kind of tunnel vision, which when you encounter it in real life, feels extremely annoying and unhealthy, and while in a drama, it is also unhealthy, on the flip side, it’s also grand and tragic and heartfelt. 

Because she loved him so deeply and truly, in return Hyun Soo tried to do for her all the things that made her happy. And in many ways, it is the same reaction a child has to unstable parental figure. They do the things that they think will make the person happy. Except here, Ji Won has been one of the most stable presences in his life. Ji Won loved him when he did all the little things for her. 

But she also continued to love him even when the exterior began to chip away and the relationship started to destruct. And that is Hyun Soo’s lesson for learning that he doesn't have to be anything other than himself to be loved by Ji Won. She may trip up on his name and call him Hee Seong from time to time, but she loves him for being her chagiya. 

Strip away all the extraneous details of this drama and you will see that at the heart of it, this was always going to be a love story that was much larger than the two individuals in it. 

Ji Won begins pulling away only in the end because while she wants him to be happy, it finally becomes too much to bear. It’s not that she cannot stand seeing him happy. And it is not that she does not love him or is angry with him. It’s the sickening knowledge that perhaps, all her love wasn’t enough and that the damage that others have wrought was too lasting and could not be fixed.

The amnesia reset was a chance for a do-over, and it is not often that you  get one. The first time, Hyun Soo came to her as Baek Hee Seong and that too by sheer coincidence and lettuce be clear, Ji Won’s enduring perseverance as well. The second time, he came to her through intention and intuition, and as Do Hyun Soo. And this is the one that counts. He does not remember creating a life with her but he remembers the way she made him feel. The amnesia reset made him go back but it didn’t change the core of who he was. 

So what do we see in the final scene? That in fact, more than anything else, it is Ji Won’s love and the prospect of losing it that sent Hyun Soo off the rails and at the same time, it's her love and the the safety and comfort of her presence that brought him back. And it was the same for Ji Won as well. His potential loss of his love sent her crashing but at the same time, his love also grounded her and raised her up if you will. 

The evidence of her love was in all the emotions his body remembered. And the evidence of his love was in the way he came back to her and in the way despite all his statements to the contrary, the most emotion he showed was when they both broke down together in the car.  

So, Ji Won needed to see that her love was always enough and Hyun Soo had to realize that he was worthy of it and that he deserved it and that he loved her as well. That the past 15 years weren't some ridiculous fluke. 

He didn't have to be Baek Hee Seong to be loved or love Ji Won. He just had to be who he always was, Do Hyun Soo. 

[female-overlord-3]

Unsolicited Haunting

My need for someone knowing Malex are cosmic soulmates because the show went out of their way to make sure everyone was oblivious idiots. Also it's spooky season so ghost! Rosa wanting everyone to stop being dumb and get their shit together. It's about 2k so @imawriteriwrite and @caitlesshea here you go! Warnings: mentions of a dead body. Mentions of drinking and being intoxicated. Let me know if I missed something 💚

It's kind of funny that Rosa always felt like a ghost and in the end, a ghost she became. Not forever but enough for her to be able to see those lives connected to hers.

Sometimes she would catch glimpses of Liz when she came home but those were rare.

She would hang around her father or Maria most often because they were a comfort even if she's dead.

It was those three though, who she eventually realized were honest to god aliens, that she couldn't stay away from. Michael Guerin and the Evan Twins.

Rosa stayed as far from Isobel as she could but over the years she came to watch over her, try and figure out why she was the last thing she saw before becoming like this. It wasn't until Isobel started having her 'blackouts' that the boys called them, when she realized it was Isobel's own husband. The man was also an alien and wanted both of them.

Rosa didn't feel much but finding your dead body in a freaking alien pod thing was the most intense feeling she's felt since becoming aware. Fear, horror, confusion, and rage. No wonder she isn't free but stuck here like this.

That day she stayed with Michael Guerin because he was the furthest and easiest way to distract her. He fixed cars, drank, drove to his alien pod thing, and worked in his secret bunker on what she assumed was alien stuff. It made her tingle.

After that she mostly watched him and his simple life. For some reason he felt as invisible and dead as her.

It was probably Alex's first time back from wherever he went (the air force she later learned to her horror) when she saw Michael come alive.

Alex showed up at Michael's airstream and the two collided like planets. Intense and destructive.

She remembers Alex telling her about a boy, someone he was both excited and terrified about because of how he made him feel. Rosa knew she was the only one who could really read between Alex's line.

Excited because he wanted it. Something for him with someone who might actually care.

Terrified because he knew his dad would take it away, would hurt whoever Alex wanted. Alex wasn't allowed to have or want anything.

These two emotions waring because Michael made him feel alive too.

Rosa doesn't know the whole story but after the first couple of years she got a general outline from listening and watching.

They still have no idea where they're from or why they're here. She sees that's because of Max while Michael hasn't stopped looking since he found the first piece of their ship.

The night she died no one knew who really did it.

They assumed it was Isobel but Michael decided to protect his 'sister' by saying he did it. They covered it up to not be found out and now Rosa gets to watch their sad lives until something happens and she's free.

So far she doesn't think most of their lives have been really interesting aside from Michael and Alex.

Those two… Those two bring her comfort because even before she died she knew whoever Alex wanted would have to be special. Boy was Michael Guerin special alright.

There's also just- she can feel the love that pours off them. Love for each other that's visible in the way they look at each other and how happy being near makes them. You don't realize how unhappy those two are until you see them together.

So Rosa watches and waits.

She sees them fight and fuck. Talk without saying what they really mean. The change that time and being apart does to them. The pain they're in from it and the brief moments when they can smile and breathe before starting the whole thing over again.

It's not until a decade has officially passed that something starts happening. 

Liz comes back. 

Alex comes back. 

Liz is shot but Max heals her and Rosa knows things are about to really go downhill.

Liz was always soft for her white boy and Rosa knows Max is crazy about her but two things become clear over the next few days.

The closer Liz and Max get causes more problems for everyone else. The more problems there are the more Alex and Michael have to fix.

Sometimes Rosa really hates Max Evans even if he makes her sister happy.

Max's decision to save Liz was a catalyst for so many things hidden to be dragged to the surface that sometimes Rosa can't keep up.

Alex and Kyle find out about her biological father. Liz finds out about Max. Alex finds an alien ship part in Rosas old 'room' and of course finds out about aliens all on his own. Apparently Alex's dick of a dad also knows, that it's Alex's legacy or some shit Rosa felt the faintest urge to laugh at.

Who knew Alex and Michael were some Romeo and Juliet in space shit.

Even more stuff happens with Isobel but Rosa knows she'll be fine. Her sister and Michael are too smart to let her die.

The thing that makes her sad and angry is that Alex decided letting Michael go would be safer for his alien boy.

Oh Michael can be a totally knuckle head sometimes but if there's one thing he needs to be more than a ghost like her, it's having Alex in his life. The same can be said for Alex but that idiot is too stubborn to not let whatever happen to Michael's hand happen again. 

She later finds out Alex's dad did hurt what he wanted and it was on the day she died.

That day really was the start for everything falling apart.

So now her comfort is gone because Alex is trying to protect Michael and for some reason they don't realize how much they love each other.

Then Michael and Maria do something stupid in texas.

Then Alex and Michael finally talk.

Apparently everyone is under some idiot spell and needs Rosa to voice the obvious.

Then Michael goes to Maria while Alex is waiting. 

She can barely stand being there and decides to wait with Alex instead. That was probably the only true time she was actually disappointed in Maria.

She was there for everything and then Max brings her back and she remembers nothing.

She remembers nothing but there are feelings like a tug on her.

She still knows Alex and Michael love each other, that didn't change. If anything remembering nothing means she still knows them all at their core without the last decade of bullshit they've been buried under.

But what can one do with feelings and tugs when she's not near them to see it anymore.

They've kept her away and hidden but that's never stopped her before especially once it becomes too much.

If anything it made things worse, being stuck with her thoughts.

So she starts to drink and drink and fight against this phantom Max in her head.

She knows nothing in this time where she's out of place so what is one to do but find comfort.

So she goes to the Pony and Maria finds her.

That's where she finds out Michael and Maria are together.

In her deep moments of floating in a peaceful drunken haze, something screams at her that they shouldn't.

She still doesn't remember but the more she learns and uses whatever abilities being in that pod, the more those feelings and tugs get stronger.

She finally asks Isobel to go into her head and find what she's missing.

It takes them a day to break from the trance and another day to be able to move.

They cling to each other before taking a steady breath and helping the other up. They have things to do and people to talk to.

It of course leads to a giant cluster fuck of everyone yelling and demanding answers once Rosa is done talking. They decided Isobel's house would be a good place if things started going flying.

Demands for answers and more questions being thrown at her as she fills everyone in on what their lives the last decade has been like through her eyes.

Everyone except Michael and Alex who remain silent. Silent as they look down at the floor and nothing else.

Rosa doesn't care if she's being selfish but she misses the comfort they gave her so she is going to get them back to what they should've been at the start of this mess.

The second Max starts focusing in on Michael for some reason, one that's probably not even about him, Alex seems to snap out of it and stands in front of Michael like the shield he loves to be.

Rosa is having none of that and before Max can say a word she storms over and grabs Alex's then Michael's hand to lead them to a different room.

Michael looks a bit confused but follows.

Alex looks relieved but unsure to what Rosa's planning.

Their in the room Isobel let her have and she pulls them onto the bed and makes them sit with her in the middle. She wraps their arms around her and tugs them close and the second she lets out a sigh they all just sink into each other.

"I'm not spending another second with you both not together. Say or do whatever you need but I'm done waiting for it to happen because it's going to no matter what you both think. If I can remember knowing you both love each other even as a ghost apparition thing, then you both can deal with your shit and make it work. Be your cosmic love or whatever you called it. Before things truly started to go to absolute hell you guys were my comfort. Knowing how much you both love each other just- it made being stuck like that okay even when I wanted to knock sense into you idiots."

It just comes pouring out of her and she feels their hold tighten on her.

"Stop wasting time. Stop looking for something you already have. You have the foundation no matter the ware and tear but you gotta build from it."

She thinks it finally clicks for them that when she said she saw them all over the last decade she was telling the truth. For once they weren't alone in all their pain and suffering. They finally had someone else that understands what they've been through.

"Okay." Michael croaks, all but begs as he presses his forehead into Rosa's hair and his hands tighten almost painfully onto Alex. "Thankfully I'm good with my hands right?"

They all laugh like it bursts from them.

Alex kisses the top of Rosa's head and sighs deeply as a small smile settles on his face.

"I missed your meddling." He chuckles softly. "You always knew what to say."

"You all needed an older sister to remind you to get over yourselves."

They all laugh again and they've settled into a more comfortable state.

Rosa can feel Michael is gearing up to say something, the erratic beat of his heart getting faster the longer he waits to say something. She nudges him to make him spit it out.

"I never stopped loving you." He finally says.

All Rosa can do is smile at the admission and wait

"There's no one else I love like the way I love you."

She feels Alex go tense but a nudge from her relaxes him.

"I would have stayed with you in Caulfield. I wouldn't have survived if I lost you."

Rosa watches as his hand settles on Michael's between her.

"I can't stop loving you if I tried."

Their hands slide together seamlessly like the ship pieces.

"Cosmic idiots you both."

"Hey we were having a moment." Michael whines playfully.

"And you're gonna have many more because I'm tired of everyone we know being blind to you two. Kyle gets a pass but he could've been more pushy."

A kiss is pressed to both her cheeks and fights the smile spreading across her face.

"Thank you Rosa." They both say and she simply nods before absolutely not snuggling closer.

"I'm glad my unsolicited haunting could help."

They're all still raw and sensitive but better now. The wound needed to be opened again but this time it will have a chance to breathe and properly heal. They're still digging back to the surface but now they've got shovels and their eager for fresh air.

[druddigoon]

SwSh Scraps

[leon&hop. an examination of the dysfunctional, adulation-based relationship of brothers, from the perspective of the older brother who’s always gone]

Leon was in a commercial shoot when his brother was born. 

Phones weren’t allowed in the studio; Oleana, pin-straight and proper, stood sentinel outside with his in her hands. 

“Congratulations,” she had said, handing it to him. “you’re a brother.” 

Leon stared. On the screen was the puckered face of a newborn baby, swaddled in stark hospital linens. Dark hair, olive skin, little button nose--he would’ve thought it was one of those awkward baby pictures his mum hung around if not for the text on the bottom: You’re a big brother now, Lee!

He scrolled down his notifications. 5 missed calls. 

“Come on,” Oleana’s hand was choking on his back. “We need to fly you to a conference in five minutes. You can call later tonight.”

“Rose is a better father than you ever were!” a younger Leon screamed, voice cracking at the edges. Rose didn’t police his bedtime or judge his choice of breakfast foods, Rose bought him everything he wanted; Rose was the reason he was here instead of working a dead-end job in a backwater town, not her. 

“Lee?” Hop’s voice, deeper than he last remembered and cracking at the edges. It takes him a second to recognize it. “What’s going on? Why are you calling me?” 

“Hop. I’ve cleared my schedule for the weekend. Tell your mum I’ll be arriving in Wedgehurst on Saturday, in the afternoon, maybe later if the train runs late. I’m--”

I’m coming home.

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

[piers&marnie. the second installment of the darkest day au, which i actually plan on returning to since it’s near and dear to my heart]

Spikemuth is a city of elegies. 

She wears them like anchors, the fading note of a once illustrious mining boom, now home to families with nowhere else to go; everyone carries a little bit of her burden, tragedies wormed under haggard skin, between rusted chain-link fences and across boarded up doors with holes for handles. Shared secrets too volatile to taste air. 

For Marnie, the tragedy is this: 

Piers never wanted to be a gym leader. 

She remembers her bro’s face inked across the headlines of the Daily Galar, a younger Piers wearing his uniform and a smile and short hair with no shadows beneath his eyes.

I’m very grateful to have the privilege of representing Spikemuth here, her bro was cited as saying, And I’m thankful for everyone there who has supported me through thick and thin. Especially my sister, Marnie. 

Finalist contender--she’d watched fraying tape records of the matches, up until his defeat at the hands of the champion. He still has his badges, golden plate propped up in a display case in his office, along with his league pictures; every year, he takes it out to polish. 

The gym challenge was popular, the crown jewel of the Galar region. And everyone loved the underdog, a contestant in battered hand-me-downs and legs too long for his body, who fought as if the crowd was his rhythm, who swept through the competition without a single dynamax. His notoriety gave Spikemuth a much needed boost, and companies began investing again, seeing promise in these run-down streets like they eyed the boy streaking through the circuit. 

 When her bro lost, he returned home a hero.

The thing about challenger fame is that it never lasts. The gym challenge resets every year, bringing in a fresh wave of contestants drawn by the distant possibility of glory, who will fight and hurt and lose to try and rise up on top. Soon enough, everyone fades into obscurity. 

And Spikemuth did too. Investment dried up. Infrastructure deteriorated. Nothing lasted forever, and back then, the city seemed to be nearing its twilight years. 

Marnie remembers the day Rose knocked on their door, remembers the towering man wielding showy words like “vacancy” and “opportunity” from her hiding spot behind her bro’s legs, how he presented the offer like gift but discussed terms like debt. 

Somewhere along their negotiations, her bro was crowned gym leader. 

They didn’t have a dynamax spot, couldn’t even afford a gym, but after her bro’s candidacy was announced everyone threw a huge potluck in his honor--pooled their savings for a new microphone stand and speaker system, after his old one wore down. 

When her bro sang, his music reverberated into the audience like hope. 

Once they’re alone again, Piers had slumped against a creaky chair, pulled out a cigarette and lit it with shaking hands. Marnie remembers yanking the package from his fingers, taking note of the brand--the same one their late father used. 

“Since when did you smoke?” She asked. 

Piers had smiled bitterly. “Not too frequently, though I’ve been gettin’ a habit lately. Sorry you have to see this, little sis.” 

He took a drag before exhaling. The smoke billowed out like miasma, rising into the darkened sky. Another followed, then another, until she couldn’t tell the difference between cloud and smoke.

“Bein’ a gym leader is no easy feat, and I doubt I have the stuff for it,” Her bro finished his cig, flicking it onto the streets, “But what else can I do? This old place needs somethin’.” 

He was Spikemuth’s hero, and Spikemuth was his burden. 

Marnie remembers lingering on the cig, watching embers unfurl against cold hard concrete, before they flickered out.  

When Marnie opens the door, she hardly recognizes her brother standing outside alone, soaked to the bone, hair slick against his head and looking like the wind would blow him over. To her, big bro was always the person who stood by her, who could lift the world for her on days when she’s too weak to stand, who could shelter her when she was nothing but dark clouds and rain. 

But part of growing up is realizing the people you look up to are not perfect, have their own chips and cracks in their armor. Big bro is the boy who used to throw her up in the air even when it hurt his arms, slip her candy when their parents weren’t looking; Big bro is also the teen who would be protective to the point of suffocation, the forlorn man beyond her steps with a plea in his eyes. 

"We only have each other," Piers murmurs.

Marnie closes her eyes. His hair is just like she remembers: soft and frizzy and just a little bit stiff from the hair products, the faint whiff of his favorite dollar store cologne he'd always had stocked up. Cold, clammy skin, but she can feel the press of his heartbeat amid the quiet rumble of his voice; and like modulation she's six again, curled up in the contour of her brother's arms as he sings her storms away.

She takes a deep breath. Steels herself. 

Then she pushes him, hard.

"Idiot!" Someone's yelling. Is it her? She recognizes her voice but not the raw, seething edges of her words, the staccato hitch at the ends. "Y-you've been leadin' a city since I was in primary, and when other people need you most the only thing you think about is us? Were those years, was-does this legacy you passed down to me mean anything to you?"

Piers manages to steel himself before his ass hit concrete (or maybe the push wasn't as hard as she thought, some sentimental part of her holding back). He's not mad. It's somehow worse. "Not all people need or want the same thing, achievable things, Marn. It means I've learned to pick my battles."

And the battle he fights is against me.

[yutaya]

Joy lost her mother before she even had a chance to know her, and her father young - too young for the two years of slow, painful decay that preceded it.

Joy only has one family member left in the world, now.

She heard somewhere, once, that in the end family are the only people you can count on, and she knows it to be true. Joy and her peers were all the same in school, baring their pointy shark teeth and always ready to pounce on the smallest drop of blood in the water. Rand, by contrast, is full to the brim with greedy little goblins, nowhere near worthy of the respect Joy had regarded her fellow predators at school with, but making up for their lack of ability on the battlefield with their sheer numbers. They would like nothing more than to usurp the throne, so Joy and Ward must defend it staunchy.

They are young, and only two people; that makes the vultures think them an easy mark. They watch each other's backs, the only other person they know they can rely on. You can't show any hint of weakness, in this world. It would be pretty words to say that they only allow themselves to be vulnerable with each other, too, but if Joy is honest with herself, they don't quite manage that either. Too much habit, perhaps, from board meetings and school and stuffy clothing at company parties with Dad's rivals. Still, they playact at it, and knowing that the both of you are committed to the act provides basically the same level of trust. It's all the safer, anyway, with the way enemies surround them. The walls have ears, and all.

(She mentioned that to Ward, once. He laughed bitterly, and muttered something like "eyes, too.")

Ward isn't as good at this lifestyle as Joy is. He's humorless, condescending, and has an infuriating genius for business decisions with an even more infuriating reticence for explaining his reasoning, sure, but his standoffishness does him no favors outside of crushing dissent in meetings, and - he wavers, sometimes. Ward has always lacked the type of conviction that Joy sharpens her teeth on every morning. The hesitation in his eyes whenever she pulls out some of her more effective, out-of-the-box closer strategies is so obvious she'll find herself praying that it only seems so because she knows him so well. He makes these comments, sometimes, about hypothetical vacation destinations that make her want to smack him upside the head because any hunter worth their salt could recognize the cracking at the foundation of those lines of thought.

Don't even get her started on the muscle relaxers.

Half of her colleagues at school could have eaten him for breakfast, with all those tells.

Joy only has one family member left.

She will not lose him, too.

Joy is very, very good at her job. She takes precautionary measures; hires a PI, makes preemptive strikes against each and every board member. She reminds them all of Ward's brilliance, of how beautifully he's steered this company, of how much their wallets owe to him. She handles anyone who comes after their company, their birthright, keeps it spick and span and their thrones untarnished along with it.

When Danny comes back from the dead, Joy is happy. Of course she is. She had mourned for him. Losing the Rands had been another tragedy in her line of childhood traumas. The death of her fellow child, crouched in between losing her mother and her father, all before she could legally drive; it was the kind of backstory a biographer would love. She wants to do well by him, set him up here in the city, a piece of childhood nestled comfortably nearby.

But when Danny starts kicking up a fuss about deserving a part of their company, loudly, in public, and starts tossing bullshit around that goes after Ward's image, as if Danny has anything to do with this, as if Joy and Ward haven't had to maintain their grip on their places at their company by their dug in claws for over a decade - well.

When it comes down to it, Joy and Danny used to be friends, a long time ago. He can spout about being "like siblings" all he wants, but those groundless claims don't hold a candle to her real brother, and Joy has no problem spelling that out for him.

("I'm not your sister. He's not your brother. We don't want you.")

Joy drags Ward back to the office to assign herself a take over of Ward's clearly insufficient handling of the Danny situation. She has to deal with the rumors that are doubtlessly already spreading after that display in the restaurant, has to ride the tumult coming for their family legacy yet again.

Joy glares her only brother down into his seat.

She takes his "Danny" file to help her in planning damage control. Time to go to work.

[darkskyatnight]

Achilles, achilles, achilles come down

Takes place at the end of Season 5

Achilles, achilles, achilles come down,

Won’t you get up off,

Get up off the roof?

Daisy stood on the ledge. Her dad was gone, her mother shut down. Her hair had gone back to its brown, and her face streaked with grime and tears. How could he be gone? The man who meant everything to her and the woman who sheltered her? The man who made her believe in everything, and the woman who helped her protect that everything?

You’re scaring us, and all of us,

Some of us,

Love you, Achilles, it’s not much, but it’s true.

Her team wasn’t much of a team. She could barely look at Fitz without wanting to throw up. Jemma was out of her goddamn mind with stress, and Elena had turned into a smug, panicky wreck.

She wasn’t a leader, she was a soldier, a shield like her father before her. She missed him, so much.

You crazy ass cosmonaut,

Remember your virtue,

Redemption lies plainly in truth.

They’d been to space and back, and her dad should have left her there, she’d wanted it so badly, she couldn’t be the reason to destroy the Earth. He’d ICED her, and brought her back. She was reminded how much she was loved, and how many would miss her. But would they?

Just humour us, Achilles,

Achilles come down, won’t you get up off,

Get up off the roof?

It was a long way down, and vaguely she could hear her mother, pleading with her. It drowned out in her agony, her fists clenching the rails so hard they turned pale. The weight of the world shook with caged tears, a burden heavier than man. She wanted it gone.

The support she’d gotten after coming out of that chrysalis was stifling, she’d killed her friend by going down there, and what had she gotten but paranoia and suspicion, worry and fear from the woman she considered a sister. A team split because of her, patched back through months of regaining trust.

Achilles, Achilles, Achilles come down,

Won’t you get up off,

Get up off the roof?

She turned to her mother and shattered, the weight of the world crushing her back as she fell, clutching the woman who made her. She’d been through so much, yet she’d stuck to Daisy like glue, piecing her back together. The woman who’d taught her to protect and fight, who’d raised her.

The self is not so weightless,

Nor whole and unbroken,

Remember the pact of our youth.

They’d been so young when they joined SHIELD. The trio of troublemakers, the fun-loving Fitz, now dead under a pile of rubble, a man she couldn’t reconcile with who he’d been, the one who’d torn into Daisy’s neck, the feeling of powerlessness, her ribs and lungs contracting in terror as she wailed.

Jemma, the upbeat scientist eager to learn now a ruthless agent toughened by trauma and anger directed at the right people, but nurtured to a sickened blade that cut those around her.

Where you go I’m going,

So jump and I’m jumping,

Since there is no me without you,

The promise whispered between parent and child held them together, Daisy ever the follower latched to her for comfort and security. May the one who’d pulled herself together for Daisy’s sake, now a warrior broken in the safety of her little girl, held strong and tight in each other’s arms.

Soldier on Achilles,

Achilles come down, won’t you get up off,

Get up off the roof?

She’d been expected to hold everyone together at the peak of their terror, the peak of the apocalypse, and expected to lead when the team was falling apart, pulled back from a precipice only to be thrown to the wolves, free-falling into hell over and over, just barely kept from death, only to be saved moments before.

Love the way they light candles in Rome,

But love the sweet air of the votives,

Hurt and grieve but don’t suffer alone,

Engage with the pain as a motive.

It had been an adventure at the start, missions that were full of wonder and mystery and action and urgency. Then the Agency came crashing down around them and with not much left to salvage she’d been shown how to harness her anger, her pain and focus it at the ones who deserved it. She’d been Skye then, the one to roam the clouds, now chained to earth.

Today, of all days, see,

How the most dangerous thing is to love,

How you will heal when you’ll rise above.

How could she tape herself back together again, paint it over with a sleek glaze and pretend? The bandaid would come off sooner or later, and the pain would come flooding back, the dam irreparable.

She’d get through it with the help of those who loved her, despite her keeping them at arms length for a long, long time, they’d wormed their way in.

She’d come back stronger, but for now she agonised.

Achilles, Achilles, Achilles jump now,

You are absent of cause or excuse,

So self indulgent and self referential, no audience could ever want you.

“We didn’t choose you!” The words reverberated through her, her memories of Hive forced to the surface, Daisy’s memories clear as day, the shatter of Mack’s ribs, the blood she’d had drained, the weakness and the sickness, and how she begged to be taken back by Hive.

Now, the words seemed rougher than ever. People looked at her like she’d break, her or them they didn’t know, not that she cared, the intent was the same.

Her friends now hated her, the brother and the sister she’d made in Fitz and Simmons changed from how they were. It made her chest ache, and she wanted to stop the tears rolling down her face, vaguely aware of the swollen soreness in her throat.

You crave the applause but hate the attention,

Then miss it, your act is a ruse.

It is empty, Achilles, so end it all now.

It’s a pointless resistance for you.

She’d been so eager to please people. Her parents most. Being a legacy was hard for her, she wanted so desperately to be worth what her parents are, what the other agents saw them as. She just wanted to be accomplished like them.

The ledge looked so inviting, its whispers crooning to her, pulling her towards a spinning, everlasting darkness, twisted and wrong. It wanted her dead, it wanted her to jump.

“You’re okay, Dais.” May whispered softly.

Achilles, Achilles, just put down the bottle,

Don’t listen to what you consume,

It’s chaos, confusion, and wholly unworthy,

Of feeding and its wholly untrue.

Hive had been an addiction she’d found so hard to cleanse from her veins, her lungs, even on her lips. She felt dirty with how she was used, her body sickened and dirty from his touch, and his awful obsession. She’d hurt so many, lashed out harshly, saved by her own uncle before his death. She felt his sacrifice was in vain so many times, the void screaming at her, trying to dig its claws in.

You may feel no purpose nor point for existing,

It’s all just conjecture and gloom,

There may not be meaning, so find one and seize it,

Do not waste yourself on this roof.

A good amount of her days were a painful numb sensation, time dragged out before her, spent mourning Lincoln, every time she’d see him in the bright smile of a child being helped by a nurse, she’d see him in the lights of the bay as they shone, and the mountains as snow fell down them.

She’d given herself a mission with the Watchdogs. She could save her people, stop a genocide waiting to happen, and her anger would be her blade she’d drive into the sharp structure of their militia, shattering them apart.

Hear those bells ring deep in the soul,

Chiming away for a moment,

Feel your breath course frankly below,

And see life as a worthy opponent.

Her return to SHIELD during her mission had been fraught with tears and apologies, nestled deep in her parents’ arms. The quiet of the evening as they cleaned the scabs on her arms, the soft pain of their embrace she allowed herself to be pulled into, the promise on her lips that she’d stop destroying herself.

Today of all days, see,

How the most dangerous thing’s to love,

How you will heal and you’ll rise above,

Crowned by an overture bold and beyond,

It’s more courageous to overcome,

Throwing herself into the arms of Hell itself had been a job, the obsession AIDA had with Fitz, and yet the love she still had, that good part of her, and how distraught Fitz had been, the HYDRA world the robot bitch had created out of love and admiration for their team turned twisted from regrets, how they healed from their pasts, and how that world ended, not with a bang, but a whimper.

You want the acclaim, the mother of mothers,

(It’s not worth it, Daisy)

More poignant than fame or the taste of another,

(Don’t listen, Daisy)

But be real and jump, you dense motherfucker,

(You’re worth more, Daisy)

You will not be more than a rat in the gutter,

(You’re so much more than a rat)

She felt the warm grip of him around her shoulders, a shield wrapped around her back, the brunt of the dark hissing against her back, but he kept it away, his protection over her lasted even after he was gone, he’d always be with her.

“I can feel him,” she sobbed into her mom’s shoulder. Daisy held her tighter as May laughed wetly. “Me too, me too.”

You want my opinion, my opinion you’ve got,

(No one asked your opinion)

You asked for my counsel, I gave you my thoughts,

(No-one asked for your thoughts)

Be done with this now, and jump off the roof,

(Be done with this now, and get off the roof)

Can you hear me, Daisy? I’m talking to you!

Daisy felt herself pulled up, safe and whole, led away from the ledge, her legs quaking nervously, but as close as she got to the door, she felt herself getting stronger, happier, lighter. May opened the door as the roars got louder. Daisy looked back with a sad smile, and she swore she could see him, the same dopey grin he’d give her, wearing his Cap t-shirt, and a drop splashed on the pavement before, she turned, away, away.

I’m talking to you,

I’m talking to you,

I’m talking to you,

Daisy come down,

Oh, Daisy come down…

The stairs were safe, the stairs were strong. Each floor was a distance lower, a stretch from the rooftop, and a guided hand taking her towards her life, a life she refused to leave, no matter how it called to her. Daisy and Melinda held strong, grimy and sad, but together.

The whispers grew fainter, more desperate, the tentacles on her mind slipping away, the dusted sensation fading into the air.

Throw yourself into the unknown,

With a pace and a fury defiant,

Clothe yourself in beauty untold,

And see life as a means to triumph,

She slipped her jacket on, it still smelled like the day he bought it for her. Standing over the sink, looking into the mirror, she grabbed the scissors and began.

With her outfit made, her hair cut just shorter, she stepped out into the street. Time to thrive.

Today of all days, see,

How the most dangerous thing’s to love,

How you will heal and you’ll rise above,

Crowned by an overture bold and beyond,

Ah, it’s more courageous to overcome….

I love you, Daisy…

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Anonymous asked: Who are some women in history that would be comparable to Napoleon or Alexander? Women who rose to power because they sought greatness and not because they used the feminine form to seduce for an easier life? How can the feminine mind come out of the mentality of being “the weaker sex”?

The short answer is that there are no women in history comparable to Napoleon or Alexander but equally I would quickly add that there are no other men in history either. These two contrasting men are unique. Alexander and Napoleon share similarities in their warfare, and how they used it to conquer and establish new lands. Both left legacies in which their very name has been equally loathed and loved down the ages. But they were unique.

Both were outsiders whose personal qualities rose above obstacles. Alexander was Macedonian and the Greeks looked down upon him as uncultured barbarian in the same way Napoleon was Corsican nobility and the old French aristocracy pulled up their noses in snobbish superiority. And yet able to rise through the grit of discipline and learning, luck and skill.  

Both were great battle field commanders with a greater understanding of how to use one’s forces at hand to the terrain. Both were not quite true innovators as many might imagine. Alexander's military brilliance is beyond dispute but the groundwork for his superior tactics and strategies were laid by his father Philip of Macedon. Much of Napoleon’s greatness relied on the conscription model that the French revolutionary wars ushered in.  

Alexander used new technology in new ways, invented new formations, and used his battlefield successes to accomplish his strategic goals with the innovative use of propaganda that was unseen before. Alexander was very unmatched in winning battles against much larger enemy formations as he was often outnumbered 2:1.  He was a tactical  genius in finding the weakness in the enemy’s lines and making the surgical strike necessary to ensure victory. He was quick witted at being able to make quick tactical decisions in the thick of the battle.

He was able to snatch victory from the claws of certain defeat, time and again, always against overwhelming enemy superiority in numbers, always in a terrain that his enemies had carefully chosen to maximise their advantages.

Any city he ever attacked he conquered. His own father the great Philip II failed to take Byzantium, and was defeated by Thracian tribesmen, but not Alexander. He made land out of a sea and conquered the heavily fortified island city of Tyre, and he used rock climbers to take the Sogdian Rock in Bactria/Afghanistan, an impregnable citadel that was compared to an eagle’s nest. Moreover he never lost a battle.

Napoleon was a brilliant general and even in his time earned grudging respect from his enemies. Napoleon was very successful in most of his military campaigns, and that laid the foundation necessary for his political achievements.

He fought 60 battles in his career,  losing only 8 with two being considered “tactical victories” only (Second Bassano and Aspern-Esseling) . Nevertheless in the vast majority of his defeats (as well as victories) he was horrendously outnumbered, logistical suffocated, or betrayed by his allies.

He was exceptionally talented both strategically and tactically. In campaign after campaign he defeated larger armies with a smaller force, through methods like moving boldly and quickly, defeating them in detail, cutting off their lines of retreat, and doing what his enemies least expected.

Less glamorously but even more important he was great at logistics. One of his most famous maxims is that, “An army marches on its stomach.” If troops are not well equipped and well fed, they can not be expected to fight well. Napoleon had his armies live off the land, and marched faster than his enemies. While Napoleon still had supply lines, much of the food, clothing, and pay for his men was looted from conquered territory. This allowed him to march faster, and he often did forced marches where his men would march twice as far each day as the enemy predicted.

His opponents were often shocked at how quickly he outmanoeuvred them. At Ulm he surrounded an enormous Austrian army and forced them to surrender - while they thought he was over a hundred miles to the west and were waiting for reinforcements. Again, another thing that got him into trouble in Russia: the Russians retreated even faster, and burned everything in their wake, so there was nothing to loot.

He was innovative too in his use of light horse artillery - smaller cannons were pulled by fast horses, ridden by their crew - who could get into position rapidly and move into a new area when required. Napoleon loved these guys and used them in combination with his slower artillery to great effect often in support of heavy artillery.

Both were inspirational leaders of men in battle. In Alexander’s case he almost killed himself jumping into the Indian city of the Malians alone, a wound which weakened his body and eventually probably contributed to his death. He was simply fearless. Like the Carthagenian Hannibal, and all ancient Greek military leaders, Miltiades, Epameinondas, Philipos II, etc, and Romans, like Caesar, Alexander was always leading from the front line. In Napoleon’s case he too was fearless At Arcole he tried to inspire his men to attack, by grabbing a flag and stood in the open on the dike about 55 paces from the bridge. Both were loved by their men and their very presence on the battlefield was an inspiration to their fighting men.

Both were superb political strategists who were able to build on military gains with statecraft skills. Alexander the Great’s strong perseverance and incredible battle strategies led to increase his power over his empire. Napoleon used his intelligence and skill of manipulation to earn respect and support from the French people, which gained him great power.

For all this, they were both losers in the end. Both lost because they failed the most valuable lesson history can give: success is a bad teacher. Their military victories made them increasingly cocky and their political gains made them overreach. In the end their own personal qualities that brought them so much unprecedented success was the harbinger of their downfall.

So we are left with the question: what is greatness? The judgement of history seems to suggest that glory is fleeting but true greatness lasts the test of time.

There are simply too many women to list that would be worthy of anyone’s attention to show that women have achieved greatness throughout history.

Here is a good basic list of warrior women in recorded history https://www.rejectedprincesses.com/women-in-combat

Indeed one doesn’t have to stray too far from antiquity to show that women as warriors did make an impact.

I shall just focus on a few from antiquity that stand out for me and and a few more modern choices that are very personal to me.

Penthesilea

I had heard of Penthesilea and the Amazons before as a small girl. But the first time I really understand just how impressive and unusual it was in the ancient world to be a woman who “fights with men” was when I was taking Latin at my English girls’ boarding school.   Contrary to popular belief, Penthesilea’s story isn’t actually told in the Iliad (which ends with Hector’s funeral, before the Amazons arrive), but in a lost ancient epic called  Aethiopis.  This poem continued the story of Achilles’ great deeds, which included the killing of several famous warriors—Memnon, King of Aethiopia, and Penthesilea most prominent among them.

The Amazons had a number of famous Queens, but Penthesilea is perhaps the most storied. She was a daughter of the war-god Ares, and Pliny credits her with the invention of the battle-ax.  She was also sister to Hippolyta, who married the hero Theseus, after being defeated by him in battle.  Penthesilea ruled the Amazons during the years of the Trojan war—and for most of that time stayed away from the conflict.  However, after Achilles killed Hector, Penthesilea decided it was time for her Amazons to intervene, and the group rode to the rescue of the Trojans—who were, after all, fellow Anatolians.  Fearless, she blazed through the Greek ranks, laying waste to their soldiers.  

During the battles, Penthesilea was not a queen who sat by and watched the men fight. She was a warrior in the truest sense.  It is said that she blazed through the Greeks like lightning, killing many.  It is written that she was swift and brave, and fought as valiantly and successfully as the men. She wanted to prove that the Amazons were great warriors. She wanted to kill Achilles to avenge the death of Hector, and she wanted to die in battle. I love Vergil’s glorious description of her in battle: “The ferocious Penthesilea, gold belt fastened beneath her exposed breast, leads her battle-lines of Amazons with their crescent light-shields…a warrioress, a maiden who dares to fight with men.”

Although Penthesilea was a ferocious warrior, her life came to an end, at the hands of Achilles. Achilles had seen her battling others, and was enamored with her ferocity and strength.  As he fought, he worked his way towards her, like a moth drawn to a flame. While he was drawn to her with the intention of facing her as an opponent, he fell in love with her upon facing her. However, it was too late.

Achilles defeated Penthesilea, catching her as she fell to the ground. Greek warrior Thersites mocked Achilles for his treatment of Penthesilea’s body after her death. It is also said that Thersites removed Penthesilea’s eyes with his sword. This enraged Achilles, and he slaughtered Thersites. Upon Thersites’ death, a sacred feud was fought.  Diomedes, Thersite’s cousin, retrieved Penthesilea’s corpse, dragged it behind his chariot, and cast it into the river. Achilles retrieved the body, and gave her a proper burial. In some stories, Achilles is accused of engaging in necrophilia with her body. In other legends, it is said that Penthesilea bore Achilles a son after her death. Yes, I agree, that does feel creepy.

Penthesilea’s life and death were tragic. She is portrayed as a brave and fierce warrior who was deeply affected by the accidental death of her sister. This grief, compounded with her desire to be a strong warrior who would die an honourable death on the battlefield, led her to Troy, where her tragic death weakened Troy, but also led to unrest in the Greek camps due to her death’s impact on Achilles and his revengeful acts. In the end, she died the ‘honorable’ death on the battlefield that she had longed for, at the hands of the legendary Achilles, no less.

The heroines of Greek mythology tend towards thoughtfulness, fidelity and modesty (Andromache, Penelope), while the daring and headstrong personalities generally go to the antagonists–Medea, Clytemnestra, Hera.  But Penthesilea is something else entirely: a woman who meets men on her own terms, as their equal.  Perhaps in honour of this, Virgil doesn’t give her the standard heroine epithet of “beautiful.”  For him, it is her majesty and obvious power that make her notable, not her looks.

By the way, the word that Virgil uses for warrioress is bellatrix, the inspiration for Bellatrix Lestrange’s name in the Harry Potter books. So she lives on in immortality through our modern day Virgil, J.K. Rowling (just kidding)

Cynane (c. 358 – 323 BC)

Cynane was the daughter of King Philip II of Macedon and his first wife, the Illyrian Princess Audata. She was also the half-sister of Alexander the Great. Audata raised Cynane in the Illyrian tradition, training her in the arts of war and turning her into an exceptional fighter – so much so that her skill on the battlefield became famed throughout the land. Cynane accompanied the Macedonian army on campaign alongside Alexander the Great and according to the historian Polyaenus, she once slew an Illyrian queen and masterminded the slaughter of her army. Such was her military prowess. Following Alexander the Great’s death in 323 BC, Cynane attempted an audacious power play. In the ensuing chaos, she championed her daughter, Adea, to marry Philip Arrhidaeus, Alexander’s simple-minded half-brother who the Macedonian generals had installed as a puppet king. Yet Alexander’s former generals – and especially the new regent, Perdiccas – had no intention of accepting this, seeing Cynane as a threat to their own power. Undeterred, Cynane gathered a powerful army and marched into Asia to place her daughter on the throne by force.

As she and her army were marching through Asia towards Babylon, Cynane was confronted by another army commanded by Alcetas, the brother of Perdiccas and a former companion of Cynane. However, desiring to keep his brother in power Alcetas slew Cynane when they met – a sad end to one of history’s most remarkable female warriors. Although Cynane never reached Babylon, her power play proved successful. The Macedonian soldiers were angered at Alcetas’ killing of Cynane, especially as she was directly related to their beloved Alexander. Thus they demanded Cynane’s wish be fulfilled. Perdiccas relented, Adea and Philip Arrhidaeus were married, and Adea adopted the title Queen Adea Eurydice.

Olympias and Eurydice

The mother of Alexander the Great, Olympias was one of the most remarkable women in antiquity. She was a princess of the most powerful tribe in Epirus (a region now divided between northwest Greece and southern Albania) and her family claimed descent from Achilles. Despite this impressive claim, many Greeks considered her home kingdom to be semi-barbarous  – a realm tainted with vice because of its proximity to raiding Illyrians in the north. Thus the surviving texts often perceive her as a somewhat exotic character.

In 358 BC Olympias’ uncle, the Molossian King Arrybas, married Olympias to King Philip II of Macedonia to secure the strongest possible alliance. She gave birth to Alexander the Great two years later in 356 BC. Further conflict was added to an already tempestuous relationship when Philip married again, this time a Macedonian noblewoman called Cleopatra Eurydice.

Olympias began to fear this new marriage might threaten the possibility of Alexander inheriting Philip’s throne. Her Molossian heritage was starting to make some Macedonian nobles question Alexander’s legitimacy. Thus there is a strong possibility that Olympias was involved in the subsequent murders of Philip II, Cleopatra Eurydice and her infant children. She is often portrayed as a woman who stopped at nothing to ensure Alexander ascended the throne. Following Alexander the Great’s death in 323 BC, she became a major player in the early Wars of the Successors in Macedonia. In 317 BC, she led an army into Macedonia and was confronted by an army led by another queen: none other than Cynane’s daughter, Adea Eurydice.

This clash was the first time in Greek history that two armies faced each other commanded by women. However, the battle ended before a sword blow was exchanged. As soon as they saw the mother of their beloved Alexander the Great facing them, Eurydice’s army deserted to Olympias. Upon capturing Eurydice and Philip Arrhidaeus, Eurydice’s husband, Olympias had them imprisoned in squalid conditions. Soon after she had Philip stabbed to death while his wife watched on.

On Christmas Day 317, Olympias sent Eurydice a sword, a noose, and some hemlock, and ordered her to choose which way she wanted to die. After cursing Olympias’ name that she might suffer a similarly sad end, Eurydice chose the noose. Olympias herself did not live long to cherish this victory. The following year Olympias’ control of Macedonia was overthrown by Cassander, another of the Successors. Upon capturing Olympias, Cassander sent two hundred soldiers to her house to slay her.

However, after being overawed by the sight of Alexander the Great’s mother, the hired killers did not go through with the task. Yet this only temporarily prolonged Olympias’ life as relatives of her past victims soon murdered her in revenge.

Artemisia I of Caria (5th Century BC)

Named after the Goddess of the Hunt (Artemis), Artemisia was the 5th century BCE Queen of Halicarnassus, a kingdom that exists in modern-day Turkey. However, she was best known as a naval commander and ally of Xerxes, the King of Persia, in his invasion of the Greek city-states. (Yes, like in the action movie 300: Rise of an Empire.) She made her mark on history in the Battle of Salamis, where the fleet she commanded was deemed the best against the Greeks. Greek historian Herodotus wrote of her heroics on this battlefield of the sea, painting her as a warrior who was decisive and incredibly intelligent in her strategies. This included a ruthless sense of self-preservation. With a Greek vessel bearing down on her ship, Artemisia intentionally steered into another Persian vessel to trick the Greeks into believing she was one of them. It worked. The Greeks left her be. The Persian ship sank. Watching from the shore, Xerxes saw the collision and believed Artemisia had sunk a Greek enemy, not one of his own.

For all of this, her death was not one recorded in a great battle, but in legends written by the victors, the Greeks - so one must obviously be skeptical of accepting what they said as 100% truth. It's said that Artemisia fell hard for a Greek man, who ignored her to his detriment. Blinded by love, she blinded him in his sleep. Yet even with him disfigured, her passion for him burned. To cure herself, she set to leap from a tall rock in Leucas, Greece, which was believed to break the bonds of love. Instead, it broke Artemisia's neck. She's said to be buried nearby.

But much like Penthesilea, she lives on in our modern culture, but arguably more dubiously through Hollywood in the sub-par action movie 300: Rise of an Empire. Now I forever think of Artemisia as the beautiful and sultry French actress, Eva Green.

Boadicea (also written as Boudica)

Boadicea was a Celtic queen who led a revolt against Roman rule in ancient Britain in A.D. 60 or 61. As all of the existing information about her comes from Roman scholars, particularly Tacitus and Cassius Dio, little is known about her early life; it’s believed she was born into an elite family in Camulodunum (now Colchester) around A.D. 30.

At the age of 18, Boudica married Prasutagas, king of the Iceni tribe of modern-day East Anglia. When the Romans conquered southern England in A.D. 43, most Celtic tribes were forced to submit, but the Romans let Prasutagas continue in power as a forced ally of the Empire. When he died without a male heir in A.D. 60, the Romans annexed his kingdom and confiscated his family’s land and property. As a further humiliation, they publicly flogged Boadicea and raped her two daughters. Tacitus recorded Boudicca’s promise of vengeance after this last violation: “Nothing is safe from Roman pride and arrogance. They will deface the sacred and will deflower our virgins. Win the battle or perish, that is what I, a woman, will do.”

Like other ancient Celtic women, Boadicea had trained as a warrior, including fighting techniques and the use of weapons. With the Roman provincial governor Gaius Suetonius Paulinus leading a military campaign in Wales, Boadicea led a rebellion of the Iceni and members of other tribes resentful of Roman rule. After defeating the Roman Ninth Legion, the queen’s forces destroyed Camulodunum, then the captain of Roman Britain, and massacred its inhabitants. They went on to give similar treatment to London and Verulamium (modern St. Albans). By that time, Suetonius had returned from Wales and marshaled his army to confront the rebels. In the clash that followed–the exact battle site is unknown, but possibilities range from London to Northamptonshire–the Romans managed to defeat the Britons despite inferior numbers, and Boadicea and her daughters apparently killed themselves by taking poison in order to avoid capture.

In all, Tacitus claimed, Boadicea’s forces had massacred some 70,000 Romans and pro-Roman Britons. Though her rebellion failed, and the Romans would continue to control Britain until A.D. 410, Bouadicea is celebrated today as a British national heroine and an embodiment of the struggle for justice and independence.

Queen Zenobia

In the 3rd century AD, Queen Zenobia, natively know as Bath Zabbai, was a fierce ruler of Palmyra, a region in modern day Syria.  Throughout her life, Zenobia became known as the ‘warrior queen’. She expanded Palmyra from Iraq to Turkey, conquered Egypt and challenged the dominance of Rome.

“Zenobia was esteemed the most lovely as well as the most heroic of her sex,” Gibbon wrote in an awestruck account of her brief reign. “She claimed her descent from the Macedonian kings of Egypt, equaled in beauty her ancestor Cleopatra, and far surpassed that princess in chastity and valour.” The only contemporary representation we have of Zenobia is on a coin, which makes her look rather witchlike, but Gibbon’s description of her pearly-white teeth and large black eyes, which “sparkled with uncommon fire,” cast a spell over future historians, both in the West and in the Arab world, who quarrel over nearly everything having to do with Zenobia and her confounding legacy.

Many legends have arisen about Zenobia’s identity, but it seems she was born into a family of great nobility who claimed the notorious Queen Dido of Carthage and Cleopatra VII of Egypt as ancestors. She was given a Hellenistic education, learning Latin, Greek, the Syriac and Egyptian languages. According to the Historia Augusta her favourite childhood hobby was hunting, and she proved to be a brave and brilliant horsewoman.

Despite this, many ancient sources seem to gravitate to one quality – that she was an exceptional beauty who captivated men across the whole of Syria with her ravishing looks and irresistible charm.

She was probably in her twenties when she took the throne, upon the death of her husband, King Odenathus, in 267 or 268. Acting as regent for her young son, she then led the army in a revolt against the Romans, conquering Egypt and parts of Asia Minor. By 271, she had gained control of a third of the Roman Empire. Gibbon sometimes portrays the warrior queen as a kind of well-schooled Roman society matron. “She was not ignorant of the Latin tongue,” he writes, “but possessed in equal perfection the Greek, the Syriac, and the Egyptian languages.” Palmyra’s abundant wall inscriptions are in Latin, Greek, and an Aramaic dialect, not Arabic. But to Arab historians, such as the ninth-century al-Tabari, Zenobia was a tribal queen of Arab, rather than Greek, descent, whose original name was Zaynab, or al-Zabba. Among Muslims, she is seen as a herald of the Islamic conquests that came four centuries later.

This view, popular within the current Syrian regime, which boasts Zenobia on its currency, also resonates within radical Islamic circles. Isis radical fighters have believed Palmyra to be somehow a distinctively Arab place, where Zenobia stood up to the Roman emperor.” Indeed, Isis fighters, after seizing Palmyra, released a video showing the temples and colonnades at the ruins, a unesco World Heritage site, intact. “Concerning the historical city, we will preserve it,” an Isis commander, Abu Laith al-Saudi, told a Syrian radio station. “What we will do is pulverise the statues the miscreants used to pray to.” Fighters then set about sledgehammering statues and shrines.

Zenobia’s nemesis was the Roman emperor Aurelian, who led his legions through Asia Minor, reclaiming parts of the empire she had taken. Near Antioch, she met him with an army of seventy thousand men, but the Roman forces chased them back to their desert stronghold. During the siege of the city, Aurelian wrote to Zenobia, “I bid you surrender, promising that your lives shall be spared.” She replied, “You demand my surrender as though you were not aware that Cleopatra preferred to die a queen rather than remain alive.” Zenobia attempted to escape to Persia, but was captured before she could cross the Euphrates. Palmyra was sacked after a second revolt. Aurelian lamented in a letter to one of his lieutenants, “We have not spared the women, we have slain the children, we have butchered the old men.”

Some Arab sources adhere to the theory that Zenobia committed suicide before she could be caught. Gibbon follows Roman accounts that place her in Rome as the showpiece of Aurelian’s triumphal procession. “The beauteous figure of Zenobia was confined by fetters of gold; a slave supported the gold chain which encircled her neck, and she almost fainted under the intolerable weight of jewels,” he writes. The grand homecoming apparently elicited a snarky response from the commentariat. According to the “Historia Augustus,” Aurelian complained, “Nor would those who criticise me, praise me sufficiently, if they knew what sort of woman she was.” Instead of beheading her in front of the Temple of Jupiter, once a common fate of renegades, he awarded her a villa in Tivoli. The historian Syncellus reported that she married a Roman senator; their descendants were listed into the fifth century. She is said to have died in 274 AD in Rome.

Eleanor of Aquitaine (1122-1204)

Eleanor was a formidable Queen twice over – first as Queen of France, then of England! Her father William X died in 1137, leaving Eleanor to inherit his titles, lands and enormous wealth at just 15. Suddenly one of France’s most eligible bachelorettes, she married Louis, son of the French King, and not long after became Queen of France, still in her teens.

Famously fierce and tenacious, Eleanor exerted considerable influence over Louis, and accompanied him on the Second Crusade of 1147-49. After their marriage was annulled in 1152, she stayed single for just two months before marrying the heir to the English throne Henry Plantagenet, and in 1154 they were crowned King and Queen of England. Eleanor took a leading role in running the country, directing church and state affairs when Henry was away, and travelling extensively to consolidate their power across England. This was all while raising eight children, and finding time to be a great patron of courtly love poetry!

Eleanor and Henry separated in 1167, and after Eleanor sided with her children over Henry during a revolt, she became Henry’s prisoner. She was held under house arrest for over a decade, and it was only in 1189 after Henry died and her son Richard the Lionheart became king that Eleanor was freed.

By now a widow in her 70s, instead of retiring to a quiet life away from court politics, Eleanor became more badass than ever. While Richard was away on crusade she took a leading role once again in running the realm and fending off threats of attack, and when he was taken hostage by the Duke of Austria she personally collected his ransom money and travelled to Austria to deliver it and ensure his safe return to England.

After spending many of her final years criss-crossing France and Spain on diplomatic and military missions, Eleanor died in 1204 at a monastery in Anjou. The nuns there described her as a queen ‘who surpassed almost all the queens of the world’.

Elizabeth I of England (1533-1603)

Elizabeth I is one of my favourite Queens of all time. She reigned for 45 years and is well remembered for her defeat of the Spanish Armada, her progresses, her economic policies, and her patronage of the arts – as well as her virginity. The history books talk much of her make-up and spinsterhood, but there is no doubt that she was one of the most badass monarchs England ever had.

Elizabeth’s early life did not start well. By the age of three, her father had had her mother executed, and Elizabeth had been deemed illegitimate. Nonetheless she was given a rigorous education. One tutor even noted that her mind showed “no womanly weakness”. She excelled at Greek, Latin, French and Italian, as well as theology – knowledge that would equip her for diplomatic leadership so necessary in later life.

In 1554, under the reign of her devout Catholic sister Mary, Elizabeth became the focus of a Protestant rebellion. She was arrested and sent to the Tower of London, but was found innocent and escaped with her life a few months later. Her true commitment to the reformed church was only openly revealed upon her accession to the throne.

Indeed, as Queen Elizabeth promptly expressed her support for the Protestant church, and yet her reign is celebrated for bringing relative religious stability to the country. She adopted a policy to not “make windows into men’s souls”, which allowed for a margin of freedom beyond that of the monarchs before her. Her astute appointment of ministers and officials along with careful housekeeping also led to a period of relative economic stability, which in turn allowed for the arts to flourish during this time. Elizabeth attended the first performance of Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream and appointed the acclaimed miniaturist Nicholas Hilliard as a court painter.

Elizabeth’s choice not to marry was radical (and wholly understandable given her monster for a father and abusive step-father.) Yet, throughout her reign the expectation remained that she would find a husband and give birth to an heir. Instead, the Queen used her ‘eligible bachelor’ position as a political tool, while creating an image of herself as married to the nation. Her popularity with her subjects and her own self-styled image as Gloriana made Good Queen Bess into a legendary figure; today, she has been portrayed in more films and television shows than any other British monarch.

Her most amazing achievement is the fact that her name defined a chapter of Western history so that even today we talk of Elizabethan era. A feat matched only by Queen Victoria to define the 19th Century.

Tomoe Gozen

When I was living in Japan as a child I began to appreciate Japanese history. I also took an interest in the Japanese martial arts as well as being thrown in at the deep end to struggle to learn the language. So as an outsider I was happy to discover that Japanese women were not always demure and subservient or even passive witnesses to history. Some even made it. Outsiders don’t truly know how some Japanese women had shaped their own destiny as well as their country’s within the constraints of the rigid social structures of Japanese society. Contrary to what many think there were indeed female samurai. Not many but one or two who became the stuff of legend and lore.

The most famous onna-bugeisha (female samurai) in Japanese history was Tomoe Gozen. Gozen was a title of respect bestowed on her by her master, shogun Minamoto no Yoshinaka. She fought alongside male samurais in the Genpei War, which lasted from 1180 to 1185. While a woman fighting among men was highly unusual, it seems Yoshinaka's high esteem for Tomoe and her fighting skills overcame prejudice.

In the history tome The Tale of Heike, Tomoe was described as "a remarkably strong archer, and as a swordswoman she was a warrior worth a thousand, ready to confront a demon or a god, mounted or on foot." She was also said to be beautiful, fearless, and respected.

Her hobbies included riding wild horses down intimidatingly steep hills. She regularly led men into battle and to victory. Her last was the Battle of Awazu, where Minamoto no Yoshinaka was killed. Tomoe escaped her enemies there, and gave up her sword and bowed to retirement. From there, some say she married. Years later, when her husband died, it's believed Tomoe became a nun.

Nakano Takeko

The other known onna-bugeisha (female samurais) in Japan's history, Takeko was educated in literary and martial arts before distinguishing herself in the Boshin War, a Japanese civil war that lasted from January 3rd May 1868 to 18th May 1869.

In the Battle of Aizu in the fall of 1868, she and other females who chose to fight were not recognised as an official part of the Aizu army. Nonetheless, Takeko led her peers in a unit that was later dubbed Jōshitai, which translates to the "Women's Army." Her weapon of choice was the naginta, a Japanese pole arm. But while it helped her earn glory, it would not safeguard her through the war.

Takeko was shot in the chest while leading a charge against the Imperial Japanese Army of the Ogaki domain. Fearing that her enemies would defile her body and make her head a gruesome war trophy, she asked her sister to cut it off and bury it. This was her final wish, and her head was subsequently buried beneath a pine tree at the Hōkai-ji Temple in modern-day Fukushima. Today, a monument to her stands nearby, where girls come each year to honour her and her Women's Army during the Aizu Autumn Festival.

Laxmibai, the Rani of Jhansi (1828-1858)

Laxmibai would have made any of warrior women of Classical antiquity proud. She was the last of the true warrior queens. The fact she was Indian and bitterly fought the British to the death doesn’t deter me from admiring her hugely in the same way the British still admire Joan of Arc.

Like many other families scattered across the British Empire, my family lost brave relatives who died during the tragic Indian Mutiny of 1857 (the Indians call it the First War for Independence). But however ugly and bloody that chapter of British imperial history was, I find myself in awe of the life of Laxmibai, the Rani of Jhansi.

When as a family we moved to India I learned a little about her from Indian school friends. I learned a lot more from a couple of Indian officer cadets at Sandhurst (Sandhurst takes in officer cadets from the Commonwealth and other countries) with whom I struck an affable friendship because I could speak Hindi and we used to watch Bollywood movies with our platoon mates. Laxmibai is every bit as remarkable as Jeanne d’Arc and much more. I can say I am humbled when I try to retrace her steps of her life when I visit India from time to time.

By the time Laxmibai (or Lakshmibai) was a teenager, she had already violated many of the expectations for women in India’s patriarchal society. She could read and write. She had learned to ride a horse and wield a sword. She talked back to anyone who tried to tell her to live her life differently. But where those spirited ways might have been scorned in another young Indian woman, they would prove to serve her well as she went on to leave an indelible mark on Indian history.

In the mid-19th century, what became the modern nation of India was dotted with hundreds of princely states, one of which, Jhansi, in the north, was ruled by Queen Laxmibai. Her reign came at a pivotal time: The British, who were expanding their presence in India, had annexed her realm and stripped her of power. Laxmibai tried to regain control of Jhansi through negotiations, but when her efforts failed she joined the Indian Rebellion of 1857, an uprising of soldiers, landowners, townspeople and others against the British in what is now known as India’s first battle for independence. It would be 90 years before the country would finally uproot the British, in 1947.

The queen, or rani, went on to train and lead her own army, composed of both men and women, only to perish on the battlefield in June 1858. In the decades that followed, her life became a subject of competing narratives. Indians hailed her as a heroine, the British as a wicked, Jezebel-like figure. But somewhere between these portrayals she emerged as a symbol not just of resistance but of the complexities associated with being a powerful woman in India.

Laxmibai wasn’t of royal blood. Manakarnika, as she was named at birth, is widely believed to have been born in 1827 in Varanasi, a city in northeast India on the banks of the Ganges River. She was raised among the Brahmin priests and scholars who sat atop India’s caste system. Her father worked in royal courts as an adviser, giving her access to an education, as well as horses. In 1842, Manakarnika married Maharaja Gangadar Rao, the ruler of Jhansi, and took on the name Laxmibai. (It was — and, in some parts of the country, still is — a common practice for women to change their names after marriage.)

By most accounts she was an unconventional queen, and a compassionate one. She refused to abide by the norms of the purdah system, under which women were concealed from public view by veils or curtains. She insisted on speaking with her advisers and British officials face to face. She wore a turban, an accessory more common among men. And she is said to have trained women in her circle to ride and fight. She attended to the poor, regardless of their caste, a practice that even today would be considered bold in parts of India. While she was queen, the powerful British East India Company was beginning to seize more land and resources. In 1848, Lord Dalhousie, India’s governor general, declared that princely states with leaders lacking natural born heirs would be annexed by the British under a policy called the ‘Doctrine of Lapse’.

Laxmibai’s only child had died, and her husband’s health was starting to deteriorate. The couple decided to adopt a 5 year-old boy to groom as successor to the throne, and hoped that the British would recognize his authority despite the declaration. “I trust that in consideration of the fidelity I have evinced toward government, favour may be shown to this child and that my widow during her lifetime may be considered the Regent,” her husband, the maharaja, wrote in a letter, as quoted in Rainer Jerosch's book,  “The Rani of Jhansi: Rebel Against Will” (2007). His pleas were ignored. Soon after he died, in 1853, the East India Company offered the queen a pension if she agreed to cede control. She refused, exclaiming: “Meri Jhansi nahin dungee” (“I will not give up my Jhansi”) - a Hindi phrase that to this day is etched into India’s memory, stirring up feelings of pride and patriotism.

Beyond Jhansi’s borders, a rebellion was brewing as the British imposed their social and Christian practices and banned Indian customs. The uprising spread from town to town, reaching Jhansi in June 1857. Dozens of British were killed in the ensuing massacre by the rebels. The British turned on Laxmibai, accusing her of conspiring with the rebels to seek revenge over their refusal to recognize her heir. Whether or not she did remains disputed. Some accounts insist that she was wary of the rebels and that she had even offered to protect British women and children during the violence.

Tensions escalated, and in early 1858 the British stormed Jhansi’s fortress.

“Street fighting was going on in every quarter,” Dr. Thomas Lowe, the army’s field surgeon, wrote in his 1860 book “Central India During the Rebellion of 1857 and 1858.” “Heaps of dead lay all along the rampart and in the streets below….Those who could not escape,” he added, “threw their women and babies down wells and then jumped down themselves.” As the town burned, the queen escaped on horseback with her son, Damodar, tied to her back.

Historians have not reached a consensus on how she managed to pull this off. Some contend that her closest aide, Jhalkaribai, disguised herself as the queen to distract the British and buy time for her to get away.

In the end, the British took the town, leaving 3,000 to 5,000 people dead, and hoisted the British flag atop the palace. Left with no other options, Laxmibai decided to join the rebel forces and began training an army in the nearby state of Gwalior.

The British troops, close on her heels, attacked Gwalior on a scorching summer morning in June 1858. She led a countercharge — “clad in the attire of a man and mounted on horseback,” the British historians John Kaye and George Malleson wrote in “History of the Indian Mutiny” (1890) — and was killed. However accounts differ on whether she was stabbed with a saber or struck by a bullet. It was the last battle in the Indian Rebellion.

“The Indian Mutiny had produced but one man,” Sir Hugh Rose, the leader of the British troops, reportedly said when fighting ended, “and that man was a woman.”

The violence left thousands dead on both sides. The British government dissolved the East India Company over concerns about its aggressive rule and brought India under the control of the Crown. It then reversed Lord Dalhousie’s policy of annexing kingdoms without heirs.

Today, Queen Laxmibai of Jhansi has been immortalised in India’s nationalist narrative. There are movies, TV shows, books and even nursery rhymes about her. Streets, colleges and universities are named after her. Young girls dress up in her likeness, wearing pants, turbans and swords. Statues of her on horseback, with her son tied to her back, have been erected in many cities throughout India.

And, almost a century after her death, the Indian National Army formed an all-female unit that aided the country in its battle for independence in the 1940s. It was called the Rani of Jhansi regiment.

There are plenty of other women that one could write about of great women leaders who while not on the front line of battle did lead their countries to greatness or skilfully pulled the strings from behind the throne. History is littered with many examples.

What metrics we determine to define ‘greatness” is very much in the eye of the beholder. It’s not a matter of masculine or feminine virtues - although they are important in their own way. Above all I would say what makes a leader great is character.

There is no ‘weaker sex’ - that would be a terribly unfair slur on our men.

I’m joking of course. But my point stands. I don’t believe it’s about who is the weaker sex. But let’s talk of character instead.

Character defines the essence of leadership. I say this because I often encounter a perception among women that they need to become more like men to be considered equal to them. Nothing could be further from the truth. What makes you uniquely who you are as a woman is highly important.

We are all called to become the best versions of ourselves, and as women, we don’t do that by trying to be more like men. It would be a mistake to put one’s heroines on a pedestal because they are all flawed and have feet of clay - just like men. Character knows no gender. Character is virtuous. Character is rising to greatness despite one’s flaws.

As early as the 1300s, Catherine of Sienna wisely said, “Be who you were created to be, and you will set the world on fire.” More than 500 years later, Oscar Wilde reiterated that notion: “Be yourself, everyone else is already taken.”

So be the best version of yourself.

Thanks for your question.

[sleepywinchester]

Fool For You Pt. 2 ⏤ Oscar Díaz.

Summary: You are back in your hometown Freeridge to take care of your sister Jasmine and your father after being away for six years. You left Freeridge looking for a better life but in that process you had to let go of someone you loved. But you’re back and things are not the same but they sure feel like it.

Words: 4,038

Warnings: Smut (ish) - Abusive Ex Mentions 

A/N: I usually don’t write smutish fics (honestlyyyy i think i suck) but I TRY. On this part things get heated and you guys can see a bit more of their backstory but there’s still so much more to be revealed. 😈

(english is not my first language, might be some typos around)

❤

The continuous loud hard knocks on the window woke you up. Sitting up from the bed you let a loud groan, glaring at your sister on the other side of the window. 

“Open the door!” Jasmine shouted.

She watched you stand up from the bed. After what happened last night you didn’t want to talk about it because you are still processing it. But you knew Jasmine and she wouldn’t leave you alone until you two talked. Opening the door she barged in, standing in the middle of the room and taking a hit of her inhalator. 

Closing the door you turned to see her in the eye, “¿Que?”

Jasmine’s eyes got wide open, “¡¿Que?! LAST NIGHT I CAUGHT YOU ALMOST BONING SPOOKY AND ALL YOU HAVE TO SAY IS ‘¿QUE?’ BITCH I NEED ALL THE DETAILS. ¿Cuéntamelo todo?”

You rolled your eyes walking by her, “I told you I buried that shit when I left.” Turning on the coffee pot, you turned and she was glaring at you. 

“Well it seems like last night he was going to bury his D!” Jasmine shouted.

“JASMINE!” You shouted with wide eyes. “Gosh,” you leaned against the counter.

“In that spot,” she mocked and you rolled your eyes. “Okay fine, I’m being extra but this shit is huge. Like freaking Spooky and my sister? Bitch! Who knew you had it in you?!”

You cocked an eyebrow, “Had it in me? Bitch! I got needs too.” 

Jasmine busted on laughter, “Yass Queen! I can’t believe you’re actually my sister!”

Shaking your head you turned and began to pour coffee. “Anyways,” you looked at her over your shoulder, “Oscar and I have a lot of history. We have known each other since we were kids. We were together until-,”

“you left his ass and went to New York City,” she cut you off completely bluntly. 

Your head tilted to the left as you shrugged, “Pues si, lo deje. I wanted to leave Freeridge, I wanted so much more than just this hood.”

“And he didn’t?” 

“He did,” you sighed and your head dropped. Thoughts of all that could have been rushed through your mind. You and Oscar often talked about a life together out of Freeridge but there was also one major factor in between. Turning around you met her confused eyes, “He couldn’t leave Cesar alone with his mom. She-.” It was so hard to talk about this because his story and yours reflected. “She was a drug addict.”

Instantly Jasmine’s face transitioned into a sadder one. It wasn’t about gossip anymore, this shit was real and it made her think about mom. 

“I’m sorry,” you sat next to her, placing the coffee mug on the table and holding her hand. “This shit hits hard for us especially with mom…” Jasmine was holding in her tears. You felt guilty for not being here for her, she was the one dealing with mom being everywhere but her home taking care of her kid. “Perdón por no estar para ti cuando mas me necesitaste. I know you said you got it but you shouldn’t, you should be going around with your friends being as crazy and loud as you want.”

“I mean I still did that…” she smiled softly, “I just didn’t want to spoil what you had with Alex in NYC.”

“Boo,” you slightly fixed her hair, “that shit was already spoiled.”

She frowned, “What do you mean?” 

“He hurt me, Jas. In so many ways and the fucked up thing is that I thought it was my fault that I deserved that until one day it got out of control and I said no mas. I remembered who I was and my value.” Your voice broke a little, talking made you think about the awful times. Jasmine holds your hand tightly. Showing you she was there for you. “I was at my lowest point but you called me and…” you smiled, “you saved me, mana.”

“I love you, girl. I’m so sorry,” Jasmine stood up from the seat and hugged you so tightly. Knowing you were unhappy and being mistreated made her mad and sad. But you were safe now and she finally had her sister back.

Hugging her built tears in your eyes, “I love you too.” 

She was on her way out when she turned, “I never told you this because it didn’t really make sense but… Santos helped us so much when mom left. They are scary as hell but they take care of their own.”

Your lips created a small thin smile, “How did they help?” 

“Groceries and utilities, papi’s check doesn’t cover all of it,” she shrugged. “Anyways, I’ll see ya at school, need to prep dad before leaving.”

“Don’t worry about it, I’ll do it. You get to school,” you told her. She smiled and walked away.

You got dressed quickly, put on a pencil skirt and paired it with a yellow blouse that had small flowers and went into the house. 

“Hola pa’,” you spoke sweetly to your dad sitting on his wheelchair. He wasn’t the same man after being deployed in Afghanistan.  Before the war he was the most optimistic man you ever met. He would always have the biggest grin on his face. “¿Te acuerdas cuando me ayudabas con las tareas?” You spoke as you got him ready for his day. “Those were the days and I did not even know it,” you continued. “I miss those days.”

You looked down at him, his eyesight was lost in the background, oblivious of what was happening. A part of you envied that, being able just to be numb to everything happening around. 

“Jasmine?” You heard a thick Mexican accent walking inside the house. 

“Hola,” you said cheerfully walking out of the bedroom to see Milagros, the woman who used to babysit you so many times as a kid was the same person who took care of your dad.

It took her a couple a seconds to recognize the little girl that had transformed into a woman. Milagros eyes sparkled when she placed the dots together. Instantly she flashed a big grin as she walked forward and wrapped you in her arms.

“¡Muchacha!” she exclaimed, “It’s been so long.”

The way she was reacting to you being home made you grin widely. Hugging her back brought memories of when she would pick you and your sister from school and babysit. Every time your mother would go away, Milagros would always be there for your family. She filled the void of not having a mother at all times. 

“Estas igualita,” you grinned. 

She grinned so much her eyes were difficult to find. Cupping your cheeks with her hands she placed a kiss on your forehead. “Estas hermosisima, mija.”

You shook your head, “Not as beautiful as you.”

Milagros laughed and gave you another kiss, “¿Cuando volviste chamaca?”

“Hace tres días,” you told her, “volví y I’m already working at the school teaching.”

“Siempre quisiste ser una teacher,” she grinned, “me da mucha alegría que estés de vuelta. We missed you so much.”

You kissed her forehead, “I missed you too. Take care of my pa’ por favor.”

“Pos claro,” she said glancing at your dad, “I have a full day planned.”

You chuckled and grabbed your bag saying goodbye at the same time you strolled out of the house. Couple of kids rode their bicycles by your house, all of them laughing. 

As you walked down the street the events of last night appeared in your mind. The thought  of that prophet trying to do something made you so nervous. But instead of drowning in your own thoughts, you decided to raise your chin and focus on other things. This was Freeridge and shit like that happened all the time. 

Looking around you noticed a Santo sitting by his porch, he looked at you as he took a drag of his cigarette. Changing your eyesight to another house, another Santo catches your eye. Soon enough you noticed a good amount of Santos outside which was really rare at that time in the morning. 

The sound of a car made your head turn, another Santo. 

“Oscar…” you said under your breath continuing the path to school. 

You had no time left to go and talk to him but it was definitely in your to do list. He had almost the entire Santo gang on subtle escort duty, all of them around the neighborhood from your house to the school.  

That day you saw Cesar and his friends at school talking and mostly scheming, they seemed troubled about something. 

Is he in the gang too? You asked yourself.

That wouldn’t be a surprise if he was a Santo, it was his family’s legacy to be part of that gang. Learning from the past events you left right at four after the bell rings.  Once again a couple Santos were spread around the block. You smirked, shaking your head as you strolled. You wanted to be upset and even mad at him for taking what happened that night to the extreme but there was no way you could be mad at him for making sure you got home safe.  

You thought that after a couple days the subtle escorts would stop but they never did. Couple weeks passed and The Santos were like clock work, always out and watching. Oscar hasn’t been seen around that much, it’s like after that night he got into a business or something. You’d lie if you say you didn’t want to see him because you did but your pride got the best of you and pulled you away from walking by his house and looking for him yourself. 

When the colmado came to sight the thought of a couple things crossed your mind and you went with it. Going in Selena Quintanilla sounded on the speakers, the viejita was dancing to the cumbia behind the counter as she restocked the cigarettes. She looked at you and engaged you to dance with her. Shaking your head you said no but gifted her a smile. 

“Vamos, vamos,” she walked out of the back, continuing to dance. 

You chuckled and slowly following her moves, somewhere else this would be such an unusual thing. In this hood even though everyone was going through their own bullshit, they still put it aside to laugh and have fun. 

Bidi Bidi Bom Bom rhythm was so contagious that La Abuelita did the infamous washing machine dance.  “Come on, mija!” Her smile brought light to the store. You couldn’t leave her hanging and started to do the dance yourself. Dancing to this song brought you memories of your mother teaching these moves to you and Jasmine. You moved your hips in circular motions to the rhythm of the song.

“Se emociona, ya no razona, no lo puedo controlar,” you sang with her. 

You haven’t been or felt this carefree in years, this moment filled you with joy. 

“Bidi bidi bom bom,” she sang, “mijo baila con ella!” 

Turning to see who she was talking to, your sight locked with Oscar’s brown sparkling eyes. You slowly stopped dancing, his grin didn’t show any of his white pearls but his eyes were so bright. 

“Hey,” you fixed your hair, catching your breath. 

“Muy bonita. ¿Que no, Spooky?” La viejita told him.

Oscar looked you up and down, nodding to the lady. “She is.”

She softly patted your hands a couple times, “I haven’t had that much fun in a while. Thank you, mija.”

You chuckled, “Neither have I.” 

“Spooky?” She said his name walking by him, “She knows how to dance and she’s not wearing a ring. Ándale,” Her whisper was everything but a whisper which you thought was hilarious. The old lady patted his arm softly as she continued to the back of the store. 

The two laughed at what she told Oscar. He had both hands inside his pockets as he reached closer to you. Seeing him made you realize you actually missed him after not bumping into him for weeks.

“What up?” He looked you in the eye.  

You shrugged, grabbing a basket, “Nothing much. You?”

“Igual,” he also took a basket.

Oscar and you walked side by side around the corner store both picking similar items. This would be a perfect moment to ask him about the cholo security you felt you had as you walked on the block but you didn’t want to ruin what was going on. 

“You still got moves,” he said as he got a corona from the fridge. He glanced at you, asking if you wanted one with his eyes. You nodded and he grabbed it and placed it on your basket. “La batidora siempre me volvió loco.”

You chuckled, “Everything makes you crazy, Oscar.” 

Oscar smirked at your words, he grabbed a handful of limes that were right next to you. Pouring a couple of those limes in your basket as well. His chest was pressed against you, “Everything you do makes me crazy.” His whisper turned on all your senses throughout your body. 

You grabbed hot sauce, looking back at him to see if he wanted any. Understanding his small nod you grabbed a second one and handled it to him. 

“Any plans tonight?” He asked, grabbing nopales and placing them inside his basket. You grabbed the sweet potatoes next to them and added them to your haul. 

“Aside from grading quizzes and maybe unpacking,” you turned to him, “nada.”

“You still got all those boxes laying around?” You shrugged guilty of being a procrastinator. The click of his tongue was followed by a soft chuckle. “Wanna go to a party?”

You cocked an eyebrow, “Santos party?” He nodded. “I don’t know... Don’t wanna get behind on grading those quizzes.”

“It’s all good,” he told you. Deep down he knew you weren’t the biggest fan of being around his gang and he didn’t judge for that. 

The two paid and walked out of the corner store, you were holding your bags with both hands. The sunset was in full effect, pastels of pink and blue painting the sky. Oscar gazed at you as your eyes were lost in the beauty of the colors. 

Licking your bottom lip, your eyes met with his. “Thanks for the protection.”

He looked away flashing a grin, “You noticed…”

“Your crew is really hard to miss,” you smiled. “Thank you.”

Oscar shrugged, “Just making sure you’re safe.”

Without asking for consent, you tiptoed your way to his cheek and placed a kiss on it. “I know,” you said, turning around and walking away. You looked over your shoulder when you felt his eyes on you. “Te veo, fool.”

“Nos vemos, fool,” he said watching you walk.

The corner store was a couple houses away from your place. You couldn’t see it but Oscar put his bags inside the car and leaned against the hood of his car. Lighting a cigarette he watched you stroll to your house and got in safely. 

/ / / 

Your skin felt refreshed after taking a shower and washing your hair. Only wearing a towel wrapped around your body, you began to look for something to wear.

“Where are my freaking t-shirts?” you roamed around the boxes on the floor. 

There were too many unopened boxes to find the one that had your sleeping t-shirts in them. Meanwhile the ones that were open had everything but you work blouses. The Harley Davison’s ones you’ve been using have become dirty. Your eyes roamed around the floor and found Oscar’s black flannel lying by one of the boxes. You sighed walking towards it and picking it from the floor. Your finger tips instantly feeling the softness of the material. Taking a quick sniff you noticed Oscar’s scent on it and better yet, it wasn’t dirty.

“What the hell,” you shrugged, putting it on. 

You could smell him on the shirt, God how much you loved his scent. Wearing his shirt made you feel close to him even though he wasn’t there with you.

Grabbing a Corona from your fridge, you took a sip from it and began to unpack. You’ve been procrastinating about it for almost weeks now but tonight was the night all of these boxes were going to be empty.

You were drinking the last of your beer when the knock on the door made you look over your shoulder and pause on the sixth box. ‘It’s probably Jasmine’ you thought, not worrying to stand up.

“It’s open, Jas!” You shouted, turning your focus back to the box of old pictures. 

“Not Jasmine,” Oscar's deep voice filled the room.

Looking over your shoulder, you saw him standing by your door with one 40’s on both hands. You stood up quickly noticing how Oscar fully scanned your body. Seeing you wearing his shirt turned him on. How the shirt covered enough to see most of your thighs and legs. It helped that you didn’t buttoned the flannel all the way through, giving him a good sight of your cleavage. He couldn’t help but roam his eyes, admiring every inch of you. 

Oscar cleared his throat, licking his lips before speaking. “You said you were going to be here unpacking and grading papers…” He paused, his eyes were lost on you. “Uh-,” he shook his head, “I just wanted to pass by and maybe help.”

Your eyebrows rose, “You want to help me unpack?”

“Yep,” he spat. 

“Don’t you have a party going on?”

He shrugged with no worry, “Me vale. I can go if you want.”

You shook your head obviously not wanting him to leave, slowly licking your lower lip as you walked towards him. He took a deep breath once you were in front of him. You smirked, grabbing one of the 40’s, “You can stay and help. I’m actually opening the old picture box.”

He watched you turn and sit on the middle of your bed. Oscar having a seat by the edge of it. You handled him your beer for him to open and watched him twist open his.

“I was wondering where my flannel ended up,” he teased, grabbing the box next to him and opening it. 

“I actually didn’t see it until today. Needed clean clothes and,” you looked down at the flannel, “this was clean enough.”

Oscar chuckled softly as he started to take out old photo albums. 

“I can give it back if you want…” you teased.

He glanced at you over his shoulder, “Keep it, te queda mejor a ti.” 

You smiled at his response, looking down to the photos laying in your lap. There were a couple of you with baby Jasmine in her crib. Your abuelita always got you guys the biggest and colorful bows.

Oscar looked back at the album on his hand, brushing through the pages he found an old picture of the two of you in High School. “Mira,” he said.

You got slightly up and looked over his shoulder. Oscar clenched his jaw and his breathing began to get heavy as he felt you so close to him.

Flashing a grin you chuckled looking at your younger self sitting on his lap both with big wide smiles. “This was the first day we missed school to go to the beach.”

Oscar nodded with a small smile, “Si.”

“Todo era mas fácil,” you let out a sigh.

Looking at him, Oscar continued to look at the picture with nostalgia. You wished to be able to listen to his thoughts. Once again you were unsure if you should do what you felt. Kneeling next to him, you rested your chin on top of his shoulder. 

“You remember what happened that day?” you said softly. 

Oscar looked over his shoulder locking his brown eyes with yours. “Como olvidarlo.” 

You smirked, “We didn’t know what the fuck we were doing.”

He clicked his tongue, “We still enjoyed it though.”

“Hell yes,” out of habit your lips touched his skin for a second before placing your chin back on his shoulder glancing down to the picture. 

Oscar froze, his sight going down to your lips as he licked his and looked up back to your eyes. Being that close to each other was the only approval both needed to do what both were craving. He pressed his lips with yours, his right hand grabbing the back of your neck as he kissed you with passion. Your body followed your instincts and got on top of him. His fingers roamed inside your hair as his lips moved in sync with yours. 

The taste of his tongue is warm and lemon from the beer. He moaned when you bit his lower lip, listening to his moan turn you on even more. Your hands were holding the back of his neck. You could feel his hardness between your legs as you slowly moved your hips. 

His hands went under the flannel shirt you were wearing, gripping on your thighs and his fingertips finally finding the thin waistband of your panties. You stood up for a second, eyes locked with his as he slid them off your body. 

You wanted to tease him, you wanted him to build up the level of him wanting you. Slowly you began to undo your buttons, Oscar growing impatient. 

“Don’t tease, mami,” his voice was so deep and his accent so thick it made your skin tingle. He reached a hand over to you but you stood back, clicking your tongue as you moved your index finger left and right. 

“Paciencia, Oscar,” you said softly. 

Oscar smirked looking down at his lap before looking up to watch flannel drop to the floor, his hand reaching your nalgas and gripping tightly, pulling you forward. Looking down to your hip, he realized the black ink still on it. “Todavía lo tienes?” Oscar’s eyes linked with yours.

You looked down to the small cross tattoo on your hip. Turning so slightly you gave him a better look of it. Oscar’s hand touched it, reminiscing of when you first got it. That night was one neither was able to erase. 

“Damn,” he caressed it, “that was the night we-,”

You cut his words with another passionate kiss. He ignored his thoughts or what he wanted to say and continued tasting your lips. Oscar turned you over, laying you flat on the bed. You looked down at him, biting your lower lip watching him take his clothes off. His strong arms flexed as he crawled on top of you leaving trails of kisses all over your body, moans escaping with every kiss he left. Your lower back arched while your eyes shut to the sensation.

“Mírame,” he said, kissing right under your belly button. 

Biting your lip, your eyes locked with his, “I-,” you moaned when his hands cupped your breast. 

“Use your words, mi amor,” he said against your delicate skin. 

His tongue danced in a way only Oscar fucking Diaz could make it dance. He knew all your spots and how to work them. Your hands gripped the sheets of your bed tightly as you bit your lips holding the loud moans that wanted to escape your inside. 

“I can feel you holding your moans out,” Oscar told you, his look full of lust and hunger for you. “Let it out, bebe. Let it all out.”

“Fuck!” you let out a loud moan as he continued to eat you. In a matter of seconds he built you up back again. With every second, you could reach the stars more and more, until there was a full explosion. “Oscar!”

He kissed his way up to your lips, “Así me gusta.” 

“Me llevaste a las estrellas,” you kissed him. 

“Si?” He arched an eyebrow, his hand on your hip. Oscar kissed first kissed your chest, then kissed the left side of your collar bone. He left a trail of wet kisses all the way up your neck. He kissed your earlobe, you could hear his steady breathing. 

“Tonight I’ll take you to the whole damn galaxy,” he whispered in your ear.

______________________________________________________________

CHAPTER TRES

GOT FEELINGS TO SHARE? ❤  

follow tag #fool for you, for updates

[infinitegalahad]

I’ll Make A Man Out Of You (Ch.1)

Summary: To save your ailing brother from the war, you disguise yourself as a man to fight in the war. There you met Eugene Roe, a Cajun medic. The two of you grow close to each other, but at what cost? A story of bravery, the harshness of war, bravery, friendship, and love.

Word Count: 10.1k

Warnings: N/a

A/N: I do NOT know how the hell I wrote this and how it turned out this long. What started as a dream escalated into a google doc of 10k words. I apologize in advance; this is my first BoB fic and not beta-read. I decided to show some good old love for my Eugene boy by not doing my schoolwork and writing this mess. I hope to finish this fic by the end of the year (or month even). The other chapters won't be as long. Hope you Enjoy! ;)

It all started with a damned flyer.

Your thumb played with the scrunched edge. In bolded blue and the red letters it read,

"I want YOU for The U.S. Army. Enlist NOW!"

Uncle Sam, an American figure, pointed in your face. A small smile appeared on your face as it reminded you of your twin brother, Jack.

-----

You'll never forget the day of December 7th. Your mother had woken you and your brother up. Pearl Harbor had just been bombed. Even when the world felt like it was falling apart, your parents sent you to school. Jack and his friends wouldn't shut up about it. Every class you had, whether it was physics or Algebra two, talked about the bombings. America didn't intervene in the war with Europe. One of the girls in your Algebra class Nancy, was talking with her clique.

"There's no way they can do it!" A girl cried, "They can't send our men over!"

Nancy twirled a pencil in her fingers, "They can! The Japs declared war on us. My brothers are too young, but I'm sure my dad's gonna enlist. Every man has gotta do so."

Nancy had a point. It was so bizarre to you that the war had come to your shores now. You knew once you got home, your parents wouldn't stop talking about the war. After all, it was history in the making. The bell had rung, and you grabbed your books, heading out the door to meet up with Jack and his friends. Your twin brother and you were close to anything in the world. Jack was your best friend. Sure, at times, he could be a doofus, but he was everything to you. The two of you were only inseparable. You and Jack met up in the hallway, along with his friends Frank and Harry. Frank and Harry couldn't shut up about how excited they were to fight the Japanese. Frank said he was gonna make sure to bring his swiss blade with him, just in case.

The minute you walked out of the school building, posters were being shoved into your face. It was all too much to take in at once. Men dressed in green uniforms flooded the school and town. Picking up the posters, you noticed that they were drafting signs in colorful colors. They ranged, saying, "Want Action? Join the U.S. Marine Corps" or "Smack 'Em Down! Fly High With The U.S. Marines". Pearl Harbor had been bombed only eight hours ago, and draft posters were already in your small town. Jack dragged you back home as you ran into the house. Your father and mother, who were usually keeping the cows milked and crops growing, were glued to the small T.V. screen. Your father had left a newspaper on the couch. Reading the headline, your heart dropped.

"U.S. DECLARES WAR ON JAPAN"

Not even a day had gone by, and now there was a war and an apparent draft.

------

A week had gone by, and your little town in Vermont had gone wild. All of the boys and young men in the city were currently enlisting left and right. It was the non-stop talk. The boys raved about the pacific and killed Hitler while the girls cried, scared they wouldn't get married after high school. Just like anyone else, the war made your anxiety rise.

Jack and you were both born with Polio. Thankfully your Polio hadn't been severe, and with years of therapy, you had managed to live somewhat everyday life. On the other hand, Jack wasn't the luckiest. Polio had taken his teenage years away from him. Two years ago, he had to stop playing all sports and start using a cane. He was like an old man stuck in an eighteen-year old's body. Polio refused to bring down his spirits. As a child, Jack had been fascinated with war. Your father was a war hero himself. Jack felt like it was his duty to carry the family legacy. Even with protest, Jack was enlisted and was set to be drafted.

As each day went on, the fights between Jack and your parents escalated. Jack's Polio was getting worse each year. He tried to walk with his brace instead of a cane, which ended miserably. It pained Jack since all he wanted to do was fight., but there was no way he couldn't. He would make it to training camp and probably hurt himself in the process. As his sister and closest friend, you couldn't let him do this to himself.

Jack kicked the door open with his cane as he walked down the dirt path. He had just gotten into another fight with your parents, but it was worse. More yelling, crying, and anger. You followed after him, trailing behind him.

"Jack, please," You begged on the verge of tears yourself, "Listen to them! Dad says, you won't last!"

"I don't care what that man has to say," He barked back as he continued to walk faster, "I'm goin'. Every man has to fight for our country. Dad's too old to go. I ain't havin' those krauts rome around."

It was either Jack or your ailing father. Your father was a hard worker but was slowing down with age. He would die within the next few years, and the last thing you wanted for him was to die a cruel and brutal death.

You walked up to his back and grabbed his shoulder, pulling him back. "You'll die!"

"WHY DO YOU CARE SO MUCH?" His voice rang as he pushed you back with his cane. Jack was too aggressive, causing you to fall onto the dirt ground. You could feel the scraps and blood form on the palms of your hands. "YOU'RE A WOMAN! YOU DON'T HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT THIS! YOUR SUPPOSE TO GET MARRIED AND HAVE KIDS! JUST LET ME DIE FIGHTING FOR OUR COUNTRY!"

It had hit Jack like a slap in the face. He had not only yelled but just pushed his best friend to the ground like a bully. Tears formed at your eyes as you bit your lip, crawling back. Regret was plastered on his face as he walked forward. You didn't bother to listen to him as you crawled back, running back into the house.

Your mother stood on the porch, opening her arms for comfort. The last thing you wanted to do was talk to people. Covering your eyes, you ran into the house and up the stairs to your bedroom. The door slammed behind you as tears streamed down your face.

------

For hours you sat on your bed, looking out at the Vermont night. The moon shined bright as the stars twinkle over the sky. The trees rustled the leaves as Fall transitioned into Winter. Outside of the window, you could hear the conversation that happened with your parents and brother. Instead of a fight, it was a calm conversation. Jack still held his ground. At this point, he had been begging to fight. Your mother protested, but your father shook his head and grabbed his shoulders, pulling him and saying, "Good luck, soldier." Jack walked back into the house. He stood at your door and contemplated apologizing but returned to his room.

Your poor mother stood there with her hands covering her face, sobbing. Your father tried to console her in the act of kindness, but she simply shrugged him off and ran into the house. He simply stood there with his arms by his side in defeat. Your family was being torn apart.

Forcing yourself to get out of bed, you walked to light a candle in your darkroom. Upon lighting it, it exposed all of the nostalgia from your childhood when you were simply a little girl. All the trophies, the signed baseball, jewelry handed down from your mother, and photos. Photos of your family. Pictures of you were your father on a tractor, your 6th birthday when you and your brother threw a pie at each other, and the most recent photo of you and your brother, arm in arm, at a football game. Picking it up, a small formed of your face. The thought of losing him and your father drove you mad. Your father had raised you like a son; learning how your bills, shoot a gun, and so much more. As much as your mother hated it, your father accepted that you weren't the girl that was gonna get married.

A small tear dropped onto the photo. It scrunched up in your hands as your thoughts began to race. You were anxious and apprehensive; it seemed like a reach. Like a plot out of a movie. Your family and friends had told you how you looked like the female version of Jack. You were Jack, but just with long hair. Your mother never let you cut it, saying it was so beautiful. You pulled your hair back and looked in the mirror to see yourself with short hair.

You were Jack.

You were independent and fiery.

No man was going to control your life.

-----

Herbert Sobel was one of the worst people you had ever met in your life.

He was brutal and cold. There wasn't a day that went by without him screaming at a trainee. He was infamous for taking away weekend passes and forcing the whole company to run Curahee. One creased pant or slouched shoulders and boom-weekend pass revoked. Curahee occurred three times a week and made the entire company muscled and sore. The only good thing about Sobel was George Luz's jokes. Your bed was placed right next to his. As you would hide under the covers, he would always crack a fantastic impression of him. The whole company would conceal their laughter.

"Private Y/l/n, have you been blousing your trousers over your boots like a paratrooper?" Sobel walked in front of you, towering over your smaller frame.

Standing tall with your weapon in your hand, "No, sir."

"Then explain the creases at the bottom,"

"No excuse, sir,"

"Volunteering for the parachute infantry is one thing, Y/l/n, but you've got a long way to prove that you belong here," Sobel walked ahead to go ruin someone's else day. "Your weekend pass has been revoked."

Your grasp tightened on your gun as you bit your lip. Anger ran in your hands, but one wrong move, and it would all be over. Last week, Sobel had taken your weekend pass as well.

But by far, you were positive Sobel hated you the most.

The first time you ran Curahee, you were the last person. Your average was about thirty minutes. You weren't as quick as Perconte or muscled as Bull. Sure, you had been the top runner on your cross country team, but Curahee was definitely a challenge. You were a short and scrawny teenage girl disguised as a boy.

Crawling up the dirt hill, you ran up and touched the stone. Sobel stood there with disgust on his face.

"Y/l/n," He spat, looking down at the timer. It was read thirty-two minutes, "Last as usual. Six miles back."

You ran back down the hill. Sweat ran down your face as your sticky clothes stuck to your body. The P.T. uniform for runs was a risk. It showed most of your skin and was unfortunately tight. The bandages wrapped around your chest, pained your chest and back. As much you wanted to stop, Sobel was watching you from a distance. You pushed forward as you saw the camp in the distance, the hot Georgia sun setting into the orange sky.

-----

It was another training day. You and the easy company men piled out of your shitty dormitory and lined up against the lawn. In front of you were a tall tree and an arrow on top. Everyone speculated to what it could be. Even the smart Dick Winters couldn't figure it out. Perconte predicted it was "one hell of an exercise," and which he was right.

Sobel had instructed each member of the easy company to climb up the pillar and archive the arrow. It was like a climbing Curahee. Every single person. Even the training medics had to participate.

To make it even harder, Sobel stated that every climber would have to hold two kettlebells. Everybody held back their groans. Bull was the first to go and fell right on his ass. The next was Leibgott, who tried to wrap them around and jump up, but also tumbled down. Each man took a turn, but who all fail miserably. If you failed, you would be forced to rerun Curahee and additional insulting comments from Sobel.

Leibgott held his ass as he walked by you. You made eye-contact with him as he threw the weights into your arms.

"What are you lookin' at, boney?"

Not wanting to fight, you wrapped the ribbon's weights around your hands and pushed yourself up. It felt bulky and uncomfortable as you tried to climb. You ended up like a lot of members in easy company, falling flat on your ass. Not even ten seconds, and you had failed.

"Y/l/n, your the most pathetic and spineless paratrooper I've ever seen," He hissed. Snapping out of the pain, you pushed yourself up and began to run towards the infamous hill. You were smart and knew the drill. How the hell were you going to make it?

-----

Not only were you Sobel punching bag, but seemingly the whole company. You knew people hated you when the infamous George Luz would make an impression of you. He and friends would snick at it, with Bull telling them all to shut up. In the first few weeks in training, you observed the company and how they interacted. Growing up, you were a tomboy who spent most of your time with your brother and his friends. They treated like you were one of the boys and no different from them. Playful punches, snarky remarks, and not taking daily showers seemed to be the norm. You had talked to a few members and was friendly with some but not with others.

Following your brother and his actions, you approached Liebgott and playfully punched him in the shoulder as a greeting. It turned out Liebgott didn't like people, especially you. Him, Toye, and Guarnere (his nickname made you smirk) looked at you with daggers in your eyes. You already knew what was coming. You stepped back and shut your eyes tight, praying it would pass it.

The next thing you knew, you were in the infamy with a developing black eye. Liebgott was lanky and small but certainly packed a punch. Sobel had broken up the fight, took another weekend pass away, and another run-up Curahee. As you were escorted out, Luz joked that you were Sobel's favorite punching bag. That man was painfully right.

A nurse came back and gave you an icepack. She told you that Liebgott had punched you so hard that your eye was going to be swollen shut for the next few days. Liebgott really did hate you. The nurse gave you an icepack and said she would grab some medication to help with the pain. You sat there as you held up the icepack to your battered eye. A sigh escaped your lips as you gently shook your legs backward.

How the hell were you going to get through this? You didn't know if you could make it another year. Whatever you touched died, whether it be people or your dignity. Sobel and the whole entire company hated you. Even if you wanted to give up, you couldn't. You were doing this for your brother and father. Honor your father, who fought an unimaginable war. Be the man he wanted you to be.

A loud and frustrated sigh interrupted your thoughts. Looking up, you noticed a man throw down a bandage. The dummy beneath him was covered in countless rolls of bandages. He sat back and leaned onto a pole, putting his hands on his face.

You squeezed the icepack in your hands as water dripped all over your hands. You knew Sobel's wrath all too well. Being frustrated and not knowing what the next step was. It reminded you of history class. Someone would get frustrated with reading or word, and you'd scot next to them, offering help. You considered yourself a person who kept to themselves. All the girls in your grade would get invited to parties and sleepovers, but you never did. You felt like nobody noticed you existed. Whenever you spoke or did anything out of your comfort zone, it caused chaos. You felt like a spectre in the crowd. Nobody ever noticed you.

Pushing yourself from the hard rock bed, you walked into the other room and bent down to the dummy. The training medic revealed his face. His face was red, sweaty, and stressed. He didn't speak any word as your y/e/c met with his dark blue eyes. The Georgia sun was beginning to set, and a light shined on his eyes, making them appear royal blue. His eyes reminded you of the lake behind your house. In the summers, you and your brother would sneak to the lake at sunset, hitting you with nostalgia. You relaxed your shoulders, feeling content for the first time in a year.

You held up a bandage, asking in a soft voice, "You want help?"

The blue-eyed man nodded in response. He fixed his posture and leaned forward to watch your demonstration. He had pink skin and thick black hair. His jaw was sharp, looking like it could give a papercut. Your mother was a retired veterinarian. Before you enrolled in school, your mother brought you to her workplace. Your little mind somehow remembered everything from her job.

You weren't the best at conversation, feeling frightened to talk considering all of your horrible experiences. "Um, you put the gauze here," You explained with a low voice as you held the gauze down and wrapped the bandage from top to bottom. Once the two pieces met in the middle, you grabbed them tightly and knotted them. "Tie it like a shoelace, tight but not suffocating tight."

He followed your every move and replicated it on the other arm. Whatever you had done, it had worked. Your hands moved quickly, making it seem so simple/ He struggled to hold the gauze down as he tied. You aided him by holding the gauze down as he finished knotting. His hand brushed up against yours. His cheeks grew red as he looked down, focusing on the task. There was definitely room for improvement, but it worked.

You looked up at him with a subtle smile on your face, "Looks better."

"Thanks," He rubbed the back of his neck. His accent was thick. It took you a second to decipher what he had just said. Whatever his accent was sounded southern. The closer you were to him, he looked familiar, but you couldn't put the finger on him.

There was a peaceful silence before you broke it, "What's your name?"

"Eugene, you?"

"Y/n," You replied as the empty bandage rolled slid between your fingers. That wasn't really your name, it was your brothers, but it had grown onto you.

Eugene's eyes scanned your body as his cheeks grew heated. He had been having a horrible day with the Georgia heat and lack of nurses available. He thought choosing a job as a medic would be easy since he was agile, but it proved to be a task. The only medical training he had was from boy scouts, and he hadn't attended a meeting in years.

A smile curved on his lips, and looked at you, "Y/n," He repeated your name. Something was soothing about his accent. He reminded you of an iceberg, slowly melting. "What happened to your eye?"

"I got punched by Leibgott," You nodded your head. Eugene was the first person that treated you like a human. He didn't make fun of you, and It was refreshing. He didn't laugh or make a mean remark. All he did was sit there and listen.

A nurse popped her head into the room and gave you the pain medication. She told you that Sobel needed you back at training. You looked out the window and saw the easy company men climbing up the tree and all failing.

You stood up and swallowed the meds. Before you left, you looked back and waved to Eugene. "Bye, Eugene."

He seemed caught off guard and tilted his head up, "Bye, y/n."

For the time in a year, you felt like you could actually breathe and smile. Smile about Eugene's smile.

-----

From that day forward, Eugene had become your friend. You returned to the infirmary and stumbled upon him. What started off with helping him become a better medic formed into a friendship. Eugene was the only person you felt comfortable with within the whole camp. Sure, Dick Winters and Bull treated you with kindness, but he treated you like a human being with Eugene.

The two of you would share cigarettes, stolen chocolate, and thousands of little stories. Eugene wasn't a man of many words. He was someone who observed. Whenever you ranted, even if it was about the dumbest thing, he could sit and listen. It turned out Eugene lived in your bunk. The man was silent as a mouse and, like you, kept to himself. Unlike you, he avoided trouble. Somehow, you always ended up in it.

Eugene helped you with your black eye. He offered you a bunch of little tricks on how to make it better. Eugene used his hands a lot and usually held a compress to your face as you relaxed. He gave you some anti-swelling medication along with some fruits he snuck that apparently helped "heal" the pain.

"Jack, where you from?" He asked you one night. The two of you couldn't sleep. George Luz was a horrible bunkmate and couldn't resist snoring. Eugene had tip-toed to your bed and held up a pack of cigarettes. The two of you made gestures that only you and Eugene understood. Slipping out of bed, the two of you ran behind the camp to smoke. You laid right next to Eugene as cigarettes hung from your lips, looking into the stary sky.

Typically, you initiated a lot of the conversation. But tonight, it was different. Eugene turned his body over to you, watching his every move. He wasn't much older than you, about two years. He hated when you smoked, feeling guilty that he had gotten you on such a bad habit. You grew up with parents who smoked, so it wasn't anything new. Cigarettes calmed your anxiety.

"Vermont. Stowe, it's near the Candian border," You said as a smoke puff escaped your mouth, "You?"

"Louisiana. Bayou Chene, you know it?"

"No idea," You chuckled as you threw your finished cigarette to the side. You scrambled through your pocket and placed a cigarette in your mouth but couldn't find your damned lighter. You probably left it at your bunk.

Eugene scooted closer. It took you back as you tuned your face towards his. His face leaned into yours as the tip of your cigarettes caressed. Eugene's cigarette light you as smoke emerged from your mouth. Your faces were so close as his dark blue eyes burned into your soul. At first, Eugene seemed distant. You thought he hated you because everyone did. But to the best of ability, he proved that he didn't hate you. He was like a shy plant that you were watering. Each day Eugene blossomed as you got to know him more. Your cheeks grew as your fingers grasped against the grass. You could get lost in Eugene's big blue eyes. Swim into oblivion and never come back.

No, you couldn't. You were Private y/n y/l/n, not y/n.

You let out a fake cough, and Eugene noticed, backing up to the spot he once was in. You laid as a cigarette dragged on your lips, looking at the starry sky. Eugene was the only person that treated you with kindness. You could let your guard down in front of him. Your voice was soft whenever you were around him, relaxed shoulders, and your daily serotonin simply being delivered by his mere presence. His Cajun accent made you weak. You could listen to it for hours on end; it was like a sweet lullaby. It seemed like you two had found something in each other that you seemingly couldn't find with the rest of the company.

Eugene had turned his head to look back at you and see how relaxed you were. He was at a loss for words. Seeing you calm made him calm. He had seen you cry, run, and almost every emotion in such a short amount of time. Eugene considered himself to be a loner, but what he felt was his friend.

"Vermont's got a lot of snow, doesn't it?"

You turned and met with his face once again, smiling, "Lots of it in the winter."

"I've never seen it before, 's tew hot down there." Eugene mumbled, "I hate the heat."

"You should come to Stowe, y' know, after the kraut's surrender," You offered as you took the cigarette out of your mouth and waved it around. "I'll take you skiing."

It was a forward move, but Eugene was your friend, after all. Nothing more than just a friend. He tilted his head, "I can't ski 'doe."

"I'll teach you. You'll see how fun it is," You explained, shifting yourself up as you put your chin in your palm. The stars twinkled in Eugene's eyes.

"Ok?"

"Ok."

Eugene grabbed your hand, and you shook it back. His much larger hand-squeezed yours before sliding away. It took you by surprise. Before Sobel could take out another weekend pass, the two of you ushered back to the camp.

It was a deal.

-----

Sobel had once again decided to ruin the company's day by calling them back into the dorm. Nobody knew exactly why, which made the whole situation even worse. Piling into the dorm, Sobel stood in front of your bed, revealing a big bloodstain. He questioned all of the men on it before you came forward and admitted it was you. The makeshift pad you had made apparently didn't work.

"Give me a good reason to why you bled the bed, Private y/l/n," Sobel demanded as he stood in front of you.

Your eyes looked at the bed as you scrambled to find a good excuse. Of course, your period had to act up today. Your hands rested on your back as your fingers fiddled with each other.

"I had a scab on my leg, and I picked it in the night, sir." You muttered low, not wanting the other men to hear.

Sobel knew what you said, but after all, you were his punching back.

"Private, repeat yourself. Louder this time."

"I had a scab on the back of my leg, and I was picking at it, sir." You repeated, louder. Some of the men held back their snickers. You knew Liebgott was getting a kick out of this. Eugene looked at the stain and then you, pity in his big blue eyes.

Sobel walked past you, "Private y/l/n, do you wet the bed at night?"

Sobel's face looked so punchable at the moment. These men held in their laughter as you tried to find your words to respond. What was a good excuse for your period? Your father always taught you to be honest (even though you had been lying for a whole year).

"I...did, sir." You admitted.

Sobel huffed under his breath, "This isn't sleepaway camp. You will run up Curahee, and I expect to see you up there in fifteen minutes. In gear."

Not only did you have to run in 90-degree weather, but in heavy gear that made you look like a child in pajamas. The rest of the men piled out of the dorm for dinner. Perconte gave you a sympathetic look. He always seemed to do that whenever Sobel had tortured you once more. The last person who left the room, Eugene looked at you. You didn't even need to speak; his eyes screamed pity. Eugene knew you didn't pee the bed.

-----

You had run Curahee thousands of times, but today it had been hell. It was hot and sticky, the sun was setting, and you had heavy (and smelly) gear dragging you down. The rifle that hanged from your hands was dragging you down, and your whole body was aching with pain. The only thing you wanted to do in the world was punch Sobel's stupid nose off and sob. You had cried silently but hadn't sobbed. You were never alone in this company. You weren't sure how much longer you would be able to last. You felt alone, scared, and a pathetic excuse for a paratrooper.  

Footsteps rumbled behind you. They got louder as you could eventually hear the clanging of dog tags. Stopping your sniffling, you turned to your right and saw Eugene. It was starting to get dark and humid outside, so you assumed it was a hallucination, but it wasn't. Eugene was right next to you, dressed in all his gear as he ran right beside you.

"Shit, Gene?" You said, caught off guard by his sudden appearance.

"Hey 'dere y/n," He replied, looking up and down your body. He saw your physical and emotional exhaustion, "You doin' okay?"

Emotions made you seem weak, and everybody perceived you as soft. Subtly sniffling, you turned and stored your sadness away once more. "Yeah, 'm fine," You quirked an eyebrow, "Now what in the hell are you doin' here?"

As Eugene ran beside you, his shoulder bumped against yours a little. It was a minor detail that made your cheeks grow red, "Thought you'd like some company... y' know since we're a company."

A small snort escaped your mouth as you guys ran. Did he run through hell just for you? No one that really ever done that before. Eugene and you had grown so close to each other in such a short amount of time. It was the little things that proved Eugene was your friend. "Gene, Sobel's gonna take away your weekend pass,"

"'S not like I got anythin' better to be doin' with my time," Eugene said as sweat dripped down his face. His helmet was too big for his head and tilted. "Rather be with you 'den anythin' else."

Right then in there, you would've dropped to the ground. You had to be hallucinating. With the heat and impending night, your head was spinning right now. Maybe Eugene was too friendly, or perhaps he was flirting with you. Whenever you were about to cry in your sleep, a thought of Eugene would pop up. A smile would appear on your face. Just thinking about seeing him, bringing you a small dose of serotonin.

"Even if it means running through hell and having Sobel scream in your face?"

Eugene looked and you and nodded. He was a true friend, loyal, and kind.

You laughed as the two of you turned the corner. Sobel was on top of the dreadful hill, squinting his eyes as he saw you and Eugene. Sobel usually looked unhappy, but he was prepared to give you and Eugene another standoffish remark.

You groaned under your breath at Sobel's far presence, "You sure you wanted to do this?"

"'S worth it, y/n." Eugene said, "Rather be 'ere."

Those words stuck with you the three miles up and the three miles down.

-----

Once you arrived back at camp, the sun had already gone down. It was already eight. On your run down, you had fallen. It was caused by your cramps and dehydration. Eugene practically dragged (and somewhat carried) you back to camp. Sobel was not impressed whatsoever. The men of the easy company saw you being removed to the infirmary. The nurses kept a close eye on you and shoved water down your throat.

One of them gave you a pat on the back and told you to return to the dormitory. You were exhausted as you walked outside into the night. All you wanted to do was crawl into that stonecold bed and doze off about Eugene.

"Private y/l/n," A familiar voice called. You turned and straightened your position. There Sobel stood, looking angered at your presence, as usual.

"Sir," Is all you could respond with. Sobel had triggered your flight or fight response.

"I'm concerned with your wellbeing in the camp," Sobel began to explain. Whatever he was going to say, you knew it wasn't good, "You've been with easy company for almost a year now, and you've shown little to no change. Your disobedient, spineless, and unable to complete simple tasks. I firmly believe you will not ever be prepared for combat,"

"Permission to speak, sir," You tried not to interrupt him.

"Denied, I'm not finished," He coldly spoke, "You're unsuited for the rage of war. I would not trust you with a man, let alone a weapon. You don't belong in easy company, or any company for that matter. You're done here."

Words were unfathomable. A year of pure pain, and it was all for nothing. You were a soldier and couldn't act out of line. All you could do was stand there and hold in your tears and anger.

"Your father was a commander y/f/n y/l/n, correct?"

"Yes, sir," You said, low as words choked in your throat. Your father was a commander in world war one. He was a short-order than you and had a position similar to Sobel's. Like your brother, he was unwell to fight. He was aging and slowing down every day.

"I would trust Captain y/ln in combat, but not private y/l/n," He sneered with venom in his voice. He began to walk past you, "Go home, you're through."

He had stabbed your heart. You looked like a disappointment in front of him and your father. Sobel had proved that you were nothing but useless. You simply stood there as you relaxed your shoulders, feeling a small tear stream down your cheek. As much as tears begged to come out of you're eyes, you couldn't let them bring you down. Looking inside, Eugene was right there. He had seen and heard everything Sobel had said. Typically Eugene looked emotionless, but his face felt your pain. All you did at that moment was turn your heel and walk back.

"Voleunting for the parachute infantry is one thing, Y/l/n, but you've got a long way to prove that you belong here."

"Y/l/n, you're the most pathetic and spineless paratrooper I've ever seen,"

"Go home; you're through."

"You don't belong in easy company, or any company for that matter. You're done here."

All Sobel saw you were is disobedient, spineless, and unable to complete simple tasks. It was his words and not yours. They filled you with rage, frustration, and dejection. Within the past year, you had proven you were nothing but a fool. Maybe it was for the better. You wouldn't even trust yourself in combat. Sobel had made sure you hated yourself even more than you already did. If you weren't a good housewife, then there was no way in hell you were going to be a paratrooper.

Walking back to the dorm, you noticed that damned pillar. It reached high into the sky, reflecting the moonlight. The drill, even though nobody could do it, was still used by Sobel. Months had gone by, and no man in the company had been able to climb it. With the heat and weights, it was near impossible. Regardless, Sobel still tortured the company. What the hell did it even have to do with being a paratrooper.

Almost every time, you fell right on your ass with Sobel screaming in your ear and Liebgott snickering. But you were alone with your thoughts running through your head. Sobel's words that left a permeant mark on you. It was like a dark vein had wrapped around your limbs, dragging you into the ground as you struggled to fight. All you wanted to do was give up and succumb to the darkness you knew all too well.

But you weren't going to succumb tonight or ever.

You grabbed the kettlebells and jumped on the pole, only to fall onto your butt again. It hurt, and you were tired, but the pure rage was driving you. You would push yourself back up, and no matter how many times you well, you repeated. You weren't going to be considered weak and pushed away. All you knew at the moment was that you weren't going to leave this camp without a fight.

After hundreds of times of falling, you noticed a small detail. The kettlebells weighed the same and were meant to drag you down. But if you wrapped your whole body around the pole and simply pushed like your life had depended on it, then maybe it could work. Perhaps you could rub the fact that you weren't disobedient or spineless to Sobel.

Stepping back and running towards the pillar, you jumped up and wrapped your arms and legs around it. You slipped but yourself up. It was an uncomfortable position, but you had just made progress. The weights were dragging you down, but all you do was fight and push like your life had depended on it.

Dawn was arriving as the sky turned into a pinkish-blue hue. The sun slowly came over the hills as it shined upon the camp. Sobel wanted men at the crack of drawn. They had woken up to you halfway through climbing up Sobel's most challenging task. Most of them were in shock, considering that it had been out of all of the people, you. he one that George Luz had labeled as "Sobel's Punching Bag." Not Spiers or Winters, but you.

"Can you believe what I'm seeing?" Luz looked up, crossing his arms.

"Sobel beat them up, I bet money," Perconte said.

"Maybe Bones finally gained some muscle from all that damn runnin," Toye added.

"You idiots, it's none of 'dat." Guarnere interrupted, frustrated at his friends, "It's crack, for sure."

All the men in easy company looked at Guarnere, horrified, and confused. Guarnere didn't know why they all looked so shocked. He was confident he was right.

"Oh, come on, you kidding me?" Liebgott smirked as he looked at you climb. You were halfway there but slipping down. "Bones can't make it through Curahee through dyin, watch 'em fall, and break 'dere back."

Winters, being the mature one, had started cheering like an enthusiastic dad at a football. He knew there was some hidden talent in you. Slowly, all of the men began to cheer and whistle, even Liebgott. You noticed their cheers as you pulled up. The sun was starting to blind you, but it wasn't time to give you. A few more pushes, and you would be at the top.

Eugene had seen you storm out. He could feel your pain from a mile away. Seeing a small tear stream down your cheek made him feel human again. Toccoa had ripped his emotions away from you. You were the only thing that reminded him that there was right in the world. Not wanting to interrupt you, Eugene watched you from a distance. The way you screamed in frustration and fell. He knew it was creepy, but he had been cheering on for you. When you had managed to begin climbing, he smiled—a genuine, happy smile.

"allez, poussez juste…" Eugene muttered as he fidgeted with his fingers. You were so close to defeating Sobel's challenge.

Eugene knew you could do it.

There you sat, looking down at all the men who cheered you on. The breeze flew through your short hair, which was slowly starting to grow out. You smiled as you looked down, waving to all the men causing a commotion. It was like a miracle had happened.

Sobel had heard all of the commotions and walked back to the camp. Much to his surprise, he saw you, sitting on top of the pilar as you waved down to the men. You were like a god on a pedestal waving to your followers. That's not what you viewed yourself as, but you felt respected for once. Heck, even Liebgott cheered for you. You saw Eugene and smiled at him, giving him a small wave. He waved back, a smile on his face as well.

Maybe you were cut out to be a paratrooper.

-----

It was like a rebirth had occurred. No longer were you the weak link of the chain. It took time, but you rose above your piers and gained their respect. Sobel, impressed and shocked, had given you a second chance. You proved to him and your company that you were worthy of being a paratrooper. Sobel was still horrible to you, but it didn't matter. Whatever he threw at you, you and the company would complete it. No matter the runs up Curahee or twelve-mile marches, easy company persisted.

Jumping out of a moving plane, you and the company were officially paratroopers. After almost two years of living hell, you had somehow managed to do it. You had no idea how you did, but you had done it. Maybe it was Eugene's silent encouragement or the company's respect, or even Sobel's nasty remarks.

You were a paratrooper now. You hoped your father was proud of you.

-----

The night of the jump, the company had discovered a lake behind Camp Toccoa. You and Eugene had known about it for years, considering it your safe haven. You would even travel there yourself to take a dip in the lake where you were y/n, not Jack. It was another humid night in Georgia, so a nice drop wouldn't hurt. As long as you kept yourself hidden, you considered it to be safe.

Throwing off your gear, you took a dive into the water. It was cold but refreshed your body. You laid on your back as you shut your eyes, enjoying the water rush against your body. The only visible part of your body was your head and toes. There you could wash your body and be alone, away from all the discord. You washed your body and hair, feeling clean for the first time in a long time. Instead of smelling like dirt, you smelt like vanilla. Being a man had its perks but also its cons. You didn't even want to get started on male hygiene. Eugene would have been excellent company, but it was too risque. Two years into training, and the last thing you needed was your identity being discovered. Being a man took time to adapt to. You thought since you had hung out with your brother and his friends, it wouldn't be challenging, but you had been proven wrong. But there was no point in looking at the past. Now the men treated you like one. Even Liebgott respected you. He called you by your name instead of "Bones." It was the bare necessities, but it felt nice to be treated somewhat like a person.

The peace had been interrupted by a wave drowning your face. Freaking out, your body flipped as you turned your head to find the commotion. In the distance were a few easy company men diving into the water and swimming close to your location. Mentally cursing, you began to swim back to your area and get the hell out of there.

"Hey! Jack Rabbit!" A deep and rough voice Philly voice called. It was none other than the infamous Guarnere. Instead of Bones, your new nickname was Jack Rabbit. It was because you were fast in the line of action.

Turning around, you saw Liebgott, Webster, Toye, Guarnere, and Luz. They were all butt naked and proud. It made you cringe instead. Two years living with guys, and you still refused to be around them, nude.

You flashed a smile and waved as your head was the only thing that emerged from the water. "Um..hey guys! I didn't even know you were here!"

Liebgott, Luz, and Webster all had their eyes on you, like prey on a predator. Guarnere and Toye could be anywhere. Their glares, which were meant to be friendly, burned into your soul. It made you feel uncomfortable. The water felt like it was on fire. Your only priority was to get out.

"So now I'm clean, and I'm gonna go" You flashed a smile as you waved, kicking quickly under the water, "Bye!"

"Oh, come on!" Liebgott said as he saw on his back right next to you. A leaf thankful covered up his privates. He was less than an inch away from you. You descended into the water as your hands wrapped around your chest.

"I know I punched ya', and was mean to ya'-"

Webster interrupted as he laid on his back, looking at the sky, "Practically harassed and assaulted Jack Rabbit until he-"

"Shut ya' trap, college boy," Liebgott turned around and flicked water in Webster's face to disrupt his peaceful mediation, "Anyways, listen, I know we're all to jerks to you before, but let's start over."

He was right up your face as he held out his hand, a dumb smirk on his face, "Joe Liebgott."

You let out a nervous chuckle and shook his hand briefly, "Nice to meet ya…"

As you backed up in the water, you ran right into George Luz, who looked as jolly as ever. Even in the water, he still had a cigarette in his mouth, "George Luz, but you can call me Luz."

"Will do, Luz!" You had to go. Your heart rate was gonna drag you into the bottom of your lake.

"And I am Guarnere," A raspy voice called. You all looked up to see a naked (and confident) Guarnere stand on a rock, a full display of his genitalia. Your cheeks flushed red as your hand hid from the grotesque view, "King of the rock! And 'deres nothin' you girls can do about it!"

Toye happened to be on the rock and pushed Guarnere, knocking a block off his big ego. He sighed as he stood on the rock, his member also loud and proud in the night. "I think Jack Rabbit's already been traumatized enough tonight,"

"You call 'Ol Gonorrhea king of the rock?" Luz snorted as his arm wrapped around your shoulder, "I think me and Jack Rabbit can take you up that offer!"

Sliding under Luz, you began to swim away as you said, "I actually really don't wanna take up that offer."

'Oh, come on!" Luz swam close to you as he grabbed your arm, dragging you back, "Don't be such a gi-ow! Something just bit me!"

All you needed was a good excuse, "Must've been a..um...water snake!"

Luz turned to you, horror on his face. "Snake? SNAKE?" He screeched like a little girl, along with all of the other men as they swam for the rock. Toye looked at all of them, disappointment in their faces. Guarnere put on a stern face and claimed nothing in the water much to everyone's hysteria. It was your chance to escape. Swimming to the nearest (and most secluded) part of the land, you crawled out of the water and hid by a shrub. Once their voices began to disappear, you let out a sigh of relief.

"I never wanna see a naked man ever again…" You groaned as the imagine haunted your break. That was certainly a close call. Shaking them out, you looked around. Wherever you had swum to was unfamiliar, full of shrubs and twigs. The moonlight illuminated the lake as the stars twinkled in the sky. You were freezing and wanted to put your clothes back on now that you actually smelled decent for the first time in a while. Not having any cover meant walking back in with thorns scraping against your thigh. After that experience, you did not want to ever experience that again or see Guarnere brag about his member's size.

You began to recognize the area where you had left all of your gear. There were no voices or noises except for grasshoppers' sounds, and the wind brustling against the trees. The coast seemed clear.

Stepping out of the bush, your eyes saw your clothes on the rock. Shaking a few leaves from your hair, you let out a relieved sigh as you walked to the rock, not aware that someone had been watching you.

Picking up a towel, you noticed a figure in the corner of your eye. It seemed like a flash. As your head turned to look, the towel dropped from your hands as your heart dropped into your stomach.

It was Eugene.

He had seen you nude. Your breasts and female part-everything. He was just in much as a shock as you were. Both of you were frozen in place. Eugene's cheeks and nose flustered red as he looked down at your body. It had been a long time since he had seen a woman. He knew he shouldn't have looked, but it was so much to take in at once. It came as a shock to him and you.

You threw up your hands, at a loss of words, "Wait, I can explain...all of this!"

"Y-you're...a girl," Eugene murmured. He seemed shocked but not mortified.

As you created a mental response, Eugene and you heard the rumbling of a jeep. It was none other than Sobel. He most likely found out the company ditched camp to go swim in the lake, resulting in everyone losing their weekend pass. You could see the jeep in the distance park right beside a rock that hid you and Eugene. The door to the jeep slammed shut, signaling that Sobel was on a mission to bust whoever was at the lake.

You were naked, a woman, and frozen in fear. This all had to be some nightmare.

"'ere, c'mon," Eugene walked over and grabbed your hand, pulling you into a shrub. There was not a lot of room, so you were practically sitting on Eugene. It was an awkward and uncomfortable situation considering that you were butt naked. Your legs peered out of the bush, and Eugene gently grabbed your waist, pulling you back, so you were completely hidden.

It was too dark to see anything, but you could hear footsteps and Sobel yell at the men in the lake. You could listen to the splashing of water, and Sobel grabbed something (you assumed your clothes) and storming back into his jeep. Once it jumpstarted, you let out a sigh of relief, but you weren't in the clear still. Your body had melted into Eugene's, his hand on your waist and chest. His breath was heavy against your neck. He hadn't smelt something good in weeks, familiar with the smell of dirt—your buzzed hair smelt like lavender and your body, vanilla. Not to mention your y/s/c skin was glossy and smooth.

Eugene's calloused hand rested not too far from your breast. It weighed on it, right next to your nipple. Once you realized, you were in absolute horror.

The next thing Eugene knew was that he had your foot kicked into his face as he tumbled out of the bush. You stood there were your hands wrapped around your chest, mortified and embarrassed.

"You Pervert!" You snarled, stepping back. Sobel had taken your clothes as you cursed. Just when things seemed like they were going good, they were all going down. "I trusted you, and this is what happens? You stalk me and grab my chest and…" A disgusted groan escaped your lip.s You couldn't even finish your sentence without wanting to throw up.

Eugene crawled back to rock as he wiped the blood trickling from his nose. He rose his eyebrows and shook his head, "No, 'dats not why I came, Jack. I came because-"

"Because you wanted to see me naked?"

"No, I…" The Cajun looked embarrassed to admit it. Letting out a massive sign, he pushed himself to stand. A bruise was already forming on his nose, "Saw all 'da boys headin' to the lake. The one we discovered before any of 'dem did. I was tryin' to look for you, but you weren't 'dere, so I came 'ere and... you're a woman."

The heat grew on your cheeks. You didn't have any clothes and felt exposed. You were too embarrassed to see Eugene was blushing himself.

Eugene had known you for two whole years and felt like he knew almost everything about you, but this hit him like a train. He was feeling so many emotions at once; surprise, disbelief, and amazement. Something about this situation made his heart jitter. He had no idea how to describe it. Seeing you so vulnerable and shivering caused him to slowly walk over and take off his olive green chore jacket, throwing aside over your shoulder.

You backed up, startled. You had gone two years without anyone knowing; now it was over. A small thank you escaped your lips as you pulled the other jacket around it. It was huge on your body and just smelled like Eugene. You now felt horrible. He was too much of a kind person to want to grope you. In fact, he had saved you from being discovered.

"Why'd you come here?" You asked as you pulled the jacket tighter to your body.

He hesitated to respond as he rubbed the back of his neck but eventually let loose. "Because I wanted to find you. Not to discover...y'know. Thought you'd be 'ere."

"I'm sorry about punching you; I thought you…"

"Sobel was gonna see your legs; I didn't want him to see you."

You furrowed your eyebrows as you looked at Eugene. If It had been any other soldier, you were sure they would turn you in. But with Eugene, it seemed like he wanted to help you. "Wait...but...why?"

"Well, you were naked...and a woman. Plus, it's Sobel," Eugene explained. He did have a point with Sobel.

Eugene didn't fully answer your question. "But why did you really hide me? You could've just sent me home".

"Why would I wanna ever do that?" Eugene perplexed, "Listen, y/n, for two years, you hid as a man. You trained, and now you're a paratrooper and Imma medic. I don't know how the hell you pulled it off, but you did. When I first saw you, there was...somethin' off. You were the tinier 'den all of them. When I saw the stain on your bed...I figured it out. I can't believe it's true…"

A huff escaped your lips, and you buried your hands in your face, "That means they all know…"

"Y/n, no offense…but 'dose guys don't have a brain to notice 'dat you were a girl. They would only believe you if you showed them you were. Guess I'm 'da only one who knows."

"How else could you tell I was a girl?" You were intrigued that Eugene knew. Half of the company men were so distracted that they most likely didn't bother about your appearance, except when Liebgott would make fun of you for being the smallest person in the company.

"Well... you're a kind person."

You removed your hands from your face, perplexed by his answer. He saw your confusion and proceeded to explain.

"You're one of the nicest and most empathetic people in the company. 'Dat's kinda how I figured. War is a brutal place. 'Da whole company is full of men who cheat, steal, and lie. But you y/n, ain't nothin like that. You're a good and strong person who cares 'bout other people. A gift from GodGod."

You smiled as your cheeks turned pink. Eugene's words were raw and the truth.

"But you know...it's over for me." You sighed as you began to walk past him, "I'm in the doghouse now."

Eugene grabbed your hand, causing you to stop. He looked at you with his big blue eyes. He didn't even need to speak words as his eyes burned into your soul. Eugene made your body weak as the tension left your body. He gave your hand a little squeeze.

"No, let me help you."

"With what?"

"Being a man," Eugene said, "I'll help you with whatever you need. Bandages, binders, products for y' know...you. If you wanna pass without worryin', then let me 'elp you. Please."

You liked the idea of it but yearned for why Eugene desperately wanted to help you. "Why do you wanna help a woman?"

"It ain't 'cause you're a woman; it's because you're a fighter. Two years of training, and you finally are a Paratrooper. I don't wanna let all your hard work go to waste," He replied, "Plus, I'd miss havin' you 'round."

You shook your head as you chuckled. Eugene was serious but lighthearted, in which he was only around you. The two of you were so vulnerable around each other, letting downsides you would never let the world see. He subtle smiled as you let go of his hand.

"Why'd you do it?"

The two of you walked in the dark forest, side by side. You began to talk about your long journey to where you stood. "My brother had Polio, and my dad was too old. I didn't wanna see them get hurt...so I took my brother's place."

"That's what angels do, y' know? That's very brave," Eugene complimented.

He kept referring to you as an angel, and you couldn't tell if it was subtle flirting or him just being nice to you. You bumped into his shoulder, smiling, "I don't consider it brave. I just wanted to make sure they were ok."

Eugene looked up at the sky and then at you. Looking at you made him feel at ease. He could stare at you for hours on end.

"You gotta promise me somethin' tho'."

Your full attention was on him, waiting to spill.

"Promise me you won't get hurt or do anythin' dumb. Stay by me when you can. I just... I don't know if I could handle you getting hurt," Eugene admitted as his voice croaked. You were the last person he wanted to lose. The one real person that he cared deeply about.

"I'll try, but please…" You squeezed the rim of his jacket, "Don't treat me any differently because I'm a woman. I'm a man to you, and nothing different. Can you promise me that, Gene?"

You stood there and held out your hand to shake on it. Eugene stopped walking and noticed. His mind was racing with thoughts. So many ideas were going through his head. It had already been a night full of surprises. But if you wished it, it was his command. Eugene's hand once again met with yours as you firmly shook hands. The two of you continued walking as Eugene looked down at you, not knowing what to say once again. But the two had created a language that you would only understand.

"Ok?" Eugene cooed in his thick drawl.

You looked at him and nodded with reassurance, "Ok."

"What's your real name, by the way? Not your brother's name, but your name."

"Y/n." You said. You hadn't said that in years.

"Y/n, y/n…" Eugene repeated your name under his breath. It was different, and he liked others. He knew it was his job not to grow close to you, but it was becoming harder now that you were a woman and his closest friend. But he snapped out of his worry and smiled down at you. "Nice to meet you, y/n."

"Nice to meet you as well, Gene."

Eugene and you walked back to camp. He had gotten you a fresh pair of clothes, and the two of you sat outside of the medical center, sharing a pack of cigarettes as you watched the sunrise into the Toccoa sky. You and Eugene agreed to make it seem like this was a normal situation, and nothing had changed. But now that Eugene knew about the real y/n, everything had changed.

[eunoiaflow3r]

Thin Lines and Butterflies - Cesar Diaz (Part 2)

PART ONE

A/N: series, part 2.

Warnings: language, angst, fluff. No Cesar x Monse history, Female reader. Set during the first season. fem!reader.

Summary: Y/N is new to town. Well not really. Her brother sent her away last year in hopes to get her away from the gang life that he is a part of. Now she’s back, and ready to get back to how it used to be.  She reunites with Spooky’s little brother Cesar and quickly becomes friends with his crew. When it comes to Cesar though - that line that defines whether they are friends - is getting thinner and thinner.

Word Count: 3.4k

~~~~

It had been a couple of weeks or so since you first arrived in Freeridge and things were going as smooth as it could go. You met up with Monse like you promised you would, and every day since then. Not only had you become fairly close with her, but Ruby, Jamal, and even Cesar as well. You helped Ruby redecorate his new room, because God did he need the help, and Jamal and you had a pretty lengthy conversation about Rollerworld and the money that’s hidden. You believed it was real - who doesn’t love a good mystery? But everyone else didn’t wanna believe it, and you felt bad for Jamal because of how little faith everyone else had in him.

Spooky ended up talking Enzo down thankfully, but he was still incredibly pissed with your father. The only thing your brother couldn’t promise you was that he wouldn’t be paying the man a visit, and you couldn’t argue with that. As long as he doesn’t literally kill him, you were at the very least content.

Just like you did him, Ruby and the gang helped you redecorate your room, and reorganize and make sure it was, “freshman year worthy.” Once the boys left though, Monse stayed and helped you deep clean the rest of the house because Lorenzo was nothing short of a slob. During this time, Monse was telling you possible ways to convince Spooky to let Cesar out of his gang. You told her that it wasn’t that simple, but she retaliated with, “But your brother is in the gang, and you’re not. He even sent you away ‘cause he didn’t want you in it.”

“Yeah, but, my brother isn’t the leader. I mean sure, it’s my legacy too, but Cesar’s situation is way more complicated.” You pause, trying to figure out a way to convince Monse to let the whole situation go. If she keeps digging, it’ll just make shit worse for not only Cesar but Spooky as well. “I’m sure Spooky is doing what he thinks is best for Cesar.” You sigh. “Being in the gang is his way of protecting him, just like how being out of the gang, and away from it, is Lorenzo’s way of protecting me.”

“Yeah, well I think Spooky’s got it twisted. He just needs someone to convince him that he’s wrong.”

Convince? Spooky? No way. Not even a question. Once Spooky has made up his mind about something, there is no changing it. Then again though, when Monse’s made up her mind about something, there’s no changing her mind either. _

Lorenzo and Spooky took you and Cesar took you both school shopping along with stocking up on alcoholic beverages and snacks for the Santos when they would hang out.

You and Cesar wandered around the store looking for folders, binders, notebooks, calculators and basically any little thing you would need for your freshman year. He dragged you along to random isles to check things out. At first, he’d just say, “Hey, let’s go over here.” But then it turned into him pulling your sleeve or your wrist, and eventually your hand. Your heart was beating like crazy. It may not have been a big deal to him, but holding hands is kind of an intimate thing for you. ‘Those damn butterflies.’ you thought as he pulled you over to the dessert aisle where he snagged some cookies from the shelf. While he reached out to get something else, you tried to sneakily pull your hand away so that your heart could calm down, and your stomach would untwist, but he wasn’t having it. He just squeezed your hand harder, grinned mischievously, and looked back down at the potato-chip bag just to put it right back, and pull you to another isle.

Was he doing this on purpose? Could he somehow tell that you were beginning to catch feelings? Was it just that obvious? You thought that you were doing just fine with not showing or telling anyone about these new feelings. _

The truth though, is that Cesar wanted to do anything he could to be close to you. Whether it was standing next to you, leaning in to steal some of your food, and even now when he found the courage to just grab your hand. He would never tell anyone this, and especially not you, but he thought more of you than just his brother’s best friend’s little sister that he looked after.

Don’t get him wrong, numerous times Spooky or Lorenzo has asked him to look after you, or make sure you were alright and doing fine, but he knew that you could hold your own. And just that fact made him like you just a little bit more. He likes that you look out for him, without being overbearing, and try to pry into his life like Monse. He likes that you immediately clicked with his friends and that they like you just as much as he does. No, he likes you just a bit more.

But you couldn’t know that. Not ‘cause he was scared to tell you - but because of Spooky and Lorenzo. They’d beat his ass if he let something happen to you, and even though he knows he wouldn’t, they’d find a reason to hurt him anyway.

He wonders if you think about him that way too, and the more he thinks about that possibility the more he wants to pull his hand away - but he’s selfish and he loves being close to you. Speaking of close, after the store trip, and you’re both in the back of Spooky’s car - he wonders if you can tell his heart is practically beating out of his chest. He doesn’t say anything in fear your brothers would listen and take your conversation out of context, but he wishes he could talk to you and tell you how pretty you looked in that moment.

He thought it was best to just ignore his feelings, but shit who has time for that? Who wants to think about rules when it comes to what he wants? Cesar wasn’t really sure of anything else at the moment, but he was sure that he didn’t want to be just your friend anymore. _

You were out sitting in the grass with Cesar in front of his house. Spooky and your brother sat on the front porch watching you every so often - and you both felt it. Gang members (most of them were smoking)  sat in lawn chairs around the lawn as well, and loud rap music was playing in the background. Nevertheless, you and Cesar were putting your bookbags together for school. More like - you were telling him how to do it. Cesar wasn’t very organized, so you helped him color coordinate for all his classes and label as needed.

He didn’t want to seem to focus though and instead focused on you instead. He focused on the stories you had about Arizona - but unknowingly grew rigid whenever you brought up your ex-boyfriend. He wanted to ask how many boyfriends you’ve had, but he decided that he just didn’t want to know.

Your phone started vibrating. 

It was Monse.

“Hello?”

“What took you so long to answer?”

“I didn’t notice you were calling. The music is loud over here. I was also talking to Cesar, so…”

“You’re with Cesar?” She asks surprised and almost happy. “Is Spooky there?”

“I mean yeah -”

“Go tell him to let Cesar out of the gang!”

You roll your eyes and hang up the phone. You were not going to argue over this anymore. It was not your place to tell a grown man what to do.

“Who was that?”

You sigh. “Monse. She wants me to - ugh she’s calling again.” You get up from where you sat on the ground. “I’m gonna talk to her inside where it’s quieter.”

“I’ll come with.” He followed close behind you, but as you approached the house, both Lorenzo and Spooky looked at the two of you skeptically.

“We’re just going to get a snack and talk to Monse. Not make a baby.” You say pushing past them and opening the door walking into the kitchen. Cesar laughed at what you said but quieted down when he saw you answer Monse’s phone call.

“What took so long to answer? Did you ask him?” Monse almost screams through the phone - as you put her on speaker.

“Noo Monse, I told you I’m not getting involved.”

“Monse it’s no use.” Cesar chipped in.

“You told Cesar?!”

“Like he wasn’t gonna notice me approach Spooky and ask for him to jump him out.”

“Whatever.” She sighed. “Guess I have to do everything myself.” And she hung up.

You threw your phone on the counter annoyed and leaned against it, arms crossed.

You could tell Cesar was annoyed too as he was pacing around the kitchen, clearly very pissed off with Monse. “Damn!” he starts. “I’m getting a drink. A strong one. Want something?”

“Really?” You ask. What in the world made him think you’d want your lips anywhere near alcohol - especially considering things with your father.

After he thought about what he was asking you though, his face immediately fell.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Y/N, I didn’t..I wasn’t thinking, I -”

“It’s fine Cesar. It’s completely normal for an almost freshman to drink alcohol anyway, it’s cool.” You smiled, trying to lighten the mood.

He smiled too and followed you to the table where two chairs were placed next to each other. He took one, and you took the other.

“We can’t be too long in here.” you say.

“And why’s that?” He asks leaning back in his chair, smiling crookedly.

You look at him, pointedly, eyebrows raised. “You know exactly why.”

He drops his chair and leans in close to you.

“So what?” he whispered.  You had goosebumps. Were you even breathing right now?

“So..I don’t want them thinking things that aren’t true.”

“But if they were?”

He was closer now, and you could see his pretty brown eyes, and your heart was going crazy. Those butterflies have multiplied by 100, and you weren’t quite sure what would happen at this point.

“They’re not.” You managed to get out.

He leaned back in his seat again and sighed.

“But they could be.” _ _

A few days later, and you were finally home alone, you finally got comfortable with some pajama pants, and a loose t-shirt that belonged to your brother. Now you could finally just take out the trash, (the last thing you had to do for today,) and then you could watch television and relax.

You open the door, and to your surprise, you see Cesar taking out his trash out as well. You haven’t seen him in a while and almost forgot he lived next door.

No, that’s a lie. You’ve thought about him a lot these past few days. You’ve thought about how good it felt when he would laugh at one of your jokes, or when he would just try to get you to smile. You thought about what it would feel like to run your fingers through his hair and hug him close to you. Ypou thought about what almost happened in the kitchen which got you thinking of what it would feel like to kiss him as well.

It felt right and real, but you know something between the two of you could never, ever happen - considering who you’re brothers were. You just hope he forgot what he said a few nights ago, maybe he didn’t even mean it.

“Hey.” Cesar approached you with one of his shiny white grins.

“Hey.”

He looked down at your outfit, in a joking manner, and started laughing. “What are you wearing?”

You looked down too, fake appalled, and said, “Oh I’m sorry, is this not fashion show worthy? What a shame.”

“Nah, but you’re still cute though.”

You smile at him, and your heart skips a couple of beats. Thankfully, even though weird, a panicky looking Jamal running down the sidewalk towards the two of you. He had a neck brace on, and he looked like he was going to die.

“Cesar, Y/N. What the hell are you two doing? Ruby needs us.”

“Needs us for?” Cesar asked, just as confused as you were. Was he in trouble?

“What the hell are YOU doing? What’s with the brace?” You ask.

“I’ll explain on the way, but the text was very cryptic. It could mean anything.”

Next thing you know, you’re being dragged into your room by Jamal, and your clothes being strewed across the room.

“I can’t believe you’re wearing that.” Jamal scoffs. “And in broad daylight.” He sounded almost offended. “I tried to tell her.”

“Oh yeah ‘cause those white undershirts, tan shorts, and long socks are SO in right now.” You roll your eyes, secretly hoping he didn’t take that to an offense. As if answering your question, he starts laughing.

Once you were done getting ready and looked “immaculate” in Jamal’s eyes, you three were headed to Ruby’s house, your black bag on your back.

“You bringing that again?” Cesar asked.

“She’s prepared Cesar, leave her alone.” Jamal said standing up for you.

Jamal told you that his parents wanted him to play football, and be successful at it, but in reality, he hated it. He hated the very thought of football, let alone actually playing. He told you he was so afraid of disappointing them, that he couldn’t bear tell them the truth, so instead, he was faking injuries until he could finally come clean. You told him that it probably wasn’t a good idea, but when does Jamal ever listen to anyone?

Once you arrived at Ruby’s house, you saw Monse on the porch. on her phone, probably waiting for Ruby. Once she spotted you three though, she quickly said, 

“Ruby! We’re all here now!”

“Oh my God, Y/N! Thank God you’re here! I need your help!” Ruby says coming out of his front door.

“Y/N? What about the man who brought her bum self up here?” Jama commented rudely.

“Hey. I’m not a bum!” You defend. “It was my day off.’

“From what? You don’t work.” Monse asks.

“Caring.” You say simply walking up closer to the porch to sit next to Ruby. Cesar and Jamal followed closely behind so now you were all standing on the porch ready for him to explain what his problem was.

“News: I don’t have my own room anymore. But I have a boner.”

“Ew gross! I don’t wanna know that!” You hit him softly in his shoulder. Monse looks like she wants to do the same thing. She looks just as disgusted as you are.

“No no-no-no. My cousin just moved in. Not like my cousin cousin. Like, ‘wassup cuz?’ You know like fam, but not fam?”

He went on to explain more, and eventually, he was finished.

“So what you need us for?” You ask.

“Not ‘us.’ I need you. You’re hot. How do I get a hot girl like her to fall for me?”

Before you could give even some kind of helpful answer, Ruben’s mom comes out of the house with a shy, pretty brunette standing next to her.

“Guys, this is Olivia. She’s staying with us for a little while, okay?”

His mom walks back into the house, but Olivia stands awkwardly in front of the five of you.

“Is it me or did things just get weird?” She asks trying to ease the tension.”

“It’s you. I’m Monse, this is Y/N, Cesar, and Jamal. Excuse the stares from the boys; they haven’t been neutered.”

You and Olivia start laughing. Monse’s boldness sure was hilarious sometimes.

After that comment, Monse said something about Jamal’s brace to Olivia and then pulled you and Ruby off to the side to try to create a plan to save Cesar. You zoned out though when you saw Cesar pulled dup his shirt to show off his abs. And boy were they something to show off. How does a 14-year-old kid have abs? Those butterflies were flying again and but you thought they had died for a second when it hit you that he was flirting with Olivia.

No, no. That’s perfectly fine. If he dates her, this little “crush” or whatever you have will go away. It will be gone, and you won’t have to worry about the drama.

The group hung out with Olivia, but then it was time to go home, and Cesar walked with you. He took your bag and slung it around his right shoulder while his left arm was slung across your shoulders.

You two were talking about random things..things that made your heart want to explode, (even though minor) when Spooky’s car pulled up to where you two were walking and he told you to get in.

“Where you two been all, night, huh?”

“At Ruby’s.” You both answered at the same time.

“Mhmm.” He took a drink from his liquor. “As long as you two ain’t fucking we don’t got a problem.”

You sunk down in your seat.

“Yeah, no thanks.” You say quietly - but loud enough for both of them to hear.

“Who’d wanna bone Y/N?” Cesar laughed nudging you. You pushed out a laugh as well. Truth is that kind of hurt. You weren’t going to be sleeping with anyone anytime soon - given you haven’t even been kissed yet - but hearing Cesar say that made your heart ache. Did he really feel that way? He didn’t think you were attractive at all?

Spooky dropped you off and bid you goodnight, especially considering what he said to you the other day So did Cesar, but you only made a half attempt to say goodbye. Your mood had been shot, and all you wanted to do was crawl into your bed and think of what it would have been like if he had answered differently.

_

You were almost asleep when your phone started to ring.

“What?”

“We need your help.” It was Cesar and Ruby. What time was it anyway? Why are they calling you right now? “Monse won’t let the gang thing go.” Cesar said.

“Yeah you heard her, she wants me to do it.” Ruby helped.

“And?”

“Anndddd we think you should do it.” Ruby said.

“Do what?” you asked.

“Talk to Spooky.”

“Yeah, we think Oscar will go easiest on you, given his love for you and Lorenzo.”

“Yeah absolutely not. You’re on your own amigos, goodnight.” _

The next morning, you were out the door ready to walk to school when you saw Olivia and Monse approaching Cesar’s house. Olivia walked on, but Monse stayed back to argue with Cesar about Ruby going to convince Spooky to ley him out of the gang. Instead of participating in the conversation, you caught up with Olivia.

“Hey.”

“Hey! What’s up?”

“Nothing. Just wanted to get away from all that bickering back there.”

“Girl I feel you. Monse and I are hanging out after school. You’re coming too right?”

“Yeah sure -”

Before you could finish, Cesar comes up behind you and puts his arm across your shoulders.

Those butterflies were back, and you wonder if he felt them too.

“Coming where?” he asked pulling you in tighter.

“None of your damn business.” Monse says moving his arm away from you, replacing it with hers. “No fornication.”

He puts his hand up in surrender. _

You approached Cesar and Monse as they were still arguing about the whole Spooky gang thing. They tried to get your opinion but you told them you wanted no part of it.

Soon later though Olivia comes over to talk to the three of you about Ruby. She tells him that he’s bummed about his room, even though that’s far from the truth.

“So after school -”

“Wanna hang?” Cesar asks looking at you.

“Oh actually, we have plans with Monse.” Olivia answers for both of you.

“Oh, I’m happy to join.” he shrugs his shoulders happily.

“Actually, it’s kind of a girl thing.” Monse says putting one of her arms across your shoulders, and the other across Olivia’s. You smile sheepishly.

“Can I watch?”

_

You admit, your heart fluttered at the fact that Cesar asked to hang out with you. But he wasn’t really talking to you. He was talking to Olivia. And it kind of hurt, but it was okay considering your plan to ignore those stupid butterflies anyway.

The best way to do this was to just ignore Cesar completely. Well, not completely - he’d notice too quickly. Just slowly overtime, and then you can just call it drifting apart. But how was this possible when he lived right next door?

~~~~

PART THREE

~~~~

What do you think? Please give feedback! Also, feel free to request!